Rembrant's J'Accuse...! (2008)

    Peter Greenaway’s most recent feature length documentary finds him opinionated and cynical.  The subjects of his dissatisfaction are the visually illiterate (re: Generation Y anyone?) who have not the skills to navigate complex paintings nor, as he would likely agree, the desire.  His argument centers around Rembrandt’s The Night Watch, which should come as no surprise to anyone that has at least seen a still from any of his most well-known features.
    From a little box superimposed over much of the film, Greenaway staunchly explicates his mastery of the painting under discussion.  There is no arguing with his authority on the subject matter nor in his deconstruction of the 34 mysteries embedded within the painting.  His affection for the painting, as well as what it represents, is clear.  Why he finds the need to float atop its beauty as a disembodied talking head is still unclear.  Perhaps from this vantage point we are less liable to disagree with our host.  Regardless of his questionable presence, snobbishly looking down his nose at the audience, his argument is sound and convincing.
    A two-hour discussion about a single frame may seem overkill for any tech savvy rug-rat born this side of the 1970’s.  The mass onslaught of images has long ago oversaturated our visual palette and left us partially desensitized to its power.  This is what the film is really about; yet leave it to Greenaway to support his argument with obsessive deconstruction of a truly complex and multi-faceted work of art.
    The visually decadent style we are used to in Greenaway’s fictional narrative finds its well-known source.  He restages the painting and excavates particular elements both in live action and animated cutouts.  The visual intricacies are managed one by one, slowly but surely revealing a larger story.  As the fourth most famous painting in history, the time spent with it is justified.  Needless to say, the shear intrigue Greenaway reveals justifies itself.  Rembradnt’s lauded use of light, the ambiguous and gender-ambiguous details, the x-rays that reveal edits by the artist, and the use of looks to tell the audience a story all contribute to the complexity of this 1642 masterpiece.
    Despite Greenaway’s unnecessarily scolding demeanor, his thoughts are justified.  The modern looker has lost a degree of skill in reading the painted image while at the same time compensated for it with literacy in other areas, say, motion picture.  And regardless of the director’s unending presence, the film is fascinating, entertaining, and endlessly intriguing in the complexity it reveals.  Highly recommended to those interested.

Test Screening

It is not an uncommon occurrence for films to be screened prior to release. The objective is to gauge an audience’s reaction and alter the film so that more people will like it. So what does this mean? It means that the ‘art’ is being changed so that it is more widely accepted. Now it goes without saying, even though I have said it plenty, that the film industry is undoubtedly (and no one is pretended otherwise) a business. And yes, it makes good business sense to get as large a demographic as possible to make the most money as possible.

On the one hand this is good. It proves the best chances of a particular film being successful and thus the best chances of other films getting made. It ensures the continued success of the industry. Like the Oscar ceremonies (the word monies conveniently hidden within), they keep attention and interest in a product that survives on getting attention. Test screenings are a way for a filmmaker to know how the audience feels about the work; how it might be made better (read: more broadly accepted) and what they did not like (read: what will not make the final cut). Thus it provides areas in which the people involved might wish to make changes.

So on the other hand, it means that the production company is simply giving the audience what it wants. From an artistic standpoint, then, this sounds the alarm. Art, in and of itself, should not conform to the desires of those who look at it. If anything, art has always stood to challenge its viewer, to make them see things in a new way, to look outside the normal parameters in which their gaze is limited. But as we can be assured, the most challenging movies are usually the ones that a.) do well only because of the controversy involved in their reception, or b.) fail to find and audience and fade into filmic obscurity.

So we may wish to find a balance. But we should also take into account the nature of film. Unlike any other art form, film encompasses numerous areas of creativity and is truly the most complicated collaborative art. Cinematographers and actors and production designers and wardrobers and make-up artists all compile their skill and vision into a (hopefully) cohesive and complimentary work. Further, the temporal aspect of film means that small, short lasting aspects represent a smaller percent of the larger whole. Thus a little trim here and a deletion here do not affect the final product as much as it does with other media.

This in mind, the notion of a test screening comes into a bit more acceptable light. All the work that has gone into the film is still there, some obvious, some subtle. The only way to take it all away is to abandon the film entirely. It is now a question of intent. Is a creative choice made because it fits and benefits the piece as a whole or because it makes money. And is the money enough of a benefit to warrant it? And for those not convinced, is it ever warranted to alter a work, an artist’s vision, to make it more popular?

Keep in mind that all this refers to film with enough money in the first place to afford test screenings. We are mainly talking big films that already challenge the viewer to lend the term ‘art’ to their description. This does not mean the topic is irrelevant however. It is simply the context in which the discussion takes place.

Art on Demand.

Would modern cinema be able to function without the classifications of genre that have been established by a century of filmmaking? Would modern audiences be able to choose a film to see without understanding the categorical organization developed? Would filmmakers even be able to make similar films without an understanding of like-minded films that have come before? Of course, but this doesn't mean genre is irrelevant.

The most blatant purpose of genre is to reproduce a type of film that was successful. Casting aside the art vs. commodity argument for a minute, commercial filmmaking is a business. The American film industry has done a rather amazing job at making it a profitable business at that. Yet their ability to identify the type of films that kept people coming back would not be possible without understanding the idea of genre. On the one hand, the audience likes a certain story and wants to see it again. Thus the proliferation of genre films, be it gangster, western, melodrama, ensures that audiences will find similar films. At the same time, keeping in mind the word ‘similar,’ the viewers do not (exceptions, of course, exist) want the exact same film a second time around. Thus we get what has come to be called the standardization/differentiation dialectic.

What is interesting is that genre films propagate their own existence. Creating films of similar style/theme is rationalized by their success in the box office. Like stated, the film will then need to differentiate itself from the competition by offering something that audiences have not seen in this particular genre. Naturally, this is not always achieved and the hoards of entries will fall into obscurity. Thus the downside of consciously creating what is wanted.

Mass production of films diluted the quality of existing films by increasing competition. We could easily blame our culture for insisting one cannot have too much of a good thing and applying the mindset to its arts and creative endeavors. The results can be a commercial compressed and dry film that offers nothing to the viewer but the same old story. It is not my intent to rant about the detrimental effects of commercial filmmaking, I rather like many a film of today. However, the nature of the genre film is both a blessing and a curse, something to look forward to or something to be weary of. It can feel like a prepackaged, assembly line product, yet one that is aimed at pleasing the largest amount of people possible.

Soviet artists Vitaly Komar and Alex Melamid hired a professional polling company to find out the average person’s aesthetic preferences. The results were used to create paintings, country by country, of the most desired and least desired elements. Of course, the artists did it to comment on the commercial nature art has taken on while at the same time ‘selling out’ in a way be producing said pieces. The film industry, to a large degree, operates on this very same research. The most successful movies are the one that will get reproduced, serialized, re-released, and most advertised. But does the matter of size, the fact the movies can cost millions and paintings not so much, validate its system? If a painter only painted what people wanted, knowing it would make money, would they be selling out all the time? Would they even be creating art? Would this style of work make the product nothing more than a commodity for mass consumption? If that were the case, a large majority of this country’s films would fit the bill. More later.

Over Analyzed.

I realize that there is a point in analyzing works. I can understand the need to interpret and find reasons for what an artist has done. I can also claim to engage in the process myself. Yet that doesn't deter me from continuously questioning the process. On many occasions I have found myself listening to evaluations and interpretations of films only to think they sounded ludicrous. Then I hear another only to consider it even more far fetched in comparison to the film than the first one. This is where my leeriness to the practice of figuring out meaning comes from.

I have always been fascinated by the world, particularly for the reason that I can see it. Thus, interesting and strange and beautiful visuals have always been important to me. Further, I can admire a piece of work that is not trying to say anything at all other than being good to look at. This is where I seem to find myself alone. In this business it is all about story. If you have a good story the visuals can be worthless and it doesn't matter. The audience will still get it. But I have often yearned for the opposite. I want something void of meaning, void of story, something I can stare at and be amazed. Obviously, experimental film sweeps in to fulfill this desire immediately, yet even that is riddled with the need for interpretation.

I made a video for class that fit a certain structure and message I was going for. Unsurprisingly, the class found numerous other ways in which to read it. I in no way suggested they were wrong but listened to their ideas instead. However, I did not put them there. They were born from somebody else’s mind and exemplify my dissatisfaction with finding a meaning behind everything. Everybody will bring their own idea no matter what is presented. And in a similar vein, one can find whatever they are looking for wherever they look.

Now I am not asking for a schlocky and immature attempt at something so intently driven by entertainment value that it demands the lowest intelligence possible. I simply want the ability to stare at something uninterrupted without having to reason for its inherent magnetism. I guess I just want to see a sunset everywhere.I suppose it is product of our evolution that we stimulate our intellect to the nth degree. And that is fine. Despite the fact that we are in no danger of extinction, it is indeed good to increase our abilities. Yet at the same time we need to be able to revel in simplicity of liking how something looks. If we really want to get down to it, we are trying to find meaning in the things we create because we are trying to find meaning in the creation of ourselves. And as is obvious, we have yet to satisfactorily find that.

Cronenbergian Auteurism

For a person who wasn’t going to school for film, David Cronenberg has carved himself a pretty formidable reputation as both master of horror as well as culturally conscious auteur. From his low budget, Canadian government financed body horror to his recent Hollywood and Oscar nominated family dramas, his career has spanned multiple decades and multiple countries. Yet for all the attention he has received both locally and internationally, his reputation, as a confident and competent director, has not been undermined.

Ernest Mathijs describes Cronenberg as an active auteur, someone whose authorial presence transcends the screen and enters the public sphere to help adapt interpretations and reactions to his films. While many are ready to discount his early efforts to the hoards of b-horror stockpiles, he countered them by claiming artistic merit in his work. And while his string of films through the 80’s and 90’s certainly deserve such merit uncontested, his early work demanded a bit more defense. In 1981, Cronenberg’s film Scanners was marketed around a few single seconds of the film. These 47 frames have since entered the cult film kingdom as not only impressive, but immortal. As a character’s tense and panicked face contort to supreme fear and submission, his head explodes in a bloody detonation of rabbit livers and dog food. The aftermath, although bloody on-screen, was much more alarming off-screen. Mathijs devotes no less than half a dozen pages to the exploding head, its effects, and its reception. But more importantly, is its connection and importance in the oeuvre of its director.

If the sex parasites and hematophagic armpit plunger weren’t enough, Scanners’ exploding head gave the cautiously minded and socially concerned (read: uptight) something to complain about. The active and attentive Cronenberg defended his film and every film since then that has fared negatively in the public eye for its content; be it sex in Crash, masochism in Videodrome, or violence in any number of his films. While such shocking subject matter is often deemed exploitative, its true function is a synthesis of understanding and necessity.

Cronenberg’s status as acclaimed Baron of Blood and King of Venereal Horror put him very near, if not atop, the pantheon of cult film directors. So while his visually graphic money shots pertain to the story, they remain important in maintaining the fanship his early films gathered. This is important in recognizing the directorial awareness that has marked his career; a recognition and attention to the audience of his films. Yet this is not limited to the late-night male audience who just want to see exploding heads but expands into the film critic elite who pick apart his films detail by detail and criticize the content. His work has consistently garnered harsh reception by the likes of Robin Wood and others who see his b-grade horror as tastelessly full of sex and violence.

This all said, and again paying attention to his consistent awareness of his films’ receptions, Cronenberg’s active auteurism seems not only a relevant and advantageous approach but a vastly important one for any artist. As I began discussing earlier, an artist projects his work into view of an audience who will certainly bring different interpretations and run the risk of losing the intended message. This is where the creator can, or should, step in to guide how their work is seen. David Cronenberg has done this since the beginning.

Life and Art

I came across the following quote in the demanding and impressive Kubrick: Inside a Film Artist’s Maze by Thomas Allen Nelson.

Kubrick’s films, in fact, reflect one writer’s belief that reality in the late twentieth century had become “so extravagant in its contradictions, absurdities, violence, speed of change, science-fiction technology, weirdness, and constant unfamiliarity” that the traditional division between imagination and fact seemed neither definable nor relevant.

It’s quite a thought that the need to distinguish between fact and fiction is cast off into irrelevance. Such seems very rarely the case. Viewers often complain the film is unrealistic. That, or the bore of realism got in the way of what should have been an exciting story. To suggest that the nature of reality is so extreme that it passes unfiltered as product of the imagination is both amazing and terrifying. And as is the case with Kubrick films, his envisioned reality is often plagued with jaw-dropping misfortune, proverbial pessimism, and what seem psychic prognostications. So is this writer’s pessimistic observation to suggest that our world is presented as such in our art that we waive their distinctions? And that this world is in such a state of decay that we give in to the violence, weirdness, and absurdity?

Well sign me up! Never more do we have to worry ourselves with the triviality of fact versus fiction. Rest assured, I have simplified matters as were stated in the above quote. I do not mean neglect the gravity that this opinion reflects, however ambiguous it exists between supreme compliment and blatant insult. Should we assume that the quotee thinks our films so advanced and indicative of our culture that we not distinguish their existence as art, or does it state the misfortune of our society is reflected in what should be dramaticized and glamorized? Life imitating art or vice versa?

Of Art and Industry

I feel guilty posting the video below for its propagation of the content held within but do so to discuss rather than flaunt. I by no means attempt to pick on Tarantino, a simple search would yield dozens of other examples. What’s interesting (read: questionable, deplorable) is both its content and the implications its contents draw.

One. The videographer here is as close as one could be to a leach without having slimy skin and a circular tooth-filled sucker. Their blatant and inhumane disregard for their subject is offensive. And even if Tarantino had stood still, smiling into the camera, Who Cares? The unfortunate answer is that someone, somewhere does care.

Two. We are a culture who feed off of other’s popularity, who flock to the site of someone famous just to see them. The funny part is, if you hang around them enough you realize that they are, drum roll, Human. They are not Gods, they are not an urban legend creature, and they have two legs, two arms, and a head. And all the other body parts in most cases.

As is obvious, our film industry has created the star system, admittedly a hugely successful system at that. What the average person doesn't seem to realize is that behind the commercialized image, behind the screen personas, behind the glitz and glamour of’ The Movies’ are real people. Tarantino, Sean Penn, and even Madonna are real human beings the same as anyone else. They just happen to be famous. It is unfortunate that the paparazzi exist but likely that they always will. What is interesting, and just as unfortunate, is that they are becoming blurred with legitimate news photographers.

I hesitate to say they have their place, some press needs to exist for movies in order to help fuel the system. However, their modes are unsavory and embarrassing. As is obvious in this video, they can be like little kids sneaking a peak at someone famous, waiting for them to do something stupid that they can exploit. Granted, celebrities are in the public eye and many of them like this spot, but does that validate the frenzied atmosphere of hundreds of flashes going off all yielding the exact-same-picture?

It would certainly be too much to ask for the general public to respect the film industry as an art form. Although Hollywood would need to cover some ground to get there, perhaps someday our movies will all be films whose social and artistic value supersedes their inclusion of stars.