Academia.eduAcademia.edu

Letter of Complaint, Rachel Reupke, Cubitt, Art Monthly 3/2015

2015, Art Monthly

Upon entrance to the screening space, the first thing one encounters after the bench and the large projection is a well-modulated,soothing voice relaying mild aggrievement that plays over a closely framed shot of a letter writer seated at a desk, somewhere in the act of penning the eponymous epistle. The writer and her or his setting are depicted in the style of an advertisement from the halcyon era for paper and ink correspondence, that is, sometime between the birth of mass advertising in the 1890s and the mid-20 th century domestication of the typewriter. Which is to say, from an era when letter-writing shifted status for the majority of people from an instrumental task to a leisure-time activity. Following the trend of an emerging consumer society, letter-writing went from being an aristrocratic hobby to a being an accessible, and accessorisable, luxury for the mainstream. That is, the letter-writer confronts us as modish, and thereby, perhaps, to follow Walter Benjamin, having the jarring potential of all that is outmoded.

Rachel Reupke: Letter of Complaint Cubitt London 22 January to 1 March Upon entrance to the screening space, the first thing one encounters after the bench and the large projection is a well-modulated,soothing voice relaying mild aggrievement that plays over a closely framed shot of a letter writer seated at a desk, somewhere in the act of penning the eponymous epistle. The writer and her or his setting are depicted in the style of an advertisement from the halcyon era for paper and ink correspondence, that is, sometime between the birth of mass advertising in the 1890s and the mid-20th century domestication of the typewriter. Which is to say, from an era when letter-writing shifted status for the majority of people from an instrumental task to a leisure-time activity. Following the trend of an emerging consumer society, letter-writing went from being an aristrocratic hobby to a being an accessible, and accessorisable, luxury for the mainstream. That is, the letter-writer confronts us as modish, and thereby, perhaps, to follow Walter Benjamin, having the jarring potential of all that is outmoded. With cutaways to covetable antique writing implements alternating with lingering shots of their pensive human supports and moody supernal tableaux, Letter of Complaint evokes a climate of diffident anxiety, as the voiced complaints drift over this limited image palette and then loop back around. Each character is framed individually in a self-contained sequence. Two are pictured in colour, and one in high-contrast black-and-white, though the visual codes of silent cinema link all three. Close-ups of faces and hands lost in thought over unmarked stationery accompany a reading of three specific causes for complaint: a bus which fails to stop for two middle-aged ladies who risked their lives to catch it; a soldier who has not obtained leave from a superior for an inordinately long time; and a disappointed visitor to a leisure centre. The film recognizably belongs to the itinerary Reupke has been charting over the past several years, from 10 Seconds or Greater (2009) to 2013's Wine and Spirits. She presents allegories of subjectivity as a product and byproduct of commodity relations: a product insofar as stock images circulate the ideal types of people interacting with their things (no less than the unpeopled social relations among towels and kitchen tables), and a byproduct insofar as the real-life dominance of the object world casts all human interactions into the awkward zone. The clamour of objects in the generic taxonomies of stock photography lend a ghastly loquacity to the speechless dinner dates and hangouts of the two earlier films. In Letter of Complaint, however, the artist's mordant gaze pivots to inspect another set of standardised forms which humans are driven to fill with the singularity of subjective misery: the literary and also the behavioural conventions of the complaint letter. Here she unnervingly taps into the modality of bleak little personhood which itself forms a kind of 'stock image' in British culture, from Diary of a Nobody to the writers of 'Dear Sir' letters in Monty Python. The genre celebrates tragicomic nonentities whose propensity to observe from below gives them a vantage onto social and emotional truths accessible from only that spot, as well as being a source of comic gold due to the distortions equally unavoidable from that uncomfortable position. The letter of complaint can even be said to embody a specifically British approach to seeking redress for social injustice – meek, individualised, laden with scruple. While the darker , resentment-tinged inflections of the psychology of the letter-writer do not appear in this film, they are not far away as the wan demeanours of the letter writers evince a fantasy of injury done to an innocent citizen which can be remedied by the suasion of a civilized complaint. The tone of the letters veers between the officiously amiable to the wounded to the desperate, and their phrasing is carefully wrought to suggest the unfixedness in time of the idiom of complaint. The mixture of the recent past and a timeless present in the film script and its aesthetics evokes a strange undecideable mood where the moral petulance of the written complaint is at once the last bulwark of resistance and inconceivable as a serious activity. This may be due to the way the letter-writers are portrayed as artefacts of bygone glamour – a glamour which equally describes their post-Downton Abbey style and their insistence on remonstrating with the powers that be as if it mattered. The contemporary subject is shown to be an accretion of more or less contingent mediations of a marketable past, up and including their most tremulous refusals. At this level, any letter of complaint is addressed to Customer Care. And yet, and yet – these complaints are reasonable.