Third Cinema and the State

While third cinema is inherently political in practice and rejects the view of cinema as a vehicle for personal expression its seems that third cinema would not be able to exist without the very bodies it often rejects. It seems that the aim is to appeal to the masses by presenting the truth and inspiring aggressive activity against the state, but it is clear that third cinema cannot survive without state protection and financing. The line between political underground activism and the necessity of the state to develop this form of media is blurred. The use of the states materials should lead to a loss of validity in third cinemas political aims. However this observation goes unnoticed.

Virtual Public Space

In “Windows of Vulnerability”, Thomas Keenan writes, “the subject’s variable status as public or private individual is defined by its position relative to this window” (p.132). The window separates the public and private spheres but also represents a gaping hole between them. Kennan later points to television as a special type of window which brings the outside public world into to the private home. His discussion of this intrusion, made me think about online gaming as a more recent analogue.

Online gaming problematizes the distinction between public and private in a unique way. Each person playing the game is in a private space (i.e. the home) and is physically separated from the other people playing the game. These gamers could be on opposite sides of the world. However, they are also interacting (through their computer 'windows') with each other in a public virtual space. This kind of social interaction between gamers is most apparent in large virtual worlds like Second Life. Interestingly, Second Life and other virtual worlds even attempt to mimic physical public spaces like cities, town centers, and plazas in order to encourage players to gather together.

Yet, it is important to note that this interaction between players is mediated through the game environment ---it is not face-to-face, but instead avatar-to-avatar. Avatars themselves are an interesting meld of public and private. Although they are the representation of the person behind the computer (and thus the bridge between the real and the virtual), they can provide an enormous level of anonymity, allowing a gamer to change his name, gender, and even species. While many online gamers maintain their real world personalities, others fabricate new identities for themselves with which to interact with others. Thus the virtual public sphere is not a mirror image of the physical public sphere.

Further complicating the division between public and private, these virtual spaces are often owned by companies (you must buy the game to enter their world), while the physical public sphere is theoretically not owned by anyone. However, certain virtual worlds like Second Life are free to enter and thus maintain some of this characteristic. Even so, many of these virtual worlds and online games are themselves divided into private and public spheres with certain players controlling who may enter a certain region. Players can also organize together into groups (clans, guilds) that are both public (the group interacts with other groups) and private (the group is exclusive to certain players).

It is interesting to see how game developers translated notions of public and private into virtual space.

Windows

Firstly, Isabel, thank you so much for the photos, I think that image really captured the concept of the camera as a weapon and its particular mode of display highlights not only the use of public space to spread messages through art (which is definitely an interesting thing to explore) but also the idea that the public seems to be becoming more and more aware of the power of the camera to influence reality.
I really enjoyed reading Windows of Vulnerability and felt that the image of the window was a very powerful one, especially as it connects to the idea of television. One would normally think of film and television as a kind of one-sided window (like the public bathroom Professor Chun brought up in lecture - how great was that?) and so I thought it was important that Keenan drew this parallel, because television is not entirely one-sided. This was one point that confused me about Benjamin's text, with his concept of the "passive" audience, as though there were no interaction between film and its audience. Because his very idea of the general public becoming the critic I felt emphasized the idea of the audience having feedback; because the public was given access to this art form it was no longer somehow exclusive or limited to the "educated" or the "experts." And because their opinion matters, their feedback and their responses greatly influence the film or television artists in turn.
Thus the "window" of the screen does go both ways, media certainly influences the public ("CNN effect") but the public, too, has great influence over the media; an effect which I feel, especially in our culture, is often overlook or underplayed. So often I hear about how the media "brainwashes" us, controlling what we think (i.e. commercials and magazines are the reason for eating disorders) rather than considering the other side: media reflects and is controlled by our culture too. I guess it's back to the old does life imitate art or art imitate life question. And I feel Keenan offers a great answer to that through the image of the window, one is not possible without the other.

Third Cinema and the Failure of the Image

Third cinema is framed as a highly politicized art form, but would it be possible for third cinema to fall victim to the same public indifference as the news footage that was intended to cause humanitarian intervention in Sarajevo? As stated in class the showing of certain films was so controversial that it had to be done in secret at risk of arrest. One would think that under these circumstances the films would have to cause some sort of action on the behalf of those that viewed them. Since the viewers are so actively involved in the act of viewing the films there would have to be some sort of action attached to them, but is this action necessarily even a result of the films themselves? Since the showings of highly political and controversial third cinema films were often secret events it would seem that those who attended the showings were most likely already involved in some sort of revolutionary activity. I find it unlikely that these films actually inspired political or revolutionary action considering the fact that it would most likely be difficult for someone who knew nothing about the subversive activity going on in their country already to view one of these films. Therefore the film itself becomes a sort of moot point: an activity that revolutionaries do amongst themselves to help consider new issues or guide potential paths of action, but does not actually cause any actions in and of itself nor bring any new followers to the revolution. This does not become an issue of unreasonable faith in the public like the failures in Sarajevo, but merely an issue of accessibility. If the films were more accessible the issue of faith in the public and the enlightenment idea that knowledge begets action would then come in to play. It's quite possible that at this point third films would fair no better than news footage of Sarajevo, but perhaps they hold some different, stronger power. Even amongst a group of revolutionaries the films may fall short and not jumpstart the actions that they intend to. Since I am not actually aware of the specific effects and viewer-ship of specific third films I cannot say whether or not the way I have framed them is, in fact, the truth, merely that it is a distinct possibility. So the question remains: are third films fundamentally different from the news footage of Sarajevo that failed to cause any action? Do they hold some greater power that has specifically caused events to occur? Does the image necessarily fail? And if so is the cause a fundamental basis or merely an issue of public access? 

Kosova Versus Bosnia: Western Involvement and the Media Connection

It was perhaps inevitable considering my heritage that of all the readings for this week, that which spoke to me the most strongly was Thomas Keenan's piece entitled "Publicity and Indifference (Sarajevo on Television)". Before continuing, I should explain: my father is an ethnic Albanian from Kosovo, and I was born in Zagreb, the Croatian capital city where he had been studying. The year, 1990, was characterized for my family and countless others mainly by the meteoric rise of ethnic and political tensions in then-Yugoslavia. With war on the horizon, my parents chose to protect their child by taking advantage of an option few Yugoslavians possessed: escape to America, the place of my mother's upbringing, and a safe haven from the brutal consequences of Yugoslavia's catastrophic failure as a nation-state. The same events that led me here to the United States set the stage for the conflict at the centerpiece of Keenan's piece, the genocidal Bosnian War that followed Yugoslavia's collapse, becoming a global symbol for the ineffectuality of international response to institutionalized war crimes akin to Rwanda and today's Darfur. Raging at the same time, though, away from the television cameras and reporters who believed they could shock the world to action, was a similar conflict in my father's homeland of Kosovo (or Kosova in the native Albanian tongue), a three-year ordeal that represented at alternate times the best and worst of Western-led intervention and illuminates, I think, several points that did not find place in Keenan's specific analysis of Bosnia as an example of publicity's power - and powerlessness - in the face of a crisis.

While the world's eyes were locked on Bosnia, a forgotten war was beginning to erupt in Kosova, which fell even post-Yugoslavia within the borders of Serbia despite the overwhelmingly Albanian population. The most vigorous fighting between Serbian forces and the militant Kosova Liberation Army only began in the time following the belated resolution of the Bosnian crisis, but in the sense of mass catharsis that inevitably succeeded such a publicized campaign of brutality, the rumblings of history beginning to repeat itself were lost to Western audiences and journalists. These early days of the conflict represent the polar opposite of Bosnia in that they were largely missed or ignored by the media, and in turn their concerned audiences of potential activists. Perhaps most dangerously, the Serbian president Slobodan Milosevic, who presided over his nation's attempt to cleanse Bosnia of its Muslim population, remained in power. Keenan criticizes the almost self-righteous belief of the Western media that simply by broadcasting the atrocities taking place in Bosnia they could somehow trigger action, their images ultimately serving as a deterrent to the decisive action they sought; in their almost immediate disappearance following the end of that first crisis, without regard for the complex challenges of reconstruction and the still-seething tides of ethnic disharmony, the damage was nearly as severe, as is shown by the case of Kosova. In short, a speedy response to Bosnia was doomed by the sense of self-fulfilment nursed by an indignant media; in Kosova, the fatal flaw was that of the opposite extreme, complete complacency. It is clear the ideal solution lies somewhere in between these two opposites, and yet every intervention in our nation's history has carried at least some of the crippling stigma of on one end sensationalism, or the other, ignorance.

Still, though, when reports of genocide in Kosova began to emerge in such numbers and scope as to be no longer unnoticeable, the NATO powers led by the United States dignified themselves with a more prompt and decisive response that proved the debacle of Bosnia, and their complicity in it by virtue of inaction, had not already been forgotten. Most importantly, care was taken to eliminate a root cause of the recurring Balkan conflicts by forcing the removal of the Milosevic regime, which by now had presided over two significant ethnic cleansings, from its Serbian seat of power. While media presence in Kosova after the explosion of this latest genocide story was similar to that seen in Bosnia, their representative governments made a conscious and effective effort to ensure the recent mistakes of Bosnia not be repeated; in a sense, that the same assumptions regarding the power of the image not be taken for granted this time.

So does Kosova support or refute Keenan's arguments? To argue that nothing in this more effective involvement overturns any of Keenan's conclusions, I will identify a few postscripts, and briefly draw Keenan's argument to what I see as a logical corollary. First, while Kosova provided a distinct counterpoint to Bosnia once it caught the attention of the world, as noted above, this success may largely be attributed to the recent memory of the almost archetypically identical Bosnian crisis, and not to any change in media influences. Second, the current media fixation, and corresponding lack of any significant action, on the crisis in Sudan proves, I think, that Kosova did not result in any major change in the media-action fantasy in Western society. Finally, much as in Bosnia, I feel the aftermath of the Kosova conflict illustrates a point that can be considered tangent to Keenan's central assumption: in a manner similar to that in which a reporter's image is considered to hold power and action in and of itself, the media continually demonstrates a one-dimensional sense of conflict, focusing on it with a wild fixation during the violence that precedes its resolution, then disappearing overnight, leaving the finer details of reconstruction out of the public or international eye, creating another fantasy, that of a simple and lasting solution to every problem that will sustain itself without continued attention. For proof of this, one must look no further than recent developments in, again, Kosova: ten years after the intervention, this nation has only just now achieved independence, and the fledgling state is now plagued by a new crisis of economics and infrastructure. This fantasy of a band-aid for every international crisis goes side-by-side, I think, with Keenan's notions of media illusion, and demonstrates the problems that occur when the aftermath of a cataclysmic war is left without the attention it held just shortly before.

Ceddo

Rosen's piece "Ceddo" is a turbulent struggle for power. The piece depicts the primary struggle between the old and the new. This struggle can be seen in the differences between the old way of life and the new Islamic religion and culture. This struggle causes the inciting incident, the kidnapping of the princess. The religious struggle has deep effects, the acceptance of Islam causes several contradictions to the old way of life. I found the depiction of Islam to be very interesting. Given the course of history in Africa, I expected the Islamic religion and culture to be portrayed in a more favorable light.

I enjoyed the circular quality the princess brought to the film. The princess was the key factor in the inciting incident as well as the one to finally take the life of the Imam. Upon the death of the Imam is it accepted that the village returns to its old ways of life and rejects Islam? If so, I find it interesting that Rosen doesn't represent the historical spread of Islam that took place in Africa.

Mo' Ceddo (this time with text!)

One of the more intriguing points in Rosen’s piece was the idea of narrative satisfaction versus historical modification.  When Princess Dior kills the imam it “[n]arratively…resolves the original story problem—her kidnapping—but only with complicated reversals:  Dior is finally rescued from the kidnapper, but then she rescues herself from her putative rescuer, the imam, and in alliance with those who planned her original kidnapping.  This climax enacts an historical possibility never realized in Senegalese history, a unification of the old nobility and the ceddo against foreign incursions” (732).  This disruption of history forces the (informed) audience to think. 

 

Let’s couple this with Gabriel’s idea of the hunter and game:  “In the Western-style movie, the depiction of the hunt would focus upon the ultimate act of the hunter bagging his game.  In the Third Word context, the interest would be in depicting the relationship of the hunter to the natural environment which feeds his material and spiritual needs and which, in fact, is the source of the game.  Here we are dealing with an unresolved situation, with no closure” (57).  The Third World perspective debases the Western World’s obsession with narrative satisfaction.  In Ceddo the fact that the princess survives is not the point.  An intimate, living relationship is formed between film and audience.  The spectators are meant to evaluate this warped vision of history…there is also some motivation of Third Cinema filmmakers due to the juxtaposition of Second and Third Cinema.  The ability to move away from Western perspective through the newer form of Third Cinema (which is also pridefully based on oral-tradition in the example of Ceddo) enhances points made in the narrative such as questioning the Islamic invasion in Senegal.  This blend of reading the movie as a text, as Barthes would, and assessing politics and history (of both the country and the film industry) is the crux of action through Third Cinema.  Does this align Barthes with Western view of satisfying the narrative?  If history is drained from the text, what does his view alone get from the film?  Something radically different from Sembene’s, and other directors of Third Cinema, intentions, for sure, but I doubt he’d be completely incapable of reading the film and I’d like some clarification on how he’d extract information.

Mo' Ceddo

Solanas and Getino are Angry

I thought there was a remarkable difference in perspective between Teshome Gabriel’s “Towards a Third Aesthetic” and Solanas and Getino’s “Toward a Third Cinema.” I read Gabriel first, so it served as a sort of definition for Third Cinema, whereas Solanas and Getino seem to have more of a rant than an article.
Given, Solanas and Getino were active participants in Third Cinema’s inception, but they came off half as revolutionaries, and half as people who hate Hollywood. Perhaps it was the font they used (small capitals of some sort), but throughout the paper I felt as though I were at fault for enjoying movies from First Cinema.

…the cinema is an industry, but differs from other industries in that it has been created and organized in order to generate certain ideologies. The 35mm camera, 24 frames per second, arc lights, and a commercial place of exhibition for audiences were conceived not to gratuitously transmit any ideology, but to satisfy, in the first place, the cultural and surplus value needs of a specific ideology, of a specific world-view: that of U.S. financial capital. (Solanas and Getino, 64)

I don’t find it surprising that cinema should be used to make money. I thought that was the point of most industries, other than producing things. All the italics used make these statements seem ground-breaking, and at the same time they make the U.S. look so evil. Cinema was a good venue for entertaining purposes when it came out, and now, since it is such a big obstacle for Third Cinema, it has wronged.
They say that making cinema into just a “show,” so that man can only “read history, contemplate it, listen to it, and undergo it” was a bad thing. Later, Solanas and Getino admit that they found out by accident that it could be something other than a show, something interactive and political, and that wasn’t even a challenge; it just happened. So I don’t understand why they are upset with First Cinema at all.

Third Cinema

During lecture I found myself asking if Third Cinema is inherently propagandistic.  Third Cinema as outlined by Solanas and Getino is clearly political by nature.  Similarly, Gabriel argues that Third Cinema filmmakers seek to "redefine and to redeem what the official versions of history have overlooked" (Gabriel, 57).  Control of history is central to politics as well as to propaganda for history is central in defining national identity and in creating opinions and ways of thinking.  Both Solanas and Gabriel discuss how the films of Third Cinema are made with particular aims, seeking particular results, either by mobilizing revolutionary action or constructing a new way of looking at the past.  The conscious, blatantly subjective aims of these films would seem to relate them to propagandistic films.  In light of this I wonder whether Third Cinema is inherently propagandistic.  A definition of propaganda would be helpful in determining this.  The film historian Taylor defines propaganda as "concerned with the transmission of ideas and/or values from one persons, or group of persons to another" (Taylor, 15).  From this I would consider these films to be propagandistic for they attempt, with purpose, to transmit the values of revolutionaries, of anticolonialists to their fellow formerly colonized peoples.

However, propaganda can carry extremely negative connotations whereas the revolutionary aspect of these films carries the more positive connotation of liberation.  I would not be surprised if there was an aversion to referring to THird Cinema as propagandistic cinema and I am a little reluctant myself.  if we focus solely on the aesthetics of Third cinema and the aim of creating a new filmic language, the degree of propaganda in these movies decreases.  However, the initial political intent that stimulated the call for Third Cinema still looms in the background and makes me wonder if we can ever detach these films from their political contexts; this even furthers the similarities between Third Cinema and propagandistic cinema.  For example, critics have long debated whether "Triumph of the WIll" can be appreciated solely for its artistic merit, whether it an be removed form its political context.

Furthermore, Taylor quotes Alduous Huxley to illustrate the difference between propaganda and education: "propaganda gives force and direction to an existing system or sentiment" (Taylor, 45).  I was reminded of this quote by Solanas and Getino's analogy to the teaching and handling of guns which "can be revolutionary where there are potentially or explicitly viable layers ready to throw themselves into the struggle to take power, but [which] ceases to be revolutionary where the masses still lack sufficient awareness of their situation" (Solanas, 70).  Both of these quotes express the similar sentiment that cinema cannot be the starting point on a blank slate, but can be a catalyst for action in an appropriate context.

Perhaps in considering whether these films are inherently propagandistic, one should examine them on a case by case basis.  Alternatively, one could distinguish genres within propaganda or degrees of propaganda.  In the end, though, I find I can draw more similarities than differences, at least on a theoretical level, between Third Cinema and cinema that has been accepted as propagandistic.

Ceddo

Getino and Solanas’ discussion of the power of film over the audience in two completely contrasting ways debunks Benjamin’s argument regarding the immobile, unengaged spectator. Although Benjamin stated that the audience does engage in the art of film like that of the painting, Getino and Solanas clearly present two instances where film has absolute control over the audience and the spectators become more than engaged in the “art” (though they argue that film in this sense is no longer even seen aesthetically).
I was intrigued by the two opposing effects that film can have over the audience – that of mass neutralizing and that of mass activation. In lecture, Hollywood was described as a “mass homogenizing umbrella,” producing films that limit the audience to remain solely spectators even beyond the viewing of the film. This idealized film neutralizes the audience, rendering the spectators inactive due to their belief in their own inferiority. Hollywood, like the bourgeoisie “myth makers” that Barthes discusses, has the ability to manipulate the “language” of society to make whatever images that they show appear to represent reality. Through film’s engagement of the spectators who are subconsciously brought together by Anderson’s idea of the “imagined community”, Hollywood has the power to create societal norms.
The other effect of film that opposes Hollywood’s inactive effect is the power of Third Cinema. Third Cinema has the power to bring people together and strip them of their individuality – not in a deteriorating manner, but in a productive political sense. Third Cinema forms an active community by bringing people together in a political act.
The difference between these two films? The presentation of the images as well as the images themselves that they present – Hollywood ideologies that numb the people verses Third Cinema folklore that Gabriel describes as able to “redefine and redeem what the official versions of history has overlooked.” (57)
In watching Ceddo, the Third Cinema quality was blaring. The entire film was revolved around oral tradition and speaking to the people to call them to action – the characters yelled their lines as though they were yelling so that the audience themselves could hear them. The idea of a private conversation in a public setting that was discussed in lecture regarding cell phones was apparent in the film in many instances, with the private drama rupturing the silent public.
There were several aspects of the film that I was intrigued by and would like to discussed. One was the idea of the mirror around the character’s neck and made the connection to Keenan’s idea of blaring light – the glare from the sun blinded the camera at some points while the character was fighting. Also, I was confused by the symbolic mural that the camera focused on that depicted the man reaching for a religious figure and being pulled back by the mass of people. What was that representing? In addition, the silent public dressed in blue was really interesting to me, and I have been debating whether or not I would classify them as an active or passive audience. Perhaps they are not supposed to be either one, but just a mode in which the filmmaker makes the audience feel as though they are a part of this mass public that is actually witnessing the events – in a way, acting as Geiger and Rutsky’s “third person” to take away from the one-on-one conversation that possesses a private, superior, Hollywood quality. Also, whenever an actor would require a relayer for the conversation, as in they would ask someone to repeat a sentence to someone else even though they were standing immediately in front of them, the relayer would never repeat it. Is this the idea of the public being a missed target and the message never actually being translated? Perhaps the speaker is like the people trying to get a message out to the public, the relayer is like the TV, and the receiving end is like the public – never fully presented with the information.

From Sarajevo to Bollywood...

This past weekend, I very much enjoyed reading Keenan's commentary on the inherent vulnerability of language as a window into ourselves; I was especially intrigued, however, by his other essay discussing the power (or lack of power) contained within images, and the inaction that is therefore allowed by desensitization. The idea that simply showing a horrifying image is not enough, as the average person will simply assume that others must be doing something about it, is one that I think applies to my generation in particular. We continue to face issues every bit as significant as those behind the great protests and upheavals of the 1960s, but as a generation and as a society, we take small steps (if any) and imagine that others are picking up the slack. As just one of many examples, the response to the genocide in Sudan is reminiscent of the indifference towards Sarajevo, but for the fact that the media's coverage is so limited because the television outlets already know that the public is more interested in other matters.

On a less cynical note, I also took an interest in the concept of Third Cinema and Prof. Rosen's lecture in particular. I spent some time thinking about the last question asked in lecture about where Bollywood films fit in to film classification. Clearly, they are produced for an audience that includes the Third World, but they depict fantastical and unrealistic musical wonderlands that are a far cry from the struggles of Third Cinema. So where do they go? Pondering the idea further, I realized that Bollywood films seem, at least in India, to be the truest Third World Cinema, in the sense that they actually appeal to the citizens of the Third World in far greater numbers than actual Third Cinema films. The average Indian, from my experience, would much rather go to a Bollywood movie filmed in the United States to be transported away from their troubles than watch a serious look at the lives of the poor in the slums of New Delhi. For example, Satyajit Ray was a renowned Indian director whose films would certainly fall under the umbrella of Third Cinema, but their popularity and presence within India itself (outside of film circles) is practically nonexistent compared to the Bollywood juggernauts. I wonder if Third Cinema is more for the benefit of the First World and the filmmakers themselves than it is for the Third World audience.

Third Cinema vs. John Waters

I have been thinking about two things in particular Philip Rosen said during Wednesday’s lecture. The first is his description of the “politically charged” environment surrounding the screening of subversive films. He used the example of watching La Hora de Los Hornos in Argentina and knowing that the police could enter at any moment and arrest everyone involved. There are similar descriptions of John Waters screenings around the same time “Toward a Third Cinema” was written. Rosen commented indirectly upon such a connection when he suggested, in response to a question about punk cinema, that while both third cinema and punk cinema stood in opposition to something, third cinema opposed a political colonial or neo-colonial system, whereas punk cinema is more about self-expression and non-conformity against a far more doubtfully and ambiguously oppressive main stream culture. John Waters seems to me to fall into this second school.

The aims of third cinema and John Waters are of course different, but the means employed to achieve them are almost exactly the same. Herein lies the curiosity of third cinema as a political movement. Solanas and Getino write on page 59, “THIRD CINEMA IS, IN OUR OPINION, THE CINEMA THAT RECOGNIZES IN THAT STRUGGLE THE MOST GIGANTIC CULTURAL, SCIENTIFIC, AND ARTISTIC MANIFESATION OF OUR TIME, THE GREAT POSSIBILITY OF CONSTRUCTING A LIBERATED PERSONALITY WITH EACH PEOPLE AS THE STARTING POINT—IN A WORD, THE DECOLONIZATION OF CULTURE.” And if all they are after is expressing a personality free of censorship, then the camera seems like a logical rifle with which to struggle, as Isabel pointed out. But, they are also interested on the very same page in health care and city planning, to name two examples, and it is not at all clear to me if cinema as an effective or plausible means to struggle for concrete political change, as Keenan’s Publicity and Indifference (Sarajevo on Television) article explores. The same “limited set of presuppositions about the link between knowledge and action, between public information or opinion and response” Keenan discusses on page 106 seems to hold true for third cinema. Only unlike television which has a mass audience, the potential fear of emotional impulses dictating foreign policy does not seem to be at issue here given third cinema’s much smaller audience. Instead it is the great indifference evidenced to Keenan by Sarajevo, for one could made to feel political watching Pink Flamingoes or La Hora de Los Hornos. The latter, however, demanded more. Therefore, my question is whether or not the cinema imagined in “Towards a Third Cinema” is plausible in terms of effective political change, both in a theoretical and historical sense. Rosen touched on the issue at the end of lecture, but I am interested in specifics. Were political changes made that could be attributed to third cinema, and if not, does it matter?

“Towards a Third Cinema” is a highly dramatic piece of writing for a highly dramatic cause—a manifesto written entirely in capital letters that claims to be dealing not only with all areas of human achievement but their most “giant…manifestations” could hardly fail to be—but without political action to back it up, the distinction between third cinema and John Waters would amount to little more than rhetoric and whether or not one likes their subversion crude and rude, or with a revolutionary spin.

"With the Camera as our Rifle"

These are two photos I took this summer on London's Southbank. The images were part of the Tate Modern's "Street Art" exhibition, and were literally placed on the facade of the building facing the city. Reading Solanas and Getino's article, and in particular the section that begins "In this long war, with the camera as our rifle, we do in fact move into a guerilla activity" (72), these photos came straight to my mind. 

Of course when I saw the image itself in July I did not make this association. Today, however, it brings various relevant thoughts to the forefront of what we are studying. Firstly, what are the implications of this image being placed in such an incredibly public place? It's really quite controversial when you consider it, especially as the image intends for viewers to assume the black man is holding a gun. His aggression is clear, with his head cocked at an angle and his eyes peering at us. Again though, as the exhibition itself was titled "Street Art", what are curators implying about the street itself?

 Like Third Cinema, it seems, part of the value of this art lies in its ability to encompass various struggles. The implied struggles here are racial, domestic, political, social, and more. This image communicates to the masses an open-ended history as well as a future (Gabriel 64).  The artist is perhaps using the space to, as Solanas and Getino suggest, "reach...larger social layers" (68).  The art doesn't make viewers 'feel good' or reassure them; it's not created based on a series of aesthetic standards (well, not really). Instead, it confronts viewers and challenges norms (as far as the artistic expectations of many Tate Modern visitors go).

Barthes posits that the purpose of myth is to distort, not to hide, and that nothing is hidden in myth. According to Barthes myth purifies things and makes them innocent in order to create an eternal and natural justification. It denies nothing, but isn't the purification of an image or text a denial of the true nature of reality to begin with? Barthes seems to downplay the fact that distortion through myth is obviously a tool of purposeful misrepresentation for the promotion of a certain concept. For example, the photograph of the black french soldier saluting, although the image itself is an honest and real image, definitely intends to misrepresent and downplay certain factors or reality. The racial harmony presented in this photo under the name of France is nothing more than a clever illusion. While this particular soldier gladly served under the name of France he is merely one man. For all the viewer knows he could be the only black man so glad to serve his country. While this was obviously not the case it just goes to show that myth does attempt to hide and deny certain things. In fact the sole purpose of the photograph of the black soldier happily saluting was to deny the reality of racial turmoil in France. Barthes himself points this out. This is not to say that I believe Barthes is wrong about what myth hides and distorts, merely that he over exaggerates the honesty of myth. It is true that myth merely seeks to purify, but in this purification denial of certain things will naturally occur in this process.

Myths, Semiology, and Imagined Mass Experiences

Although the Saussure reading contained too much fascinating linguistic theory to summarize in a mere blog post, perhaps the part that interested me the most was how well it tied in to the ideas of the later Barthes reading and the prior Anderson and Benjamin readings. Barthes's idea of taking Saussure's definition of a linguistic system one step further and applying it to myth and art was intriguing, as was his juxtaposition of seemingly contradictory notions, such as the extension of Saussure's idea that the passage of time both ensures the continuation and endurance of linguistic signs and catalyzes their evolution. The second-order language described by Barthes, with its irreducible polysemy, was an interesting continuation of this concept beyond the realm of what one would normally regard as speech or language.

The ideas of reproducibility and replaceability that Barthes proposed - the fact that the black boy on the cover of the magazine could have been anyone, or the anonymity of the officers and elderly women in the images we discussed in class - also seemed to be an interesting potential link with the Benjamin reading about the consequences of mass reproducibility. With the loss of the aura of pieces of art upon their reproduction, so too went the specificity of the subjects. A similar tie-in with the Anderson article quickly became evident when Barthes dove into his explanation of the roots and reason behind myth, the transformation of history into something totally altered. The national leveraging of the standard that we discussed in class was again a perfect parallel to the imagined community sparking the nationalism discussed and analyzed by Anderson.

In the end, that was what struck me upon finishing the week's readings: how different they were in subject from Anderson's nationalism and Benjamin's reproducibility (and fascism), but how they still seemed to be natural and deeply linked extensions of those concepts. Though I had difficulty understanding the finer points of the readings, especially Mythologies, the lectures helped to clear that up, and I hope the section will clear up any lingering doubts.

Myth Form

Barthes discusses that the form of a myth is more important, to the message of a myth, than the content within the myth. 'Form, not content defines a myth', Barthes. I found this to be a very intriguing concept. The importance of form over content supports the notion that myths pertain to a specific audience. Barthes goes on to discuss the relationship between specific form and historical criticism. "The more a system is specifically defined in its forms, the more amenable it is to historical criticism."- Barthes. The more specific the form, the more suceptiable a myth is to historical criticism. However, a more specific form is advantageous to the message of a myth. Is Barthes suggesting that a myth should be cautious to avoid historical criticism? Or is historical criticism entirely negative for a myth? Myths that draw the attention of history must be powerful and bold yet appear to be innocent. They must be both a notificaton and a statment of fact. "Button holing that looks innocent." HIstorical criticism often increases the awareness of a myth and in a way perpuates the myth.

myths

Myth seems to rely heavily on its context and indeed Barthes says that “the political insignificance of the [lion] myth comes from its situation” (145).  Can myth only exist and be effective in the closed system of a group with a common history?  Barthes seems to express that mythic addresses are effective because they appeal to the collective conscious of a group.  Still, even different groups within nations might view history differently.  In relying on the abstractness of myth to naturalize a concept, doesn’t the speaker run the risk of having the myth misinterpreted?  Can that be prevented?  Furthermore, the myth would seem to take a different meaning as time passed and the understanding that a myth is in fact a myth would further change its meaning.  Professor Chung raised the question in lecture: do mythic addresses always meet their mark?   I would answer no, as it seems inevitable that individuals outside the target audience would encounter and misinterpret the myth or that as time passed the myth would take a different, unintended meaning.  Similar to Saussure’s comment that “as soon as [language] fulfils its purpose and becomes the property of the community, it is no longer under control (76), so to does the creator of a myth lose control of that myth’s meaning once it is in the public domain.  It is clearly unintended and contrary to the aim of the myth, but it is inevitable.  Myth then seems to run into the problem of having to rely on context and yet having that context ultimately allow the myth to be misinterpreted.

Politics and Media Studies

From a certain standpoint, it seems perfectly natural to link the concepts of media and politics; after all, especially in this tumultuous and frequently adversarial election season, the broadcast media has experienced an explosion of political advertisements from both candidates and third-party groups endorsing a specific viewpoint. 24-hour news networks on cable have boosted ratings with an intense political focus to their programming, and the election and related issues are represented on newspaper and magazine covers on an almost-daily basis. Even the new media has felt the effects of this sweeping tide of political awareness: on popular social networking sites such as Myspace and Facebook, Obama and McCain groups and profiles draw the attention of thousands, and videos such as Obama's acclaimed speech on race in America have soared in viewings to reach the top of the internet charts for extended periods of time. This enthusiasm has been dramatically seized upon by a classic print-broadcast media trying to remain relevant, yet also finds a natural fit in some of the advances in connectivity brought about by the advent of the Internet.

While some of this attention can be attributed to the historic nature of the 2008 election specifically, as past election cycles have shown through cases such as the John Kerry swift boat ads that arguably cost Kerry the election, in modern American society media and politics are inextricably linked. This much has become an accepted quality; Americans are accustomed to a certain dose of political rhetoric in between the fast food and soft-drink advertisements. Yet a certain realm of media culture demonstrates a much less obvious and expected link to politics, as evidenced in recent readings from the aesthetic and linguistic criticism of Walter Benjamin and Roland Barthes: the field of media studies itself. We hardly expect academic, studious work such as this to carry a political undercurrent, yet in both works the conclusions drawn are used in the formulation of a stark assertion that goes far beyond the standard realm of purely scientific discourse.

In Barthes, the spectre of politics rears its head without warning, as what began as a theoretical study of conceptual myth suddenly turns to what the author sees as a distinction between the role of myth at various points on the ideological spectrum; "Statistically," he calmly states as if still playing solely the role of the academic, "myth is on the right." This surprising tangent snowballs into a general and often biting critique of the French bourgeoisie, and the reader, caught more than a bit off guard by this unexpected diatribe, is torn between distaste at the twisting of science to political end and respect for the boldness with which he defends his convictions; any final judgment may depend entirely upon the reader's own ideological center. At once the work becomes more challenging to receive, for, while as a scientific treatise it is clearly sound and well-reasoned in its arguments towards the definition of myth, the sense of pure, objective academics is sullied by Barthes' eleventh-hour turn to his own agenda, however justified. The reader is left confused and more than a bit surprised, as if the study of anything should be a sacred realm immune to human divisions and argumentation. Yet in retrospect, the signs of Barthes' attention to politics is clear; why else choose as a key example the image of an African soldier saluting the French flag, if not to illuminate specifically the myth of French colonialism? Everything, clearly, is included for a compelling reason. These subtle clues as to an author's affiliations likely come up more frequently than we realize, yet only in light of his unapologetic critique of French society through the prism of myth can these hints be placed in their proper context.

While Benjamin's argument comes across as more purely theoretical, his ideas on art in the age of mechanical reproducibility are visibly rooted in an understanding of politics in which his own views are made clear to the reader. His assertions regarding the virtue inherent to the destruction of the artistic aura by technical reproduction succeeds on its own merits, and yet he also sees fit to credit this phenomenon as a tool to be made effective against the forces of Fascism; indeed, there is a distinct Socialist bent to his musings on the leveling he sees of the societal playing field, brought about by the elimination of the cult value of artistic work.

While these obvious political arguments within an otherwise standard academic discourse prove disconcerting in that they play against our expectations of a 'pure' theoretical narrative, they are not so surprising when one realizes that academics, like any other humans, are citizens of a society and of the world, and therefore not invulnerable to the appeal of personal conviction. It is a matter for debate whether or not it is just for these ideologies to be given voice in the context of a scientific exploration, yet one thing is clear: it is a mistake to underestimate either the humanity of the academic, or the insidious quality of politics to wriggle its way into any medium, from art to linguistic theory.

Machinima: Advent of a Word

Sassure argues that it is extremely difficult to change an established language: “The [signifier], in relation to the idea it represents, may seem freely chosen. However, from the point of view of the linguistic community, the [signifier] is imposed rather than freely chosen. Speakers are not consulted about its choice. Once the language has selected a [signifier], it cannot be freely replaced by any other….No individual is able, even if he wished, to modify in any way a choice already established in the language”. (p.71). Later, in order to explain why words do change, Sassure contradicts himself and says change is inevitable, but never really elaborates fully on why this change might occur: “A language alters, or rather evolves under the influence of all factors which may affect either sounds or meanings. Evolution is inevitable: there is no known example of a language immune from it. After a certain time, changes can always been seen to have taken place” (p.76)

The advent of new technology always leads to the creation of new words and the evolution of language. The original creation of the word is an act of will. Of course, whether or not the word is actually absorbed by the language is not something that is controllable. An interesting example that came to my mind was the linguistic history of the word “machinima”, a New Media art-form that uses video games to create animated films. This form of animation began in the 1990s when a small group of gamers began to make short films out of the popular computer game Quake. In this community, the films became known as “Quake Movies”. However, the phrase proved inadequate when these movies began to be produced in alternative game environments. At this point, two Scotsmen coined the word “machinima” as a more general term to encompass the slowly growing art form. The word itself is a portmanteau of the words “machine” and “cinema”, two different signs carrying their own signifiers and signifieds, now fused into a new sign (which contains a new signifier and signified). The fusion of two pre-existing terms is yet another example of Sassure’s concept of the inheritance of language from previous generations. The new word is a combination of fragments of the old.

Originally, only a few people used the word, but as the community grew and the art-form gained press, “machinima” established itself as the word describing this new phenomena. This process was certainly helped by the corporatization of the term by the successful video hosting site “machinima.com”. Sassure claims that “anyone who invents an artificial language retains control of it only as long as it is not in use. But as soon as it fulfils its purpose and becomes the property of a community, it is no longer under control” (p.76). The same is true for words. Once the term “machinima” took-off and expanded away from its founders, it took on new connotations and meanings (the signified). In other words, the original community lost control over the word. While it may have been fairly easy to alter the word in its infancy, when few people used it, it now became entrenched and extremely difficult to dislodge. Thus, when a group of machinima-makers later sought to replace “machinima” with the term “anymation”, they failed.

Myths

The notion of control, one’s ability to consciously act or change, is deceiving in response to the ideas of linguistics and myths. Saussure boldly claims that “the individual has no power to alter the sign” (68), yet simultaneously one is seemingly in control due to one’s physical ability to speak. Saussure states that control is limited to “individual mastery,” but once the language reaches the community, the idea of control dissipates and transforms into simply an accepted (and inevitable) “social phenomenon” (13). However, Barthes’ discussion of the “ex-nominating” (138) bourgeois makes me reconsider Saussure’s belief in our lack of control. The real question that I’m proposing is: is one’s control limited to one’s physical action of speaking? Or is it possible to have the control over a language, thereby myths… and eventually political action?
Essentially, Barthes claims that the bourgeoisie has utilized the arbitrariness and malleability of language to create myth. The “anonymity of the bourgeois” is a result of their decoding of the system: the bourgeoisie has used myth as their tool to naturalize history and make their system the accepted norm. What I am wondering is: is this a conscious occurrence? According to Saussure, we are not capable of actively changing language. Through his discussion of poetry, Saussure defines this method of writing as a conscious effort to break the limiting bounds of language – an attempt to ex-nominate through intended convolution (134). However, he concludes that this in fact, is merely a failed attempt. Although Saussure does not believe that humans have the capability of consciously changing language and myth, the bourgeois strategic power and success in this task makes me reconsider.
It is stated multiple times throughout these passages that myths develop as a result of human history and tradition. Therefore, ironically, repetition firms myths as well as invites change to occur. I am fascinated by history’s paradoxical ability to firm and mold myths, and even more intrigued by the definition of a myth as an idea defined as change created through tradition.
In lecture, the question “does political speech exist?” was raised. To answer that question, I believe that yes, political speech does exist. Barthes expresses his belief that the “speech of the oppressed is real” since the oppressed only has “that of his actions” (148). Therefore, through its pure honesty, this 1st order speech, which Barthes also describes as “monotonous,” is powerful – what I would describe to create real political speech. Barthes notes that the oppressed are “robbed” of their ability to lie, however, through this inability, the oppressed are capable of a refreshing language. There is no need to ideologize or naturalize the words chosen since they are already pure and untainted due to their sole relation to action.
This idea brings me to another question regarding Barthes’ presentation of myths. I realize that he is acknowledging their inevitability, but is he presenting myths as simply elaborated language or tainted lies? Is this ideology (that we are apparently “seeking” and that Saussure claims is being limited through signs) ideal and reachable for a communal understanding?
Barthes’ discussion about the confusion of the semiological system (131) accurately describes the media’s ability to “confuse” the public: “This confusion can be expressed otherwise: any semiological system is a system of values; now the myth-consumer takes the signification for a system of facts: myth is read as a factual system, whereas it is but a semiological system.” This idea brings me back to my previous statement regarding 1st order language – the pure language of the oppressed that simply states action. Would we be able to spread information through this form of honest, pure publication? Or is it inevitable that through the action itself of spreading information, repetition, and mass production, that all 1st order language is automatically lost and transformed into 2nd order myth?

MCM0100 - FRIDAY, 11-1150

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