Activist Film Festivals: Towards a Political Subject

Edited by Sonia Tascón and Tyson Wils
Intellect Ltd., 2017
Reviewed by Liz Czach, University of Alberta

Sonia Tascón and Tyson Wils’s edited collection Activist Film Festivals: Towards a Political Subject is not the first book devoted to the intersection of activism and film festivals (Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin’s 2012 Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism can make that claim), but it does seek to expand more thoroughly, as Tascón explains, our understanding of how spectators are “enveloped” differently at film festivals that have an activist orientation. Activist Film Festivals thus turns its attention to the role of the spectator and their visual activism to engage with issues raised in such seminal texts as Luc Boltanski’s Distant Suffering and Susan Sontag’s Regarding the Pain of Others. Whereas those essays posited a particularly problematic spectatorial position in which an inequitable dynamic was evident when a powerful saviour figure viewed the suffering of a disempowered “other,” Tascón and Wils aim “to facilitate discussions that may consider other possibilities.” As a structuring principle, the editors asked the contributors to consider how “the gaze of a spectator who chooses to view images of others’ troubles may be configured differently through the context of consumption.” Of course, for Tascón and Wils’s volume, the film festival gets taken up as the privileged site of this image consumption.

The first two essays by Tascón and Davies both explore the possibilities that are opened up by post-screening discussions. Tascón draws upon Third Cinema practices that understand the need for the spectator to be involved not only in the film, but in the world beyond the film as well. Third Cinema advocated discussion and debate, facilitated by the film, as a means to organized social action. The film, as it were, was simply an intermediary step and not an end in itself. But how the politics of Third Cinema, which were largely motivated by anti-colonial liberation movements in Latin American and Africa, can be transposed to a contemporary context is undeveloped. By her own admission, Tascón writes: “What will ultimately motivate an affluent, powerful spectator of films watching others’ troubles on a screen is far more complex than this paper could cover.” How to activate the activism of contemporary film festivals is taken up by Lyell Davies in his essay “Off-Screen Activism and the Documentary Film Screening.” In keeping with Tascón, Davies argues for the importance of what happens beyond the film screening. He contends that the role of  “off-screen” events, such as workshops, organizing sessions, and roundtable discussions are as important as what happens onscreen and that these events work to disseminate political knowledge as a first step in empowering spectators towards action. While occasionally turning to specific films or festivals to illustrate their arguments, Tascón and Davies’ essays helpfully map some of the pertinent mechanisms for how activism might be ignited at a festival.

Conversely, essays by Ezra Winton and Svetla Turnin as well as Stuart Richards point to the lost opportunities of sparking political action at leading documentary film festivals and queer festivals, respectively. Winton and Turnin turn their attention to two of the largest documentary film festivals in the world: The International Documentary Festival Amsterdam (IDFA) and Sheffield Doc/Fest to examine some problematic conventions and tendencies at these mainstream festivals. For example, when relevant organizations are not invited to contribute their expertise to post-film discussions or only attend one screening—an opportunity is missed to communicate their message to a larger constituency. Despite this, Winton and Turnin remain hopeful that “festivals, including the mainstream commercial variety, find the spirit and fortitude needed to diversify the festival space and experience, and to open the space for radical action.” Stuart Richards likewise critiques the lost opportunities for a more activist agenda at queer film festivals that have been commodified and corporatized as evident in the programming of homonormative cinema. Richards offers three ways of combatting this trend: 1) politicization, 2) challenging domesticity, and 3) challenging hierarchies of identity. Also concluding on a more hopeful note, Richards believes films that challenge “homonormativity have the power to alter potentially complacent film festival audiences.”

If Tascón, in her chapter, took a cue from Third Cinema for insights into engaging audiences, Davinia Thornley turns to Fourth Cinema and the guidance it offers non-Indigenous audience members viewing Indigenous film and media. Grounding her discussion in her attendance at Toronto’s ImagineNATIVE Film + Media Arts Festival, Thornley proposes a form of audience engagement  (also elaborated upon in her 2014 book Cinema, Cross-Cultural Collaboration, and Criticism) that asks non-Indigenous viewers to “understand such a worldview from that perspective, and—ultimately—to recognize the extent to which understanding can only ever be an ongoing web of dialogue and exploration.” That is, collaborative criticism requires the non-Indigenous spectator to become comfortable with the unfamiliar and engage with Indigenous worldviews and knowledge they may not recognize. Spectators must accept the limits of their understanding, or as Thornley puts it, “not knowing.” However, she cautions, “Not knowing is never an excuse for ignorance or simplistic dismissal. Instead it requires courage and a constant reaching-out from the critic.” Thornley’s essay reiterates yet again a key theme of the volume—that an active and involved spectator is essential for any collaborative critical process to work.

One of Activist Film Festivals greatest strengths is its attention to viewing contexts outside of Europe and North America. Shweta Kishore’s essay “Reframing the Margin” discusses a fascinating series of regional film festivals in India known as the Cinema of Resistance (COR). Organized for the culturally distinct Bhojpuri-speaking region, the festivals attempt to combat the dominance of commercial Hindi cinema and promote support for local production through what Kishore, by way of Gramsci, calls a “war of position.” COR, she argues, “through forming alliances with regional actors in a bid to distribute the methods of cultural production, circulation and representation towards the construction of participatory public cultures.”  Alexandra Crosby follows up with some similar concerns in her essay on activist film festivals in Indonesia. “It’s Not Just About the Films” reaffirms the book’s central argument that what happens off-screen with the audience is of vital importance. Crosby argues that in post-new order Indonesia organizing a film festival is itself an activist act. Providing a brief overview of several film festivals in Indonesia and the surrounding area, Crosby details “networked, hybrid forms of activism, that make change as they reconfigure production and distribution.”

Additional essays address activism at human rights film festivals and disability festivals as well as the possibilities and limitations of activism at ITV (Independent Television Service) and how to build audience engagement and solidarity for Palestine at the Bristol Palestine Film Festival. Given that an “activist orientation” can be understood in innumerable ways, it is fitting that the contributors to Activist Film Festivals take up their interpretation of activism in such diverse and engaging ways.

Stories from the Margins: The Practicality and Ethics of Refugee Film Festivals

Film festivals serve a variety of purposes; as Elsaesser puts it, film festivals are simultaneously marketplaces, showcases, competitions, and an international body that frequently has an implicit or explicit political stance.[1] The largest and most prestigious film festivals such as Cannes have relinquished their historical nationalist politics in favor of more diffuse goals of “raising awareness” for a variety of issues, including refugee issues.[2] However, topical film festivals have taken their ideological places. LGBT+ film festivals, women’s film festivals, and others have proliferated – albeit of varying size and quality – as well as nation- and region-specific festivals. A particularly interesting example is the development of refugee film festivals, which showcase films about or by refugees from all over the globe.

To begin, a clarification of terminology is necessary. “Refugee” typically refers to people who have claimed asylum in a country not their own. For the purposes of this paper it will also be used to refer to displaced persons who are in the process of claiming asylum or who are displaced within their own countries, as the lived experience of such people can be very similar to the experiences of refugees as a whole, despite differences of region, language, or cause.[3] Refugee matters are managed in the international sphere by the United Nations High Council on Refugees (UNHCR). A separate organization, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA), handles the protracted issue of Palestinian refugees. Refugee film festivals partner with UNHCR, national organizations, or NGOs, as well as working independently from any other charity. No festival partners with UNRWA, although films sponsored by UNRWA have circulated in the traditional film festival circuit.[4]

Perhaps the best known, as well as one of the longest running refugee film festivals, is the UNHCR Refugee Film Festival, which began in 2006.[5] Spread across six cities in Japan, it aims to bring the stories of refugees to Japan and inspire attendees to take action. Most other refugee film festivals over the past decade have followed a similar model, aiming to communicate previously unheard stories with the hope of eventually moving audiences to do something about refugee crises – see examples such as Refugees Welcome Film Fest, FilmAid, Refugee Week Film Festival, and others.[6] Importantly, many of these festivals take place in regions that have little physical contact with any refugee population, and whose regional audiences might otherwise see refugee problems as very distant from their own lives.

Refugee film festivals occupy a unique position in the broad network of film festivals. The implication of an identity-based event such as a women’s film festival is both that female directors and producers will receive recognition denied them by a patriarchal world, and that women will be able to attend and see themselves represented accurately and honestly on screen. The same holds true for festivals that aim to amplify the cinematic voices of most marginalized groups. Many refugees, by contrast, are confined to specific places around the globe and may never actually attend the festivals intended to celebrate them, if the festival even includes films made by refugees.

Refugee film festivals tend to be open about this, claiming to raise awareness about the suffering of refugees across the globe, as well as serving a fundraising purpose. Few focus on a specific refugee crisis. Australia’s Refugee Week Film Festival, for example, states on its website that its purpose is to “inform the public about refugees”, without indicating a specific refugee population.[7] Raising awareness is valuable, but unless it is linked to meaningful action, it simply becomes a self-congratulatory circle of half-hearted liberalism. This is not to say that all, or even most, of the refugee film festivals in the developed world fall into this trap. Indeed, Tascón offers a thoughtful exploration of how film can be a catalyst for changing a privileged spectatorship of suffering into an active experience of solidarity.[8] Nonetheless, the sheer number of refugee film festivals is in sharp contrast with the number of initiatives attempting to bring films to refugees. Regardless of the effectiveness of refugee film festivals for raising awareness and funds, refugees themselves are being left out of the cultural conversation.

This paper is not an attempt to silence these existing festivals or claim that they should not exist; rather, it is a study of whose voices are not being heard. I am less concerned with criticizing the failings of these well-intentioned institutions, and more interested in exploring where film festivals have succeeded in reaching the people they are celebrating. Answering this question requires taking a broader look at what constitutes a “film festival”. In order to understand film festivals as they occur in refugee camps, it is essential to move beyond a Eurocentric, or indeed a nation-centric, perspective. Films made by refugees are made from a transnational or “accented” perspective, and the content often aligns with the terminology of transnational or accented cinema more broadly.[9] The theoretical underpinnings of studying transnational films may well apply to studying refugee film festivals as transnational events, with all the messiness and conflict that entails.

This messiness extends to defining film festivals. Whereas traditional film festivals take place in designated venues, with pomp and circumstance, film festivals for refugees can be ramshackle constructions of inflatable screens and a single MC. Nonetheless, they are festivals in that they bring together multiple curated films for a public audience in a public sphere. Additionally, while many major film festivals title themselves by their location, refugee film festivals place the emphasis on the lack of location inherent in the refugee experience. An effective refugee film festival cannot have a permanent physical home because it aims to serve people who are living in a temporary status of displacement.

Furthermore, the external standards of what constitutes a “good” film festival cannot apply. Organization, glamor, and prestige are less essential than empowering the audience and fostering a cinematic dialogue, and to that end a successful film festival by and for refugees may be difficult to recognize from a traditional standpoint. Regional stars may have a place, as a symbol of the outside world standing in solidarity with the refugee population, but glamorous and exclusive events only serve to exclude the already-marginalized. What a well-intentioned outsider may consider to be a recognizable star – or, for that matter, a good film – may carry little meaning among audiences.

Along those lines, discussing a “circuit” of refugee film festivals is more or less meaningless. The most effective ways of reaching a transitory population are often themselves transitory, and the films may travel with the festival, such as in the case of Solar Cinema. Furthermore, as refugee camps may appear and disappear in a matter of months or years, pinning down any place as a “node” within a system of similar places that support festivals is a challenging task. Nonetheless, surrounded as such projects are by a crowd of supporters, activists, artists, and spectators, they are hardly isolated. The FiSahara festival has managed to stake its claim in the international human rights film festival circuit, but that special case is predicated on the semi-permanent nature of the camp. Because semi-permanent refugee camps are not desirable for either refugees or the country in which they reside, entry into the film festival circuit as it is traditionally conceptualized should not necessarily be desirable for refugee film festivals either.

In this paper, I will explore three examples, selected for the diversity both of their approaches and of their respective levels of funding and prestige. The first, Solar World Cinema, deals with refugees through an offshoot program serving people displaced by the 2015 earthquake in Nepal. Its mobile model is valuable for reaching transient and displaced populations. The next, Secret Cinema’s screening in the Calais camp, was a one-time event that aimed to raise awareness as well as alleviating suffering in a temporary and overcrowded camp. The final example is the most recognizable as a film festival; FiSahara, in the Sahrawi refugee camps of Algeria, has established itself on the global human rights film festival circuit in part due to the protracted nature of the Sahrawi refugee crisis. Taken together, these examples span a variety of regions – Asia, Europe, Africa – and meet a wide variety of needs through innovative practical strategies. Nonetheless, they have ethical and theoretical themes in common.

The mission of Solar World Cinema is, according to their website, to “democratize the access to cinema”, bringing “unseen films to unusual places”.[10] Solar Cinema does not specifically target refugees, instead partnering with local organizations to reach all kinds of remote populations that may not have access to cinema. However, their model is perhaps the most effective for reaching transitory and remote refugee populations. Vans equipped with solar panels tour regions as varied as Kosovo, Croatia, and the southwestern United States, unfolding or inflating a screen after dark and projecting films in locations from beaches to village squares. These cinemas are self-contained, sustainable, and able to project 10 hours on a single charge. They can project DVD, Blue-Ray, and video files through the systems, making exhibition easy and accessible.

Solar World Cinema has an explicitly human rights and environmental justice focus, so their regularly curated program aims to communicate environmental issues without being patronizing or moralizing. With the legacy of informative travelling cinema, especially in developing regions, it is essential to be critical of programmed content, but the practical model itself is undeniably an effective one. The selected program travels with each van and changes on a yearly basis. On occasion, when Solar Cinema partners with a particular festival, they put out a specific call for films around themes appropriate to the festival. Furthermore, satellite cinemas utilizing a similar model have sprung up. EcoCinema, located in Uruguay and Mexico, began as a Solar Cinema program and has since begun operating independently. FilmAid also runs a similar program, but distinguishes it from its associated film festival.[11] However, the one that is of particular interest for a refugee context is located in Nepal.

Unlike larger Solar World Cinema circuits, Solar Cinema Nepal actively curates films that deal with local issues. It was founded in 2012 and took on a new role after the 2015 earthquake that displaced approximately 2.6 million people within Nepal.[12] Solar Cinema Nepal aims to show films made by Nepali filmmakers in Nepalese villages, often focusing on practical and emotional ways to recover from the trauma of environmental catastrophe and resulting displacement. In addition, it collaborates with villages to create new films with similar themes. This strategy is akin to the model of “from, by, for” proposed by the Nigeria Slum Film Festival.[13] The festival takes on a fundamentally local flavor, communicating technical knowledge as well as emotional solidarity. These films can then be released online through digital platforms such as YouTube and Facebook, raising awareness in the global community.[14] This combination of local production and initial exhibition with global release in the digital sphere makes it an effective yet flexible model to apply to refugee crises in remote areas. However, in more established and accessible camps, such transportability and transience is no longer necessary.

In 2015, the well-known Secret Cinema group hosted a screening at the refugee camps in Calais as well as in partner cinemas around the world. The Calais refugee camp, or the Calais Jungle as it was informally known due to its poverty and hopelessness, was at its peak home to approximately 6,000 refugees from Iraq, Iran, and Syria, primarily young men.[15] Its poverty was a stark contrast to the surrounding affluence of the region, turning it into a cornerstone of refugee discourse in Europe. Secret Cinema’s goal was to simultaneously improve the quality of life for the refugees in Calais, raise funds for the Refugee Council, and be a pro-refugee voice in the broader discourses of asylum and human rights. Along those lines, the screening was framed as a protest; the website opens with a quote from Bob Dylan and invites attendees and supporters to use the hashtag #secretprotest to discuss the event. The film shown to the refugees was different from the film shown to the more privileged supporters of Secret Cinema; the “secret” film was Turtles Can Fly [2005, dir. Bahman Ghobadi], a drama about refugee experience, while the camp screened Dilwale Dulhania Le Jeyenge [1995, dir. Aditya Chopra], a popular Bollywood romance.

Secret Cinema is a well-established cinematic institution known for its unique and experiential style, which allowed it to garner support easily. Like the political moments that continue to stem from the official film festival circuit, program founder Fabien Riggal used his existing platform to bring attention to refugee crises. The program provided a kit for anyone interested in showing Turtles Can Fly in conjunction with the Secret Cinema event, resulting in simultaneous screenings in 20 countries around the world.[16] It is unclear how much the event raised financially.

In the camps, the reaction to the film was positive. An estimated 1,000 of the 3,000-4,000 refugees living in the Calais Jungle camp at the time attended the screening, which was publicized through Arabic- and Pashto-language flyers, word of mouth, and the simple curiosity caused by the process of setting up the inflatable screen. As the screen inflated, organizers began to play music to draw attention, and a Nigerian MC living in London named Afrikan Boy introduced the screening.[17] The result was a convivial, festival-like atmosphere as Riggal introduced the three-hour film.

In contrast to the “from, by, for” model proposed by the Slum festival in Nigeria, Dilwale Dulhania Le Jeyenge has no substantive ties to the camp at all and was specifically selected to be so.[18] Hindi-language films with Arabic subtitles are popular across much of the Middle East, and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jeyenge is one of the most popular Bollywood films of all time. The film was therefore chosen to be universally enjoyable while simultaneously not directly from one of the numerous cultures represented in the Calais camp.

This choice illustrates a critical challenge with programming film festivals for refugee camps with populations from multiple cultures. Short of the model of Solar Cinema Nepal, where films are made by other refugees, it can be very challenging to create a high-quality program that will still be genuinely enjoyable for an audience that may have very different tastes. Furthermore, if a film from one group is picked, the others may feel excluded. An outside programmer must work with people within the refugee camp to understand the tastes of the camp and the politics of its residents, as Secret Cinema did. When the refugee population is united by a common language or culture, this process is expediated, but still necessary.

However, the success of the Dilwale Dulhania Le Jeyenge screening points to the universality of cinema as a cultural unifier, as well as their propensity to temporarily relieve suffering. Fabien Riggal describes Secret Cinema’s mission succinctly: “as a cultural organization, we should react to this.”[19] There is no doubt that this reaction, while different from that of Solar Cinema Nepal, is valuable. Even though the film itself has no ties to the refugees, their opinions and tastes were considered when selecting the film, and the result was a success.

Less successful, however, was the lack of continuation. The Calais camp was razed a year after the Secret Cinema screening, but an estimated seven hundred refugees remain, now without even the marginal support provided by the camp. Furthermore, refugees continue to enter Europe; over a hundred thousand refugees and migrants entered Europe in the first half of 2017 alone. The problems that Secret Cinema aimed to address have not gone away, even as media attention has moved on. This is in part a result of the brand cultivated by Secret Cinema. Its episodic format lends itself well to screenings in different areas, but its brand also prioritizes the uniqueness of each screening experience. At some point, the choice was made to not continue the program, and nothing has come to fill its place.

A more enduring model is found in the FiSahara festival. Located in a semi-permanent refugee camp, it has a consistent location and reoccurs year after year. Also known as the Sahara International Film Festival, it takes place in the Sahrawi refugee camps in Algeria, which have been in existence for over forty years.[20] Formed as a result of the Western Sahara War, the exact numbers of refugees and the amount of aid they receive is deeply politicized, but estimates indicate nearly a hundred thousand refugees live in the region.[21] This situation is anything but desirable; many of the people living in these camps were born there and have neither integrated into Algerian society nor returned home. It is also not unique – nearly twelve million people worldwide live in protracted refugee situations, including 5.2 million refugees from Palestine alone. Such situations warrant a different approach in terms of festival organization and programming.

Unlike the mobility of Solar Cinema and the short-term scope of Secret Cinema, FiSahara has both a consistent location and a consistent place in the calendar year, earning it a spot on the human rights film festival circuit.[22] This more traditional methodology has been discussed at length elsewhere, and I will not delve into it here.[23] However, there are elements of the FiSahara program that are worth discussing in this context.

In response to the extreme poverty and the forgotten nature of the crisis, the FiSahara festival started in 2003 with the goal of empowering the Sahrawi people through film. In 2011 it made that goal explicit by starting a permanent, year-round associated film school. Young Sahrawi refugees are making what FiSahara claims are the first uniquely Sahrawi films, which are then shown within the community as well as at the official festival.[24] The result is that Sahrawi refugees have possibly the best access to their own films of any refugee population in the world.

The school is year-round and offers two-year-long programs for its 18-25 year old students. It provides them with film and television education from a technical and artistic point of view.[25](1) It intends to preserve and share Sahrawi culture through film production, not just film exhibition and distribution. This is similar, albeit in a more formal context, to the work of Solar Cinema Nepal, which also encourages film production. However, unlike Solar Cinema Nepal, the FiSahara Film School offers stable, long-term classes in a single location with the possibility of further employment afterwards. This is at least partially due to the greater logistical opportunities afforded by FiSahara’s global reach and established location and offers meaningful economic as well as cultural impact.

Of these three examples of strategies to bring cinema to refugee populations, several logistical issues emerge. The location and probable permanence of the camps must be considered. A new and hopefully temporary camp like the Calais camp is more suited to one-time festivals or mobile festivals that can follow refugees if they need to move. Remote camps may require mobile solutions. In such a situation, showing films produced by the refugees can be logistically impossible, although week-long workshops could potentially produce valuable short films for exhibition in the camp and abroad, as demonstrated by Solar Cinema Nepal.

However, as Secret Cinema demonstrated, an outside programmer can still make conscious choices about the kind of cinema that will appeal in the specific situation, and engage in dialogue with members of the camp to help inform that decision. Such programming may be less innovative than the programming shown at a refugee film festival in an urban, privileged context, and it may be less relatable than content created by refugees, but it is still valuable to its audience. Choosing appropriate films requires a reorienting of taste – moving away from the privileging of art cinema within traditional film festival circuits.[26] A more cynical view would refer to this as catering to the lowest common denominator, but I believe a more positive reading is possible. It is enough for cinema to be a simply enjoyable experience. Furthermore, a wide variety of people, sometimes with nothing else in common, can enjoy the same film. In the context of refugee camps, which are often made up of people fleeing ethnic conflict, this simple joy can be undervalued but incredibly meaningful.

These kinds of positive experiences can be challenging to implement. A benefit of applying the Solar Cinema model to refugee film festivals is that it allows for the unpredictability of refugee situations. Refugee camps may vanish within a short period of time, or alternatively, may remain far longer than anticipated. A mobile cinema allows for continuous, flexible programming in a way that a one-off event like Secret Cinema does not. However, Secret Cinema has the advantage of a global following of dedicated fans; this external support is an essential piece of creating a sustainable program.

Beyond the concerns of program sustainability, these temporary refugee camps also draw significant resources from the surrounding community and can leave substantial traces upon the land. Any initiative within these camps should therefore try to be environmentally sustainable. Both Solar Cinema and Secret Cinema used inflatable screens that are easily constructed and removed. In areas where electricity can be minimal or non-existent, the Solar Cinema model becomes appealing. Powered simply by a van and a solar panel, these cinemas can provide festivals all over the world, going where the need is greatest without being a drag on already overstrained resources.

These resources are drained in part because many refugee situations take years to resolve. When refugee camps take on a semi-permanent status, it becomes easy to forget them. Part of bringing cinema to such situations is committing to a long-term, sustainable program such as FiSahara. These programs should be able to provide more for their audiences than just simple amusement; both FiSahara and Solar Cinema Nepal have associated film schools and provide a space for cinematic conversation within the community. FiSahara is able to have a more long-term program in part due to its consistent location, but the concept remains the same. Giving an authentic voice to protracted refugee situations helps keep them in the forefront of public consciousness and increases the likelihood that their situation will reach a resolution.

One technique for giving a voice to such situations is through film education. Film schools associated with festivals more broadly are not unheard of; festivals as prestigious as the Berlinale have associated production programs.[27] However, in a refugee context there can be both enthusiasm for the unique stories that can be told and a reasonable concern that organizers will stifle students’ creativity through a desire to encourage more “authentic” film, promoting autobiographical narratives over more imaginative ones. Ultimately, refugees are so silenced otherwise that a concern of stifled creativity cannot be said to be the most severe one. Such schools must, nonetheless, make a conscious commitment to keep production education both rigorous and liberating.

A further aspect worth discussing is that of curation. It goes without saying that members of the camp should help curate the festival, but each example discussed here has a different purpose to their curation. Secret Cinema wanted to create a happy experience for refugees while simultaneously raising awareness of their situation, hence their choice to show a different film in the camp than at sister screenings. By contrast, Solar Cinema Nepal envisions film as an educational tool for and by struggling villages. Neither of these aspects are necessarily less legitimate than the other; they simply fill different needs.

As mentioned earlier, curation of this sort requires stepping back from preconceived notions of what makes a “good” film. Not all films chosen to bring pleasure to stressed, overwhelmed refugees are going to be cinematic masterpieces – a label already often informed by colonialist and imperialist impulses. Furthermore, many films made by inexperienced filmmakers, such as the films produced by Solar Cinema Nepal, will have technical errors. Nonetheless, if they communicate something meaningful to their audiences, even just a simple message of hope and solidarity, they have succeeded.

Beyond practical aspects of production, exhibition, and curation, there is the larger issue of associated culture that comes with these kinds of festivals. Every festival cultivates some kind of brand around itself, from the glamour associated with the Cannes Film Festival to the counter-cultural image cultivated by festivals such as the Radical Film Network in Glasgow.[28] However, unlike such traditional festivals and like the refugees they serve, refugee festivals have no national allegiance. Instead, they moor themselves to either a distribution method (Secret Cinema, Solar Cinema) or to a region, rather than a country (FiSahara). Historically, more traditional film festivals have been a kind of national cultural export, inviting cosmopolitan international attendees to partake of a specific country’s cultural riches. These refugee film festivals, by contrast, attempt to provide comfort and solidarity to displaced peoples whose national affiliations have been violently taken from them. These examples still export culture; all of the festivals mentioned here invite external participation. However, the export is no longer tied to a specific nation-state, instead entering into dialogue with the home state, the host state, and the refugee experience.[29]

Furthermore, of the three examples discussed here, only one – FiSahara – fits in with the broader image of what kind of culture a festival “should” export. Secret Cinema is more of a distribution company than a festival coordinator, although they have been included in this paper due to their screening for refugees, and Solar Cinema is too physically and temporally unmoored to seem like a traditional festival. However, these are the most practical ways to reach millions of potential audience members, and in other ways – a curated selection of films shown for a large audience in a specific location – they are very much like festivals.

Exploring these kinds of initiatives from a theoretical perspective, therefore, requires either expanding the current definition of festival or creating an entirely new category for them. Certainly, a new category is possible – FilmAid adopts just such a split model[30] – but that excludes festivals that have the same goal and criteria but a more formal approach, such as FiSahara. Furthermore, other initiatives with the same goals may come to appear more like a traditional festival, drawing the boundaries of such a category into question. Therefore, I believe it is more efficient and effective to expand the category of “film festival” by including these transnational organizations under that large and respected label.

Furthermore, this act of inclusion lends these programs the precise kind of legitimacy that was discussed earlier. If the film community at large is willing to accept such initiatives as film festivals, they have passed a significant hurdle in the construction of their image, however unconventional. This theoretical extension therefore has very real practical benefits. Admittedly, such a labeling may be met with resistance, but it is worth the effort both to support these festivals and to welcome other creative offshoots of the traditional festival label.

However, if initiatives bringing films to refugees are labeled festivals, ethical concerns about power and privilege arise. While Secret Cinema undoubtedly created an enjoyable experience for refugees in the Calais camp, they also promoted their own brand. On the other hand, they also reached audiences that might not have attended a traditional refugee film festival. This kind of “do-good” advertising provokes a complex response. Promoting a for-profit company through service work is undeniably better than using the money to run a traditional ad campaign, but it still benefits a corporation first and foremost, and creates a risk that the company will exploit those it claims to serve. Refugees have very little social and economic capital, which makes it near impossible for them to defend themselves against such exploitation. By contrast, industry professionals and the overlapping consumer sphere have relatively significant socioeconomic power. Similar to the power imbalance possible when making films about refugees, creating cultural spaces for refugees can result in a kind of exploitative imperialism.[31]

The organizers, funders, and visitors of such festivals must therefore be aware of what constitutes exploitation and who is participating in such behaviors. The first aspect is consent; refugees must want a festival to take place and the festival should be organized to consume as few resources as possible. Additionally, refugees must be incorporated into all levels of the decision-making process, especially programming and advertising. Part of this is due to the diversity of refugee populations; there can be no one-size-fits-all model, especially in camps like the Calais Jungle where the residents are from a variety of linguistic, national, and cultural backgrounds. The other part is to allow refugees to have agency over a part of their lives, a valuable source of dignity amongst the instability and loss of control that characterizes many refugee experiences.

A further ethical consideration is that of publicity. Many refugees are uncomfortable with being filmed or photographed, or simply have been preyed upon by too many hungry media outlets.[32] On the other hand, funding does not magically materialize, and some kind of outside promotion is necessary for continuing funding. Secret Cinema’s model of simultaneous screenings is a helpful tool here; an event, united by a mission if not by physical space, that both raises awareness and relieves suffering. It is hardly the only model; another would be screening the films made by the community to wider audiences, like Solar Cinema Nepal. Additionally, festivals like FiSahara that adopt more traditional non-profit advertising methods excel when they make special efforts to adopt practices of cultural sensitivity and informed consent.

The number of refugee film festivals in the “developed” world indicates a very real passion to do something to relieve the suffering of refugee populations through cinema. This passion is incredibly valuable, but in its current incarnation cultural resources are kept within a relatively privileged sphere, rarely interacting with the people who most need them. Where these cultural resources result in broadening understanding and enacting social change, they are well-applied, but some of this passion must also be directed towards those directly experiencing refugee trauma. This paper has illustrated some of the strategies in place to do so, from inflatable screens and solar-powered vans to established film festivals and film schools. These examples open up interesting theoretical directions as well, potentially changing and broadening conceptions of film festivals.

A cynic would question if films even matter to people fleeing horrific circumstances and often struggling to meet their day-to-day needs. It goes without saying that film festivals are not the first line of humanitarian relief in a crisis, but they can be a welcome respite from a difficult and heartbreaking life. Assuming that refugees will not appreciate cinema veers dangerously close to colonialist ideas of the uncivilized “other”. Refugees come from all kinds of backgrounds and social classes, and there is no universal experience of displacement. (2) Additionally, the same could be said about any marginalized group that has communicated their plight and eased their suffering through the power of stories, and the only possible response to such a cynical view is the observed one; films do matter. In the words of an unnamed attendee of the Secret Cinema event, “we are happy because we sing, we dance, and we saw a long film”.[33]

Beyond the simple love of story, refugee film festivals stand to benefit a variety of refugee populations in a host of ways. Refugees hoping to settle in their current country of residence may welcome a chance to learn more about their new country, and their peers who wish to return may still find such cultural exchange interesting and valuable. Groups like the Sahrawi who feel abandoned by the outside world may see film and the associated trappings as a sign that they are not forgotten. Refugees who feel voiceless can see their own struggles played out in a cinematic context; depending on the resources available, they can start to tell their own stories. Healing from the trauma of displacement takes more than meeting physical needs; it takes cultural and emotional support, and film can be a starting place for this process.

The examples selected for this essay demonstrate a wide variety of techniques, goals, and levels of prestige. FiSahara resembles a traditional film festival in many ways, while Solar Cinema has neither a fixed location nor a fixed date. Secret Cinema prioritizes a cinematic event, while FiSahara and Solar Cinema Nepal have both moved into production as well as exhibition. Screens can be assembled solely for the purpose of showing a film, take the form of semi-permanent installations, or be entirely mobile and self-sustaining. Programming varies from the entertaining to the educational, and can be produced by members of the camp or by a completely different national cinema. This diversity calls into question ideas of curation, quality, and what constitutes a “film festival”. However, each festival carries the same underlying message; that films matter, and that bringing films to everyone is a worthwhile task that will benefit the global community. Despite all other differences, lovers of film can agree on that.

Notes

  • Original text: “Con la idea de formar y dar opciones de empleo a los jóvenes saharauis; esta escuela servirá para preservar y difundir el patrimonio cultural saharaui, el castellano como segunda lengua y la participación en festivales de cine en los campamentos y en el extranjero.”
  • Special thanks, here and throughout the piece, to Colorado College Refugee Alliance and Lutheran Family Services for providing training to interested parties on refugee resettlement and appropriate conduct.

 

[1] Thomas Elsaesser, “Film Festival Networks,” European Cinema: Face to Face with Hollywood, University of Amsterdam Press, Amsterdam, 2005, 88.

[2] For an example, see Cannes’ all day event in 2016 which highlighted refugee voices in film. Sydney Levine, “Refugee Voices in Film: An All Day Event at 2016 Cannes Film Festival,” IndieWire, 5 May 2016, http://www.indiewire.com/2016/05/refugee-voices-in-film-an-all-day-event-at-2016-cannes-film-festival-287898/.

[3] “What Is a Refugee? Definition and Meaning | USA for UNHCR,” USA for UNHCR, https://www.unrefugees.org/refugee-facts/what-is-a-refugee/.

[4] An example is The Road to Silverstone. “UNRWA Film Receives Prize in International Festival,” UNRWA, June 13, 2013, https://www.unrwa.org/newsroom/press-releases/unrwa-film-receives-prize-international-festival.

[5] “About the UNHCR Refugee Film Festival,” UNHCR Refugee Film Festival, 2017, http://unhcr.refugeefilm.org/2017/en/about/overview/.

[6] “Refugees Welcome Film Fest,” FilmFreeway, 2017, https://filmfreeway.com/RefugeesWelcomeFilmFest; “Community Outreach,” FilmAid, https://www.filmaid.org/community-outreach/; “Refugee Film Festival,” Refugee Week, https://www.refugeeweek.org.au/refugee-film-festival/.

[7] “Refugee Week Film Festival,” https://www.refugeeweek.org.au/about/overview/

[8] Sonia M. Tascón, Human rights film festivals: activism in context, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015.

[9] Hamid Naficy, An accented cinema: exilic and diasporic filmmaking, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001.

[10] “Our Mission,” Solar World Cinema, http://www.solarcinema.org/over/.

[11] FilmAid, https://www.filmaid.org/community-outreach/.

[12] Marita Swain, “IDMC » Nepal: One Year after the Earthquakes, an End to Displacement Is Still Years Away,” IDMC » Bosnia and Herzegovina: Internal Displacement in Brief, April 25, 2016, http://www.internal-displacement.org/library/expert-opinion/2016/nepal-one-year-after-the-earthquake-an-end-to-displacement-is-still-years-away/.

[13] Lindiwe Dovey, Joshua McNamara, and Federico Olivieri, “’From, by, for’— Nairobi’s slum film festival, film festival studies, and the practices of development,” JUMP CUT: A Review of Contemporary Media. 2013, http://ejumpcut.org/archive/jc55.2013/DoveySFFNairobi/index.html.

[14] “Solar Cinema Nepal,” YouTube, https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnwW9N_uBcp1MOIOmPRqkuQ.

[15] Amelia Gentleman, “The Horror of the Calais Refugee Camp: ‘We Feel like We Are Dying Slowly’,” The Guardian, November 03, 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/nov/03/refugees-horror-calais-jungle-refugee-camp-feel-like-dying-slowly.

[16] “Secret Cinema Hosts Calais Camp Film Screening,” Reuters, September 13, 2015, https://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-europe-migrants-secretcinema/secret-cinema-hosts-calais-camp-film-screening-idUKKCN0RD0UO20150913.

[17] Dougal Wilson, “Dougal Wilson Reports on Secret Cinema’s ‘Secret Protest’ at the Calais Jungle Camp,” Creative Review, 19 September 2015, https://www.creativereview.co.uk/dougal-wilson-reports-on-secret-cinemas-secret-protest-at-the-calais-jungle-camp/?mm_5ab0f075eaa7a=5ab0f075eab29.

[18] Sabine Schwab, “Secret Cinema Held a Pop-up Film Screening #LoveRefugees,” International Business Times UK, September 14, 2015, https://www.ibtimes.co.uk/calais-migrant-crisis-secret-cinema-hosts-film-screening-refugee-camp-1519645.

[19] David Pollock, “Secret Cinema in Calais: ‘We Can Offer a Break from the Constant Reality of Living in Tents’,” The Guardian, September 11, 2015, https://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/sep/11/secret-cinema-in-calais-jungle-fabien-riggal-secretprotest.

[20] Zohra Bensemra, “Sahrawi Refugee Camps in Algeria’s Arid South,” Reuters, March 04, 2016, https://www.reuters.com/article/us-algeria-sahara/sahrawi-refugee-camps-in-algerias-arid-south-idUSKCN0W626J.

[21] “World Refugee Survey 2009: Algeria,” US Committee for Refugees and Immigrants, 2009, archived 2013, https://web.archive.org/web/20130604153201/http://www.refugees.org/resources/refugee-warehousing/archived-world-refugee-surveys/2009-wrs-country-updates/algeria.html.

[22] “Members A – Z,” Human Rights Film Festival Network, April 2, 2018, http://www.humanrightsfilmnetwork.org/membersAZ.

[23] Dina Iordanova and Ragan Rhyne, eds. The Festival Circuit, Vol. 1, St. Andrews, Scotland: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2009.

[24] “Film School,” Fisahara, http://fisahara.es/escuela-audiovisual/?lang=en.

[25] “Objetivos,” Escuela De Cine Del Sahara, http://www.escueladecinedelsahara.org/?page_id=36.

[26] Mark Betz, “Beyond Europe: On Parametric Transcendence,” In Global Art Cinema: New Theories and Histories, 31, New York, NY: OUP USA, 2010.

[27] “Berlinale Residency,” Professionals, https://www.berlinale.de/en/branche/berlinale_residency/berlinale_residency_1.html.

[28] Steve, N. N. “Radical Film Network,” Radical Film Network, 17 June 2016, https://radicalfilmnetwork.com/.

[29] Naficy, An Accented Cinema, 2001.

[30] FilmAid, https://www.filmaid.org/community-outreach/.

[31] Kate Nash, “Exploring power and trust in documentary: A study of Tom Zubrycki’s Molly and Mobarak,” Studies in Documentary Film, 4:1: (2007), 21-33.

[32] Wilson, Creative Review, 2015.

[33] “Secret Cinema Hosts Calais Camp Film Screening,” https://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-europe-migrants-secretcinema/secret-cinema-hosts-calais-camp-film-screening-idUKKCN0RD0UO20150913.

Notes on Contributor

Sarah is a postgraduate student at the University of St. Andrews with an interest in
film made by and for marginalized groups, especially along lines of race, gender, and sexuality.
She approaches films not just as stand-alone artistic endeavors but also as part of a broader dialogue of representation and dignity. This paper is informed by her service work advocating for the rights and dignity of refugees in her community. She received her bachelor’s degree from Colorado College, cum laude, and is a member of the Phi Beta Kappa Honor Society.

Bibliography

“About the UNHCR Refugee Film Festival.” UNHCR Refugee Film Festival. 2017. http://unhcr.refugeefilm.org/2017/en/about/overview/

Bensemra, Zohra. “Sahrawi Refugee Camps in Algeria’s Arid South.” Reuters. March 04, 2016. https://www.reuters.com/article/us-algeria-sahara/sahrawi-refugee-camps-in-algerias-arid-south-idUSKCN0W626J.

“Berlinale Residency.” Professionals. https://www.berlinale.de/en/branche/berlinale_residency/berlinale_residency_1.html.

Betz, Mark. “Beyond Europe: On Parametric Transcendence.” In Global Art Cinema: New Theories and Histories, 31-48. New York, NY: OUP USA, 2010.

“Community Outreach.” FilmAid. https://www.filmaid.org/community-outreach/.

de Valck, M. “Film festivals and migration.” The Encyclopedia of Human Migration, 3: 2013. DOI: 10.1002/9781444351071.wbeghm234

Dovey, Lindiwe, Joshua McNamara, and Federico Olivieri. “’From, by, for’— Nairobi’s slum film festival, film festival studies, and the practices of development.” JUMP CUT: A Review of Contemporary Media. 2013. http://ejumpcut.org/archive/jc55.2013/DoveySFFNairobi/index.html.

“Film School.” Fisahara. http://fisahara.es/escuela-audiovisual/?lang=en.

Gentleman, Amelia. “The Horror of the Calais Refugee Camp: ‘We Feel like We Are Dying Slowly’.” The Guardian. November 03, 2015. Accessed May 06, 2018. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/nov/03/refugees-horror-calais-jungle-refugee-camp-feel-like-dying-slowly.

Kim, So-Young. “’Cine-mania’ or cinephilia, film festival and identity question,” in New Korean Cinema, ed. Chi-Yun Shin and Julian Stringer. Edinburgh University Press, 2005.

Iordanova, Dina, and Leshu Torchin. “Film Festivals and Activism.” Film Festival Yearbook, 4. St. Andrews University Press, 2012.

Iordanova, Dina, and Ragan Rhyne, eds. The Festival Circuit. Vol. 1. St. Andrews, Scotland: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2009

Levine, Sydney. “Refugee Voices in Film: An All Day Event at 2016 Cannes Film Festival.” IndieWire. May 05, 2016. http://www.indiewire.com/2016/05/refugee-voices-in-film-an-all-day-event-at-2016-cannes-film-festival-287898/.

“Members A – Z.” Human Rights Film Festival Network. April 2, 2018. http://www.humanrightsfilmnetwork.org/membersAZ.

Naficy, Hamid. An accented cinema: exilic and diasporic filmmaking. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2001.

  1. N., Steve. “Radical Film Network.” Radical Film Network. June 17, 2016. https://radicalfilmnetwork.com/.

“Objetivos.” Escuela De Cine Del Sahara. http://www.escueladecinedelsahara.org/?page_id=36.

“Our Mission.” Solar World Cinema. http://www.solarcinema.org/over/.

Pollock, David. “Secret Cinema in Calais: ‘We Can Offer a Break from the Constant Reality of Living in Tents’.” The Guardian. September 11, 2015. https://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/sep/11/secret-cinema-in-calais-jungle-fabien-riggal-secretprotest.

Prime, Rebecca. “Stranger Than Fiction: Generic Hybridity in the “Refugee Film”.” Academia.edu. http://www.academia.edu/20297170/Stranger_Than_Fiction_Generic_Hybridity_in_the_Refugee_Film_.

“Refugee Film Festival.” Refugee Week. https://www.refugeeweek.org.au/refugee-film-festival/.

“Refugees Welcome Film Fest.” FilmFreeway. 2017. https://filmfreeway.com/RefugeesWelcomeFilmFest.

Ruoff, Jeffrey. Coming to a festival near you: Programming Film Festivals. St. Andrews: Dina Iordanova, 2012.

Schwab, Sabine. “Secret Cinema Held a Pop-up Film Screening #LoveRefugees.” International Business Times UK. September 14, 2015. https://www.ibtimes.co.uk/calais-migrant-crisis-secret-cinema-hosts-film-screening-refugee-camp-1519645.

“Secret Cinema Hosts Calais Camp Film Screening.” Reuters. September 13, 2015. https://uk.reuters.com/article/uk-europe-migrants-secretcinema/secret-cinema-hosts-calais-camp-film-screening-idUKKCN0RD0UO20150913.

“Solar Cinema Nepal.” YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCnwW9N_uBcp1MOIOmPRqkuQ.

Swain, Marita. “IDMC » Nepal: One Year after the Earthquakes, an End to Displacement Is Still Years Away.” IDMC » Bosnia and Herzegovina: Internal Displacement in Brief. April 25, 2016. Accessed May 06, 2018. http://www.internal-displacement.org/library/expert-opinion/2016/nepal-one-year-after-the-earthquake-an-end-to-displacement-is-still-years-away/.

Tascón, Sonia M. Human rights film festivals: activism in context. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015.

Tziomakis, Yannis, and Claire Molloy. The Routledge Companion to Cinema and Politics. Oxon: Routledge, 2016.

“UNRWA Film Receives Prize in International Festival.” UNRWA. June 13, 2013. https://www.unrwa.org/newsroom/press-releases/unrwa-film-receives-prize-international-festival.

“What Is a Refugee? Definition and Meaning | USA for UNHCR.” Definition and Meaning | USA for UNHCR. https://www.unrefugees.org/refugee-facts/what-is-a-refugee/.

“World Refugee Survey 2009: Algeria.” US Committee for Refugees and Immigrants. 2009. Archived 2013. https://web.archive.org/web/20130604153201/http://www.refugees.org/resources/refugee-warehousing/archived-world-refugee-surveys/2009-wrs-country-updates/algeria.html.

Wilson, Dougal. “Dougal Wilson Reports on Secret Cinema’s ‘Secret Protest’ at the Calais Jungle Camp.” Creative Review. September 19, 2015. https://www.creativereview.co.uk/dougal-wilson-reports-on-secret-cinemas-secret-protest-at-the-calais-jungle-camp/?mm_5ab0f075eaa7a=5ab0f075eab29.

 

Not Only Projections in a Dark Room: Theorizing Activist Film Festivals in the Lives of Campaigns and Social Movements

Among the film festivals staged each year are some that seek to advance human rights, social or economic justice, environmental agendas, or promote intergroup understanding. These ‘activist’ film festivals are not staged to serve the needs of media industries, for only artistic or entertainment ends, or with the primary intent of turning a profit. Instead, they are hosted in an effort to increase public awareness about a particular issue, to build or strengthen the membership of a community, campaign or movement, or otherwise catalyze some form of political action. They are launched on the premise that the public exhibition of film has a role to play in these processes. Questions about the role that activist films or film festivals play in influencing political conditions are complex to answer: they are often ignored by those studying political cinema, with films circulated to elicit change examined only in relation to their form and content, or the intent of the filmmakers behind them, rather than their impact on actual audiences. For every film, there are “at least three stories that intertwine: the filmmaker’s, the film’s, and the audience’s”,[i] but the latter of these is the area that is often least examined within academic cinema study. Departing from this tendency, studies of activist film festivals often prominently address matters related to audiences, including an examination of the experiences accrued by festivalgoers, and the motivations behind attending a film festival in the first place. This important corpus of literature encompasses studies by academic researchers, some of them participant observers, as well as self-studies, best practice reports, personal reflections, and other materials generated by festival workers—the individuals who inaugurate, organize, supervise the operation of, or program films for activist film festivals.

Questions about how media messages stir people to action in the political arena are neither new nor only of importance to understanding the impact of cinema. In the literary, philosophical, anthropological, sociological, and historical fields theories abound regarding how media texts are received by those who are exposed to them, as well as how this affects their subsequent thinking or actions. Indeed, a comprehensive study of activist film screenings or festivals must be an interdisciplinary project and encompass such varied fields as the study of media audiences, psychology and group dynamics, and the formation and operation of social movements. Adding further complication, the scholarly findings regarding the impact of media messages on audiences are complex, require nuanced interpretation, and can be counterintuitive, thereby limiting their ability to counter the simplistic understandings of media effects often circulated and taken as fact in popular discourse. The latter have sometimes been accepted by advocates for politically engaged cinema as well, with some filmmakers or those behind activist film screenings or festivals assuming that an audience’s exposure to a particular message “inevitably leads to action”.[ii] By no means do I seek to argue that exposure to a particular media message cannot have a lasting effect on viewers, including spurring them to immediate actions in the political arena. There are some instances where this has happened.[iii] But it is simplistic to think that films will automatically have this kind of impact on viewers, or to assume that if viewers are motivated to act after viewing a media production they will have the avenues—the “political opportunities”—necessary to act in an effective way.[iv] In addition, it is simplistic to examine activist screenings or festivals only in regard to whether or not they lead those in attendance to engage in dramatic actions afterward. The best of the recent research on activist film festivals dispenses with such simplistic thinking, and instead presents a rounded understanding of audience experiences at events of this kind.[v] The claims made so far are provocative, but there are more themes in need of exploration.

Contributing to this body of research, in my study I seek to deepen our theoretical understanding of the audience at activist film screenings and festivals. I will argue, first, we should dispense with the idea that in this setting the only, or even the primary event is the screening of a film. Among those writing on activist film festivals there is an understanding that although cinema is a point of focus for events of this kind, it is only one of a festival’s facets, and other goings-on are of key importance. I will theorize some of the key elements operative in this regard. Second, I will discuss activist screenings and film festivals as a site where ‘a public’ or ‘counterpublic’ is formed, noting the importance of this in the building of a base of support for a particular viewpoint, or for mobilizing a political campaign or movement. And third, I will argue that activist film screenings and festivals are an important element in the cultural life of campaign work and social movements, and a site where new individual and movement-based identities are generated and expressed as cultural growth and experimentation occurs.

My methodological approach to this subject is interdisciplinary, drawing most purposefully on sociology-based studies of the practice of everyday life and social movements. These fields of scholarship do not provide insight into every aspect of activist film screenings or festivals, but they provide useful frameworks with which to examine how occasions such as these, that bring people together in a shared location, are an important feature of political campaigns and social movements. Usefully, the study of social movements provides us with four terms that allow us to refine our questions about what activist screenings or festival might ‘do’ and who the audience in attendance might ‘be’. First, those in attendance at occasions of this type could already be constituents, indicating individuals that are already active and invested in a particular campaign or social movement. Second, those present could be adherents, indicating individuals who are predisposed to the message of a film or the goal of the festival, but who have not yet taken any action on their beliefs. Third, audience members could be part of the bystander public, indicating individuals who have no opinion on the issues at hand. And fourth, they could be opponents, individuals who disagree with the message or stance of the film or festival.[vi] Using these terms we can consider the relationship between an activist film screening or festival and those present. Can activist film screenings or festivals convince bystander publics to become movement adherents? Stir adherents to become active campaign or movement constituents? Can they change the minds of opponents, convincing them of the error in their thinking or actions? Or is the role of the activist film screening or festival primarily to reaffirm the thinking of those who are already campaign or movement constituents, sustaining their beliefs, thereby propelling them towards further action in the future? In theory, any of these scenarios is possible.

It’s Not (Only) About Film

Experiencing or witnessing injustice does not inevitably trigger action to end injustice. For this to happen a great deal of communication and conscious planning needs to occur, as existing grievances are transformed into a concerted effort to bring about change, a process that is most likely to be successful if it features collective action on the part of many people.[vii] Since the early days of filmmaking there have been those who argue that the cinema can mobilize people towards action in the political arena. In popular understandings, concepts such as ‘injustice’, ‘racism’, ‘oppression’, or ‘colonization’ are easily abstracted, stripping them of a connection to the lived experience of actual people. Film has the ability to counter this elision by providing a human face to these concepts, while depicting their operation or scope in the form of a comprehensible narrative. In the process, film offers a powerful way of fostering “hot cognition”, meaning that the representation of a condition or situation carries charged emotional overtones and is likely to incite affect on the part of audiences.[viii] Activist enterprises and campaigns or social movements commonly circulate two kinds of information, ‘technical information’, such as statistical data and reports that describe the big picture of a situation or case, and ‘personal information’ which gives a human face to an issue through testimony or personal profiles. Both forms of information are important, and “without individual cases activists cannot mobilize people to seek changed politics”.[ix] Film—and I would argue, documentary film in particular—is a powerful means for giving injustice a human face, as well as being a convenient way of duplicating and physically transporting representations of injustice for exhibition before geographically dispersed audiences.

As with other features in the repertoire of political struggle such as strikes, boycotts, protests, petitions, public meetings, or staged media events, the making and circulation of film is a modular activity that can be employed by all manner of struggles or campaigns. As the plethora of activist screenings and film festivals targeting political issues shows, these events are also a modular activity staged to advance any number of agendas, from environmental initiatives to liberation struggles or campaigns for racial, gender, or economic justice. The production and exhibition of media in this way is a means to circulate the “shared cultural understanding[s]” that are needed for collective action, while also assisting in the coordination of “autonomous and dispersed populations into common and sustained action”.[x] The intent of activist film screenings or festivals means that what occurs in these settings is different for those in attendance to the experience to be had in commercial, entertainment-centered film exhibition settings. The activist film festival is concerned with presenting “information and testimony” rather “than art and entertainment”,[xi] and seeks to create a “testimonial encounter” where festivalgoers “take responsibility for what they have seen and become ready to respond”.[xii] In this way, activist film festivals seek to draw festivalgoers “into a set of relationships that bind them differently were their activities not ‘activist’”, pressing them to emerge as a “responsible historical subject” who is both knowledgeable of the issues at hand, and functions as an agent for change in the political arena.[xiii]

Creating conditions where this is likely to happen is complicated, and a challenge for those behind the effort. Exposure to media messages, including those that educate on political matters, does not necessarily foster action. As media theorists Paul F. Lazarsfeld and Robert K. Merton observed in the 1950s, “The interested and informed citizen can congratulate himself on his lofty state of interest and information, and neglect to see that he has abstained from decision and action… He comes to mistake knowing about problems of the day for doing something about them”[xiv]. In addition, we have to take seriously that audiences do not automatically respond to media productions in the way their authors intended, since “the film and the spectator simultaneously engage in two quite distinctly located visual acts that meet on shared ground but never identically occupy it”.[xv] The audience is pressed to ‘read’ a media message as it was intended by its authors, since the “message has a privileged position in the communicative exchange”.[xvi] Nonetheless, “As audience members we often find what we want, or need, to find in films, sometimes at the expense of what the film really has to offer others. Different audiences will see different things”.[xvii] Writing on human rights film festivals, Sonia Tascón offers an illustration of how festivalgoers may respond to a film in a less than optimal way. She argues that audience members can adopt “the humanitarian gaze”, a state where the viewer sees those onscreen as victims to be pitied for the suffering they endure, or admired if they struggle to “be more like us”.[xviii] Both responses primarily flatter the viewer, allowing them to feel superior to those onscreen while affirming a sense of their own righteousness; all the while short circuiting the development of a more equitable relationship between those who ‘look’ and those who are ‘looked at’.

Theorizing how this can be averted, Tascón argues that we should revisit the concept of the ‘film act’, as developed by radical Third Cinema filmmakers and their allies during the 1960s and 1970s.[xix] Third Cinema filmmakers and theorists Fernando Solanas and Octavio Getino argue that the exhibition of a film has “little meaning if it was not complemented by the participation of the comrades, if a debate was not opened on the themes suggested by the films”, thereby moving viewers who were previously “considered spectators” to emerge as “participants”.[xx] Pondering this process, filmmaker Tomás Gutiérrez Alea writes, “we ask ourselves to what degree a certain type of show can cause the viewers to acquire a new socio-political awareness”, and how this awareness can become action “when viewers leave the movie theater and encounter once again that other reality, their social and individual life, their day-to-day”.[xxi] For filmmakers of the Third Cinema movement, the conventional channels for film exhibition were thought inadequate to their political goals, leading to distribution through “decentralized parallel circuits” where films might, for instance, be exhibited unannounced, guerilla-style in communities, parishes, universities or cultural centers, using a portable film projector and generator.[xxii] During these screenings, the film might be stopped at crucial moments so that audience members could engage in dialogue about the issues raised by what they were seeing onscreen.[xxiii]

For all screenings or film festivals the setting and accompanying off-screen events or activities are important. Termed “extra-cinematic” or “para-cinematic” events, the off-screen elements of a typical film festival include receptions, red-carpet entrances, press conferences, award ceremonies, or after-screening parties.[xxiv] Some from this list are also present in the schedule of activist film festivals, but they are typically overshadowed in importance by workshops, in-depth discussion and deliberation sessions, the presence of experts on political affairs, film subjects who testify to particular conditions,[xxv] or other activities that are “intended to make the connection to the social world in ways that other… film festivals do not”.[xxvi] In this way, the screening or festival site becomes a location where the meaning of films, as well as how audience members are encouraged to respond to them, are framed and negotiated, illustrating that these events need “to be understood not only in terms of the films they show, but also the… forms of practice played out within the spaces of the auditorium, foyer and so on”.[xxvii] Tascón argues that through efforts such as these, human rights film festivals seek to promote “an active and interactive relationship between life-world, film, and spectator”.[xxviii] Terming this the “festival effect”, she argues that off screen workshops, discussion sessions, and deliberation have the “the potential to excavate meanings and dimensions of that relationship not available through the individual consumption of images… that makes activist film festivals a place where a particular type of spectator is facilitated, one that may be less detached and prone to the expectation of seeing tragic victims”.[xxix] Along similar lines, festival director Igor Blažević argues that what distinguishes a human rights film festival from non-activist festivals “is not the films we screen, but what we ‘do’ with the films and the interpretive contexts we build for their screenings”.[xxx]

A means to understand the processes that are unfolding in such setting is offered by sociologist Erving Goffman’s theorizing of “social occasions”.[xxxi] He argues that a social occasion comes into being when a number of people share a “structured social context”, such as “a social party, a workday in an office, a picnic, or a night at the opera”.[xxxii] He contrasts socials occasions with “gatherings”, which are an instance where two or more people directly interact with each other, arguing that social occasions are broader events than gatherings, and can encompass many small gatherings.[xxxiii] Most commonly, one or more of those behind the staging of the social occasion are “responsible for getting the affair under way, guiding the main activity, terminating the event, and sustaining order”.[xxxiv] In doing so, they author a social occasion’s “distinctive ethos, an emotional structure, that must be properly created, sustained, and laid to rest”.[xxxv] At activist screenings or film festivals, the responsibility of doing this is largely (but not exclusively)[xxxvi] in the hands of those who organized it, programmed the films to be exhibited, and decided on the type, character, and scheduling of any off screen aspects. With many activist film festivals affiliated with civil society or nongovernmental organizations, these parent organizations play a central role in determining the ideological thrust, priorities, planned or intended outcomes or a particular festival. They do this with the aim of best advancing a festival’s “core mission, the motivation behind their screenings and what they want to achieve”.[xxxvii] A consideration in the structuring of an activist film screening or festival is that some social occasions are considered to be recreational and thought to be an end in themselves as “the individual avowedly participates for the consummate pleasure of doing so”.[xxxviii] Other categories of social occasions are considered serious in character, and “seen as merely means to other ends”.[xxxix] Most of the time, attending the cinema is considered a recreational activity, even though popular cinema is ideologically loaded and contributes to the formation of political and cultural hegemonies. Those who seek to use the cinema as a means of pressing home a particular political agenda must ensure that those present in the audience understand that the occasion is serious, and a means to an end rather than an end in itself.

Illustrating how festivals can be framed, film festival organizers Matthea de Jong and Daan Bronkhorst argue that there are four possible approaches when staging a human rights film festival, approaches that mirror four common approaches to human rights advocacy more generally.[xl] These are, first, film festivals that seek to attract the widest possible audience in an effort to inject human rights principles into society at large. Second, those that seek to foster a deliberative environment that serves as a forum for rigorous debate about human rights issues, while catering to specialized audiences that may include policy makers. Third, those that are designed to foster protest actions and activism, and present human rights discourse as a model for broad social change. And fourth, those that adopt a dispassionate stance to offer a forum for the airing of divergent views on human rights and related matters. Most human rights film festivals contain some mixture of these approaches, with the strongest trajectories influencing the overall character of a festival—including the kind of promotional and outreach efforts undertaken, the locations used, presence or absence of activist workshops, and who is likely to be in attendance. These decisions have consequences regarding an event’s outcomes. If the goal of a festival is to convert opponents or attract bystanders to a particular cause, this will require different strategies than those employed to engage those who are already issue adherents or constituents. Similarly, a festival with an openly activist stance is unlikely to be attended by political opponents, since studies show that media audiences tend to select information that is “consistent with attitudes and beliefs and ignore or avoid information that is discrepant”.[xli] As de Jong and Bronkhorst argue, the first of these types of festivals will seek to reach the widest possible audience and “opt for open-air screenings at popular places”, while a deliberation-focused festival might “pick venues that work best for each group” of its target audience and activist-focused festivals gear “to using their festival as a platform for action, facilitating workshops on film making or non-violent activism, distributing petitions or providing suggestions on how to further promote the observance of human rights”.[xlii] On a practical level, the organization and timing of a screening or festival will determine what is likely to transpire at a festival. Timing a festival program in such a way that it leaves little time for post-screening discussions, the use of fixed-seating auditoriums that make interaction between those present difficult, or access considerations, such ticket prices or the choice of screening venues that prohibit or make unlikely attendance by some people within the community, can prevent an festival from fulfilling its mission as well as intended.

‘A Public’ or Hegemony Opposing ‘Counterpublic’

All film screenings or festivals that bring together a group of viewers facilitate the formation of ‘a public’ (as opposed to ‘the public’ which is all people in a society),[xliii] defined by social theorist Michael Warner as “a concrete audience, a crowd witnessing itself in a visible space, as with a theatrical public. Such a public also has a sense of totality, bounded by the event or by the shared physical space”.[xliv] The character of the public that forms varies in intensity and in the connections between its members, and a public can be formed simply by people showing up and being aware of the others around them. The ability of a populace to assemble in this way is integral to the operation of the public sphere,[xlv] and if deprived of the ability to form publics we are not “capable of being addressed, and capable of action, we would be nothing but the peasants of capital”.[xlvi] For a vibrant public sphere to exist, people need credible information about occurrences in the world, and the “rights of political organization, speech and assembly; it needs deliberation”.[xlvii] Activist film screenings and festivals serve as such a site. When hosted in a high-profile site such as at a mainstream commercial cinema or multiplex, museum, park or stadium, a screening or festival gains prominence and status, elevating its standing in the public sphere. This confers status on the films featured within the festival’s program, and on the viewpoints or arguments presented, thereby powerfully signaling that “one has arrived… that one’s behaviour and opinions are significant enough to require public notice”.[xlviii] For an organization sponsoring an activist screening or film festival, this can also mean temporarily moving its base of operation from a modest work space of the kind that is commonly occupied by perennially underfunded activist organizations, to an accoutrement-rich environment in a high-traffic, city center location, further signaling the importance of that organization and its agenda within the broad public sphere. Indeed, in light of shrinkage in the U.S. public sphere as participation in membership organizations and other public affiliations declines,[xlix] and as many activists increasingly turn to clicktivism, the ongoing importance of activist screenings or film festivals as a site for the formation of a public must not be underestimated.

An activist screening or film festival that nurtures counter-hegemonic ideas or seeks to serve the needs of a subaltern constituency fits the definition of a ‘counterpublic’, indicating that it has a “conflictual relation to the dominant public” and occupies a “subordinate status” vis-à-vis mainstream ideas.[l] Illustrating this, Skadi Loist and Ger Zielinski argue that LGBTQ film festivals are an extension of social movement efforts for gender equality and positioned to offer “interventions into hegemonic representational regimes”.[li] So engaged, they serve as “a space where a group of individuals could meet and create a community… they [are] counter-public spheres”.[lii] The study of social movements proposes that for political advocacy or social movement work to develop, an “oppositional consciousness” must be developed.[liii] For this to happen, Sharon Groch contends, people usually need a physical space where they can assemble “to see themselves as a group [and] find a common interest with other members of the group”.[liv] Solanas and Getino argue that the exhibition of radical cinema can create a space of this kind, with every screening carving out “a liberated space, a decolonized territory” (author’s emphasis).[lv] According to Solanas and Getino, a person who decides to attend a guerilla film screening, “was no longer a spectator… he became an actor, a more important protagonist than those who appeared in the films. Such as person was seeking other committed people like himself, while he, in turn, became committed to them”.[lvi]

The formation of such a space requires that those in attendance be drawn into engagement with others around them. Goffman argues that some social occasions are structured to promote “mutual accessibility”, with those present adopting a posture of “informality and solidarity” as they recognize that they and the others around them belong to the same group, a recognition that is heightened “if this group be one that is disadvantaged”.[lvii] This is an enabling feature in the formation of what he terms an “open region”, which is a physically bounded place “where ‘any’ two persons, acquainted or not, have the right to initiate face engagement with each other for the purpose of extending salutations”.[lviii] Society at large hosts a variety of open regions, such as at parties and in bars or other settings “where participants have a right… to engage anyone present”.[lix] Noting the importance of mutual accessibility to the film act, Solanas and Getino report that one aspect of it is “disinhibiting” those present through the inclusion of ice-breaking musical performances, poetry readings, and the involvement of “a program director who chaired the debate and presented the film and the comrades who were speaking”.[lx] An example of this in operation in a contemporary context is provided by descriptions of the Canada-based Cinema Politica screening series: “everyone talks—from the cranks and curmudgeons to the naïve feel-gooders and recent converts, to the calm and idealist yet slightly cynical frontline veterans working the crowd”.[lxi]

These conditions enable ‘enclave deliberation’ where those present incubate new ideas or express perspectives that are shunned in other settings. They can also foster feelings of personal and group empowerment as those present see themselves and the group they belong to as efficacious causal agents in moves towards greater justice in society, and during collective deliberation sessions hear their beliefs given “meaning, coherence, and significance”.[lxii] As this happens various trajectories are in operation. Studies suggest that in settings where those present believe themselves to be surrounded by like-minded others, they will attribute greater weight to the comments or experiences that are aired than they would in a setting where they see those around them as different from themselves.[lxiii] With regard to the exhibition of film, there is evidence that media messages can have a strong effect on viewers when they talk about the message they have been exposed to amongst themselves afterwards.[lxiv] This has been termed an “intermedia effect”, as exposure to a media message “leads to interpersonal communication among peers, which in turn influences behaviour change”.[lxv] The intermedia effect seems to have particular bearing with regard to the circulation of educational media, which can “cause people to engage in peer communication as they seek to make sense out of what is happening”.[lxvi] Here it is important to distinguish between, first, an audience discussion of the issues raised by a film, which is a common feature of many film festivals during question and answer sessions, workshops, or dialogue sessions, and second, those in attendance making a tangible decision to engage in some form of subsequent action. A discussion of the issues raised by a film can provide insight into the existence of an injustice, or clarification as to why a particular course of action is needed, but for action that will bring about change to begin those involved must migrate from a discussion stage to making a decision about a course of action they commit to taking—even if this course of action is something as open-ended as agreeing to meet again at a later date, or requires only low-level engagement, such as an act of clicktivism or the signing of a petition. Interestingly, studies of group dynamics suggest that individuals who make decisions as part of a collective process are more likely to stick to any decision that they do make.[lxvii] Even decisions that are made quite quickly in a group setting can affect the long term conduct of an individual, since the setting “seems to have a ‘freezing’ effect which is partly due to the individual’s tendency to ‘stick to his decision’ and partly to the ‘commitment to a group’”.[lxviii]

Dovetailing with these arguments, research on the conditions that lead people to join movements suggests, “Although it is individuals who decide whether or not to take up collective action, it is in their face-to-face groups, their social networks and their institutions that collective actions is most often activated and sustained”.[lxix] In a useful counterpoint to this argument, social movement theorist James Jasper argues that there are two ways that social movements commonly grow their numbers.[lxx] First, this occurs through the recruitment of ‘intimates’, these being individuals who are already members of social networks that overlap with movement participants, such as a personal connection to friends, families, or co-workers. And second, through the recruitment of ‘strangers’, indicating individuals who have no personal connection with those involved in a movement. A method by which strangers are drawn to political work is the circulation of “cultural messages transmitted by means of… anonymous media”, but it is intimate personal connections that are the most common method of recruitment to a movement.[lxxi] In the setting of the activist screening or film festival elements of both of these recruitment processes are in operation: the presentation of anonymous media on the screen is coupled with the bringing together of a public in such a way that an individuated experience of film spectatorship is supplemented by face-to-face deliberation and decision making. The aforementioned studies therefore seem to suggest that activist screenings or film festivals have the potential to be impactful sites for orientating those in attendance towards particular courses of action. However, there is no single, rigid formula regarding how viewers will respond to what they see or hear in the setting of an activist film screening or festival since all present do not experience the event in the same way. Instead, at social occasions “multiple social realities can occur in the same place”.[lxxii] Some of those present may commit or re-commit themselves to a role as a full-fledged campaign or movement constituent, others may be swept up in the moment and commit to taking actions they will never actually complete, while still others may “thin out” their involvement in the occasion, delivering only the minimum level of involvement that the decorum of the occasion at hand seems to demand.[lxxiii]

Cultural Changes ‘Below the Surface’

A tenet of activist screenings or film festivals is that deliberation is fostered among those present, as issues are discussed and expanded upon or campaign tactics and strategies are developed and decided upon. Ongoing deliberation and decision-making of this type is integral to activist work. But the deliberation and decision-making that occurs in these settings is not only about tactics, strategies, or campaign goals. It is also deliberation on the part of those present as they decide on their own relation to these issues, and to activism itself. The emergence of an engaged ‘responsible historical subject’ necessitates that the festivalgoer embrace a political and moral standpoint regarding what they believe is right or wrong, acceptable or unacceptable, and to thereby decide to ‘take a position’. The cultural transformation that occurs as this happens is colloquially described as ‘consciousness raising’ or ‘empowerment’, terms that record a change in the thinking, beliefs, or confidence and feeling of self efficacy of those involved, rather than changes to political conditions per se. This transformation is noted when those behind activist screenings or film festivals argue that “Cinema is pre-eminently the medium that has the ability to further expand the moral imagination”,[lxxiv] or that festival attendance provides “inspiration for active participation in advocacy and social justice”.[lxxv] These remarks highlight an introspective reevaluation of the festivalgoer’s relationship to self and activism. It is common to think of social movements in terms of “ideologies, tactics, issues, campaigns, strategies, organizations”,[lxxvi] thereby paying insufficient attention to the cultural transformations that are occurring as individual and collective identities are revised and generated, and “changes in values, ideas, and ways of life” occur.[lxxvii] Along with political meetings, education sessions, rallies, or similar politics-elaborating occasions, activist film screenings and festivals are a site where these changes can occur. They are a site where social capital is generated, “by fostering new identities and extending social networks”, as well as, potentially, through the forging of “lifelong identities and solidarities”.[lxxviii] The cultural dimension of activist work often goes unrecorded since dramatic events such as public protests or campaign victories are the side of activist work that is most commonly presented through media channels or in historical accounts. The often unseen importance of cultural transformation indicates that when in comes to campaigns and social movements, like an “iceberg… much of the action [is] happening below the surface”.[lxxix]

Along similar lines we should not discount the importance of activist screening and film festivals and similar occasions in sustaining the involvement of those who are already campaign or social movement constituents. The involvement of an individual in political work is almost always provisional, and their recruitment is in a sense never wholly complete since it likely needs ongoing reaffirmation. One way that this occurs is through the routine circulation of all manner of electronic and other media, such as informal media exchanges in the form of the “telephone calls, E-mails, and fax communications, and the circulation of newsletters, pamphlets and bulletins” that bind movement participants together.[lxxx] While ephemeral media exchanges such as these take place on a day-to-day basis, more complex media texts such as feature length films also sustain and solidify shared values among campaign or movement constituents, with public screenings or festivals a site where this occurs. The problems that can come with ‘preaching only to the choir’ are obvious, but there is also the risk expressed by actor-activist Harry Belafonte that “if one stops preaching to the choir, they may stop singing”.[lxxxi] Indeed, the analogy of a choir is interesting for the study of film, since there are parallels between the performance of songs linked to social movements and the exhibition of political cinema. Just as songs such as “We Shall Overcome” or “This Land Is Our Land” are indelibly linked, respectively, to the U.S. struggle for civil rights and protests against social inequality, films can become widely understood and circulated markers for particular understandings of political struggle, as they crystallize and bring to the screen representations of injustice or memorialize acts of dissent, protest, or rebellion. Thus, song and films have in common that they are cultural artifacts that can repeatedly bring people together in a shared space to remind them of the possibilities of struggle, keep alive histories and bodies of knowledge, and offer inspiration and solidarity across time or geography.

Conclusion

There are many more questions to ask of activist screenings and film festivals and the audiences who attend them. Once a screening is over and the public or counterpublic that formed at the exhibition site disbands, how is an ongoing political engagement best sustained? When a public or counterpublic forms at a screening, are its members seeking a deep engagement with the matters at hand, or is it possible that one of the attractions of cinema viewership that it allows one to feel part of a public while also maintaining a sense of ‘strangerhood’ that keeps the engagement with those around you at a low level? There are also historical questions to ask. The Third Cinema movement’s thinking regarding ‘the film act’ was rooted in the ideologies of the radical social movements of a particular historical moment. That moment is not longer with us, so how do ideas from that period translate into the particular conditions of our present? Indeed, in light of the historical context we presently occupy, concepts such as enclave deliberation must be critically examined. The formation of counterpublics and the deliberation they support can be hugely empowering for those involved, as strongly held beliefs or ideas are aired and reinforced. But as recent U.S. history shows enclaves can also become an echo chamber bereft of self-criticism or an awareness of other ideas, and lead to the uncritical consumption of fake ‘realities’ and propaganda messages generated by disreputable political actors.

For those involved in the day-to-day practice of organizing and hosting activist screenings or film festivals, the study of these events provides both practical advice and guidance on more philosophical matters that can be employed to ensure these occasions fulfill their intended purpose. For film scholars and filmmakers, research on activist screenings and film festivals offers important insight into how and where political cinemas can impact actual political conditions. But more than this is available in examining these occasions. Activist film screenings and festivals are a microcosm where features of our broader media, social, and political lives can be witnessed, experienced, and considered. Therefore, the study of activist screenings and film festivals provides insight into features of everyday life, from our rituals and social occasions, to how political consciousness-raising can be fostered, or how campaigns and movements for change are built and sustained.

 

Notes

[i] Bill Nichols, Introduction to Documentary (Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2010), 94.

[ii] Leshu Torchin, “Networked for Advocacy: Film Festivals and Activism”, in Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, ed. by Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin (St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 1-12), 1.

[iii] See Lyell Davies, “Activism Off-Screen and the Documentary Film Screening”, in Activist Film Festivals: Towards a Political Subject, ed. Sonia Tascón and Tyson Wils (Bristol, UK/Chicago, USA: Intellect, 2017, 39-57) 43; Steve James, “We Aren’t Sorry for This Interruption…”, in Screening Truth to Power: A Reader on Documentary Activism, ed. Svetla Turnin and Ezra Winton (Montreal: Cinema Politica, 2014, 57-60) 59; or Everett M. Rogers, “Intermedia Processes and Powerful Media Effects”, in Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, ed. Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillmann (Mahwah, New Jersey & London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers, 2002, 199-214) 208.

[iv] Sidney Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action and Politics   (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), 1994.

[v] See Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin (ed), Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism (St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012); Dina Iordanova (ed), The Film Festival Reader (St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2013); Sonia M. Tascón, Human Rights Film Festivals: Activism in Context (New York: Palgrave MacMillen, 2015); Sonia M. Tascón and Tyson Wils (ed), Activist Film Festivals: Towards a Political Subject (Bristol, UK/Chicago, USA: Intellect, 2017).

[vi] John D. McCarthy and Mayer N. Zald, “Social Movement Organizations (from ‘Resource Mobilization and Social Movements: A Partial Theory’”, in The Social Movements Reader: Cases and Concepts, ed. Jeff Goodwin and James M. Casper (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003, 169-186), 175.

[vii] Sidney Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action and Politics.

[viii] William A. Gamson, Talking Politics (Cambridge & New York: University of Cambridge Press, 1992), 32.

[ix] Margaret Keck and Kathryn Sikkink, Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics (Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press, 1998), 21.

[x] Sidney Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action and Politics, 9.

[xi] Igor Blažević, “How to Start”, in Setting Up a Human Rights Film Festival: A Handbook for Festival Organizers Including Case Studies of Prominent Human Rights Events, ed. Tereza Porybná (Prague: People in Need, 2009, 14-25), 15.

[xii] Leshu Torchin, “Networked for Advocacy: Film Festivals and Activism”, 2-3.

[xiii] Sonia Tascón, “Watching Others’ Troubles: Revisiting ‘The Film Act’ and Spectatorship in Activist Film Festivals”, in Activist Film Festivals: Towards a Political Subject, ed. by Sonia Tascón and Tyson Wils (Bristol, UK/Chicago, USA: Intellect, 2017, 21-37), 23.

[xiv] Paul F. Lazarsfeld and Robert K. Merton, “Mass Communication, Popular Taste, and Organized Action”, in Mass Culture: The Popular Arts in America, ed. Bernard Rosenberg and David Manning White (Glencoe: The Press and Falcon’s Wing Press, 1957, 457-473), 464.

[xv] Vivian Sobchack, “Phemomenology and the Film Experience”, in Viewing Positions, ed. Linda Williams (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1994, 36-58), 53.

[xvi] Stuart Hall, “Encoding/Decoding”, in The Cultural Studies Reader, ed. Simon During (New York & London: Routledge, 1993, 90-103), 91.

[xvii] Bill Nichols, Introduction to Documentary, 97.

[xviii] Sonia Tascón, Human Rights Film Festivals: Activism in Context (New York: Palgrave MacMillen, 2015), 7.

[xix] Sonia Tascón, “Watching Others’ Troubles: Revisiting ‘The Film Act’ and Spectatorship in Activist Film Festivals”.

[xx] Fernando Solanas and Octavio Getino, “Towards a Third Cinema”, in Movies And Methods: Volume 1, ed. Bill Nichols (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1976, 44-64), 61.

[xxi] Alea, Tomás Gutiérrez. “The Viewer’s Dialectic”. In New Latin American Cinema: Volume 1, Theory Practices, and Transcontinental Articulations, edited by Michael T. Martin. Detroit: Wayne State University, 1997, 108-133. (1997:110). Alea

[xxii] Octavio Getino, “Some Notes on the Concept of a ‘Third Cinema’”, in Argentine Cinema, ed. Tim Barnard (Toronto: Nightwood Editions, 1986, 99-108), 103.

[xxiii] These ideas did not begin with Third Cinema in the 1960s and antecedents for some of these practices can be found, for instance, in the activities of workers’ film groups in the 1920s and 1930s (see William Alexander, Film on the Left: American Documentary Film From 1931-1942 [Princeton New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1981]; Ralph Bond, “Formation of Film Societies”, in British Cinema: Traditions of Independence, ed. Don MacPherson [London: British Film Institute, 1980, 115-117]; Bert Hogenkamp, “Worker’s Newsreels in the 1920s and 1930s”, Our History [Pamphlet 68. London: The History Group of the Communist Party, 1977, 1-36]; Joris Ivens, The Film Camera and I. [New York: International Publishers, 1969]. But Third Cinema practitioners cogently theorized these approaches, influencing radical filmmakers internationally (see Bill Nichols, Newsreel: Documentary Filmmaking on the American Left [Arno Press: New York, 1980]).

[xxiv] Vanessa R. Schwartz, It’s So French! Hollywood, Paris, and the Making of Cosmopolitan French Film Culture (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007), 72.

[xxv] Off screen elements may extend well beyond the timeframe and primary location of an activist film festival, as the festival tours to secondary locations such as schools and other non-theatrical locations, and where it catalyses “invisible and constantly growing interactions and synergies between all actors and agencies… throughout the year” (Mariagiulia Grassilli, “Human Rights Film Festivals: Global/Local Networks for Advocacy”, in Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, ed. Dina Iordanova & Leshu Torchin [St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 31-47], 40). This may also happen through the use of video-on-demand services or other platforms that form an interlinked web for content distribution, thereby providing an unprecedented level of exposure to media messages and inaugurating “a new era for activism” (Dina Iordanova, “Film Festivals and Dissent: Can Film Change the World?” in Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, ed. Dina Iordanova & Leshu Torchin [St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 13-30], 22).

[xxvi] Sonia Tascón, “Watching Others’ Troubles: Revisiting ‘The Film Act’ and Spectatorship in Activist Film Festivals”, 33.

[xxvii] Lesley-Ann Dickson, “‘Ah! Other Bodies!’: Embodied spaces, pleasures and practices at Glasgow Film Festival”, Participations: Journal of Audience and Reception Studies (12.1, 2015, 703-724), 705.

[xxviii] Sonia Tascón, “Watching Others’ Troubles: Revisiting ‘The Film Act’ and Spectatorship in Activist Film Festivals”, 31.

[xxix] Ibid 33.

[xxx] Igor Blaževic, “Film Festivals as Human Rights Awareness Building Tool: Experiences of the Prague One World Festival”, in Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, ed. Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin (St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 109-120), 112.

[xxxi] Erving Goffman, Behavior in Public Places: Notes on the Social Organization of Gatherings (New York: The Free Press, 1963).

[xxxii] Ibid 18.

[xxxiii] Ibid 18.

[xxxiv] Ibid 18.

[xxxv] Ibid 19.

[xxxvi] Those who launch an activist screening or film festival do not have exclusive governance of the social occasion that subsequently unfolds since invited guest speakers or workshop organizers as well as individual audience members play a role in directing the thrust of what happens at a festival, particularly if the event has been designed to foster open-ended, participation-rich engagement by those present. But those behind a screening or festival are the primary structuring force behind most events of this type.

[xxxvii] Igor Blaževic, “Film Festivals as Human Rights Awareness Building Tool: Experiences of the Prague One World Festival”, 111.

[xxxviii] Erving Goffman, Behavior in Public Places: Notes on the Social Organization of Gatherings, 19.

[xxxix] Ibid 19.

[xl] Matthea de Jong and Daan Bronkhorst, “Human Rights Film Festivals: Different Approaches to Change the World”, in Activist Film Festivals: Towards a Political Subject, ed. Sonia Tascón and Tyson Wils (Bristol, UK/Chicago, USA: Intellect, 2017, 105-120), 114-117.

[xli] Mary Beth Oliver, “Individual Differences in Media Effects”, in Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, ed. Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillmann (Mahwah, New Jersey & London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers, 2002, 507-524), 513.

[xlii] Matthea de Jong and Daan Bronkhorst, “Human Rights Film Festivals: Different Approaches to Change the World”, 117.

[xliii] Cindy Hing-Yuk Wong, Film Festivals: Culture, People, and Power on the Global

Screen (New Brunswick and London: Rutger’s University Press, 2011).

[xliv] Michael Warner, “Publics and Counterpublics (abbreviated version)”, Quarterly Journal of Speech (National Communication Association, 88.4, 2002, 413-425), 413.

[xlv] Habermas, Jürgen. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society (Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 1998).

[xlvi] Michael Warner, “Publics and Counterpublics (abbreviated version)”, 415.

[xlvii] Todd Gitlin, “Public sphere or public sphericules?” in Media, Ritual and Identity, ed. Tamar Liebes and James Curran (London & New York: Routledge, 1998, 168-174), 168.

[xlviii] Paul F. Lazarsfeld and Robert K. Merton, “Mass Communication, Popular Taste, and Organized Action”, 461.

[xlix] Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York, London, Toronto, Sydney: Simon & Schuster, 2000).

[l] Michael Warner, “Publics and Counterpublics (abbreviated version)”, 423-424.

[li] Skadi Loist and Ger Zielinski, “On the Development of Queer Film Festivals and Their Media Activism”, in Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, ed. Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin (St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 13-30), 50.

[lii] Ibid 50.

[liii] Jane Mansbridge, “The Making of Oppositional Consciousness”, in Oppositional Consciousness: The Subjective Roots of Social Protest, ed. Jane Mansbridge and Aldon Morris (Chicago & London: University of Chicago Press, 2001, 1-19).

[liv] Sharon Groch, “Free Spaces: Creating Oppositional Consciousness in the Disability Rights Movement”, in Oppositional Consciousness: The Subjective Roots of Social Protest, ed. Jane Mansbridge and Aldon Morris (Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press, 2001, 65-98), 65.

[lv] Fernando Solanas and Octavio Getino, “Towards a Third Cinema”, 61.

[lvi] Ibid 61.

[lvii] Erving Goffman, Behavior in Public Places: Notes on the Social Organization of Gatherings, 131.

[lviii] Ibid 132.

[lix] Ibid 135.

[lx] Fernando Solanas and Octavio Getino, “Towards a Third Cinema”, 62.

[lxi] Liz Miller and Thomas Waugh, “The Process of Place: Grassroots Documentary Screenings”, in Screening Truth to Power: A Reader on Documentary Activism, ed. Svetla Turnin and Ezra Winton (Montreal: Cinema Politica, 2014, 35-44), 42.

[lxii] Viktor Gecas, “Value Identities, Self-Motives, and Social Movements”, in Self, Identity, and Social Movements, ed. Sheldon Stryker, Timothy J. Owens and Robert W. White (Minneapolis & London: University of Minnesota Press, 2000, 93-109), 101.

[lxiii] Cass Sunstein, Republic.com (Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001), 70.

[lxiv] Everett M. Rogers, “Intermedia Processes and Powerful Media Effects”, in Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, ed. Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillmann (Mahwah, New Jersey & London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers, 2002, 199-214).

[lxv] Ibid 209-210.

[lxvi] Ibid 212.

[lxvii] Kurt Lewin, “Frontiers in Group Dynamics: Concept, Method and Reality in Social Science; Social Equilibria and Social Change”, Human Relations (1.5, 1947, 5-41), 35.

[lxviii] Ibid 37-38.

[lxix] Sidney Tarrow, Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action and Politics, 21.

[lxx] James M. Jasper, “Recruiting Intimates, Recruiting Strangers: Building the Contemporary Animal Rights Movement”, in Waves of Protest: Social Movements Since the Sixties, ed. Jo Freeman and Victoria Johnson (Lanham, Boulder, New York, Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. 1999, 65-84).

[lxxi] Ibid 65.

[lxxii] Erving Goffman, Behavior in Public Places: Notes on the Social Organization of Gatherings, 20

[lxxiii] Ibid 139.

[lxxiv] Matthea de Jong and Daan Bronkhorst, “Human Rights Film Festivals: Different Approaches to Change the World”, 109.

[lxxv] Mariagiulia Grassilli, “Human Rights Film Festivals: Global/Local Networks for Advocacy”, in Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, ed. Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin (St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 31-47), 43.

[lxxvi] Ron Eyerman and Andrew Jamison, Music and Social Movements: Mobilizing Traditions in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 11.

[lxxvii] Ibid, 7.

[lxxviii] Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, 153.

[lxxix] Elisabeth S. Clemens and Martin D. Hughes, “Recovering Past Protest: Historical Research on Social Movements”, in Methods of Social Movement Research, ed. Bert Klandermans and Suzanne Staggenbord (Minneapolis & London: University of Minnesota Press, 2002, 201-230), 212.

[lxxx] Margaret Keck and Kathryn Sikkink, Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics, 18.

[lxxxi] Leshu Torchin, “Networked for Advocacy: Film Festivals and Activism”, 6.

Notes on Contributor

Lyell Davies teaches cinema and media studies at The City University of New York. His research explores documentary cinema and communication rights activism. A filmmaker, his documentaries have aired on US public television and screened at film festivals around the world.

Bibliography

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Blažević, Igor. “How to Start”. In Setting Up a Human Rights Film Festival: A Handbook for Festival Organizers Including Case Studies of Prominent Human Rights Events, edited by Tereza Porybná. Prague: People in Need, 2009, 14-25.

Blažević, Igor. “Film Festivals as Human Rights Awareness Building Tool: Experiences of the Prague One World Festival”. In Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, edited by Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin. St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 109-120.

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Dickson, Lesley-Ann. “‘Ah! Other Bodies!’: Embodied spaces, pleasures and practices at Glasgow Film Festival”. Participations: Journal of Audience and Reception Studies. 12.1, 2015, 703-724.

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Gecas, Viktor. “Value Identities, Self-Motives, and Social Movements”. In Self, Identity, and Social Movements, edited by Sheldon Stryker, Timothy J. Owens & Robert W. White. Minneapolis & London: University of Minnesota Press, 2000, 93-109.

Getino, Octavio. “Some Notes on the Concept of a ‘Third Cinema’”. In Argentine Cinema, edited by Tim Barnard. Toronto: Nightwood Editions, 1986, 99-108.

Gitlin, Todd. “Public sphere or public sphericules?” In Media, Ritual and Identity, edited by Tamar Liebes & James Curran. London & New York: Routledge, 1998, 168-174.

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Grassilli, Mariagiulia. “Human Rights Film Festivals: Global/Local Networks for Advocacy”. In Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, edited by Dina Iordanova & Leshu Torchin. St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 31-47.

Groch, Sharon. “Free Spaces: Creating Oppositional Consciousness in the Disability Rights Movement”. In Oppositional Consciousness: The Subjective Roots of Social Protest, edited by Jane Mansbridge & Aldon Morris. Chicago & London: The University of Chicago Press, 2001, 65-98.

Habermas, Jürgen. The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press, 1998.

Hall, Stuart. “Encoding/Decoding”. In The Cultural Studies Reader edited by Simon During. New York & London: Routledge, 1993, 90-103.

Hogenkamp, Bert. “Worker’s Newsreels in the 1920s and 1930s”. Our History. Pamphlet 68. London: The History Group of the Communist Party, 1977, 1-36.

Iordanova, Dina (ed). The Film Festival Reader. St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2013.

Ivens, Joris. The Film Camera and I. New York: International Publishers, 1969.

James, Steve. “We Aren’t Sorry for This Interruption…”. In Screening Truth to Power: A Reader on Documentary Activism, edited by Svetla Turnin & Ezra Winton. Montreal: Cinema Politica, 2014, 57-60.

Jasper, James M. “Recruiting Intimates, Recruiting Strangers: Building the Contemporary Animal Rights Movement”. In Waves of Protest: Social Movements Since the Sixties, edited by Jo Freeman and Victoria Johnson. Lanham, Boulder, New York, Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 1999, 65-84.

Keck, Margaret, and Sikkink, Kathryn. Activists Beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics. Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press, 1998.

Lazarsfeld, Paul F. & Merton, Robert K. “Mass Communication, Popular Taste, and Organized Action”. In Mass Culture: The Popular Arts in America, edited by Bernard Rosenberg & David Manning White. Glencoe: The Press and Falcon’s Wing Press, 1957, 457-473.

Lewin, Kurt. “Frontiers in Group Dynamics: Concept, Method and Reality in Social Science; Social Equilibria and Social Change”. Human Relations, 1.5, 1947, 5-41.

Loist, Skadi & Zielinski, Ger. “On the Development of Queer Film Festivals and Their Media Activism”. In Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, edited by Dina Iordanova & Leshu Torchin. St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 13-30.

McCarthy, John D. & Zald, Mayer N. “Social Movement Organizations (from ‘Resource Mobilization and Social Movements: A Partial Theory’”. In The Social Movements Reader: Cases and Concepts, edited by Jeff Goodwin & James M. Casper. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2003, 169-186.

Mansbridge, Jane. “The Making of Oppositional Consciousness”. In Oppositional Consciousness: The Subjective Roots of Social Protest, edited by Jane Mansbridge & Aldon Morris. Chicago & London: University of Chicago Press, 2001, 1-19.

Miller, Liz, & Waugh, Thomas. “The Process of Place: Grassroots Documentary Screenings”. In Screening Truth to Power: A Reader on Documentary Activism. Montreal: Cinema Politica, 2014, 35-44.

Nichols, Bill. Newsreel: Documentary Filmmaking on the American Left. Arno Press: New York, 1980.

Nichols, Bill. Introduction to Documentary. Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2010. Second edition.

Iordanova, Dina. “Film Festivals and Dissent: Can Film Change the World?” In Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, edited by Dina Iordanova & Leshu Torchin. St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 13-30.

Oliver, Mary Beth. “Individual Differences in Media Effects”. In Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, edited by Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillmann. Mahwah, New Jersey & London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers, 2002, 507-524.

Putnam, Robert D. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York, London, Toronto, Sydney: Simon & Schuster, 2000.

Rogers, Everett M. “Intermedia Processes and Powerful Media Effects”. In Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, edited by Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillmann. Mahwah, New Jersey & London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Publishers, 2002, 199-214.

Schwartz, Vanessa R. It’s So French! Hollywood, Paris, and the Making of Cosmopolitan French Film Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2007.

Solanas, Fernando, and Getino, Octavio. “Towards a Third Cinema”. In Movies And Methods: Volume 1, edited by Bill Nichols. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1976, 44-64.

Sobchack, Vivian. “Phemomenology and the Film Experience”. In Viewing Positions, edited by Linda Williams. New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1994, 36-58.

Sunstein, Cass. Republic.com. Princeton & Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001.

Tarrow, Sidney. Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action and Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994.

Tascón, Sonia M. Human Rights Film Festivals: Activism in Context. New York: Palgrave MacMillen, 2015.

Tascón, Sonia “Watching Others’ Troubles: Revisiting ‘The Film Act’ and Spectatorship in Activist Film Festivals”. In Activist Film Festivals: Towards a Political Subject, edited by Sonia Tascón and Tyson Wils. Bristol, UK/Chicago, USA: Intellect, 2017, 21-37.

Torchin, Leshu. “Networked for Advocacy: Film Festivals and Activism”. In Film Festival Yearbook 4: Film Festivals and Activism, edited by Dina Iordanova & Leshu Torchin. St. Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012, 1-12.

Warner, Michael. “Publics and Counterpublics (abbreviated version)”. Quarterly Journal of Speech. National Communication Association. 88.4, 2002, 413-425.

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Screen. New Brunswick & London: Rutger’s University Press, 2011.

The Film Festival: Principal Node in Film Culture

By dedicating this issue to film festivals, Frames is reasserting the special position that St Andrews occupies as a hub for investigations in global film culture. The studies presented here – courtesy of the dedicated work of editors Cassice Last and Sophie Hopmeier, assisted by a team of other postgraduates – represent a symbolic continuation of our extensive work that found expression in the volumes of the Film Festival Yearbook series.

However, the work with film festivals among our community is not limited to commissioning scholarly research. Many of our PhD students are either currently involved or are likely to end up involved with film festivals in their careers. Darae Kim, for example, joined the programme after working at the Busan IFF in South Korea and Peize Li has worked as volunteer at film festivals in Shanghai and Belfast. Many among those who have graduated from the department do work with festivals, such as Yun-hua Chen who directs a small festival in Neubrandenburg in Germany, or Raluca Iacob who programs documentaries for the Astra film festival in Sibiu, Romania. Alumna Ana Grgic is working with a number of film festivals in Romania, Albania and Croatia, and Lars Kristensen with festivals in Scandinavia. An array of academic visitors – from Turkey, Spain, Poland and elsewhere – spent time in St Andrews using our festival-themed collections. Well-known programmers of global festivals – Gianluca Farinelli of Il Cinema Ritrovato in Bologna, Dimitris Kerkinos of the Thessaloniki IFF – contributed to the Film Festival Yearbooks. Others, like Azize Tan of the Istanbul IFF, took part in workshops held here. Last but not least, many of our own faculty are involved with film festivals – Dr Leshu Torchin with Edinburgh, Prof. Michael Cowan with the Giornate del cinema muto in Pordenone, Dr Philippa Lovatt with the Glasgow Short Film Festival, Dr Anuja Jain with the Bengaluru IFF, and Dr Jennifer O’Meara with the Dublin Feminist Film Festival.

The special issue of Frames is also special to me, for two reasons. First, as it is one of my profound beliefs that engaging the PhD students in all scholarly projects is a pillar in developing a convivial research community. It is pleasure and privilege to having been invited by the students to assist in putting together this volume—and to see them involved with work on film festivals over the years. Second, because the year 2018 marks the tenth anniversary since I first commissioned and published work on film festivals – for a special issue of Film International in 2008.

What a difference a decade makes….Ten years ago many of the festivals did not even want to talk to us: what could academia possibly offer to them? There was only Marijke de Valck’s, now classical, book on festivals, the long essay by Thomas Elsaesser, and some scattered shorter pieces – by people like Daniel Dayan or Paul Willemen – that have since become cornerstones of festival studies. Working initially with Ragan Rhyne and Ruby Cheung, we started commissioning and publishing writing on festivals under the auspices of the Leverhulme-funded project; Dynamics of World Cinema. Later on we were joined by Alex Fischer and Stefanie Van de Pier, and, for a while, by Thomas Gerstenmeyer and Enrico Vanucci.

Ten years later, and people email from all over the globe to tell me that due to our work they can now teach on film festivals. Once their modules on festivals are in place, larger publishers, who earlier shunned away from proposals on festivals as it was not possible to demonstrate any market for this writing, changed their stance, and have launched series on festival work. A range of edited collections and monographs – on festivals in Africa, Australia, and on various festival circuits (documentary, anthropology, and so on) – have materialised. My own pieces, mainly those on the festival circuit and on the film festival as an industry node, are frequently quoted, translated in various languages, and re-published by festivals.

Festivals are opening up to our work – in recent years I have taken part in workshops organised in conjunction with the large international festivals at Venice and San Sebastian, in Dhaka and in Teheran, at the China Film Archive in Beijing. Festival researchers hold regular meetings at Berlinale and Toronto. Various festivals – Locarno, Lyon, Turin – are considering launching academic programmes on the side.

In a recent presentation I classified the types of possible academic engagement with festivals in the following categories – as board member, as speaker for masterclass, as programmer of a strand, as jury member, and as consultant. Looking over the past decade, I realise that I have been involved with festivals in all these capacities at one time or another: I served as board member for the Edinburgh International Film Festival. I have given masterclasses at more than ten important international film festivals, from Douarnenez in France to Tromso in Norway. I have helped program sidebars and retrospectives and have written for many a festival publication. I have served as jury member for a range of diverse festivals – from the huge Busan IFF to the short film festival NexT in Bucharest, from the women’s film festival in Sale, Morocco to the expertly curated documentary festival in Yamagata, Japan. I have also been consulting for a festival that is still to appear, one in the beautiful city of Perth in Scotland. The opportunities are many, and I know that other colleagues and doctoral students have similar engagements and opportunities.

Turning to the contributions in this special Issue on festivals I see, once again, a display of the symbiotic relationship that academics and festivals have been developing.

The article by Lyell Davies – who also contributed to Sonia Tascon’s book on activist film festivals – is making further contribution to what is shaping as one of the most important areas of festival studies, outlining the dynamics of different stakeholders and the narratives that reach out far beyond the actual films and including special considerations on the positions taken by audiences that ultimately further the festivals’ potential political role. Sara Breyfogle’s text on refugee film festivals represents a logical an extension of this work, as, in scrutinizing events from around the world, it explores examples that can be regarded as some of the most important manifestations of politically engaged film festival activism.

It is another type of collaboration, based on affective labor and networks, that inevitably touch on the ‘precarious cultural work’ essence that marks festival undertakings, which informs the investigation offered in the contributions by Antoine Damiens on Toronto and John Greyson, and Heshen Xie on the LGBT festival in Hong Kong. The dynamics of friendships that were sustained through an array of complex and often adverse economic and social conditions lies in the basis of these amazingly resilient festivals. These studies extend and compliment the work done by scholars like Skadi Loist in Germany, Stuart Richards in Australia, Ger Zielinski in Canada, and Bilge Tas in Turkey.

More and more I grow convinced that we need to pay more attention to exploring the specificity of the ways locations and venues are chosen and used at film festivals. Why is it that festivals like the one in the remote Ardeche village of Lusass is unanimously regarded as the most important documentary event by the majority of intellectuals in France? Would the festival be the same if it was taking place at Centre Pompidou in the heart of Paris, as it is the case of its counterpart, Cinéma du reel? Why is it that a small town like Douarnenez in Brittany – approximately the size of St Andrews – not known for golf but rather as the home of sardine canning factories, has been the site of one of the most important festivals dedicated to minority issues for over four decades now? Or how about the Auroville film festival that takes place on the land of the global New Age community established by Sri Aurobindo and The Mother near Pondicherry in Tamil Nadu? We need to explore the dynamics established between festivals that are centered mainly in one venue and those that are scattered around town – do they provide better opportunities for conviviality? The example of Fajr film festival comes to mind here – as Fajr is, in fact, two festivals. The first one is an audience-focused event that takes place in February and plays out at cinemas around the whole large city of Teheran, whereas the second one is an international industry-focused event that comes with a market and is staged mainly for international guests predominantly at a sole central venue, Charsou. Different goals, different locations, different venue types…

It is these issues – addressing the dynamics of the stakeholder communities (mainly filmmakers and audiences) and the venues of the festival – that the three shorter contributions in the Point of View section tackle: The festival that celebrates the specific body of Bodo work needs to take place close to the community and keep it involved; its political goals to foster self-expression make its location imperative as explored by Ankush Bhuyãn. Ted Fisher’s text, outlining the emerging festival circuit in Texas where films are made ‘fueled by the hope of being programmed’ was particularly dear for me to read: it took me to places that I fondly remember from the time I worked in Austin, TX in the early 1990s. Back then SXSW was a nascent small event, and Fredericksburg only hosted an Octoberfest celebrating beer. How things have changed… Last but not least, Mina Radovic’s investigation of the venues of the BFI London film festival show how a big city event is trying to balance out between the tendency to center at tested venues and the need to reach out to multiple communities scattered around the multicultural metropolis.

As the place for networking and pitching meetings, the film festival plays a role in film production and helps further financing, development, and team formation. As the place that hosts film markets, it assists the theatrical and auxiliary distribution. It also facilitates deal-making that makes other types of film circulation possible. Finally, as the place where films are actually screened and seen, it is an exhibitor in its own right.

Films and people cross paths at the festival; careers and dissemination strategies change course as a result of these encounters, often becoming transnational. The festival provides dialogic space where various strands of national and regional film cultures come together. With all this, the film festival comes to occupy a special position in the structure of film culture: it is film culture’s principal node.

Letter from the Editors

During the last decade, film festivals have gained momentum within both public and academic debate as their practices and strategies have come under scrutiny from various theoretical perspectives. Film festivals stimulate the emergence of innovative approaches within film studies, historiography and theory, and, as a result, are now an established field of research and study –forming and training new cohorts of festivals’ practitioners and organisers. 

This issue of Frames, entitled Film Festivals: Aftermaths and Beyond, seeks to draw attention to the relationship between film festivals in practice and as a discourse, with a focus on a reciprocal influence and ongoing dialogue between these two polarities, and on how they impact one another. Articles and POVs in this issue question how the film festival circuit determines the fate of a film and how stakeholder dynamics influence the functioning of film festivals, as well as exploring the role of regional and sub-regional film festivals and circuits in shaping the understanding of world cinema.

In addition to this thematic issue, we are pleased to be able to publish a selection of essays, in several formats, from the Institute for Global Cinema and Creative Cultures workshop celebrating the legacy of the seminal Japanese actress, Setsuko Hara (1920-2015), which was held at the University of St Andrews on Feb 5th, 2018.

We would like to thank our guest editor, Professor Dîna Iordanova, Professor and founder of the Department of Film Studies at The University of St Andrews, for her generous and deeply insightful contribution to this issue. As always, we are extremely grateful for the support of our dedicated editorial team and for their superb work on this issue.

 

 

Vietnam The Movie: Resituating Images in Postcolonial Mainstream and Art Cinema

The wide mediatic representation and distribution of the Vietnam War carry heavy weight in the discourse of postcolonial Vietnam, a period that spans several decades from the end of French colonialism in 1954 to the reunification of North and South Vietnam on 30 April 1975 as the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, a name it retains today. However, the plethora of moving and still images produced across the globe based on historical and fictional accounts of Vietnam’s history, especially that of the war, fail to tell a cohesive and unified narrative—from the West to the Far East the war has been relentlessly and variously recounted—and in the United States alone, in the aftermath of the Vietnam War in the 1970s and 80s, the war became “a resource for the American culture industry”.1 Publishers, television, film and music producers contributed to immortalise the war into a “media-myth”, each adding its own elements to the many mutations of the war, but still incapable of representing it fully in its complexity.2

In order to contribute to the discourse of postcolonial Vietnam through visual culture, this paper examines the critical work by Vietnamese filmmaker Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (2016)—a collage documentary that combines several excerpts from Vietnam-related movies. Thus, this article analyses the cultural and aesthetic approach the movie foregrounds in collecting and preserving postcolonial moving images to reframe Vietnam’s recent history. By compiling visual depictions of iconic and historically significant events in a creative assemblage—from Hollywood cinema to arthouse and Asian films—Vietnam The Movie traces Vietnam’s history between the end of French rule in the 1950s to the conclusion of the Vietnam War. Because the perception of Vietnam in recent history is to a large extent based on the events surrounding the war, the period framed by the movie is of critical relevance to the investigation of the corresponding resituated images conducted by this paper.

Furthermore this paper focuses on the formal elements employed by Nguyễn Trinh Thi’s readaptation of existing footage through her method of stitching together excerpts from various films that feature the war—geographically diverse visual interpretations based on differing viewpoints at different time periods. For this purpose, this paper is informed primarily by two concerns: first, to look at the plurality of histories and, arguably, the ownership of memory. While “one history” is often adapted to subjective national agendas, memory or the act of recollection is paramount to a community’s contemplation of its past,3 a notion this paper puts forward as illustrated by the composite anatomy of Vietnam The Movie; second, to explore and analyse the visual strategies that enable Vietnam The Movie to appropriate and resituate, in its discourse of postcolonial Vietnam, historical images or depictions of significant events, as well as their politics of aesthetics. Within the rubric of decoding Vietnam The Movie’s “ways of seeing” the war, that is, as John Berger argues, to see through the camera’s altered field of vision, this investigation must also take into account the use of sound, voice, soundtrack and background noise from the various excerpts, which are equally interpolated and reassembled in such a way to often disorient the viewers’ interaction with the work.4

War and history: in context

The structure of Vietnam The Movie is broadly an historical one by appropriating selected archival footage in a documentary format that allows, in pioneering documentary maker John Grierson’s words, “original” scenes to tell the story.5 The film opens chronologically, as the war itself had unfolded, with an extract from the French film Indochine (1992), revealing an intimate conversation between the protagonist Eliane and her adopted son Etienne about their relationship. The location is Geneva; crucially, the intensity of their encounter reflects the magnitude of a concurrent event, the Geneva Conference that was formalised on 21 July 1954. By early May 1954, France had relinquished any claim to Vietnamese territory. Furthermore, the Geneva Accords delineated the northern and southern zones in Vietnam to which opposing troops of each origin were instructed to return to. These events of 1954 marked the beginning of the involvement of the United States and the ensuing Vietnam War.

After the opening sequence appropriated from Indochine, Vietnam The Movie cuts to a series of clips from Born on the Fourth of July (1989), The Deer Hunter (1978) and Forrest Gump (1994), with the respective protagonists expressing their intentions or hesitations to go to war halfway around the world. From Born on the Fourth of July, Ron Kovic’s father does not dissuade his son from going to Vietnam but deplores, “…13,000 miles, it’s a long way to go to fight a war.”6 The audience is transported to the thick of the American War, commonly referred to as the Vietnam War, and, to a lesser degree, the Second Indochina War. With an estimated 1.1 million Vietnamese and 58,000 American deaths,7 the Vietnam War effectively started after the Geneva Conference was formalised. The bloodshed between the American-backed South Vietnamese government and North Vietnam, backed by the Soviet Union and China, lasted over 20 years, ending with the fall of Saigon to the North Vietnamese troops, with the defeat of US and the reunification of Vietnam.

As Winston Churchill once asserted, “history is written by the victors”, the history of Vietnam should have perhaps been told differently, for the most vocal accounts of the war have been given by not the victorious but the defeated—an inequality of voices that Vietnam-war writer and academic Viet Thanh Nguyen explains in these terms: “…while the United States lost the war, in fact, it won the war in memory on most of the world’s cultural front outside of Vietnam, dominating as it does movie making, books publishing, fine art, and the production of historical archives.”8 While I will return to the theme of memory later in this essay, here I would like to focus on the mediatic effect that , the Vietnam War has generated in recent history through the proliferation of its reinterpretations, each escaping a singularity of viewpoint, from books recording and recounting the events, to documentaries and films, largely, though not uniquely, through the lens of American culture. In this plurality of histories, fitted to fulfill national and political agendas, can we find order and linearity of meaning? Filmmaker Nguyễn Trinh Thi seems to ponder on the various connotations of Vietnam, a name that has become synonymous with war.

To frontline the sentiments that prompted Nguyễn Trinh Thi to create Vietnam The Movie, the film’s first frame, preceding the excerpt from Indochina discussed above, is a laconic text in black and white:

In the year 2000 I was invited to speak to a group of school children in New York City about my country. To start the conversation I asked the students some questions to see what they knew of Vietnam. “Do you know what the capital of Vietnam is?” I asked. Nobody had an answer, except for one boy who said “Vietnam War!”

These unceremonious words foreground and anticipate Vietnam The Movie’s composite anatomy of 36 excerpts from Vietnam-related movies—varying from productions that deal directly with the war to those that observe the pervasive seepage of the distant war into everyday life. The filmmaker shares in our recent interview:

I collected and watched videos from many different sources, anything I could find, including army and educational films from US. […] In Vietnam The Movie, the rule is that every single clip used in the film has to contain the word ‘Vietnam’. […] Gradually I reduced documentary and didactic materials and focused more on fiction. My original focus was not on war films, but on the perceptions of Vietnam from outside. But naturally the perceptions are mostly of the Vietnam War anyway.9

The recycled footage, some dating back as early as 1958, such as the American film The Quiet American, to the 1970 West German film Der amerikanische Soldat (The American Soldier) and Bengali film Pratidwandi (The Adversary), are adapted and treated with surgical precision as archival fragments to re-examine Vietnam’s recent history through the lens of the familiar, albeit visually subverted, popular culture.

Archive and memory of the war

A side note here is in order to explain the word ‘archival’. In general, the public audience may perceive an ‘archive’ as a collection of historical documents or records that provide information about a place, institution, or group of people. This perception holds relevance to the context of this paper; when we watch these films, renowned accounts by illustrious “authors”, we need to remember that they are, after all, a second-hand, somewhat subjective interpretation of Vietnam’s history. This logic then begs the question of whether or not these films become a “secondary archive” of the actual events that had taken place in Vietnam, thus complicating the value of revisiting them. To a large extent, these films represent the prevailing popular media and information transmission of the Vietnam War in the last 40 years. The archival value of these films in relation to Vietnam The Movie, I argue, is paramount in their visual-cultural legacy in defining the national identity of Vietnam through the collective memory of the Vietnam War.

Memory, as we understand it, is the mechanism that enables us to store and retrieve information for the purpose of influencing future actions or emotions. Collective memory, or memoir collective as introduced by French philosopher and sociologist Maurice Halbwachs, is the common experience and information shared by a community. Halbwachs’ theory argues that memory can only function within a collective context, and that within the collectivity each individual or group of individuals will have a subjective memory of a collective experience.10

Yet, memory is a biological mechanism that not only enables the faculty of recalling, but also purports how recognition is produced, that is, how the “industry of memory”, to borrow a term coined by Viet Thanh Nguyen, creates selective memories, in this case, the memories of the Vietnam War. In Viet Thanh Nguyen’s terms the Hollywood system and its movies are an “industry of memory”, which includes “the material and ideological forces that determine how and why memories are produced and circulated, and who has access to, and control of, the memory industries.”11

Collective memories are not necessarily uniform since they are based on the memory of unique individuals. In the case of the Vietnam War, the American and Vietnamese individual and collective memories are equally relevant, however, unequally presented to global attention. The former has stronger and wider mediatic power than the latter. Indeed, what have remained imprinted in our minds over the last 40 years are the iconic sequences of the Russian roulette scene in The Deer Hunter, the “Ride of the Valkyries” assault in Apocalypse Now (1979) or disc jockey Adrian Cronauer’s (played by Robin Williams) comedic radio broadcasts in Good Morning, Vietnam­ (1987), to name but a few. By subverting the linearity of selected fictional productions—archival material in their own right—Vietnam The Movie is able to challenge and reposition the collective memory of the war, shaped over time by the aesthetics of the very same productions. Mediatically, these productions were made to emphasise, celebrate, condemn or simply tell the story of the war.

It is these productions that have been intervened upon in Vietnam The Movie, dissected into fragments and stitched together through visual assimilation, consequently, lending an elusive sense of narration to the work where no story is actually told, no logic is actually followed except the “logic of forms”, where each clip leads to the next by association of ideas, or forms.12

Abiding by the visual strategy of association, the viewer’s eye, in constant struggle for linearity of narrative and further frustrated by the complexity of sounds and dialogues, establishes the optic connection between the disparate clips. This assimilation in turn enacts a deeper, personal relation to the excerpts that leads the viewer to reconsider, and to reposition, preconceptions of the war. Thus the assemblage of recycled footage acquires a new, “alternative” aesthetic.

Association as strategy: the creative montage

What follows is a formal analysis of two instances where this ‘strategy’ of association is, in my opinion, particularly evident. The first example is at approximately 13 minutes into the movie where two excerpts—one from the American film The Green Berets (1968) and the other from the French film La Chinoise (1967)—are juxtaposed based on association of language and intellectual expectations. The two extracts are merged at the point where the American reporter Beckworth expresses to Green Beret Colonel Mike Kirby his concerns that “this is simply a war between the Vietnamese people”; the premise is a briefing at a secured military area, which includes a show-and-tell of US and Vietnamese ordinance. The conundrum left suspended in the words of reporter Beckworth of whether or not the war indeed involved only the Vietnamese peoples is addressed almost seamlessly by the main character of La Chinoise, the young, revolutionary-inspired Guillaume, through his paradoxical parade of sunglasses covered with the flags of the various nations involved in the Vietnam War.13

The seamless juncture of the two overtly disparate excerpts is commendable, thus the war’s raison d’être through the “lenses” of the American propaganda morphs quite literally into the multiples lenses worn by anti-American, French alter ego, Guillaume. The second example is the intellectual combustion between the French collective movie Loin du Vietnam (1967),14 followed by the American advertisement Batman for US Savings Bonds (1966). The premises are set by the intellectual crescendo of a male Parisian who declares, “I know a place where they give ‘Vietnam meals’. For 1000 francs you can get a bowl of rice, the proceeds go to the Red Cross.”15 His inflammatory monologue on the intellectual climate of the war bleeds into, quite remarkably, the US advertisement to raise money for the war—Batman, the familiar and benevolent superhero, reads a personal message from President Johnson asking children to invest in Savings Bonds in support of the troops in Vietnam “to [learn] the lesson of practical citizenship…and to [give] important support to the cause of freedom and to the men who fight for us in Vietnam.”16 Here, too, the intellectual association defies any logic, abiding to the association of forms whereby one ethos is replaced and subverted by the other.

This method of creative montage, or editing, that disorients the viewer and undermines the central idea of the movie, is crucial to Vietnam The Movie. Sergei Eisenstein, one of the pioneering theorists of film montage, introduced the idea of montage as early as 1932 as a technique to contrast images or sequences to determine visual and intellectual responses from the public—to produce a shock-effect that in turn elicits an active engagement of the spectator—“the shocks provide the only opportunity of perceiving the ideological aspect of what is being shown, the final ideological conclusion”.17 Similarly, Walter Benjamin in his 1936 essay “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction” comments at length on the importance of the camera in constructing the narrative of the film through the editing process by which disparate moments are assembled mechanically to tell a story.18 Creative montage is not new to Nguyễn Trinh Thi. Often working with existing footage, Nguyễn Trinh Thi’s practice operates between fiction and documentary, film and art. This allows the artist and film director to operate at different levels in various formats, from the thought-process structure of the essay film to the documentary style production that makes use of existing archival material. “My interest in making work [from archival footage] is to ‘collaborate’ with the material, which means during the process I will have to negotiate with them,” Nguyễn Trinh Thi says, further explaining in our recent interview, that while dealing with existing footage she ensures to confine her practice within specific criteria.19

Opening and closing: in conclusion

In Vietnam The Movie, some of the parameters for the selection of footage were that each clip had to contain the word ‘Vietnam’ (as stated earlier in the paper) and that the movie would be organised chronologically (as described, from the Geneva Conference to the end of the Vietnam War) to somewhat relate the perilous journeys of the “typical” soldiers, from the youngsters freshly enlisted for the war, their return home, to their lives as war veterans. Indeed in the two closing excerpts—Ann Hui’s Boat People (1982) and Jean-Luc Godard’s 2 ou 3 choses que je sais d’elle (Two or Three Things I Know About Her) (1967), which, unlike the opening sequences, are Asian and European films—the camera slows down and pans over reflective scenarios that convey the sense of void that comes with the end of the war—and the end of an era.20 The syncopated rhythm of rupture, dissonance and discontinuity of the chaotic rolling of images and sounds throughout Vietnam The Movie comes to a halt, replaced by the sparse dialogue between photojournalist Shaomi Akutagawa and the government agent Mr Nguyen. In the background, the sun is setting on the coast of Danang, where Akutagawa was invited to document life after the war. The shot closes with Mr Nguyen’s lasting words: “Vietnam has won her revolution, but I have lost mine.”21 The frame crucially dissolves to Godard’s voice-over in the film 2 ou 3 choses que je sais d’elle, where we return to the theme of war and memory, or, rather, the loss of memory “driving through the street of dreams”.22

J’ecoute la pubilicite a ma radio. Grace a E-S-S-O, je conduis sur la rue des reves et j’oublie le reste. J’oublie Hiroshima; j’oublie Auschwitz, j’oublie Budapest; j’oublie le Vietnam; j’oublie le SMIG; j’oublie la crise du logement; j’oublie la famine aux Indes.

I listen to the adverts on my radio. Thanks to ESSO I drive on the street of dreams and I forget the rest. I forget Hiroshima, I forget Auschwitz, I forget Budapest, I forget Vietnam; I forget the minimum wage, I forget the housing crisis, I forget the famine in India.

The use of a voice-over clip at this late point in the movie finally harmonises image and sound, in this case the incorporeal voice of Godard, towards an intimate moment of reflection. In the 1970s Godard produced a number of movies, many featured in Vietnam The Movie, in which he expresses his concerns over the war and explores the role of the artist as activist and art as activism. Throughout his artistic production Godard relates to the cinematic medium as the archive of time, and as the conduit between history and memory.

Nguyễn Trinh Thi’s decision in adopting Godard’s work to sign off Vietnam The Movie sends a crucial message to the attentive viewer, that the cinematic medium is indeed empowered as a record of history through memory and recollection. However, Nguyễn Trinh Thi’s actual selection and collection of archival material, negotiated and re-situated in Vietnam The Movie, offers to the viewer an alternative memory of history, even if lost to the multiplicity of symbol and intent, that is as collective as it is individual.

Hence, to summarise, this essay hopes to contribute to the discourse of postcolonial Vietnam through visual culture by examining Vietnam The Movie’s strategy of adopting the creative montage of excerpts from Vietnam-related movies to re-evaluate the country’s recent history. To do so this paper not only looks at the plurality of histories and, arguably, the ownership of memory through the notion of collective memory, but also explores and analyses the visual strategies that enabled Vietnam The Movie to appropriate and resituate, in the discourse of postcolonial Vietnam, historical images or depictions of significant events as reproduced by contemporary mediatic culture.

Appendix A—Interview transcript

Email interview May 7–11, 2017

Transcribed: November 24, 2017, edited for brevity

May 7, 2017

Loredana Paracciani (LP):

While researching Vietnam The Movie, did you access the original war archive of the United States? Are there any Vietnamese video archives? If so, are they accessible?

Nguyễn Trinh Thi (NTT):

I collected and watched videos from many different sources, anything I could find, including army and educational films from US. My first editing of Vietnam The Movie included many of those. Gradually, I reduced documentary and didactic materials and focused more on fiction. The archive in US we can access online is https://archive.org. There is the national film archive in Vietnam, controlled by the government and very hard to access.

LP:                  As part of my paper I am investigating the relevance of archival material and what is available on the Vietnam War besides film productions. Would you call these film productions a “secondary archive”? After all, they do provide (bias) information.

NTT:               My original focus was not on war films, but on the perceptions of Vietnam from outside. But naturally the perceptions are mostly of the Vietnam War anyway. Ultimately, with Vietnam The Movie, I was more interested in the popular perceptions around the world, though, not so much the official ones.

May 10, 2017

LP:                  Which do you feel were the political and aesthetic implications for you in making Vietnam The Movie? Did you ask yourself what was politically correct? What was the main element that steered your narrative—or absence of logical narrative?

NTT:               I guess I don’t ask myself what was politically correct. My interest in making work is to ‘collaborate’ with the material, which means during the process I will have to negotiate with them. Therefore I do not work with a top-down attitude. Although I might be the one who comes up with the rule of the game. In Vietnam The Movie, the rule is that every single clip that used in the film has to contain the word ‘Vietnam’, preferably if a character utters that word. I also have some logic for the flow of the film: 1. The clips are organised to tell the story of the war/history by a chronological order. You can see it commences with the end of the Indochina War, then the start, progression, acceleration, and end of the American War, then after the war; 2. It follows the story of the individual soldier, from leaving for Vietnam, his arrival, being injured [at war], back to America, [and his life as] veteran etc. The film follows a logic of association rather than a logic of dramatic narrative as in conventional cinema.

The film attempts a re-reading of this composed archive while resisting the comprehensibility and linearity of history. The anticipation of perspective in this new narrative is illusive; there is the logic of form through which no overt conclusion can be reached. In the complex nature of this narrative, the multilayered perspective of many can only permit a shifting and fragmented history that is full of gaps; unlike its authorised cousin, it is naturally incomplete.

May 11, 2017

LP:                  The last work by Godard is a crucial work, I think, not strictly about the war but for its cinematic value—also for the theme of memory and history. I wonder was it a conscious and strategic decision to place this work at the end (besides the previous excerpts)? Have you been inspired by him in your practice?

NTT:               Godard’s films mention ‘Vietnam’ the most times—in six or seven films. You might have noticed that many of the films I used in Vietnam The Movie were not war films or films on Vietnam per se. Rather I was more interested in the ones where the Vietnam War was the “backdrop”, like if you were living in Europe and watch the Vietnam War happening on television in the background. Though it seeps into your subconsciousness, somehow, for example, the scene from Persona by Bergman in which the woman watches TV in her hospital ward.

It is very interesting for me to look at Godard’s works regarding the Vietnam War, and his thinking as an artist and intellectual on how to engage with such a faraway war, or, maybe more generally, the relationship between art and activism. This theme reoccurs in many of his works, from Masculin/Feminin and La Chinoise in the 1960s to Tout va bien and Here and Elsewhere in the 1970s. This self-reflection concerns me quite often in my practice.

The placing of the last scene in the film was very significant indeed. The very last picture that we left the film with was of the advertisement of consumer products. I think at that point, Godard was probably quite pessimistic with the leftist movement in Europe. I think this picture can hint to my perspective to postwar present-day Vietnam as well.

Notes:

1 For the mediatic power of the Vietnam War, see Rick Berg, “Losing Vietnam: Covering the War in the Age of Technology,” Cultural Critique No. 3 American Representation of Vietnam (Spring 1986): 92–125.

2 Ibid.

3 Referencing Freud, writer and academic Viet Thanh Nguyen insists on the importance of memory, and the need to work through the past not only individually but also collectively in the case of war trauma of large communities. See Viet Thanh Nguyen, Nothing Ever Dies: Vietnam and the Memory of War (Massachusetts: Havard University Press, 2016), 16–17.

4 John Berger, Ways of Seeing (London: Penguin Books, 1975), 12.

5 In his 1932 essay “First Principles of Documentary”, Grierson insists on the importance of the documentary as a tool to observe life, which could be channelled in an art form. In this sense, the “original” actor and scene are more suitable than their fiction counterparts in understanding the reality around us. Grierson coined the term “documentary” based on his mode of practice. See John Grierson, “First Principles of Documentary (1932),” in The European Cinema Reader, ed. Catherine Fowler (London: Routledge, 2002), 39–48.

6 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (Hanoi, 2016), 4:23–5:00.

7 Andrew Wiest, The Vietnam War 1956–1975 (New York: Routledge, 2002), 85.

8 Viet Thanh Nguyen, Nothing Ever Dies: Vietnam and the Memory of War (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2016), 14–15.

9 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, email interview with author, May 7, 2017. See Appendix A for the interview transcript.

10 Halbwachs takes the example of how pilgrims to the Holy Land over the centuries have evoked very different images of the events of Jesus’ life. See Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, ed. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992).

11 Viet Thanh Nguyen, Nothing Ever Dies: Vietnam and the Memory of War (Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2016), 107.

12 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, email interview with author, May 10, 2017. In her statement, Nguyen Trinh also declares, “There is the logic of form through which no overt conclusion can be reached.” See Appendix A for the interview transcript.

13 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (Hanoi, 2016), 13:20–14:54.

14 Loin du Vietnam (Far from Vietnam), directed by Jean-Luc Godard, Chris Marker, Alain Resnais, Agnès Varda, Joris Ivens, William Klein and Claude Lelouch, symbolically inaugurated the rise of left-wing cinema and the political upheaval known as May 1968. See “Loin du Vietnam (1967), Joris Ivens and Left Bank documentary,” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, accessed June 1, 2017, https://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/jc53.2011/WaughVietnam/3.html.

15 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (Hanoi, 2016), 23:46–23:48.

16 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (Hanoi, 2016), 24:23–24:50.

17 Eisenstein is considered the father of montage. Since he first introduced montage, it has been adopted in filmmaking in attempts to extend the imaginative possibilities of the film. See Sergei Eisenstein, Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. Jay Leyda (New York: Harcourt, 1949).

18 Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations, trans. Harry Zohn, ed. Arendt (New York: Schocken Books, 1986), 217–52.

19 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, email interview with author, May 10, 2017. See Appendix A for the interview transcript.

20 In Godard’s voice-over in 2 ou 3 choses que je sais d’elle, he hints to the fact that he had been brought to zero, “…and I have to start from there”, which refers to the end of the Hollywood cinematic example. See Richard Brody, Everything is Cinema: The Working Life of Jean-Luc Godard (New York City: Henry Holt and Company, 2008), 291.

21 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (Hanoi, 2016), 45:37–45:40.

22 Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (Hanoi, 2016), 45:56–46:37.

Notes on Contributor:

Loredana Pazzini-Paracciani is an independent curator, writer and lecturer of Southeast Asian contemporary art. Encompassing critical social and political issues, Loredana’s rigorous research and continuous dialogue with artists and art professionals leverage Southeast Asian contemporary art through her collaborative curatorial  projects.Based in London and Bangkok, Loredana is currently editing a debut compilation of essays titled Interlaced Journeys: Diaspora and the Contemporary in Southeast Asian Art that explores the connections between diasporic movements and contemporary art in Southeast Asia.

Bibliography:

Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations, trans. Harry Zohn, ed. Arendt (New York: Schocken Books, 1986), 217–52.

Berg, Rick. “Losing Vietnam: Covering the War in the Age of Technology,” Cultural Critique No. 3 American Representation of Vietnam (Spring 1986): 92–125.

Berger, John. Ways of Seeing (London: Penguin Books, 1975.

Brody, Richard. Everything is Cinema: The Working Life of Jean-Luc Godard (New York City: Henry Holt and Company, 2008).

Eisenstein, Sergei. Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, ed. Jay Leyda (New York: Harcourt, 1949).

Grierson, John. “First Principles of Documentary (1932),” in The European Cinema Reader, ed. Catherine Fowler (London: Routledge, 2002), 39–48.

Halbwachs, Maurice. On Collective Memory, ed. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992).

Loin du Vietnam (1967), Joris Ivens and Left Bank documentary,” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, accessed June 1, 2017, https://www.ejumpcut.org/archive/jc53.2011/WaughVietnam/3.html

Nguyễn Trinh Thi, Vietnam The Movie (Hanoi, 2016).

Wiest, Andrew. The Vietnam War 1956–1975 (New York: Routledge, 2002).

Nguyễn Trinh Thi, email interview with author, May 7, 2017.

Nguyen, Viet Thanh. Nothing Ever Dies: Vietnam and the Memory of War (Massachusetts: Havard University Press, 2016).

 

 

 

 

Prison Movies – Cinema Behind Bars

By Kevin Kehrwald
Colombia University Press, 2017
Reviewed by Cassice Last

Kehrwald introduces the prison film by stating that, generally speaking, prison narratives are particularly popular in America at the moment. Of film in particular, Kehrwald quickly establishes that prison has featured in films since the silent era. He begins by querying what specifically constitutes a prison film, how can we as viewers define it? Must the prison itself actually feature, how do we define a prisoner, and what features are immediately recognisable in the prison film? In moving towards a definition Kehrwald sets up the parameters of his study and justifies his exclusion of kidnapping films, prisoner of war films and the mental institution film. The prison, he surmises ‘should be the principle subject of investigation and the dominant agent of oppression’ (p15) situating the prison as, unsurprisingly, integral to the genre. He maintains that a key feature of the prison film is an intense sense of identification between viewer and prisoner, a bond that he claims at times rivals the horror genre’s concentrated link between viewer and victim.  He also surmises that the genre particularly potently reveals wider cultural issues and states that one ‘can tell a great deal about a society by the way it portrays is prisoners on screen.’ (p4)

So how has film portrayed prison, prison life and prisoners on screen throughout the years? In his study tracing the development of the Prison film, Kehrwald begins by examining the formation of the genre during the Great Depression. During this Pre-Motion picture production code censorship era he argues that both the Gangster film and the Prison film enjoyed great popularity and tackles the tension between these films. Common discourse, he argues, places the gangster film as a key earlier inspiration to the Prison film. By examining early film releases in the Great Depression Kehrwald contests this view to argue that MGM’s The Big House actually preceded the Gangster genre and initiated a cycle of Prison films in Pre-code Hollywood. More than this, Kehrwald argues for The Big House as prototype for the cycle, creating and introducing pivotal innovations of the genre. Relying on Rick Altman’s discussion of the importance of semantic versus syntactic elements of a film to inform his discussion of defining the Prison film and its key genre characteristics, Kehrwald argues in his first chapter that The Big House brought to the fore key innovations of the genre such as: particular character types, iconic settings within the prison, atmospheric sounds such as clanking gates and situations such as prison riots and escape attempts. Using this established prototype Kehrwald contrasts the Depression era -Prison film to the Gangster film arguing that at its core the Prison film focuses upon the fallen sincerely seeking self-redemption at the mercy of an oppressive judicial system. He dedicates the rest of chapter one to tracing the appearance of these characteristics in later Depression era films such as Up The River, The Last Mile, and Fugitive from a Chain Gang. He concludes chapter one defining this era of Prison films as notable for continually portraying the prisoner as victim of powerful external forces they have no hope to control, an image heavily resonant with the wider cultural climate of the Great Depression.

Kehrwald turns to women in Prison films of the 1950s and 60s. Women were decidedly lacking in the previous chapter thus he begins chapter two by clarifying that women did appear in pre-code Hollywood films, however, he focuses upon the Cold War era stipulating that it was not until these two decades that women in prison films came into their own. These films share similar conventions to the ones popularised by The Big House  and Kehrwald examines four key films from this era that heavily focused upon gender roles and particularly upon the tension between the ‘good girl/bad girl’ conflict. Surprisingly beginning with Disney’s Lady and the Tramp, his analysis of this animated film surmises the issues to follow in the Cold War era women in prison films, notably the issues around domesticity, pregnancy, pre-marital sex and threats to the patriarchy. He goes on to look at the figure of the ‘prison lesbian’ in Caged and the depiction of children behind bars in House of Women. This latter feature is obviously absent from men in prison films, and Kehrwald highlights the context of the 60s in which issues of childcare for working mothers came to the fore. He also scrutinises the rise of television in the 50s particularly concerning the media’s role in manipulating the public’s opinion on female prisoners. Overall, he highlights many of these women in prison films raise pertinent questions about care for female prisoners but fail to provide any solutions. Despite this, he argues these films should not be dismissed as they at least highlight very real anxieties pertinent to viewers and he appears to lament the films later being used as ‘fodder’ for 70s/80s sexploitation films.

In Chapter Three, Kehrwald turns to popular prison films released between the 60s and the 90s to analyse identity and violence. Violence has featured throughout the genre but Kehrwald makes the argument that with the relaxing of censorship codes violence became more explicitly and directly portrayed. He begins by looking at prisoner buddy films analysing The Defiant Ones before going on to employ Cool Hand Luke as a prime example of the increasingly popular ‘anti-hero’ films. Women seem notably absent in these popular films and Kehrwald addresses this by analysing the role of sports in prison films with The Longest Yard. Here, Kehrwald argues that the prison’s football stadium becomes an area to prove or re-discover masculinity, with the protagonist seemingly actively denouncing a domestic life with his wife to enter an all-male populated and dominated world-prison. Kehrwald then tackles the difficult issue of rape in prison films which he introduces with the disclaimer that the proclivity of the act in the movies reveals more about popular culture rather than realistic prison culture. He closes his third chapter arguing that attitudes to incarceration changed in the 1990s becoming ‘more punitive and pervasive’ and particularly evident of this was Clinton passing the largest crime bill in US history in 1994. Analysing the two key prison films The Shawshank Redemption and Green Mile that both embraced nostalgia he confronts issues of race and dubs this era as ‘the looking away of the 1990s’ (p97).

Kehrwald concludes his study by drawing the reader’s attention to a number of films released post 9/11 that ‘speak for those that can’t.’ (p100.) Dealing mostly with documentary releases Kehrwald sums up that the main focuses of releases include mass incarceration, the dilemma of capital punishment and the particularly pertinent issue of torture given the context of the Bush/Cheney/ Rumsfeld administration. Kehrwald’s final word on prison films concerns recidivism and the effectiveness of prisons themselves. Circling back to his examination of prison films released during the Great Depression and women’s prison films of the 50s/60s, he questions the reformative capability of incarceration. Ultimately he queries prison movies’ complicity in naturalising the concept of incarceration and quotes a line from Attica to close his study, urging readers to not shy away from, but rather to face filmic representations of suffering in prisons.

Rethinking first-person testimony through a vitalist account of documentary participation

Much documentary making which follows in the Griersonian tradition is still predicated on the ongoing binary axis of the testimony of victim1 and filmmaker as voice-giver.2 In the production of documentary projects about social issues, an unspoken contract between maker and participant is established, where in return for the participation, the filmmakers make an artefact with will bear witness to their stories, experiences and trauma. However, often the pressure to provide convincing evidence through affective and persuasive means from testimony can burden the participant and the participatory relationship. The reliance on first-person accounts of people in crisis also presents the problem of sustained listening in both the filmmaking process as well as the finished film. New ecologies of documentary making have seen shifts in this traditional paradigm with movements towards participatory and collaborative filmmaking practices that include processes that diverge from producing conventional artefacts through heritage processes. This has been an attempt to recast power differentials, and allow for more open-ended and multivalent conceptions of knowledge, non-didactic meanings and multiple voices to be included. Often these projects exist in forms that include not only the linear but also the non or multi-linear, web-based, interactive or mobile. These forms allow for a more rhizomatic3 spread through documentary spaces and destabilise traditional binary relationships more prevalent in documentary industries.

According to Paula Rabinowitz, documentary’s “purpose is to speak and confer value on the objects it speaks about”4. This observation acknowledges Nichols’s concept of “documentary voice”5 and how it frames the world and speaks through the text in its address to the audience. In addition to the stylistic elements and aspects of authorship, documentary voice is also composed of the verbal participation, often through interviews. And through these interviews, valued is conferred on the world through articulated experience. This foregrounds the linguistic as the dominant mode of constructing knowledge. This article proposes a lateral shift in participatory documentary practice and theory that allows for a vital-materialist focus on the ecology of place, material and other non-linguistic modes of participation. I will discuss my documentary work- in-progress, The Park, which focuses on the sudden eviction of long-term residents at an outer suburban caravan park in Melbourne. These residents are predominantly elderly, disabled or unemployed and many have been living in the park for up to thirty years. The eviction of these residents has caused much trauma through displacement, significant loss of finances and illness and death. Drawing on JaneBennett’s Vibrant Matter (2010), I claim that decentralising the role of first person accounts and situating the human voice among a range of other conceptualisations of participation through training the camera and microphone towards the other evidence of the documentary world can ease the burden of the affective labour of first-person accounts of trauma. This shift towards the material landscape and environment as participatory pro-filmic elements, which convey experience and tell stories, can create resonant documentary material that allows for a re-invigorated method of listening to social issues beyond the linguistic.

The Park: some background

At the beginning of 2017, the one hundred and eighty permanent residents at the Wantirna Residential Park were given a letter saying they would need to vacate by January 2018. The land on which they have been living had been sold to a developer who has three hundred townhouses planned. Some of these residents have been there for nearly thirty years. They had retired there and had been planning to live out their time in the leafy streets of this caravan park which provided a low-cost, safe and convenient alternative to owning a more conventional house. For these residents, many elderly, disabled and/or on low incomes, there are few viable options of where to go next. The Park traces the final eight months of this place and the eviction of the residents. This project is a collection of short films which focus on the people as both individuals and part of a community, the place and the environment, and the objects and structures. The Park touches on social issues such as grass-roots activism, land ownership, politics, housing affordability as well the degradation of the built environment through abandonment and the natural environment that has grown around this space.

I began The Park project after reading a newspaper article in The Guardian Australia. The Wantirna Residential Park had been owned by four people who then sold it to a developer to build three hundred town houses. While the residents don’t own the land, they do own their houses which largely consist of portable cabins which have had extensions such as structures and decks built on. They also have well-developed gardens; evidence of years of work and money. These have become permanent fixtures in the park and are either costly to relocate or cannot be moved. In May 2017, after getting in contact with one of the organisers of the Wantirna Residents’ Action Group (W.R.A.G.), I was invited out to a meeting the following day. There were about sixty people there, all of whom had grievances and concerns about how they had been treated, what their legal rights were and what would happen to them next. I felt like this was the edge of a movement of resistance. Peter Gray, one of the organisers, outlined his idea that they should fight for compensation since there was no chance of them being able to continue living there. I made a plan to return to do some interviews. Over the past few months, I have been out to the caravan park about twenty times. A small group of residents, sometimes three or four, sometimes ten and sometimes only Peter, are standing on the roadside with signs and petitions. Each time, there are more and more houses for sale or demolished. I encounter the same core group of residents each time. While they are trying to escalate the action, life is moving on for many of them as the number of residents remaining dwindle. I am acutely aware that my actions as a documentary maker cannot effect change, just as Peter knows that his binders of documents, collection of handwritten letters by the residents, radio appearances, newspaper articles and current affairs interviews will also not effect change. By Christmas 2017, most residents will have moved. Watching this process begs the question faced by many documentary makers; what happens to the documentary process when so much of it feels futile? One of the enduring questions in this project is how to continually document a situation which is traumatic for most the participants to speak of. And subsequently, how can I create works around these issues that will engage an audience in hearing these stories. The Park is an ongoing project of a collection of short films around this event. Rather than a textual analysis of documentary artefacts, this article discusses my documentary practice underpinned by theoretical concepts.

Documentary participation as affective labour

Documentary filmmaking can request much of its participants with the trade-off that the stories and experiences are made visible, issues and events are brought to light and some knowledge or change might be made. While not all documentaries involve participation, much work that is of a social or political nature rely on first-person accounts, testimony and interviews. This form of participation has the underlying intention of the veracity of lived experience. The spoken word gives the sense of what it is like to be that person in that place at that time. While a wide variety of participatory approaches are available to the documentary maker, the interview endures as the primary evidence of lived experience, constructed and conveyed or performed through the speaking subject. Often the interview is taken as evidence and the use of interviews to elicit and translate experience continue to be problematised through their equation with facts. Trinh T Minh-ha argues that if documentary is to ask questions and present multiple ways of knowing, it must resist its “totalizing quest” in favour of more open texts which defy singular didactic knowledge despite their finite and closed form.6 Rather, Trinh claims, documentary should create a “space in which meaning remains fascinated by what escapes it and what exceeds it… displacing and emptying out the totality of establishment”.7 The representational problem of the interview is its perceived indexicality which Trinh claims is predicated on “authenticity”.8 While we often believe what documentary presents to us, this testimony is often part of a complex performance of self and expectations which rely heavily on being able to convincingly articulate what is felt and often beyond linguistic conceptualisation.

Documentary traditionally places the speaking subject at the centre of the film in telling the story and constructing the reality. According to Rabinowitz, “Testimony is always a partial truth, so when film-makers authorise their subjects to speak and thus provoke their audiences to act, it can only be a supplementary gesture towards truth. Yet the ‘political’ documentary often fails to register this, presenting, like the ethnographer, the appearance of ‘wholeness’.” What to do with the voices? Isaac Julien also claims that the problem of featuring testimony from people who have been previously denied a voice in documentary is one of representation. How do you present these voices without it becoming the totalising “authentic” voice?9 Both of these present challenges to questions of representation; of creating a context which has an internal critique. The representation of reality is always fraught, especially when relying solely on the speaking subject.

Although testimony still has the power to produce affects, these are increasingly manipulated and rendered ineffectual with audiences often numbed to the spectacle of difference, novelty and a media-rich environment. In documentary films, strategies are used to appeal to emotions as an end unto itself; intensified for entertainment. Rabinowitz asks how can documentary’s call to action be activated without relying on melodrama to create this desire. It is through a process of making the audience feel uncomfortable enough to take action that she claims has more potential power than just through the creation of affects.10 The desire provoked in the spectator is one of intersubjective identification is not enough to create a response.

The request of the participant in documentary can be considered one of labour. Regarding human action as labour frames our endeavours within a neo-liberal context where everything is considered an exchange of value and of potential return. Labour is a contractual arrangement usually quantified through the exchange of time for financial renumeration. However, while participatory practices in documentary involve some kind of action and therefore labour, there is rarely any payment involved. While documentary has been traditionally thought of as indicative of power differentials between the filmmaker who is seen to have control and power in the final artefact that is produced, the reality is often more complex. This easy binary is often predicated on model which, with continually shrinking documentary budgets and products commissioned, is increasingly rare. Much documentary production now exists outside of funding with people pursuing projects for various reasons, impelled by their own desires and motivations. Especially in socially oriented documentary, a lot of the work is done without payment or funding. Rather, the filmmakers often make significant financial contributions in addition to the hours of unpaid labour. Silke Panse raises the point that documentary production has largely moved into the field of leisure with much of the work done being immaterial labour.11 Hardt and Negri describe immaterial labour as “labor that produces an immaterial good, such as a service, a cultural product, knowledge, or communication”.12 With the shift away from labour being equated with the production of material artefacts, immaterial labour composes much of the work that is done for financial renumeration. Hardt and Negri describe three components of this immaterial labour with affective labor as “human contact and interaction… This labor is immaterial, even if it is corporeal and affective involves the production and manipulation of affect and requires (virtual and actual) human contact, labor in the bodily mode”.13

Every one of the residents that I meet wants to talk. They are concerned both for themselves as well as for others less visible: the sick, the elderly, those with mental health issues, those that do not leave their houses. This is a complex mix of people and are warm and friendly and it is easy to empathise with their situation. Every time I encounter Con, he tells me about his three sons that he raised here and his dad living nearby who has cancer. He speaks down the barrel of the camera, addressing the imagined politicians and the audience, making visible his despair.

Panse claims that documentary making is prescriptive in the moment of filming and “can add to the affective manual labour of the worker”.14 While Panse’s observations relate to documenting workers who are burdened with additional pressure of having to appear productive or happy or with whatever expression is required in the moment of filming to demonstrate their workerness, similar affective behaviour is required when conducting filmed interviews of people affected by a traumatic experience. Not only do the participants live their experience in the present, they are subject to a double-act of re-living it over and over again for the purpose of being recorded. Affect is the currency of the documentary protagonist that catalyses identification with the documentary viewer. Additionally, through the interview, the probing and direction of the participant can exacerbate this.

Each time I visit Charlie’s home, the Australia flag on the pole outside is a bit more tattered. And each time I film Charlie, he seems more resigned to the fact that he has to move. In our first afternoon on a rainy Tuesday afternoon in June, he talks about having a barbecue to roast the developer. He tells me he has nowhere to go and that they’ll have to bulldoze him out of there. In the second interview, he briefly acknowledges his imminent move. He’s not sure where it will be to but is on a waiting-list on public housing. He has started packing away his Elvis CDs and Clive Cussler books. I see him over the next few months and ask him to film him some more. He tells me that he’s done enough, the anger that was so surface in the past has given way to resignation. One day I find his place empty. His cabin is half gone and I find the palimpsest of living among the detritus that remains.

Sometimes I forget. I forget that I am not only trying to make a film, but that I am also engaging and interacting with people who are experiencing difficulty. That I am there to listen and bear witness, however effective or not this is, even if I am not always filming. But the film is also the evidence of their struggle and their involvement in the filming and the thing that is produced from the affective labour. Sometimes I forget that I need a certain cushion of time between arriving at the park and beginning filming. I need this time to reconnect, to rediscover the rapport, to catch up on what has been happening, to look at documents and evidence that has been collected. This place has a different sense of time and the usual drop by for a quick chat and interview doesn’t work. Sometimes it becomes difficult to even pick up the camera and start filming as though it breaks the connection we are having.

What did they say? Yeah it’s sad but what can we do?

In August, at one of the roadside protests, I meet some the residents I have interviewed and tell them that I have just been to a documentary conference. I tell them that I presented some of the material I have been filming at the park. I almost tell them that I “I talked about this project” as though their lives and experiences and filmic representations have become my ‘project’. One of them said, “What did they say? Yeah it’s sad but what can we do?”. And then she asked about the film and said she’d buy a DVD. I feel the burden and responsibility that the labour they have provided has not been reciprocated with a film yet. I also feel that I cannot make something that will change the situation. We all know this is true. When one of the residents, Diana, tells me that she has attempted suicide and no-one can do anything to help, I agree and acknowledge that my being here and filming will also not do anything.

In new ecologies of documentary practice which has seen an expansion into processes and forms beyond the traditional linear and which often rely more heavily on participatory acts that involve the subjects taking on some of the labour of the documentary maker, John Dovey makes a case for the potential for exploitation.15 In these practices, participants might produce their own material which then becomes part of the larger documentary project. The question of the affective labour from the participant is rarely discussed in practice as it is often conceived that they take part in the documentary for reasons of their own. But what is required of a participant can be quite demanding. They might be directed to redo an action in multiple takes, with different framing so that there is enough material for the edit. The time commitment can also be much more involved than predicted by both subject and filmmaker. Reality, as it appears for documentary film, is directed with a request made on the participant. The issue of payment is also problematic and is rarely an aspect of the exchange of labour in documentary production. This is premised on the idea that once the transaction involves financial renumeration, a certain level of authenticity can be compromised where people may choose to participate for material gain rather than other reasons. In his handbook on documentary techniques and strategies, Michael Rabiger claims that, “To pay people would mean purchasing the truth, truth you want to hear, which destroys your film’s credibility”.16 Rabiger acknowledges there are some exceptions, one including where there is an obvious imbalance in economics,that it is ethical to contribute either through money or in-kind gifts or payment of services.

Expansion of documentary participation beyond the human

Participation in documentary films has traditionally been conceptualised through the linguistic contributions through either interviews or onscreen interactions between participants as central to the narrative of the film. Elizabeth Cowrie asks, “How then, does documentary participate in the construction of discourses of knowledge and reality as not only the “said” but also the “shown”?17 Whenever I turn the camera on, the residents of the caravan park relive their experiences. My initial appearance on the scene presents an opportunity for these accounts to be recorded. And despite my awareness that I am not the “voice-giver” it’s also easy to slip into a role that feels desired by the participants. My camera bears witness to the effects of this situation but while I listen through the camera, I also struggle with the limits of the spoken word. Rabinowitz claims, “As ‘star’ of the documentary, the presence of the body, especially the body in pain, signifies truth and readiness which seem to defy contextualisation”18 Although she goes on to say that without the presence of the filmmaker in the frame, the camera is disembodied and “the filmed bodies are over-invested with meaning yet deprived of agency”19. The over-dependence on the speaking subject creates a dissonance with the notion of agency because it is if the more they speak, the less ability they have to effect change through the filming process. And with an excess of speaking and accounts of their personal situations, another challenge I face as a documentary filmmaker, is how to constantly be receptive to the event that I am filming and how to keep listening.

Some days when I go out to the park, I just spend time walking around the streets with my camera noticing what is changing. On a particularly windy day, I film the wind and its effect on the flags, the trees, the wind chimes, the interior of a demolished cabin. I want to give more presence to what is here. I move in close to the piles of insulation that are disintegrating into the earth. A snail crosses the path and disappears under a sheet of metal. I film the insides of a cabin that are now external as half the house has been taken. After the people leave, what material remains?

Drawing on theories of a material account of political action, Jane Bennett presents another paradigm which can be extrapolated to documentary filmmaking. In her book, Vibrant Matter, Bennett asks, “What if we loosened the tie between participation and human language use, encountering the world as a swarm of vibrant materials entering and leaving agental assemblages?”20 She asks what effects material conditions and nonhuman forces might end up exerting on greater events that directly affect humans and vice-versa implicating an extended an ecology of effects.21 In her examples, she cites how everything, either animate or inanimate is composed of matter that is in constant movement and vibration. This active or vibrant matter comes together to enact agency in the world to create an event. So although often this matter does not have enough agency independently, together it forms more than the sum of its parts thereby creating an event.22 A theory of vibrant matter destabilises the human with linguistic competence as the sole actant in events.

Thinking of the material that occupies the documentary world as vibrant matter, and as extended elements of participation in the story of the film, opens up a space for a greater contribution towards the concept of documentary participation when looking at a situation or a crisis. This accounts for another sense of the world where the documentary takes place; providing additional evidence to what traditionally has been presented through the spoken word. The filming process foregrounds this vibrant matter within the pro-filmic space as a participant in the construction of the project. This also expands the concept of voice beyond the linguistic towards a material conception. This requires thinking through Bennett’s concept of “vibrant matter” in two parts. To consider the caravan park as a site of swarming vibrant matter and how this might be translated as documentary participation would involve thinking of a documentary site as an ecology containing the elements found in this space; the land in which it occupies; wedged between the freeway and the highway. And also the plants and trees; a combination of native gum trees with English style gardens, the materials of the buildings and the disintegration that becomes part of the land underneath; the bees, the flies and other insects buzzing around; the leaking tap slowly wearing a hole where the incessant drops land; the flags in a various array of disintegration. Noting these observed materials in the park is not a reductivist reading of the vitality of matter but rather an acknowledgement of one aspect of this theory. It is a Latourian description.

The second account and application of Bennett’s “vibrant matter” concerns how the non-human materials of this place might be translated as documentary participation and evidence of experience, beyond the linguistic. This enacts part of a broader ecology for the audience to enter into the world that this event is occurring in. This presents a more subtle way that allows for a rendering of the situation. This is not to diminish the impact of the human cost at the heart of what is happening in the caravan park and this project. The expansion of participation to the material elements through the lens of a vitalist account of the site does not negate the effect that this is having on the residents. It is not a flat ontology where all matter is created equal. And I am not equating a pane of glass covered in cobwebs with a person displaced from their home of twenty-two years. Rather, I am proposing a documentary approach that might allow the audience to access this world with a renewed approach to listening to this event through the material in addition to the human testimony. This approach enacts a practice of documentary-making that requires ever-shifting means of production and strategies of seeing and hearing in order to re-present narratives that have been commodified and normalised. These socially-situated events, despite the specificity of each of this situations, also represent yet another case of the effects of human-centred greed and late capitalism.

In positioning vibrant matter as a social and political methodology, Bennett draws on Rancière’s “partition of the sensible”23 as a way to destabilise the human-centric position of agency and power. Rancière presents this partition as an arbitrary line between political agents and those without power. This is a division between “what is visible and what is not, of what can be heard from the inaudible”.24 Rancière locates power within the use of language and claims this partition is disrupted through an equality of speaking beings. Applying Rancière’s theory with Bennett’s reimagining of this divide between those with power and those without, in a how we represent a documentary world such as the caravan park, we can broaden participation through giving agency to those elements not usually assigned power as speaking beings. While Rancière might base his emancipation on the speaking subject, not all subjects are equal in their ability to speak or to be subsequently heard. This calls forth the necessity to enable other ways of speaking that might dislodge the conventional structures of documentary discourse. This is where Bennett draws analogies between Rancière and vibrant matter; in their shared ability to disrupt binaries and afford agency where previously it may have been perceived as mute.25 With an excess of affective stimulus, how else can documentary speak, and through what processes can it make itself heard? Through a vital materialist theory, the traditional binary between the speaking subject and objects are rethought as co-existing in a shared ecology of constantly shifting relations. As a documentary practice, foregrounding the materiality of the effects on the caravan park as evidence allows a shift from the over-reliance on the speaking documentary subject.

Enabling listening in documentary

The last time I went out to the park, I hardly saw anyone. It was early on a warm Friday morning and I wanted to catch the light as it arrived before the heat of the sun. Summer is approaching and there’s a dryness to the air. Last Sunday they held their final roadside protest as there are too few people to attend anymore. After collecting thousands of signatures, all the petitions have been submitted to the state government. The presence of the stencilled spray-painted For Sale signs is overwhelming. Piles of the insulation, pine wood, old televisions, sheet metal and green waste accumulate on the edges of the streets. Small clumps waiting for something. I look through windows into houses where I have filmed and out the other side into thirsty gardens. The Australia flags that remain are almost completely faded or disintegrated. There is no one left here to speak, nothing else left to say. I film the presence and the absence while I listen the quiet buzz of distant traffic, bees and crickets.

To rethink documentary participation manifested as vital materialism can allow us to approach the idea of listening as a philosophical concept.26 This expands beyond the linguistic and the human-centred so as to hear what might be said in other ways through presencing evidence and knowledge. This alleviates the affective demand on the documentary participant. Here, I take Gemma Fiumara’s approach to listening as a philosophical concept:

In a culture determined by the technology of information the human condition is ever more scrutinized and exposed, as if the dominant tendency were to seek out ever more ‘interesting’ material, with the result that we are increasingly immunised through exposure to human suffering as it is passed to us by the media. This humans seem to reconcile themselves to indifference while they are induced to say: ‘We know everything and we can’t do anything about it.27

A vital materialist account of the documentary space allows for an approach that adds richness to the documentary material and supports the human participants. While these stories that very much represent the present climate of late-capitalism, disenfranchisement, destruction of communities and issues around home are essential to be heard, we also need alternative approaches to the documentary representations of such events. And while much documentary relies on finding the ‘new’ or what Fiumara calls the ‘interesting’ subject matter, this should also not mean that those stories and events that appear to be so common in contemporary times are not heard. We just need a rethinking of the documentary space and approaches that enable listening. Additionally, also a continual reliance on first-person testimony as the truth conveying vehicle of the personal, economic, environmental cost of such situations can also be burdensome for the participant living the trauma that they speak of. This is not an anti-humanist position to negate the human subject position, rather that the materiality of evidence or the evidence of materiality can work in support of the human. When the affective demand of the human experience might create a burden, or with a lack of listening might not be heard, then the other images that are silent or at least present alternative perspectives can support a broader approach to participation.

I started filming The Park as a project that would be largely “character-driven” and would follow the participants as they fought to either save their caravan park from destruction or won financial compensation. There was also the possibility that they would all just move off in their disparate directions at the end of the year. The Park was largely about the people who occupied this land and their stories of being victims of a developer. But over time, I realised that to focus solely on the residents through how they were able to tell their stories and narrate their experience was only one form of knowing, one aspect of truth. I also witnessed that while words might constitute a direct way of conveying experience, they can also be rendered ineffective. This can be through the repetition of the speech act as well as the lack of ability to listen to these stories. Evidence of how the caravan park was changing was also essential in supporting the residents. Through also incorporating filming strategies that focused on how this space was taking over allowed the creation of more open documentary images that support the more affective onslaught of human suffering. Focusing on the role of vibrant matter as it engages in its own representation of this event allows it have agency in participating in the story-telling world of The Park.

Notes

1 Winston, Brian. “The Tradition of the Victim in Griersonian Documentary.” Image Ethics: The Moral Rights of Subjects in Photographs, Film, and Television. Ed. Gross, Larry, Katz, John Stuart, Ruby, Jay. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988: 34-57

2 Trinh, T Minh-ha. “The Totalizing Quest for Meaning.” Theorizing Documentary. Ed. Renov, Michael. New York: Routledge, 1993

3 Deleuze, Gilles, Massumi, Brian and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987

4 Rabinowitz, Paula. They Must Be Represented : The Politics of Documentary. London ; New York: Verso, 1994. p.7

5 Nichols, Bill. “What gives documentary a voice of their own?” Film Quarterly 36.3 1983: 17-30.

6 Trinh, T Minh-ha. “The Totalizing Quest for Meaning.” Theorizing Documentary. Ed. Renov, Michael. New York: Routledge, 1993

7 Trinh, T Minh-ha. “Documentary Is/Not a Name” October Vol. 52 Spring (1990), 96)

8 Trinh, T. Minh-Ha. Framer Framed. New York: Routledge, 1992. Print. pp 93-94)

9 Trinh, T. Minh-Ha. Framer Framed. New York: Routledge, 1992. Print. p. 193

10 Rabinowitz, Paula. They Must Be Represented : The Politics of Documentary. London ; New York: Verso, 1994. p.28

11 Panse, Silke. “The Work of the Documentary Protagonist.” A Companion to Contemporary Documentary Film. Eds. Juhasz, Alexandra and Alisa Lebow. UK: Wiley Blackwell, 2015. p. 149

12 Hardt, Michael, and Antonio Negri. Multitude : War and Democracy in the Age of Empire. New York: The Penguin Press, 2004. p.293

13 Hardt, Michael, and Antonio Negri. Multitude : War and Democracy in the Age of Empire. New York: The Penguin Press, 2004. p.290.

14 Panse, Silke. “The Work of the Documentary Protagonist.” A Companion to Contemporary Documentary Film. Eds. Juhasz, Alexandra and Alisa Lebow. UK: Wiley Blackwell, 2015. p. 170

15 Dovey, John. “Documentary Ecosystems. Collaboration and Exploitation.” New Documentary Ecologies: Emerging Platforms, Practices and Discourses (2014): 11-32.

16 Rabiger, Michael. Directing the Documentary. 4th ed. Amsterdam ; Boston: Focal Press, 2004. 381

17 Cowrie, Elizabeth. Recording Reality, Desiring the Real. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2011. p. 50

18 Rabinowitz, Paula. They Must Be Represented : The Politics of Documentary. London ; New York: Verso, 1994.p.21

19 Rabinowitz, Paula. They Must Be Represented : The Politics of Documentary. London ; New York: Verso, 1994.p.21

20 Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. p.107

21 Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. p.107

22 Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. vii – xix

23 (Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. p. 105)

24 Rancière (2001)

25 Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010. p.106

26 Fiumara, Gemma. The Other Side of Language: A Philosophy of Listening. London ; New York: Routledge, 1995.

27 Fiumara, Gemma. The Other Side of Language: A Philosophy of Listening. London ; New York: Routledge, 1995, 171-72

Notes on Contributor

‘Kim Munro is a documentary maker, academic and PhD candidate at RMIT University, Melbourne. Her documentary interests focus on essayistic, expanded and interactive forms, practice-led research, voice and listening. Kim is a co-founder of Docuverse: a forum for expanded documentary, which run regular events and symposia.’

Bibliography

Bennett, Jane. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham: Duke University Press, 2010.

Cowrie, Elizabeth. Recording Reality, Desiring the Real. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2011.

Deleuze, Gilles, Massumi, Brian and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987

Dovey, John. “Documentary Ecosystems. Collaboration and Exploitation.” New Documentary Ecologies: Emerging Platforms, Practices and Discourses, 2014: 11-32.

Hardt, Michael, and Antonio Negri. Multitude: War and Democracy in the Age of Empire. New York: The Penguin Press, 2004.

Nichols, Bill. “What gives documentary a voice of their own?” Film Quarterly 36.3 1983, 17-30.

Rabiger, Michael. Directing the Documentary. 4th ed. Amsterdam ; Boston: Focal Press, 2004.

Rabinowitz, Paula. They Must Be Represented: The Politics of Documentary. London ; New York: Verso, 1994.

Rancière, J. & Panagia, D. & Bowlby, R. . “Ten Theses on Politics.” Theory & Event vol. 5.no. 3, 2001.

Fiumara, Gemma. The Other Side of Language: A Philosophy of Listening. London ; New York: Routledge, 1995.

Panse, Silke. “The Work of the Documentary Protagonist.” A Companion to Contemporary Documentary Film. Eds. Juhasz, Alexandra and Alisa Lebow. UK: Wiley Blackwell, 2015. p. 149

Trinh, T Minh-ha. “The Totalizing Quest for Meaning.” Theorizing Documentary. Ed. Renov, Michael. New York: Routledge, 1993.

Trinh, T Minh-ha. “Documentary Is/Not a Name” October Vol. 52 Spring, 1990. pp. 76-98

Trinh, T. Minh-Ha. Framer Framed. New York: Routledge, 1992.

Winston, Brian. “The Tradition of the Victim in Griersonian Documentary.” Image Ethics: The Moral Rights of Subjects in Photographs, Film, and Television. Ed. Gross, Larry, Katz, John Stuart, Ruby, Jay. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988: 34-57

Latin American Women Filmmakers: Production, Politics, Poetics

Edited by Deborah Martin and Deborah Shaw
I.B. Tauris, 2017
Reviewed by Isabel Seguí

Favourable winds seem to be blowing for Latin American Women’s Film Studies. In recent years, a collective revisionist historiographic endeavour has been undertaken by women scholars both in the Anglo and Latin American spheres. In issue 10 of Frames, I reviewed an example of the latter — the edited volume Nomadías. El cine de Marilú Mallet, Valeria Sarmiento y Angelina Vázquez, by the Chileans Catalina Donoso and Elizabeth Ramírez. In this issue, it is my pleasure to present the collection of essays compiled by Deborah Martin and Deborah Shaw, published this year by I.B. Tauris: Latin American Women Filmmakers. Production, Politics, Poetics.

The volume starts with a preface by B. Ruby Rich, one of the most influential Anglo-Saxon academics specialised in Latin American Women’s filmmaking, who advocates for this area of knowledge to be “a field of its own.”[1] This is followed by a comprehensive introduction by the editors. Their aims: not only “telling un(der)told stories and presenting neglected histories”[2] but also narrating “an alternative history of Latin American cinema: that of women’s filmmaking.”[3]

From the beginning, a particularly welcomed approach stands out. The editors are trying to overcome the idea of the “exceptional” female creator to, conversely, enhance the understanding of the production context and how women’s participation shaped it.  For that —and citing B. Ruby Rich’s ground-breaking essay— they sum up “An /other history of Latin American Cinema,”[4] through a chronological review of practitioners, from the first decades of the 20th century to our days. Afterwards, they make the effort to present the essays contained in the book in conversation with each other, clarifying that behind the edited volume remains the consciousness that the needed change in Latin American film historicisation could only be done as a collective effort (Deborah Shaw was even more insisting in this realization during her presentation of the book in the conference “Latin American Women’s Filmmaking,” held at the University of London last September).

In the articles abound the critics to exclusively auteurist approaches, which often result in masculinist canons. Along these lines, las Deborahs affirm: “We aim to reinsert women into the story of Latin American political filmmaking, with canon reconfiguration understood as a political act (emphasis mine).”[5] Coherently, the essays compiled in the collection will follow this line, contributing to it from different perspectives.

The first section is devoted to the industrial contexts. A statement about the willing of the compilers to go beyond textual analysis and the acknowledgement of the necessity to address production research to correctly incorporate women to the histories of filmmaking practices. This, section —to me, the most interesting of the book— is composed of three remarkable articles. It starts at the very top with “Beyond Difference: Female Participation in the Brazilian Film Revival of the 1990s” by Lúcia Nagib. The author straightforwardly affirms: “I will argue that the most decisive contribution brought about by the rise of women on Brazilian filmmaking has been the spread of teamwork and shared authorship, as opposed to a mere aspiration to the author pantheon, as determined by a notoriously male-oriented tradition.” Moreover, Nagib introduces another critical aspect to the research of women’s participation in the creation of political cinema: personal relationships, mostly the collaboration in cinematic projects of members of the same couple. She, efficiently, pushes the argument far beyond the Western-centric theories of female authorship and explores male/female cooperation and shared authorship as a better framework for understanding non-mainstream cinema. To exemplify her arguments, she analyses the film Crime Delicado/Delicate Crime (Beto Brant, 2006).

Following this auspicious beginning is Sarah Barrow’s essay “Through Female Eyes: Reframing Peru on Screen.” In general, here is an urge of more research about Peruvian women filmmakers, and a specific necessity of reframing the understanding of women’s participation in Peruvian cinema —beyond the ubiquitous Claudia Llosa, a typical example of the exceptional female auteur. Barrow focusses here on two diverse Peruvian filmmakers, Marianne Eydee and Rosario García-Montero. But Barrow’s goals are broader, as she asks at the beginning of the article: “what influence might these women have on the development of film policy, production, criticism, spectatorship and funding avenues in Peru?”[6] This research question exceeds the scope of Barrow’s intervention in the book, however, it posits an interesting frame and an invitation to all Peruvian cinema researchers. In her conclusion, Barrow highlights another key issue, which should not go unnoticed further: all the women filmmakers referred in her article come from privileged backgrounds. Although they usually act as well-intentioned mediators of the less advantaged ones, there is a need to enable policies that allow Peruvian women of subaltern origin to undertake their own cinematic projects.

Next is one of the most exciting articles of the collection “Parando la olla documental: Women and Contemporary Chilean Documentary Film” by Claudia Bossay and María-Paz Peirano. The authors establish a comparison between the solidarity act of cooking communally, conducted by women of the popular classes in times of crisis, with the labour practices among Chilean women documentarists. A women’s culture which consists in feeding, caring, educating and resisting in precarious contexts, can well be extended to any social practice, such as documentary production. The focus of the article is, hence, on collaborative production strategies, horizontal work ethics, and communitarian reciprocity practices in filmmaking.

The second part of the book is more conventionally devoted to “Representations.” The first article, by Catherine Leen, addresses the portrayal of Latinas in cinema, from the fictions of Hollywood to Chicana activist documentaries. To that end, she confronts the stereotyped representation of Latinas in US mainstream media with the documentary A Crushing Love: Chicanas, Motherhood and Activism (Sylvia Morales, 2009). In the next chapter, Deborah Shaw analyses the representation of domestic servants in Latin American Women’s Cinema, taking La mujer sin cabeza/The Headless Woman (Lucrecia Martel, 2008) and El niño pez/ The Fish Child (Lucía Puenzo, 2009), as case studies.

In chapter six, Leslie L. Marsh addresses women’s participation in the comedy genre in Brazilian cinema through the figure of Anna Muylaert. Following Muylaert’s path in the film world, the author makes an insightful industrial contextualization, mostly on how women have been multitasking in different, but commonly unstable, historical contexts. Marsh also reflects on the nature of comedy and its use. Finally, she analyses two films by Muylaert, Durval Discos/Durval Records (2002) and É proibido fumar/Smoke gets in your eyes (2009). In chapter seven, Constanza Burucúa addresses the case of Solveig Hoogesteijn, in the broadly unknown Venezuelan cinematic context. Burucúa makes a brief but instrumental sum up of Venezuelan women filmmakers (Margot Benacerraf and Colectivo Cine Urgente). She defines Hoogesteijn as a female auteur, and from that framework proceeds to textually analyse her films Macu, la mujer del policía (1991) and Maroa, una niña de la calle (2006). These two films are separated by fifteen years and created under different political and economic conditions. The author shows Hoogesteijn’s cinematic language evolution, or, as she suggests, involution.

The last section of the book is titled “Key Agents.” In it, three articles address three key filmmakers, two directors (Marcela Fernández Violante and Lucrecia Martel) and a producer (Bertha Navarro). The first essay, by Niamh Thornton, focusses on the exceptional figure of Marcela Fernández Violante, who neither belongs to the Mexican women pioneers nor the celebrated 1980s generation. But who is a preeminent presence in Mexican cinema, although an “in-between” one. Thornton analyses two movies by Fernández Violante, De todos modos Juan te llamas (1975) and Misterio (1980). In her conclusion, Thornton makes an interesting claim about the necessity of including in the historical narratives, those figures who break with the established categories usually used in Mexico to address gender and independent. She suggests that many of these categories just do not work because they leave many women, and women’s labour, outside.

For its part, Marvin D’Lugo’s essay on Bertha Navarro embodies the idea expressed by the editors in their introduction, the necessity of pushing the boundaries of women’s filmmaking historicisation, shifting the focus from exclusively directorial roles to the broader landscape of female participation in film production. Navarro is a seasoned producer and a crucial agent in Mexican cinema. In his article, D’Lugo provides a review of Navarro’s career and instrumentality. The last piece of the collection is Deborah Martin’s “Planeta Ciénaga: Lucrecia Martel and Contemporary Argentine Women’s Filmmaking.” The essay addresses the enormous influence —aesthetic and thematic— that Martel has exerted over an entire generation of Argentinian women filmmakers.

To conclude, this book is a must-read for anyone interested not only in Latin American Women’s Filmmaking but Latin American cinema at large. Behind this editorial project, the reader will perceive love, curiosity, and political commitment. Furthermore, this book is only the tip of the iceberg of what is coming. As was seen in the recent conference “Latin American Women’s Filmmaking” (University of London 18-19 September 2017) —in which the editors acted as keynote speakers—, a whole new generation of Latin American film scholars are currently engaged in the writing of a more comprehensive film history, theory, and criticism, which incorporates not only women’s names and film products, but their influential filmmaking practices and processes. Collaboration, a genuinely feminine way of making things possible, is key to this revisionist project.

Notes:

[1] B. Ruby Rich, “Preface: Performing the Imposible in Plain Sight,” in Deborah Martin and Deborah Shaw, Latin American Women Filmmakers. London/New York: I.B. Tauris, 2017: XV.

[2] Deborah Martin and Deborah Shaw, “Introduction,” Latin American Women Filmmakers. London/New York: I.B. Tauris, 2017: 3.

[3] Ibid, 3.

[4] B. Ruby Rich, “An /other history of Latin American Cinema,” first printed in Iris 13, 1991, reprinted in Michael T. Martin ed. New Latin American Cinema, Vol.1. Detroit: Wayne State University Press: 1997: 281.

[5] Deborah Martin and Deborah Shaw, “Introduction,” in Latin American Women Filmmakers. London/New York: I.B. Tauris, 2017: 19.

[6] Sarah Barrow, “Through Female Eyes: Reframing Peru on Screen,” in Latin American Women Filmmakers. London/New York: I.B. Tauris, 2017: 49.

Exit With Uncertainty: Documentary Film and Experiencing Not Knowing

An oft-identified pleasure to be drawn from the documentary is that films of this type offer the viewer an opportunity to learn about an aspect of the historical world. Bill Nichols describes this as the attraction of “epistephilia,” a promise that “Knowledge can be ours, its acquisition will afford us pleasure”.[i] Along similar lines, Brian Winston argues that the documentary is popularly valued as a means by which the viewer can judicially examine and develop conclusions regarding the nature of real occurrences, since films of this type are thought to belong within a lineage that encompasses oral interrogation as a feature of a trial or cross-examination, while its mechanically generated images ally it with “pictorial representation as a mode of scientific evidence”.[ii] Often seen as a vehicle for the investigation of pressing contemporary issues, the documentary is also commonly thought to operate as a form of journalistic reportage. Indeed, the beginnings of documentary filmmaking in the 1920s coincide with the assertive promotion of objectivity in journalism as a means to bring social science-like rigor to news reporting through the elevation of objective facts over subjective opinion.[iii] In light of these common ways of considering the documentary, this type of filmmaking is often placed in binary opposition to fiction filmmaking, an approach that “is predicated on the existence of a fact/fiction dichotomy, with documentary on one side, and drama on the other”.[iv]

In truth, in both concept and practice, documentary filmmaking is heterogeneous and “mobilizes no finite inventory of techniques, addresses no set number of issues, and adopts no completely known taxonomy of forms, styles, or modes”.[v] But in the popular imagination, as in the taxonomy of documentaries that are most commonly studied by film scholars, serious-minded documentaries that serve a journalistic, educational, democracy-fostering, justice-advancing, or nation-building function are often presented as the clearest illustration of what documentaries can and should be. To think of the documentary only in terms of films that fit these criteria, or to focus on the connection between documentary viewing and epistephilia, is to ignore that audiences routinely derive other pleasures from documentaries. Indeed, there is a vast catalogue of documentaries that show no sign that they are intended to encourage the sober act of epistephilia on the part of the viewer, whether these be exploitation documentaries, emotion-laden propaganda films, or any of the other types of documentary that have found receptive audiences but are largely overlooked and treated as ‘unwelcome’ in both popular and scholarly thinking about the documentary.

In the present, we can ponder what is it that draws viewers to current high-profile documentaries which, rather than delivering certitude about their truthfulness, withhold from the viewer an ability to know whether or not what they see onscreen is an accurate representation of actual historical events or not. Some of these documentaries, such as Stories We Tell (Sarah Polley, 2012) and Radiant City (Gary Burns and Jim Brown, 2006), keep the viewer in a state of uncertainty regarding their truthfulness for much of their screen time, before delivering some form of ‘reveal’ within the film text or through other channels soon after the film’s release, thereby making it clear to the viewer where their truthfulness begins and ends. For instance, the hybrid documentary Radiant City mixes a series of interviews with real urban planning experts with an entirely staged depiction of the day-to-day life of a fictitious suburban family. From early in the film, there are elements that lead the viewer to wonder about the veracity of the family depicted onscreen, but it is not until close to the film’s end that it is conclusively revealed that the Moss family is being performed by actors, albeit ones who draw on their own suburban lives for their onscreen performance. In a similar fashion, viewers of Stories We Tell can see from the film’s end credits that the home movie footage that prominently features in the film is not authentic footage of director Sarah Polley’s family, but instead has been staged for the film with the scenes performed by actors.

Other documentaries, such as Exit Through the Gift Shop (Banksy, 2010) and The Act of Killing (Joshua Oppenheimer, 2012), offer no such clarity. As with the films mentioned above, Exit Through the Gift Shop withholds from the viewer certainty as to where truth and fiction within it begins or ends, but it offers no final reveal regarding the truthfulness or fakeness of what is seen onscreen. As a film critic pondered in a review of Exit Through the Gift Shop, “Riddle? Yes. Enigma? Sure. Documentary?”[vi] Another commentator writing on the same film immediately prior to the Academy Awards noted, “Exit Through the Gift Shop is undoubtedly the most buzzed-about film in the documentary feature category. But the uncomfortable question persists: Is  it real?”[vii] The U.S. film critic Roger Ebert went to the heart of the matter when he wrote , “The widespread speculation that Exit Through the Gift Shop is a hoax only adds to its fascination”.[viii] In a similar manner, the documentary Catfish (Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman, 2010) has been the source of widespread speculation regarding its veracity, and at minimum appears to contain a number of scenes that have been re-staged if not entirely fabricated. In this instance, the directors emphatically argue that the film is not staged, although their assessment may be informed more by the practice of reality television creation than the standards of rigorous nonfiction media production.

Nichols argues that viewers can respond to documentary films in numerous ways, “from curiosity and fascination to pity and charity, from poetic appreciation to anger or rage, from scientific scrutiny to inflamed hysteria,” but these varied responses “all function as modes of engagement with representations of the historical world”.[ix] With films such as Exit Through the Gift Shop and The Act of Killing, something else happens: the viewer is never certain of the veracity of the film they view, or how or whether it relates to the historical world. This indicates that the attraction of these films is not based in epistephilia, but instead derives from an experience of ‘distanzo’, a feeling of wavering doubt or uncertainty, and a state of ‘not knowing for certain’ whether a film can be adequately described as a documentary or not.

There is a robust body of literature examining the various heterogeneous styles adopted by documentary filmmakers, past and present. These range from studies examining works that mimic, are inspired by, or appropriate the conventions of the documentary, such as mockumentaries,[x] docudramas,[xi] documentary style reality television shows,[xii] and self-reflexive or category-defying films that seek to educate the viewer about the operation of the documentary by blurring fact and fiction.[xiii] In this literature it is acknowledged that viewers are drawn to these various types of film by the promise of a variety of experiences. Thus, Alexandra Juhasz argues that fake documentaries are experienced as “a documentary with a twist”, with the ‘twist’ likely to be a key source of pleasure for the viewer.[xiv] But in general, in scholarly literature, the reception of documentary film by actual audiences, and the pleasures that viewers derive from the experience remains unevenly and in many ways inadequately explored. For instance, while useful insight into documentary viewership is provided by scholars who have examined audience reception and cinema,[xv] the important conclusions revealed by sociology and psychology-based media effects literature have not been comprehensively applied to a study of the documentary, or indeed to the cinema in general.[xvi] Countering this omission is not the goal of my study, but in a related way I do seek to both disrupt the common tendency of connecting documentary viewership primarily to pleasures associated with epistephilia, and to propose that the field of documentary film studies can benefit from drawing on media and communication theories developed in the fields of sociology and psychology.  With this end in mind, in this study I argue that contrary to common expectations for the documentary, for the viewer a powerful feature of documentary film viewership can be entering into a state of ‘not knowing’, as seen in the instances of Exit Through the Gift Shop and The Act of Killing.

EXIT THROUGH THE GIFT SHOP

Following a premiere at the prestigious Sundance Film Festival in 2010, Exit Through the Gift Shop was well received by critics and garnered a nomination for an Academy Award in the documentary category. With regard to its formal organization and syntax, Exit Through the Gift Shop is constructed along familiar lines. It depicts a chronology of events in the life in its central character Thierry Guetta, from his introduction to the world of street art and first meetings with leading artists in that arena, to his emergence as an artist in his own right as Mr. Brainwash. The use of point of view shots and a narration by Guetta establishes that this sequence of events is presented from Guetta’s perspective, and the film employs familiar performative elements of the type found in documentaries that are autobiography-rooted such as Blue Vinyl (Judith Helfand and Daniel B. Gold, 2002) and The Brainwashing of My Dad (Jen Senko, 2015), or that  incorporate a significant element of personal disclosure on the part of the filmmaker, such as Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (Kurt Kuenne, 2008) or Stories We Tell. Thus, Exit Through the Gift Shop is in style and syntax similar to other contemporary documentary works, thereby leading us to wonder if Banksy has appropriated familiar features of recently made films to covertly construct a fake documentary .

This was the belief of many commentators and critics who wrote about Exit Through the Gift Shop in the mainstream press or blogosphere. In The Los Angeles Times, investigative reporter Jason Felch argues that the film should be treated with suspicion since it “is anchored by two of the least reliable narrators in memory: Banksy, the anonymous British street artist; and Thierry Guetta, an eccentric French émigré to Los Angeles whose obsessive filming happens to capture the world of high-concept graffiti”.[xvii] In a report that casts doubt on the film’s truthfulness, Felch focuses not on what is seen in the film but instead on examining public records to establish whether or not Guetta is actually a real person. It is unusual to see a documentary film subject examined in this way, but Felch reports that “The details of Guetta’s unlikely biography are broadly supported by a review of public records,” from his arrival in LA in the early 1980s and registration of a Social Security number, to his launching of a vintage clothes shop.[xviii] But Felch cautions, the evidence of Guetta’s biography does not prove “whether his latest incarnation, Mr. Brainwash, is sincere”.[xix]

Writing for the magazine Fast Company, Alissa Walker is unequivocal in arguing that the film is a hoax by Banksy, and offers a range of evidence in support of this conclusion. She states that Mr. Brainwash’s show, which dominates the latter half of Exit Through the Gift Shop, “was an intricate prank being pulled on all of us by Banksy… with [Shepard] Fairey as his accomplice,” with the film taking “that prank one step further”.[xx] Walker argues that Banksy and Fairey convinced Guetta to pose as a “budding graffiti artist wannabe so he and Fairey could ‘direct’ him in real life—manufacturing a brand new persona that both celebrates and criticizes the over-commercialization of street art”.[xxi] In support of this theory she argues that viewers never actually see Guetta create any art.  The artwork itself seems to be manufactured by Banksy’s and Fairey’s artmaking teams, and Mr. Brainwash’s show is produced by individuals with past involvement in producing Banksy show or supporting Fairey’s arts and culture magazine Swindle.[xxii] Turning to the film’s narrative, Walker argues that the events seen onscreen are far-fetched: the central premise of Guetta’s relationship with Banksy and Fairey is that the artists were grateful to have someone videotape their nighttime street art activities, but “neither artist has ever had a problem attracting would-be documentarians,” and there’s “plenty of footage (even in the movie) of Banksy’s own people documenting him working on walls in the West Bank, before he ever met Guetta”.[xxiii] Capping off these fabrications, Walker argues that viewers of the film are “spoonfed bizarre, effusive comments… about how famous Mr. Brainwash is, how his career has totally eclipsed that of Banksy and Fairey”, and Banksy himself is behind these “tongue-in-cheek” comments.[xxiv]

The mystery of the film’s credibility as documentary was sustained by Banksy’s predictably idiosyncratic behavior when the film was exhibited at film festivals. During the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah, the artist did not appear for the usual round of press conferences, screenings, or receptions, but his artwork appeared on storefront walls in the town. At the Berlin International Film Festival, the filmmaker cancelled a news conference for the film at short notice, instead presenting a prepared statement by videotape, in which his appearance and voice are disguised in the same way as they are in the film.[xxv] Banksy states that the events seen in the film are not a fabrication, and that the real surprise of the film’s far-fetched storyline is “because every bit of it’s true”.[xxvi] The producer of Exit Through the Gift Shop, Jaimie D’Cruz, affirms Banksy’s statement that neither the film nor Guetta’s career are a fabrication, stating “We wouldn’t be able to create something as extraordinary as the rise of Thierry Guetta … We didn’t have the intent, we didn’t have the inclination to do that, to… stage a prank on the world”.[xxvii] However, these comments by Banksy and others connected to the film have not quelled speculation that the film is a hoax. After all, as Felch argues, Banksy’s claims are “coming from an unidentifiable artist whose work includes titles such as ‘I can’t believe you morons actually buy this …’”.[xxviii]

There is no need here to establish whether the film is a hoax or not, or to identify which features of the narrative could be fake. The key issue is that speculation about the film’s status as a documentary is an integral feature of its reception, both in the public discussion of the film through various media channels, as well as when one is actually viewing it. This indicates that a feature of the viewing pleasure delivered by Exit Through the Gift Shop is not the acquisition of knowledge, but rather the uncertainties the film proposes. Uncertainty can be defined as a condition where there is insufficient information as to whether an event has occurred or will occur, thereby denying the individual the ability to know how to respond to pre-existing conditions or to be able to predict what is to come in the future.[xxix] Psychologists Timothy D. Wilson, David B. Centerbar, Deborah A. Kermer, and Daniel T. Gilbert argue that uncertainty is widely viewed pejoratively, and “Most synonyms of the word uncertainty have decidedly unpleasant connotations, such as doubt and insecurity”.[xxx] Uncertainty, they argue, is a potential source of “debilitating anxieties,” and therefore we seek to eradicate it by gathering facts, forming opinions, and generating theories “in an attempt to transform the unknown into the known—to make the world a bit less puzzling and more predictable by reducing… uncertainty about it”.[xxxi]

 

As one among our society’s “discourses of sobriety”,[xxxii] the documentary often serves as a tool for the rationalization and spread of fact-based knowledge and social or political ideas and norms, all processes that offer explanations and frameworks that can make our lives more predictable. Unlike fiction films, which present novel stories and therefore invite continuous speculation on the part of the viewer as to what will happen next or how the narrative will end, the documentary commonly operates as a closing-off of uncertainty as rational explanations are delivered over the course of their progress. Thus, the documentary can serve as a communication medium that provides order and makes the world more predictable, and like other actions that displace uncertainty, “the cost is that a predictable world sometimes seems less delicious, less exciting, less poignant”.[xxxiii] Indeed, Wilson, Centerbar, Kermer, and Gilbert proffer the term “pleasure paradox” to highlight how events that are predictable in their outcome “evoke less intense emotions than unpredictable events, which means that the reduction of uncertainty can entail the reduction of pleasure”.[xxxiv] An interesting feature of the research conducted by these psychologists is that their conclusions are based on studies involving film viewership. In one such study, a sampling of “participants watched a pleasurable movie based on a true story and were then provided with two possible accounts of what happened to the main character after the movie was made. Participants who remained in this state of uncertainty were in a good mood for significantly longer than participants who were told either that the first or second account was true.”[xxxv] This led the researchers to conclude, “If people understood the pleasure paradox, they might make conscious decisions about how to manage their emotions… People might opt to remain uncertain about pleasurable events by, for example, not watching the last few minutes of a movie that they know will have a happy ending”.[xxxvi]

The pleasure associated with uncertainty is well known in relation to the fiction film, where the plot twists of thrillers or detective stories  bring to the fore this experience. But pleasures of this kind get less attention with regard to the study of the documentary, despite the presence of detective story-like investigative documentaries or drama-laden documentaries that withhold knowledge of how they will end until their final moments. With regard to Exit Through the Gift Shop we can further add that the film’s pleasingly upbeat tenor, humor, and rebellious spirit is amplified for the audience by post-screening feelings of uncertainty as to the nature of what has been viewed. In psychology, the “uncertainty intensification hypothesis”, proposes that uncertainty makes unpleasant events more unpleasant than they would be if uncertainty were not present.[xxxvii] While this hypothesis is commonly accepted, Yoav Bar-Anan, Timothy D. Wilson and Daniel T. Gilbert argue that uncertainty can also make “pleasant events more pleasant”.[xxxviii] Here it is likely that the pleasure associated with viewing Guetta’s idiosyncratic antics and Banksy’s beguiling trickery in Exit Through the Gift Shop is amplified by the uncertainty of not knowing where truth or fiction begins or ends in the film.

UNCERTAINTY AS DISCOMFORT

In counterpoint to the uncertainty generated by Exit Through the Gift Shop is the experience of viewing the controversial award-winning documentary The Act of Killing, a film that orchestrates feelings of uncertainty on the part of the viewer towards a very different outcome. In The Act of Killing, perpetrators of Indonesia’s 1965-66 mass killings of ethnic Chinese and others identified as communist sympathizers describe their actions and recreate for the camera a series of vignettes depicting how they carried out the killings. These unlikely documentary subjects offer little more than an occasional nod to doubt or remorse for the killings they carried out, crimes for which they still have impunity, since they are supported by Indonesia’s present-day paramilitary organizations and political leadership. The film’s most prominent character, Anwar Congo, a repellant but charismatic petty criminal who became the leader of the most powerful death squad in Northern Sumatra, is thought to have personally killed hundreds of people. Writing on The Act of Killing for The Guardian, Nick Fraser states, “I don’t feel we want to be doing this. It feels wrong and it certainly looks wrong to me. Something has gone missing here. How badly do we want to hear from these people, after all? Wouldn’t it be better if we were told something about the individuals whose lives they took?”[xxxix] He adds, the film does not “enhance our knowledge of the 1960s Indonesian killings… I feel that no one should be asked to sit through repeated demonstrations of the art of garrotting. Instead of an investigation, or indeed a genuine recreation, we’ve ended somewhere else—in a high-minded snuff movie”.[xl]

In The Act of Killing, the viewer is denied a distanced viewing position from which the actions and testimony of those seen onscreen can be kept at arm’s length and judged with neat certainty. The film seems not to occupy any moral or judicial high ground, and instead the killers themselves, in some instances with glee, appear to direct the film as they reenact the murders they committed. On The Act of Killing, Nichols writes: “Here is a film that confounds the mind,” creating a state of “befuddlement” as “a clear distinction between fictional and documentary representation fails to materialize, followed by our mind-boggling astonishment at the casual embrace of the killers and their paramilitary cohort by the current government”.[xli] This experience is heightened since  “Oppenheimer chooses not to clearly indicate where reenactment, fantasy, and social reality diverge”.[xlii] The perplexing experience of viewing The Act of Killing bears similarity to viewing Luis Buñuel’s surrealism-inspired ethnographic documentary Las Hurdes (1933). Depicting conditions in the impoverished Las Hurdes region of northern Spain, Buñuel’s film shocks the viewer “because its antihumanism allows no position from which to judge; there appears to be no ethical perspective within the film… no comfortable subject position”.[xliii] When challenged over whether The Act of Killing should be thought of as a documentary, documentary maker Errol Morris—who served as one of the film’s executive producers—responded, “Of course it’s a documentary… Documentary is not about form, a set of rules that are either followed or not, it’s an investigation into the nature of the real world, into what people thought and why they thought what they thought”.[xliv] Filmmaker Werner Herzog, another of the film’s executive directors, argues that without the inclusion of the scenes scripted by the death squad members “you would end up with a self-righteous, mediocre film you would see on television”.[xlv]

While the onscreen film text of The Act of Killing withholds much from the viewer, it is likely that many viewers will go to other sources for information about a film, either before or after watching it, and in this way some of their befuddlement will be allayed. On the film’s website, director Oppenheimer reveals the intent of his filmmaking in Indonesia, including describing his involvement in an earlier film, The Globalization Tapes (Joshua Oppenheimer, 2003), which was made with the participation of Indonesian workers’ organizations and presents the experience of those who suffered at the hands of the death squad members seen in The Act of Killing. Thus, as Nichols observes, the film’s web-based materials “provide the moral and political orientation the film withholds. It is as if Oppenheimer knows full well what we want and need to know but withholds it to thrust us into a more visceral, perturbed state of reception”.[xlvi] Indeed, the information presented through these other channels does not fully resolve for the viewer where truth or fiction lie in The Act of Killing, since the authenticity or significance of some scenes, such as the one that appears to depict Congo physically retching as he reflects on the murders he committed, is still not elucidated for the viewer. Nor do these extra-textual materials inoculate the viewer from being positioned as a partial accomplice to the present-day filmmaking of the death squad members, as they engage in staging and memorializing their past actions for the camera and viewer.

The Act of Killing blasts apart our expectation of the social documentary, a practice of filmmaking that commonly leans towards the circulation of earnest depictions of social problems, while employing voice-over commentary or the testimony of sober-minded experts in order to maintain a clear stance of moral probity. Writing in the 1920s on the need for objective news reporting, Walter Lippman argued that journalists should be “patient and fearless men of science who have labored to see what the world really is,” while possessing “a keen understanding of the quantitative importance of particular facts”.[xlvii] Belief in the importance of objectivity was an effort to encourage the masses to make decisions based on factual evidence, rather than be swayed by the whims of subjective opinion, and to strengthen democracy by countering the threat posed to it by propaganda.[xlviii] Similar social science-inflected positivist thinking underwrites our expectations for documentary filmmaking, where, as objective reporters on real events, documentarians are expected to deliver clear-cut truths, particularly those that seem likely to lead to social progress. In contrast to these expectations, Oppenheimer seems to abandon his responsibilities as a director by allowing murderers to use the documentary put before us for their own propaganda purposes as they seek to reaffirm in the present that their past actions were admirable and justified.

From the viewer’s perspective the experience of viewing The Act of Killing is a disorienting and distressing one, and the film “confounds the mind and unnerves the body; it throws our sense of certainty into question”.[xlix] In contrast to the prolonged pleasure that is sustained by the uncertainty generated by viewing Exit Through the Gift Shop, the uncertainty that accompanies viewing The Act of Killing promotes feelings of discomfort. By withholding from the viewer certainty with regard to the veracity of what is seen onscreen, as well as assurance that the viewer and the film’s director occupy a moral high ground vis-à-vis the murderous subjects, Oppenheimer harnesses uncertainty to make his film indigestible for the viewer. The uncertainty that the viewer experiences when viewing The Act of Killing, to again employ the “uncertainty intensification hypothesis”, makes unpleasant events more unpleasant than they would be without uncertainty.[l] Indeed there are signs that this indigestibility is a source of the film’s strength as a politically committed documentary, and since its release the film has successfully added momentum to demands inside and beyond Indonesia that the bloodbath of the 1960s be recognized and justice delivered for its victims, including an acknowledgement that the killings took place with de facto approval from the U.S. government.[li]

CONCLUSION

Films that create uncertainty for the viewer are not a new turn in documentary filmmaking and there are many examples of “experimental documentary made by graduates of art schools or university-based film or visual anthropology programs… in service of a theoretically savvy poststructuralist or postcolonial critique”,[lii] or in order to “educate viewers about the uncertain links among objectivity, knowledge, and power”.[liii] But the theatrical distribution of Exit Through the Gift Shop and The Act of Killing, as well as the widespread circulation of these two films through video-on-demand services and on DVD, illustrates a mainstreaming of work that brings to the fore issues of this kind, with the added dimension that neither or these two films ultimately offers a clear-cut lesson about the nature of documentary or the representation of reality. Rather, both remain open and unconcluded. These films underscore that the documentary can deliver to viewers a range of pleasures, or as The Act of Killing illustrates, powerful displeasures. Recognizing this invites us to further explore documentary film beyond the canon as it has commonly been presented in histories and scholarship,[liv] and to direct attention to documentaries that disrupt the idea that the dominant area of documentary film production has been serious and high-minded works that are linked to erudite acts of epistephilia. In addition, drawing attention to the varied experiences that viewers can draw from documentaries allows us to reevaluate the operation of what we can loosely term ‘serious documentaries’, those social documentaries that are commonly seen as archetypal to all documentary making, so as to consider the array of pleasures these films actually deliver for audiences, including pleasures that were not intended or expected by their makers.

Notes

[i] Bill Nichols, Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary (Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1991), 205.

[ii] Brian Winston, Claiming the Real: The Documentary Film Revisited (London: British Film Institute, 1995), 127.

[iii] Richard Streckfuss, “Objectivity in Journalism: A Search and a Reassessment”, Journalism Quarterly (1990) 67:4, 975.

[iv] Jane Roscoe and Craig High, Faking It: Mock-documentary and the Subversion of Factuality (Manchester & New York: University of Manchester Press, 2001), 7.

[v] Nichols, Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary,12.

[vi] Melena Ryzik, “Riddle? Yes. Enigma? Sure. Documentary?” The New York Times, 14 April 2010. Available online: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/14/movies/14banksy.html (accessed 25 September 2017).

[vii] Jason Felch, “Getting at the truth of ‘Exit Through the Gift Shop’”. The Los Angeles Times, 11 February 2011. Available online: http://articles.latimes.com/2011/feb/22/entertainment/la-et-oscar-exit-20110222 (accessed 25 September 2017).

[viii] Roger Ebert, “Exit Through the Gift Shop”. RogerEbert.com, 28 April 2010. Available online: http://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/exit-through-the-gift-shop-2010 (accessed 25 September 2010).

[ix] Bill Nichols, Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary, 178.

[x] Jane Roscoe and Craig High, Faking It: Mock-documentary and the Subversion of Factuality, 2001.

[xi] Paget, Derek, No Other Way to Tell It: Dramadoc/Docudrama on Television. Manchester & New York: Manchester University Press, 1998.

[xii] Mark Andrejevic, Reality TV: The Work of Being Watched. Lanham, Boulder, New York, Toronto, Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 2004.

Jon Dovey, Freakshow: First Person Media and Factual Television. London: Pluto Press, 2000.

Brenton, Sam, and Reuben Cohen, Shooting People: Adventures in Reality TV. London & New York: Verso, 2003.

[xiii] Alexandra Juhasz, and Jesse Lerner, “Introduction: Phony Definitions and Troubling Taxonomies of the Fake Documentary”. In F is for Phony: Fake Documentary and Truth’s Undoing, edited by Alexandra Juhasz and Jesse Lerner. London and Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2006, 1-38.

Bill Nichols, Blurred Boundaries: Questions of Meaning in Contemporary Culture. Bloomington & Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1994.

[xiv] Ibid 8.

[xv] Janet Staiger, Perverse Spectators: The Practices of Film Reception. New York & London: New York University Press, 2000.

[xvi] Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillmann (Edit), Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research. Mahwah, New Jersey & London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, 2002.

Hadley Cantril, The Invasion From Mars: A Study in the Psychology of Panic. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947.

Daniel Dayan and Elihu Katz, Media Events: The Live Broadcasting of History. Cambridge, Mass. & London, England: Harvard University Press, 1992.

Lazarsfeld, Paul F. and Robert K. Merton, “Mass Communication, Popular Taste, and Organized Action”. In Mass Culture: The Popular Arts in America, edited by Bernard Rosenberg & David Manning White. Glencoe: The Press and Falcon’s Wing Press, 1957, 457-473.

[xvii] Jason Felch, “Getting at the truth of ‘Exit Through the Gift Shop’”. The Los Angeles Times, 11 February 2011. Available online: http://articles.latimes.com/2011/feb/22/entertainment/la-et-oscar-exit-20110222 (accessed 25 September 2017).

[xviii] Ibid.

[xix] Ibid.

[xx] Alissa Walker, “Here’s Why the Banksy Movie Is a Banksy Prank”. Fast Company, 15 April 2010. Available online: https://www.fastcompany.com/1616365/heres-why-banksy-movie-banksy-prank (accessed 7 October 2017).

[xxi] Ibid.

[xxii] Ibid.

[xxiii] Ibid.

[xxiv] Ibid.

[xxv] Melena Ryzik, “Riddle? Yes. Enigma? Sure. Documentary?” The New York Times, 14 April 2010. Available online: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/14/movies/14banksy.html (accessed 25 September 2017).

[xxvi] Shelley Leopold, “Banksy Revealed?” LA Weekly, 8 April 2010. Available online: http://www.laweekly.com/arts/banksy-revealed-2164479 (accessed 7 October 2017).

[xxvii] Talk of the Nation, “Banksy’s ‘Exit’ Reveals Street Art Secrets … Sort Of”. National Public Radio, 22 February 2011. Radio broadcast transcript. Available online: http://www.npr.org/2011/02/22/133966402/banksys-exit-reveals-street-art-world-sort-of (accessed 7 October 2017).

[xxviii] Jason Felch, “Getting at the truth of ‘Exit Through the Gift Shop’”.

[xxix] F. H. Knight, Risk, uncertainty, and profit. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1921.

[xxx] Timothy D. Wilson, David B. Centerbar, Deborah A. Kermer, and Daniel T. Gilbert, “The Pleasures of Uncertainty: Prolonging Positive Moods in Ways People Do Not Anticipate”. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 88:1, 2005, 5.

[xxxi] Ibid, 5.

[xxxii] Bill Nichols, Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary.

[xxxiii] Timothy D. Wilson, David B. Centerbar, Deborah A. Kermer, and Daniel T. Gilbert, “The Pleasures of Uncertainty: Prolonging Positive Moods in Ways People Do Not Anticipate”, 5.

[xxxiv] Ibid, 5.

[xxxv] Yoav Bar-Anan, Timothy D. Wilson and Daniel T. Gilbert, “The Feeling of Uncertainty Intensifies Affective Reactions”. Emotion 9(1), 2009, 123.

[xxxvi] Timothy D. Wilson, David B. Centerbar, Deborah A. Kermer, and Daniel T. Gilbert, “The Pleasures of Uncertainty: Prolonging Positive Moods in Ways People Do Not Anticipate”, 7.

[xxxvii] Yoav Bar-Anan, Timothy D. Wilson and Daniel T. Gilbert, “The Feeling of Uncertainty Intensifies Affective Reactions”, 123.

[xxxviii] Ibid, 123.

[xxxix] Nick Fraser, “The Act of Killing: don’t give an Oscar to this snuff movie”. The Guardian, 22 February 2014. Available online: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/feb/23/act-of-killing-dont-give-oscar-snuff-movie-indonesia (accessed 7 October 2017).

[xl] Ibid.

[xli] Bill Nichols, “Irony, Cruelty, Evil (and a Wink) in The Act of Killing”. Film Quarterly, 67:2, 2013, 25.

[xlii] Ibid, 25.

[xliii] Catherine Russell, “Surrealist Ethnography: Las Hurdes and the Documentary Unconscious”. In F is for Phony: Fake Documentary and Truth’s Undoing, edited by Alexandra Juhasz and Jesse Lerner. London and Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2006, 112.

[xliv] Larry Rohter, “A Movie’s Killers Are All Too Real”. The New York Times, 12 July 2013. Available online: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/14/movies/the-act-of-killing-and-indonesian-death-squads.html (accessed 7 October 2017).

[xlv] Ibid.

[xlvi] Bill Nichols, “Irony, Cruelty, Evil (and a Wink) in The Act of Killing”, 29.

[xlvii] Richard Streckfuss, “Objectivity in Journalism: A Search and a Reassessment”, 978.

[xlviii] Ibid, 975.

[xlix] Bill Nichols, “Irony, Cruelty, Evil (and a Wink) in The Act of Killing”, 28.

[l] Yoav Bar-Anan, Timothy D. Wilson and Daniel T. Gilbert, “The Feeling of Uncertainty Intensifies Affective Reactions”, 123.

[li] Hannah Beech, “U.S. Stood by as Indonesia Killed a Half-Million People, Papers Show”. The New York Times, 18 October 2017. Available online: https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/18/world/asia/indonesia-cables-communist-massacres.html (accessed 18 October 2017).

[lii] Alexandra Juhasz and Jesse Lerner, “Introduction: Phony Definitions and Troubling Taxonomies of the Fake Documentary”, 21.

[liii] Ibid, 12.

[liv] Erik Barnouw, Documentary: A History of the Non-Fiction Film. New York & Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1974.

Jack C. Ellis and Betsy A. McLane. A New History of Documentary Film. New York & London: Continuum, 2005.

Notes on Contributor:

Lyell Davies teaches cinema and media studies at The City University of New York. His research explores documentary cinema and communication rights activism, and his documentaries have aired on US public television and screened at film festivals around the world.

Bibliography

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Staiger, Janet. Perverse Spectators: The Practices of Film Reception. New York & London: New York University Press, 2000.

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Talk of the Nation. “Banksy’s ‘Exit’ Reveals Street Art Secrets … Sort Of”. National Public Radio, 22 February 2011. Radio broadcast transcript. Available online: http://www.npr.org/2011/02/22/133966402/banksys-exit-reveals-street-art-world-sort-of (accessed 7 October 2017).

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