The Daily 'Mas

I'm writing this a bit out of order, seeing as I can't find the Barthes reading at the moment (save for the Panzani excerpt on the Semiotics for Beginners site), so in the meantime...the public sphere!

My experiences with reading foreign theorists and philosophers have almost always been protracted and often frustrating, primarily due to the strong tendency for translators to approach texts in very dry and sometimes convoluted ways, and also in a smaller part due to the fact that the German language has some extraordinarily long words.

Even in small doses such as Laura Mandell's compilation of quotes from Jurgen Habermas, I found this to be the case. As a result this post might be on the short side. Nevertheless, let's dive in...

Habermas' construction of a definition for the "public sphere" is primarily drawn from historical examples of political and upper-class societies. In applying his theories to a more modern mode of discourse, specifically, the internet, we can consider online forums and blogs as modern versions of other arenas for discussion and discourse, such as the courts in bourgeois society. One key difference is that these modern, digital forums allow for almost anyone to participate in discourse. An excellent example of this is The Daily Kos, a highly liberal news aggregation blog, which features lots of contributors and a steady stream of public discussion on each entry. However, on sites that receive high amounts of traffic, daily updates, or host discussion on particularly controversial or publicized issues, such discussion is often moderated. In addition, posters whose political opinions flow against the general stream of discourse are often reviled or banned. While the Daily Kos functions as a news and media site, it also aggregates from other blogs, creating a dense network of cross-reporting. The informal nature of many of the posts and the open nature of the commenting function (in which any viewer can post feedback about an entry) mark a stark change from the historical nature of the public sphere, in which its participants were largely members of the bourgeois and social elite. The subject of discussion, however, has changed little from Habermas' original observations that "public...was synonymous with state-related." Even in their slogan, the blog strives to provide commentary on "the state of the nation". Daily Kos' content is entirely devoted to political and sociopolitical issues. Its intent is for its readers and commenters to discuss political issues and opinions which they have a mutual, vested interest in. This essentially is an exact example of Habermas' true definition of the public sphere: Its purpose is to

"engage them in a debate over the general rules governing relations in the basically privatized but publicly relevant sphere of commodity exchange and social labor" (27).

The key function of the site is not simply to stream news articles at its readers for their edification, but rather to allow them a public forum upon which to discuss them at length. Another unique element of the definition of a public sphere, which also encompasses the Daily Kos, is the way in which public leaders use the sphere as a method of addressing their subjects. The blog has been used invariably as both a platform upon which to campaign to voters, pander to the public, or call political issues to attention. Considering these similarities to Habermas' classical definition of public spheres of the past, the Daily Kos clearly lies within the public sphere, perhaps far more public than ever before given the accessibility of the internet.

The Benjamin Witch Project

In "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction", Walter Benjamin argues that some form of representation of reality is a quality which defines art. He compares the images which paintings and film produce to argue that they both offer distinct reproductions of reality, albeit filtered through different methods of production. For a painter, assembling an image based in reality requires breaking it down into compositional elements. A painter then reproduces what he sees or imagines, in some way. This interpretation of reality is what gives a painting its aura, Benjamin argues. This is because the painter's creation of the image is intrinsically tied to the artist's impression or aesthetic depiction of the subject. It is unique to the painting, making it the artist's personal interpretation. Therefore, the two cannot be separated. The aura is essentially produced through an artistic interpretation of how to represent reality on a canvas.

Conversely, if we are to apply that definition to film, by Benjamin's interpretation then film allegedly has no aura. If an actor's performance is captured on more than one camera, developed to more than one copy of film, and screened in more than one theater, then Benjamin argues that the aura is lost, because the performance is reproducible and interchangeable. But isn't the performance still the personal interpretation of the actor's? Benjamin argues that an actor's aura emanates from its indelible link to the actor's performance:

"The aura which, on the stage, emanates from Macbeth, cannot be separated for the spectators from that of the actor. However, the singularity of the shot in the studio is that the camera is substituted for the public. Consequently, the aura that envelops the actor vanishes, and with it the aura of the figure he portrays.”

Yet if the filmed reproduction of the actor's performance replicates it, is it not still linked to the actor? If we assume that substituting the audience of a theater for the camera in a studio is what breaks down the aura of a performance, then we assume that the only thing that produces the aura is the physical nature of an irreproducible work of art.

In addition to separating the work of a painter from filmmaker by arguing that the art of a filmmaker lacks the aura of a painting, Benjamin also separates the ways in which the two works represent reality. Whereas paintings are created at "a natural distance from reality", Benjamin argues that film reconstructs reality using its own aesthetic code: "[The work] of the cameraman consists of multiple fragments which are assembled under a new law." Through visual, aural, and sequential information, film reconstructs an interpretation of reality which "permeates" it. This is especially true in the case of documentary-style films such as The Blair Witch Project, which attempt to produce an interpretation of reality which is as convincing as possible. By reconstructing a fictional story with close attention to detail and depicting a completely diegetic world, the film cuts into reality by literally substituting the audience's reality for that of the characters. For the duration of the film, The Blair Witch Project aims to convincingly provide the audience with a representation of reality, and expects them to believe in it.

An odd contradiction in Benjamin's description of film's reproduction or impression of reality concerns his assertion that it is "an aspect of reality which is free of all equipment." Despite this, the production of The Blair Witch Project is decidedly not "free of all equipment". While traditional American filmmaking aesthetics usually dictate that filmmakers should hide their presence through transparent editing and cinematography conventions, so as to immerse the audience and heighten realism, Blair Witch attempts realism through an alternate set of conventions. The use of documentary-style conventions such as hand-held camera shots and addressing the camera heighten the realism in this case rather than diminishing it. This is because we are led to assume it that what we see a document rather a fictional narrative. The artifice of the camera in this case is used to the filmmakers' advantage. So despite the film blatantly revealing its source - the "mechanical equipment" as Benjamin refers to it - The Blair Witch Project still permeates reality. As it is arguably successful in its aim of convincing the audience, the world it creates is fully realized and thus a successful "permeation of reality." This is significant given that this is what Benjamin feels qualifies the work as art, thus while The Blair Witch Project presents itself as a document rather than art or entertainment, yet it clearly functions successfully as such.

Meditating on a Pillow (Shot)

Film realism, from a viewer's perspective, is most often perceived through visual or audio content rather than visual sequencing. Actors' believable performances, detailed sets, and "real" cinematography (hand-held shots, in particular) are all considered tenets of classical Hollywood realism and documentary-inspired film. Editing, however, is not usually part of these aesthetics: instead, American realism is best described through editing as transparent as possible.

Edits are placed in the center of the action in Hollywood-style continuity. The sequence of an action would follow thusly: an action begins onscreen in one shot, and at the peak of the action the edit cuts, switching perspective to show the concluded action at a different angle. Because the viewer's attention is focused on the action at its peak, the edit is much more imperceptible, more fluid. This arguably makes us unaware of the sudden change of perspective, and allows us to fully view the action, as we percieve it from both angles. The goal of this transparency is to obscure the artifice of the edited film. By using the action to cover up a cut, an editor neatly hides his work, allowing the viewer to experience the film without noticing that there was an edit. The less we notice it, the less apparent it is that we are watching a film showing an action rather than simply the action itself. This realist approach draws our attention away from the our knowledge that we are watching a film, thus creating a more immersive, and thus potentially more believable, experience - an important part of achieving realism in classic Hollywood editing.

In contrast, the rhythm of Yasujiro Ozu's editing follows exactly the opposite pattern. Put simply, rather than place the cuts between his shots at the center of an action, or during the middle of a line of dialog, Ozu places edits around them. Although this makes these cuts plainly obvious to the viewer, in contrast to the disguised edits typical of Hollywood realism, this also produces a unique, and arguably equally valid, type of realism. Just as Hollywood realism incorporates subtle, mid-action edits to make them more transparent, and thus limit an audience's awareness of the editor's presence, Ozu sought to limit his presence as well.

Ozu's edits are foremost and always straight, slow cuts; never bringing attention to his editing with stylized transitions such as dissolves or jump cuts. In sequencing an edit between actions, the scene moves in a subtle but powerful rhythm that dictates where the edits are placed. Ozu’s editing rhythm is not temporal, but always based on dialog. The internal rhythm of the shots, or the pace of the action appearing onscreen, produces this structure. This rhythm is often imperceptible because of Ozu’s stark compositions, thus this is merely our mental perception of the sparseness in each scene. Many film scholars, Donald Richie in particular, have noted that because the dialog dictates the placement of cuts, the progression of time onscreen (from the audience's perspective) moves at the exact same pace as the characters onscreen perceive it. Thus, the film moves at the pace of their lives, slowly but surely. We experience the moments onscreen as richly as the characters do, and thus their lives are much more immersive because the audience takes them in at the same pace.

In order to fully understand the realist aesthetic of Ozu's editing style, one must also consider the realism found in his cinematographic methods. A pioneer of what he coined the "tatami" shot (in reference to the traditional floor mats found in Japanese homes), in which the action is framed from a low, static angle, Ozu limits his presence behind the camera as much as he does in the editing booth. His shots are almost completely, even insistently, static, and are devoid of stylized methods using zooms, whip pans, and other things that look like visual trickery in comparison to Ozu's plainly composed shots. His camera usually follows characters navigating through plain domestic interiors, always silently watching them but never moving. This produces a strangely voyeuristic experience, watching the intensely personal moments play out between Ozu's many family subjects. The way in which actors often deliver the lines directly to the camera adds to this immersive experience, putting us in the eyes of the other characters and completing the illusion that the viewer is experiencing the scene too. Because we are never aware of the camera's presence as a narrative or aesthetic device, we experience the slow edits even more immersively. Because camera movements would add to the film's editing tempo, the exclusion of them solidifies Ozu's editing rhythm even more: just as real life can indeed be painfully slow, so are some of Ozu's awkward pauses and silences. To watch an Ozu film is sometimes a strangely immerse experience in embarrassment, as if the scenes we see are all too real because they are paced in such a realistic way.

Pacing is a crucial element in understanding the realist aesthetic of Ozu's films. Because the editing choices are so notably different from Hollywood realist style, we must consider that Ozu uses different methods of immersion than simply hiding the artifice of the film form. However, the stripped-bare nature of his editing and visual styles arguably contributes to a transparent effect as well. By pacing his domestic, personal scenes as naturalistically as possible, we take in every moment to the same degree as the film's characters. This immersive form of realism is unusual, almost a reaction to traditional Western editing, and is strangely hypnotic in its pace.

---

As a side note, the reason I've refrained from mentioning Ozu's Tokyo Story as the specific subject of this analysis is because, having done a considerable amount of research on Ozu's body of work, I think it's safe to say that this analysis applies to almost all his films, not just Tokyo Story. If you'd like to read more of my analysis on Ozu's work and Zen aesthetic - specifically, in Late Spring - then never mind the shameless self-promotion and read the paper here! (downloads as a Word document)

---

Works Cited
Richie, Donald. Ozu. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1974. 179-182.