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Cinema in the Digital Age
Cinema in the Digital Age
Cinema in the Digital Age
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Cinema in the Digital Age

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Does the digital era spell the death of cinema as we know it? Or is it merely heralding its rebirth? Are we witnessing the emergence of something entirely new? Cinema in the Digital Age examines the fate of cinema in this new era, paying special attention to the technologies that are reshaping film and their cultural impact. Examining Festen (1998), The Blair Witch Project (1999), Timecode (2000), Russian Ark (2002), The Ring (2002), among others, this volume explores how these films are haunted by their analogue past and suggests that their signature element are their deliberate imperfections, whether those take the form of blurry or pixilated images, shakey camera work, or other elements reminding viewers of the human hand guiding the camera. Weaving together a rich variety of sources, Cinema in the Digital Age provides a deeply humanistic look at the meaning of cinematic images in the era of digital perfection.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 7, 2012
ISBN9780231501484
Cinema in the Digital Age

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    Cinema in the Digital Age - Nicholas Rombes

    The Adorno Paradox

    [Theodor Adorno]

    In 1938, under the growing shadow of Nazism, the philosopher Theodor Adorno left Europe for the US, where he began an intense collaboration with Max Horkheimer. In his essay ‘Culture and Administration’ Adorno wrote: ‘The film, above all, because of the scope of costs which can be met only through investment, is dependent upon a type of planning analogous to that of public administration’ (1991a: 121). Writing from within an administered cultural apparatus that suppressed chance and spontaneity, Adorno recognised that the Hollywood film industry largely excluded ‘arbitrariness in favour of an objectively regulated process … But it is precisely art which gives voice to the seemingly individual and coincidental which is now to be the subject of total aesthetic prohibition’ (1991a: 122). This arbitrariness, this chance, is the revenge of reality in the face of digital coding. And yet, paradoxically, Adorno’s writing style appears highly ordered and consistent; there is almost a fatalism, a determinism that seems closed off to chance. In ‘Transparencies on Film’ he wrote that ‘the consumers are made to remain what they are: consumers. That is why the culture industry is not the art of the consumer but rather the will of those in control onto their victims’ (1991b: 185). There is a victory to those words that is both inspiring and defeating. Cinema, for Adorno, was not only a massively closed read-only system, but also the catalyst for his beautifully pessimistic writing. Without film’s closed system, there would be no need for Adorno’s assaultive writing. Hollywood cinema helped to make possible the very form of critique Adorno claimed was impossible. His writing proves the lie to the very claims it makes. It is paradoxical how completely the tables have turned: for now it is film theory which has become domesticated, safe and predictable, while digital cinema makes possible new and potentially radical ways of storytelling, and introduces interface systems that suggest a form of theory and critique. The challenge today is to write about digital cinema in ways that are as spontaneous and humanistic as cinema itself.

    Against Method

    [punk, Orson Welles]

    In 1975, the year before punk broke, the philosopher Paul Feyerabend, in Against Method, wrote about how science needs and depends upon irrationality if it is to advance. Defending how science must in fact even return to older theories before the prevailing status quo can be overturned, he noted that ‘This backward movement isn’t just an accident; it has a definite function; it is essential if we want to overtake the status quo, for it gives us the time and the freedom that are needed for developing the main view in detail’ (1988: 114). Both punk, in its 1970s incarnation, and early digital cinema, were ‘primitive’ in the sense that they rejected the very excesses that made them possible in the first place. How far is it from Feyerabend’s ‘against method’ to Dogme 95’s rejection of ‘aesthetic considerations’? Well, twenty years, and the transformation of the punk aesthetic into a subversive mistakist shadow in the clean digital code. What Feyerabend recognised in 1975 – and what shortly thereafter was confirmed by punk and then later rearticulated by the early digital avant-gardists – was that ‘mistakes’ (in the form of playing instruments badly, or noise feedback, or shaky, hand-held camera shots, or irrationality in science) were preconditions for advancement. Simon Frith, in describing early punk rock, has noted that the ‘punk vanguard turned such musical reference into artistic purpose: they queried the naturalness of musical language. Beginning with the assumption that all music is constructed, they sought to strip it down to its foundations’ (1981: 162). The return to basics – a sort of primitivism – that was punk’s early signature was also digital cinema’s early signature, especially in the first films of the Dogme 95 movement, and in The Blair Witch Project, which offered a cinematic vision that was as incoherent and hysterical and shaky as its characters. In a sense, the do-it-yourself ethos of digital cinema and desktop moviemaking was a ‘correction’ to the overblown, overbudgeted movies of the 1980s and 1990s. But digital cinema differed from the indie film movement (that is, Steven Soderbergh’s sex, lies, and videotape, the films of Jim Jarmusch and so forth) in its unmannerliness and its anti-art ethos. There is a raw ugliness to films like The Idiots or julien donkey-boy that is more akin to early punk than to the artful, well-intentioned indie movies associated with the Sundance Film Festival in the 1980s and 1990s.

    My copy of Against Method is stamped ‘From the Library of Angela & Johann Klaassen’. I have no idea who these people are, yet I hold a book that belonged to them in my hands. I read passages that they underlined. I try to decipher doodles. On the title page, someone has written, in beautiful lettering, KLAASSEN 525. Is this a numbering system, indicating # 525 in the family library? There is a sort of randomness at work that has lead to the printing of the name KLAASSEN in this book, Cinema in the Digital Age, that you are now holding in your hands. I will likely not ever correspond with or meet with them, any more than I will meet with you. And yet, here we are, together, briefly, the product of a momentary abandonment of the methods that have guided other parts of this book. And that personal touch, that almost sentimental humanism, is precisely what punk and what do-it-yourself digital cinema sought to re-establish: a personal connection achieved by stripping away the inherited artifice of generations.

    For what was the classical era of film, other than an exercise in method, of which a film like Citizen Kane is but a point-by-point example, professional and flawless despite Welles’ reputation as an unpredictable ‘outsider’? The paradox is that the entire ‘invisible editing’ aesthetic of the classical era was, in fact, an elaborate method of the most visible sort. For the self-consciousness of films like Citizen Kane and Sunset Blvd. only served to highlight the supposed invisibility of other Hollywood studio films. And, as any good cynic would correctly point out, the ‘return to basics’ of digital movements like Dogme 95 was just as much a method. But there is a crucial difference: in foregrounding and publicising their ‘method’, the Dogme 95 directors (most notably Lars von Trier and Thomas Vinterberg) effectively rendered it pointless. Near the opening of Festen (The Celebration) as Christian is walking along a country road bordered by golden wheat, he says that ‘I’m looking across the fields. At the land of my father. It’s beautiful.’ He could be talking, really, about his father’s fields, or he could be talking (in secret code, to us) about the sort of beautiful film that was a staple of the classical era, that someone of his father’s era would have made. This is a sorrowful recognition: that the degradation of the Dogme films is only possible against the beauty of the classical-era films of Welles, Douglas Sirk, William Wyler, Alfred Hitchcock and others who exploited the classical method to create surfaces so smooth they were positively disruptive, and signalled an invitation for future filmmakers. The gentle ironies of Sirk and Welles – the stylistic recognition in their films that their characters were just characters – was transformed in the Dogme films into a sort of brutal overexposure: in The Celebration and The Idiots the characters are so sincere that the only way to see them is through irony. And thus seeing them, you are

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