4

The World Viewed

Stanley Cavell
What is film?
Sights and Sounds
The beginning of an aDswer is given b) the two
. ' . _ ,,. . . . . .
conunuous1y mrc111gem, mreresnng, ana ro me
useful theorists l have read on the subject. Erwin
Panofky puts it this l"ay: "The medium of the
movies is physical reality as such."
1
Andre 13a7in
emphasizes essentiall) this idea many times and
many 1\a)S: at one point he says, "Cinema is
committed to communicate only by 11ay of \ hat
is real"; ami then, "The cinema [is] of its essence a
clramarurg) of l\arure."
1
"Ph)sical realit) as
such," taken literally, is not correct: that phrase
better fits the specialized pleasures of tableaux
vivants, or fom1al gardens, or .linimal Art. \\'hat
Panofsk) and Bazin ha1e in mind is that the basis
of the medium of mo' ies is phtogaphIc, and that
a photograph is of relity or nature. If to this Ye
add that the medium is one in 1hich the photo
gaphic image is projected and gathered on a
screen, our question becomes: \\hat happens U
real it) \\ hen it is projected and screened?
That it is reality that \e h1 e to deal "ith, or
some mode of depicting it, fmds surprising con
firmation in the way mo1ies are remembered, and
misrcmembered. It is tempting to suppose that
movies are hard to remember the wa) dreams
arc, and that is not a bad analogy. As with dreams,
you do sometimes jiud yourself remembeTng mo
ment in a film, and a procedure in tryiug to
remember is to find ) our way back to a character
iMic mood the thing has left you with. But, unlike
dreams, other people can help you remember,
indeed arc often indispensable to the enterprise
r I A I 1 . 1
01 rcmemocnng. JVtoves arc naro ro rememocr,
the way the actual events of yesterday are. And yet,
again liJ. e d!eams, certain moments from films
1 icwcd dec dcs ago will nag as vividly as moments
of hildhood. It is as if you had to remember what
happened befre you slept. Which suggests that
film a 1 1aJ. ens as much as it enfolds you.
It ma) seem that this starting point - the pro
jection of reality begs the question of the med
ium of film, because mo,ies, and writing about
mo\ies, ha'e from their beginnings also ro
ni7cd that flm cn depict the fantastic as readily
the natUral. What is true about that ide is not
denied in speaking of moYi1 B "cmmunicting
b) 11 a} of \\hat is rel": the displacement of ob
jc:ts and persons from their natural sequence and
locales is itself an acknowledgment of the ph) sic
alit) of their LXisten\. It is B if, for all their
insistence on the newness of the medium, the
antirealist theorists could not shake the idea that
it was essentiall) a form of painting, for it was
painting 11 hich had N isually repudiated- anyway,
forgone the representati on of reality. This would
have helped them negleLt rhe differences between
represcmation and projection. But an immediate
Stanley Cavell, excerpts from The World Viewed: Reflections on the Ontolog of Film (New York: Viking Press,
1971): 16-41. Reprinted by permission of Stanley Cavell.
Stanley Cavell
fact about the medium of the photograph (still or
in motion) is that it is not painting. (An immediate
facr about the history of photograph) is that this
Yas not at first obvious.)
Whar doc this mean - not painting? A photo
graph does not present us with "likenesses" of
things; it presents us, we 11 ant to say, with the
things themselves. But wanting U Sa} that may
well make us ontologically restless. "Photographs
present us with things themsehcs" sounds, and
ought to sound, false or parado\ical. Ob' iousl) a
photograph of an earthquake, or of Garbo, is not
an erthquake happening (fortunate!)), or Garbo
in the nesh (unfortunately). But this is not `e
l1
infomurive. And, morco,er, it is no less paradox
ical or false to bold up a photograph of Garbo and
say, "That is not Garbo," if all )Ou mean is that the
object you are holding up is not a human creature.
Such troubles in notating so obvious a E1ct suggest
that we do not know what a photograph is; we do
not no" how to place it ontologicall). We might
sa) that we don't know how to thin of the ronnu
tion between a photograph and 1 har it is a photo
graph of. The image is not a likeness; it is not
c.actl) a replica, or a relic, or a shado1, or an
apparition either, though all of these natural candi
dates share a striking feature" ith phowgraphs-an
aura or history of magic surrounding them.
One might wonder that similar questions do not
arise :1bout recordings of sound. I mean, on the
whole we would be hard pur to lind it false or
paradoxical to say, listening to a record, "That's
an English horn"; there is no trace of temptation I
add (as it were, to oneelf, "But I know it's reaU)
only U recording." Why? A child might b \Cry
pualcd by the remark, said in the presence of a
phonograph, "That's an English horn," if some
thing else had alredy been pointed out to him as an
English horn. Similarly, he might be \Cry puzzled
by the remark, said of a photograph, "That's ) our
grandmother." Very early, children are H0 !tmger
puzzled by such remarks, luckily. 13ut that doesn't
mean we know why they were puzzled, or" hy they
no longer are. And I am suggesting that MV don't
nO\\ either of these things about oursch es.
Is the difference between auditor) and , isual
transcription a function of the fact that we arc
fully accustomed ro hearing things that are im is
iblc, not present to us, not present "ith us? We
would be in trouble if we "ercn 't o accustomed,
because it is the nature of hearing that what is
heard comes fom someplace, whereas what you
can see you can look at. It is \h) mmds arc
wgs, or calls; it is why our access to another
world i norma II) through ,oiccs from it; and "h)
a man be spoken ro by God and sun i' e, but
not if he sees God, in "hich L he is no longer in
this "orld. \Vhcrea "e are not accustomed to
seeing things that arc im isible, or not present ro
us, not present with us; or ''e arc not accustomed
to acknowledging that we do (except for dreams).
Yet this seems, ontologically, to be what is hap
pening when \\C look at a photograph: "e sec
things that arc not present.
Someone ''ill object: "That is playing "ith
"ords. \ c 're not seeing something not present;
\C arc looing at something perfectly preent,
namel), a plwwgmph." Bur that is affirming ore
thing 1 h:n e not denied. On the contrar), I am
precise!) desribing, or wishing to describe, what
it means to say that there is th.s photograph here.
lt ra} be felt that I make too great a mystcr) of
these objects. t' vl) feling is rather that we have
forgotten ho11 J) sterious these things are, and in
general ho\\ difrrnt different things arc from one
another, as though we had forgotten ho" to 'aluc
them. Thi i in fact something mo,ies teach U5.
Suppo.e one tried accounting for the fmiliarit)
of rccordinP h) Sa) ing, "When I S), listening to a
record, 'That's an English horn,'" hat I really mean
is, 'That's the s!mnd of an English hor'; moreo\ cr,
when I am in the presence of an English horn
pia) ing, I still don't literal!) hear the horn, I hem
the sound of the horn. So I don't worry about
hearing a horn "hen the horn is not present, be
cause 1/wt I hc;tr is c"actl) the same (onrolorcaU)
the same, and if m) equipment is good enough,
empiicU) the s.mc) whether the thint! is present
or not." \\hat this rigarole clls attention to is
that sounds can be perfectly copied, and that "e
ha,c vari ous interests in copying them. (For ex
ample, if the) couldn't be copied, people \\ ould
never lear to talk.) It is interesting that there is
no comparable rigmarole about visual transcrip
tions. The problem is nor that photographs arc
not 'isual copies of objects, or that objects can't
be ,isuall) copied. The problem is rh<t e'en if a
photograph were a cop) of an object, so to speak, it
would not bear the relation to its object that a
recording bears to the sound it cpie. \\ C said
that the record reproduces its sound, but 11e cannot
S) that a photograph reproduces a sight (or a look,
or an appear;lncc). It can seem that language is
missing a 110rd at this place. Well, you can alwa)S
invent word. But one doesn't know what to pin
the word 0H here. It isn't that there aren't sights to
sec, nor e1en that a sight h
epeciall) worth seeing (henc
of thing "e arc a/mays seein1
being thought of here, not u
always hear. A sight is an objt
object, like the Grand Can
though small souther ch
held, by the person in charge
or an extraordinary happenir
ealis; and "hat ) ou sec, whe1
is an object any\\ a), not the
"il the epistemologist's "
faces" pro' ide correct dcsc
arc not going to y that pt
with the sense-data of the
becuse if the sense-data of
same as the sense-data of tho
11e couldn't tell a photogra
the object itself. To say that
surfaces of objects suggests t
rurc. What is missing is not <
something in nature - the I
make sights, or luvt sights.
jeers arc too dost to their sigt
reproducing; in order to rep
(as it were) make, ) ou ha' c
make a mold, or rac an imp
photograph docs? We might
casion, try thinking of a photc
or a visual impression. My di
idea is, 1 think, that physical I
and imp rims have clear proee
their originals, "hcrcas in
original is still U5 present as it
as it once 11as to the camera;
machine, not the mold itself.
Photograph are not hand
factured. And "hat is manuf
the world. The inescapable
automatism in the making 1
feature Bazin points to as "
for all and in its very csscnc
Iealism.
It is essential to get to the I
of automatism. Jr is, for ex
sy, as Bazin does, that "phot
plastic arts from their obs
for this males it seem (and it
photograph) and painting'''
that painting had ''anted so1
raphy broke in and satisfied. :
satisfed a wish, it satisfied a
painters, but the human wis
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Stanley Cavell
the condition of isolation itself. It would, to that
extent, not be a ne1 master) of fate by creating
selfhood against no matter \Vhat odds; it would be
the sealing of the slrs fate by theatricalizing i1.
Apart from the 11 ish for selfl1od (hence the ahays
simultaneous granting of otheress as well), I do
not understand the 1 alue of art. Apan from this
11 ish and its achiel'ement, art is exhibition.
To spek of our subjecti1 it} as the route back to
our comiction in realit} is to speak of romanti
cism. Perhaps romanticism can be understood as
the natural struggle between the represenrarion
and the acknowledgment of our suhjectility (be
tween the acting out and the facing off of our
selves, .Q psychoanalysts '' ould more or less say).
Hence Kant, and l legcl; hence Blake secreting the
world he believes in; hence Wordsworth compet
ing with the history of poetry by writing out
himself, writing himself back into the world. A
century Inter l leidegger is investigating Being by
investigating Dasein (because it is in Dasei1 that
Being shows up best, namely as questionable), and
Wittgenstein investib-ates the 1 1 orld ("the possibil
ities of phenomena") b) investigating 11 hat we sa),
what we arc inclined to sa), what our picture of
phenomena arc, in order to 11 rest the world from
our possessions so that 11 e ma) possess it again.
Then the recent major painting 1 1 hich Fried de
scribes as objects of presm11 110uld be pinting's
latest efort to maintain its con1 iction in its own
p1 er to establish connection Yith rclit} - b)
permitting MS presentness to oursehes, apart
from which there is no hope for a 110rld.
Photograph) 01 er:amc subjcctivit) in a wa)
undreamed of b) painting, a way that could nor
sarisf) painting, one which does not so much de
feat the act of painting as escape it altogether: by
auloralism, by removing the human agent from
the task of reproduction.
One could accordingly say that photography was
never in competition with painting. What happened
was that at some point the quest for visual reality, or
the "memory of he prcent" (as Baudelaire put it),
split apart
.
To maimain conviction in our connection
with relity, to maintain our presentness, painting
accepts the recession of the world. Photography
maintains the presntness of the world by acepting
our absenc from it. The relity in a photograph is
present to me 1hilc I am not present to it; and a
world I know, and 5 but to 1hich 1 am nel'erthe
les nor preent (through no fault of m) subjectivit}),
is a 11orld past.
Photograph and Screen
Let us notice the specific sense in 11 hich photo
phs are of t1e 110rld, of rel it) a 11 hole. You
L alwa) s ask, pointing to an object in a photo
graph-a building, s) 1 hat lies behind it, totaU)
obscured by it. This only accidcnrJII) makes sense
when asked of an object in a painting. You cn
always ask, of an area photogphed, 1 hat lies
adjacent to that area, be) ond the frame. This gen
erally males no sense asked of J painting. \ ou can
ask these questions of objects in photographs b
cause they ha1e answers in reality. The 110rld of a
painting is not continuous Yith the 110rld of its
frame; at its frame, a 11orld finds its limits. We
might say: A pain ring is a world; a photograph is 11[
the 11 0rld. What happens in a photograph is that il
comes to an end. A photograph is crCippcd, not
necessarily by a paper cutter or by masking but by
the camera itself. The camera crops it b) prede
termining the amount or 1 ic11 it ''ill accept; cut
ting, masking, enlarging, predetermine the amount
after the fact. (Something like this phenomenon
shows up in recent painting. In this respect, these
paintings have found, at the C'trcmest negation of
the photographic, media that achic\e the condition
of photographs.) The <:am era, being finite, crops a
portion from an indefnite!) larger field; conrinu
ous portions of that field could be included in the
photograph in fact taken; in principle, it could all
be taken. Hence objects in photograph! that run
past the edge do not feel cut; the) arc aimed at,
shor stopped lile. When a photograph is cropped,
the rest of the 1orld is cut oul. The implied
presence of the rest of the world, and its explicit
rejection, are as essential in the e\perience of a
photograph as what it explicitly presents. A cam
era is an opening in a box: that is the best emblem
of the fact that a camera holding on an object is
holding rhc rest of the world ;nvay. The camera has
been praised for extending the senses; it may, as
the world goes, deserve more praise for confining
them, leaving room for thought.
The world of a moving picture is screened. The
screen is not a support, not like a can1as; there is
nothing to support, that way. It holds a projection,
as light as light. A screen is a barrier. \\'hat docs
the silver screen screen? It creens me from the
world it holds that is, makes me i01 isiblc. And it
screens that world from me - that is, screens its
existence from me. That the projected world does
not exist (no\\) is irs on I) difference from reli.
(There is no feature, or set of
differs. Existence is not a pre
the field of a photograph, the
that is to S). no border. Its li1
the edge of a gil en shape as
tions, or capacit), of a contai
frame; the frame is the 1 hole
as a frame of flm is the whc
graph, like the fame of a loor
sense, the screen-frame is a M
The fact that in a mo1 inJ
film frames arc ft fuh in
fme results i a phenomcnc
indefmitely extendible and co
the smallness of the object it L
state of its technology, and i
the span of the world. Drawi
and panning it, arc two wa:
frame; a close-up is of a par
one object or small set of objcc
reverberating the whole fra1
altering frame is the image
Early in its history the cin
possibility of caling attcnti
part of persons and objects:
possibilit} of the medium no
them but, rather, to let the Mo
parts dra11 attention to then
their natural ''eight. This p
plored than its opposite. Dre
Renoir, and Antonioni arc M3
Audience, Actor, and St:
The depth of the automatism
be read not alone in it mcch
an image of real it), but in its
our presence to that reality.
theater can be defined as those
are present while they arc no
ors.
9
But movies allow the J1
anically absent. The f
.
1ct t. ha1
inaudible to the actors, and I
longer needs accounting for;
convention I have to comply ,.
do not have 1I make good rhc I
in the face of tragedy, or that
of others. In vie1\ing a mo1 i
mechacl) assured: I am r
thing happening, 11hich I m
smething that has happen<
(like a memory). In this, mo1
Seen
1fc sense in which photo
PI. of reality as a whole. You
tug to an object in a photo
_ -'hat lies behind it, roraJl)
( accidentally makes sense
o in a painting. You can
photographed, what lies
:ond the frame. This gcn
c of a painting. You tan
o .bjct i phomgraphs be
T in realit). The world of a
:uu with the world of it)
& \Orld ftnds its limits. We
n a YMrld; a photograph is of
ps in a photograph is that 11
, potograph is cropped, not
ctter or b) mg but b)
M cmera crops it b) prcd<
o; f ,e\ it will accept; cut
:. predeterine the amount
cg L ike this phenomenon
matng. In this respect, these
L :i the exnemest negation of
! hat achieve the condition
K=era, being fnite, crops a
Ctely larger feld; cuntinu
d could be included in the
a; in principle, it could all
i in photographs that run
fel cut; they U aimed at,
i a photograph is cropped,
r 1b cut 0111. The implied
oi the world, and its explicit
tal in the experience of a
i nplicitl) presents. A cam
W bm that is the best emblem
C holding on an object i)
W\Orld a\ay. The camera has
eding the senses; it ma), a
QY more praise for confning
tr thought.
:\ig picture m screened. The
WF- not like a canvas; there is
:hat" a). It holds a projection,
ceen is a barrier. What docs
e ? It screens me from the
is, makes me invisible. And it
-
rom me - that is, screens its
rhat the projected world does
; only difference from real it).
(There is no feture, or set of fean.res, in '' hich i1
differs. Existence is not a predicate.) Because it is
the feld of a photograph, the scree has no frame;
that is ro say, no border. Irs limits are not so much
the edges of a gi, en shape as they are the limita-
ons, or capacit), of a container. The screen L( a
frame; the frame is the "hole feld of the screen -
as a fame of film is the whole feld of a photo
graph, like the fme of a loom or a house. In this
sense, rhe screen-frame is a mold, or form.
The fact that in a mo, ing picture successi>e
flm frames are ft fush into the fL\ed screen
frame results in a phenomenologicl frame that i\
indefinite! etedible and contractible, limited in
the smallness of the object it cn grasp on!) b) the
state of irs technology, and 3 largeness onl) b)
the span of the world. Drawing the cmera back,
and panning it, arc rwo ways of e'tcnding the
fame; a close-up is of a part of the bod), or of
one object or small set of objccrs, supported b) and
rc\erbcrating the "hole frame of nature. The
altering frame is the linage of perfect anention.
Earl) in its history the cinema disco' crcd the
possibilit) of calng attention to persons and
parts of persons and objects; bur it is cquall) a
possibility of rhe medium not ro cali aiiemion U
them but, rather, to let the world happen, to let its
parts dra\1 attention U themseh es according T
their natural \\eight. This possibilit) is less e\
plorcd than its opposite. Dre) cr, rlahCrt). \ igo,
Renoir, and Antonioni are masters of it.
Audience, Actor, and Star
The depth of the autOmatism of photograph) is to
be read not alone in irs mechanical production of
an image of reli, but in its mechanical defeat of
our presence to that realit. The audience in a
theter cn b defined as those to hom the actor
are presenr while they are not preent to the act
ors.q But mo,ics allo" the audience to be mcch
anicall) absent. The fact that l am im isible and
inaudible to the actors, and fxed in position, no
longer needs accunting for; it is not part of a
con,ention 1 have to comply with; the proceedings
do not ha,e to make good the fact that I do nothing
in rhc face of tragedy, or that I laugh at the follies
of others. In , iewing a movie m) helplessness i
mechanically assured: I am present nol at some
thing happening, "hich l must confrm, but at
something that has happened, Yhich 1 absorb
(like a memory). In this, movies resemble no\els,
The World Viewed
a fact mirrored in the sound of narration itself,
whose tense is the past.
It might be said: ''But swely there is the obvi
ous difrcncc between a movie house and a the
;Her that is not recorded by what has so far been
said and that ourwcighs all this fddle of differ
ences. The obvious diff erence is that in a tl1eater
"c are in the presence of an actor, in a movie house
VC arc Tot. You have said that in both places the
actor is in our presence and in neither are we in
his, the diff erence I) ing in the mode of our ab
sence. But there is also the plain fact that in a
theater a rc:l man is /feri, and in a movie no real
man is there. That is obviously esental to the
differences ben,cen our response to a play and
to a flm." \\1lat that means must not be denied;
but the fct remains to b understood. Bazin meets
it head on b simply den) ing that "the screen is
incapable of putting us 'in the presence or the
actor"; it, so to speak, relays his preence to us,
as b) mirror:. Bazin 's idea here relly frs the
facts of Ji,e tcle,ision, in which the thing we are
presented "ith is happening simultaneously with
its presenr:rion. But in live television, what is
present U us while it is happening is not the
world, but an event standing out from the world.
Irs point is not to reveal, but to cover (as with a
gun), to keep something on view.
It is an incontestable fact that in a motion pic
ture no live human being is up there. But a human
somelhiug is, and something wliikc anything else
we know. We can stick to our plain description of
that human something +m "in our presence while
\\Care not in his" (present a/ him, because looking
at him, but not present to him) and still account for
the diff erence benveen his live presence and his
photographed presence to us. We need to consider
"har i present or, rather, since the topic is the
human being, who is present .
One\ first impulse may be to sy that in a pia)
the character is present, wheres in a flm the actor
is. That sounds phony or false: one want to sy
that both arc present in both. But there is more to
it, onrologicall) more. Here I think of a fine pas
sage of Panofsky's:
Othello or ora are defnite, substantial fgures
created b) the playwright. They can be played
Y ell or badly, and they can be "interpreted"
in one way or another; but they most definitely
e:.is1, no matter who plays them or even whether
they arc played at aLL The character in a fum,
howc,er, lives and dies with the actOr. It is not
Stanley Cavell
the entity "Othello" interpreted by Robeson
or the entity " ora" interpreted b) Duse, it
is the entity "Greta Garbo" inc;1rnate in a
figure c;llcd Anna Christie or tht entity "Rob
crt Montgomery" incrnate in a murderer who,
for all we know or care kilO\\ , may forever
remain anonymous but will never cease to
haunt our memories.
11
If the chamcter li\es and dies with the actor, that
ought ! mean that the actor lives and dies with the
chamctcr. I think that is correct, but it needs
clarification. Let M de\elop it slight!.
For the s t age, an actor works himself into a role;
for the screen, a performer takes the role onto
himself. The stage actor explores his potenrialities
and the possibilities of his role simultaneously; in
performance these meet at a point in spirin1al
space - the better t1e performance, the deeper
the point. In this respect, a role in a pl:t) is like a
position in a game, say, third base: various people
can pia) it, but the great third baseman is a man
who has accepted and trained his skills and in
stincts most perfectl) and matches them most
intimately ith his discO\ erits of the posibilitie
and necessities of third base. The screen performer
c>plores his role like an artie and takes stock ofhis
physical and temperamental endowment; he lends
his being to the role and accepts only " hat fits; the
rest is nonexistent. On the stage there arc two
beings, and the being of the character assaults the
being of the actor; the actor survives onl) by
yielding. A screen performance requires not so
much training as planning. Of course, both the
actor and rhe performer require, or cn make use
of, experience. The actor's role is his subject for
stud), and there is no end to it. But the screen
performer is essentially not an actor at all: he i rhc
subject of study, and a study not his own. (That is
what the content of a photograph is - its subject.)
On a screen the study is projected; on a stage the
actor is the projector. An exemplury stag per
formance is one which, for a time, most fully
creates a character. After Paul Scofield's perform
ance in Ki1g Lear, \\C know \\ho King Lear is, we
ha\e seen him in the Ocsh. A exemplar) screen
performance is one in which, at a rime, a tar is
born. After The .11a/Ust Fulo11 \\e knOI\ a nC\\
star, only distantly a person. "Bo!art" HCH3 "the
figure created in a given set of flms." His presence
in those films i s who he is, not mere!) in the sense
in which a photograph of an event is that event;
but in the sense that if those films did not e>ist,
Bogart would not C\ist, the name "Bogart" \IOllld
not mean what it docs. The figure it names is not
only in our pr < -cncc, \\e are in his, in the onI
;ense \\e could C\er be. That i s al the "presence"
he has.
But it is complicated. A full de,elopment of all
this would require us to place such facts as these:
Humpluey Bogart I\ aS a man, and he appeared in
movies both before and after the ones that created
''Bogan." Some of them did not create a nc\\ st:1r
(s), the stable groom in Dark J'tor), some of
:.hem defined stars-an\\ a meteors-that ra be
:ncompatible ith Bogrt (e.g., Duke Mantee and
Fred C. Dobbs) but that arc related to that figure
and r) enter into our htter experience of it. And
Humphre Bo{. rart I\ aS both an accomplished actor
and a \1\ id subject for a cmera. Some people arc,
just as some people arc both good pitchers and
good hitters; but here are so few that it is surpris
ing that the \\Orl "actor" keeps on being used in
place of the more beautiful and more accurate
word ''star"; the stars are only to gaze at, after
the fact, and their actions di\-ine our projects.
Finall), \I e must note rhe sense in which the
cretion of a (!crecn) performer is also the cntion
of a char:c1er not the kind of character an author
creates, but the l.ind that cerrain rel people arc: a
ty
pe.
Types; Cycles as Genres
Around this point our auention turns from the
physical medium of cinema in general to the spe
cic forms or genres the medium has rakcn in the
course of it! histor).
Both Panofsl.) and Bazin bn at the begin
ning, noting and approving that early mo\ ies adapt
popular or folk arts and themes and performers
and characters: farce, melodrama, circus, music
hall, romance, etc. And borh are gratifyingly con
temptuous of intellectuals who could not come to
terms with those fi1cts of life. (Such intellectuals
are the alter egos of the film promoters the) so
heartily despise. Roxy once ad\errsed a mo\ie as
"Ar, in e\ cr) sense of the \\Ord"; his better half
ceclaims, "This is not art, in any sense of the
word.") Our quetion is, why did such forms and
themes and characters lend themsehes to film?
Bazin, in \\hat I ha\ 1 read of him, is silent on the
subject, except express gratirude to film for
revivifying these ancient forms, and to justify in
general the legitimacy of adaptation from one art
to another. Arnold llauser, it
suggests \HOng anS\\ ers, in a r
the remark "0nl) a )OUng art
remark that not onl) is in itcl
' and Dickens and Chaplin and
in young arts?) but suggests t
ural for the movies to pick up
It UU:natural -anyway it hap
but not because movies were L
ity (they ''ere at first no more
forms of entertainment). In ar
are likel) to pic!. up the forms
art for their m:ucrial popuJ
burlesques. And it means next t
movies are )Oung, bec;usc Y
the normal life span ofan art is
what would count as a unit of
raises the question of the appr
original forms, but his answer
The legitimate paths of eve
were opened, not by runr
folk art character of the p
de\ eloping it \\ ithin the lir
sibilitie. Those primordia
productions on the folk ar
retribution, sentiment, scns
and crude humor could
genuine histor), tn1gcdy a
and adventure, and comed
realized that the) could be
by an artifcial injection ol
by the exploitation of the
possibiliti of the ne\\ me
The instinct here is sound, b
of taps. What arc "the unique
bilirics of the nc\ medium''
them as dynami:ation of spac
of time - tlmt is, in a movie th
can be moved insmntaneousl)
anywhere, and you can wirness
happening at the same time.
properties as "self-c\ idcnt to
it)" and, bec;uSe of that, "
neglected." One hard I) dispu
portance. But \\C still do no
makes these properties "the
medium." 1 am not nO\\ aski
know that these arc the unique
biliries (though 1 will soon
I am asking what it means to c
at all.
:xisr, the name "Bogart" would
U. The figure ir names is nor
tee, we arc in his, in the onl)
1 be. That is :11 the "presence"
:rcd. A full development of all
us tO place such facts as these:
was a man, and he appered in
and after the ones that created
them did not crete a new star
)m in Dad Vici0:)), some of
-an) way meteors-that ma) be
1ogarr (e.g., Duke i\lantee and
9 that arc related to that figure
our later experience of it. And
'a both an accomplished actor
tor a camera. Some people arc,
l W both good pitchers and
.e arc so few that it is surpris
actor" keeps on being used in
butiful and more accunnc
W arc onl) to gaze at, after
actions di\inc our project!.
nte the sense in "hich the
a) prmer is also the creation
: kind of character an author
Ilthat certain real people arc: a
Genres
lrtcnrion turns from the
ca m general to the spc
t medium has taken in the
r
r B begin at the begin
l, that carl) movie adapt
W thcmes and performers
crama, circus. music
r arc gratifingly con
l ho could not come lI
life (Such intellectuals
r promoters they so
ad,crised a movie as
ord"; his bener half
i n an) sense of the
'h) did such forms ancl
lnd themselves U film?
r of him, is silent on the
O" gratitude to film for
, t wr, and to justify in
_ o acbpttion from one arr
to another. Arold Hauser, if l understand him,
suggeM '' rong answer, i na paage that includes
the remar "Only a young art can be popular,"
t
l
a
remark that not only is in itself batning (did \"erdi
and Diekcns and Chaplin and Prank Loesser work
in oung arts?) but suggest> that it was only nat
url for the mo,ies to pic up the forms they did.
It OH5 natural - anyway it happene fast enough
but not becuse mO\ics \\ere destined to popular
it) (the) "ere at first no more popular than other
forms of entertainment). In any case, popular arts
arc like!) to pick up the forms and themes of high
art for their material - popular theater natural!)
burlesques. And it mens ne\t to nothing to say that
mo' ies arc young. becuse "e do not kno\\ "hat
the normal lifespan of an art is upposcd U be, nor
"hat "ould count as a unit of me1sure. Panofst. y
raises the question of the appropriateness of these
original forms, bur his ans\\er i misleading.
The legitimate paths ofe\ olution [for the film]
"ere opened, nor by running away from the
fol art character of the primiti\e film but by
de,eloping ir within the limits of its O\\ n pos
sibilities. Those primordi,l archet)pcs of film
productions on the foik art ie,ei - success or
retribution, sentiment, sensation, pornography,
and crude humor - could blossom forth into
genuine history, tragcd) and romance, crime
and ad,cnturc. and cored), as soon as it "as
realized that the) could be transfgured - not
b) an artifcial injection of literary ,-alues but
b) the e:ploitation of the unique and specific
possibilities of the nc\\ mcdium.
u
The instinc
t
here is sound, but the region is full
of traps. \\ hat are "the unique and specific possi
bilities of the new medium"? Panofsky define
them as d)nami ztion of pace and spataliztion
of time - that is, in a mo,ie thin mo,e, and you
can be moved instantaneous)) from anywhere V
anywhere, and you can witness successively events
happening at the same time. lie speaks of these
properties as "self-e, idem to the point of trh ial
ity" and, becuse of that, "easil) forgotten or
neglected.'' One hard!) dispute! this, or its im
portance. But we still do not understand "hat
makes these properties "the po5ibilities of the
medium." J am not now asJ..ing how one would
know that these arc the unique and specific possi
bilities (d10ugh I "ill soon get back to that);
I amasing "hat it means to call them possibilities
at all.
The World Viewed
\\hy, forexample, didn't the medium begin and
remain in the condition of home movies, one shot
just physicall) taccd on to another, cut and edited
simp!) according to subject? ( e" sreels essentially
did, and they arc nevertheless valuable, enough
so to ha,c justifed the invention of moving pic
tures.) The ans,cr seems obvious: narrative
mo,ie emerged because someone "sw the possi
bilities'' of the medium cutting and editing and
taing shots at diferent distance fromthe subject.
But again, these are mere actualities of flm mech
anics: every home movie and newsreel contains
them. We could say: To make them "possibilities
of the medium" is to realize what will give them
ngnirnc-for e\amplc, the narrative and phys
icl rhythms of melodrama, farce, Amerit'l n com
edy of the 1930s. It is not as if film-maers saw
these possibilities and then looked for something
to appl) them to. It is truer to say that someone
with the wish to mae a movie saw that certain
established forms \\Ould give point to certain
properties of flm.
This perhaps sounds like quibbling, bur "hat it
means is that the aesthetic possibilities of a med
ium are not gi,ens. You can no more teiJ "hat "ill
gi' c significance to the unique anci specific aes
thetic possibilities of projecting photographic im
ages b) thinking about them or seeing some, than
) ou can tell \hat will gi' e signifcance to the
possibilities of paint b) thinking about paint or
b) looking some o'er. You have to think about
painting, and paintings; you have to think
about motion pictures. What does this "thinking
about them" consist in? Whatever rhe useful criti
cism of an art consists in. (Painters before Jackson
Pollock had dripped paint, even deliberately. Pol
lock made dripping into a medium of painting.)
I feel like saying: The frst successful movies-i.e.,
the frst mo' ing picture accepted as motion pic
tures -were not applications of a medium that "as
defined by gi,-cn possibilities, but the creatiou ofP
medium by their giving significance to specific
possibilities. Only the art itself can discover its
possibilities, and the discovery of a new possibility
is the disco,ery of a new medium. A medium is
something through "hich or by mens of "hich
something specific gets done or said in particular
Wi) s. It provides, one mjght sa), particular ways
to get through to someone, to make sense; in art,
they are forms, like forms of speech. To discover
wa)S of making sense is always a maner of Lhe
relation of an artist to his art, each discovering
the orher.
Stanley Cavell
Panofsky uncha r acteristicaUy skips a step when
he describes the early silent films as an "unknown
language . . . forced upon a public not yet capable of
reading ir."
1
4 His notion is (with good reason,
writing when he did) of a few indusnialists forcing
their productions upon an addicted multitude. But
from the beginning the language was not "un
known"; it was known to its cre1tors, those who
found themselves speaking it; and in the beginning
there was no "public" in question; there were just
some curious people. There soon was a public, but
that just proves how easy the thing was to know. If
we are to say that there was an "unknown" some
thing, it was less like a language than like a fact -in
particular, the fact that something is intelligible. So
while it may be true, as Panofsky says, that "for a
Saxon peasant of around 800 it was not esy U
understand the meaning of a picn.re showing a
man as he pours water over the head of another
man," this has notuing special to do with the prob
lems of a moviegoer. The meaning of that act of
pouring in certain communities is still not easy
to understand; it was and is impossible U under
stand for anyone to whom the practice of baptism
is unknown. Why did Panofsky suppose that com
parable understanding is essential, or uniquely im
portant, to the reading of movies? Apparently
he needed an explanation for the persistence in
movies of"fixed iconography"- "the well-remem
bered types of the Vamp and the Straight
Girl . . . the Family Man, and the Villain," charac
ters whose conduct was "predetermined accord
ingly" - an explanation for the persistence of an
obviously primitive or folkloristic elemenr in a rap
idly developing medium. For he goes on, otherwise
inexplicably. to say that "devices like these became
gradually less necessary as the public grew accus
tomed to interpret the action by itself and were
virtually abolished by the invention of the talking
film." In fact such devices persist <S long as there
are still Westerns and gangster films and comedies
and musicals and romances. Which specifc iconog
raphy the Villain is given will alter with rhe times,
but that his iconography remains specific (i.e., op
erates according to a "fixed attin.de and attribute"
principle15) seems undeniable: if Jack Palance i
Shane is not a ViUain, no honest home was ever in
danger. Films have changed, but that is not because
we don't need such explanations any longer; it is
because we can't accept them.
These facts are accounted for by d1e actualities
of the film medium itself: types are exactly what
carry the forms movies have relied upon. These
media created ne\ types, or combinations and
ironic reversals of r pes; but there they were, and
stayed. Does tl1is mean that movies can ne1er
create individuals, onll' types? What ir means is
that this is the movies' way of creating indi1'iduals:
they create indhidualities. For what makes some
one a type is not his similariry with other members
of that type but his srriking separateness from
other people.
Until recently, types of black human beings
were not created in film: black people were stereo
types-mammies, shiftless servants, loyal retainers,
enter t ainers. We were not given, and were not in a
position to be gi' en, individualities that projected
particular ways of inhabiting a social role; we rec
ognized only the role. Occasionally the humanity
behind the role would manifest itself; and the
result was a rel'elation not of a human indil'idual
ity, but of an entire realm of humanity becoming
visible. When in Gone Wth the Wind Vi1 ien
Leigh, having counred on Butterfly McQueen's
professed knowledge of midwifery, and finding
her as ignorant as hersel: slaps her in rage and
terror, the moment can stun us with a question:
hat was the white girl assuming about blackness
when she believed the casual clain
1
of a black girl,
younger and duller and more ignorant than her
self, tO know all about the mysteries of childbirth?
The assumption, .though apparently complimen
tary, is dehumanizing-with such cream res know
ledge of the body comes from nowhere, and in
general they are to be trusted absolutely or not at
all, like lions in a cage, with whom you either do or
do not know how to deal. After the slap, we are left
with two young girls equally frightened in a hu
manly desperate situation, one limited by a dis
traction which expects and forgets what it is to be
bullied, the other by an energetic resourcefulness
which knows only how to bully. At the end of
Michael Curtiz' Breaking Poi11t, as the wounded
John Garfield is carried fromhis boat to the dock,
awaited by his wife and children and, just outside
the circle, by the other woman in his life (Patricia
1eal), rhe camera pulls away, holding on the still
waiting child of his black partner, who only the
unconscious Garield knows has been killed. The
poignance of the silent and unnoticed black child
overwhelms tl1e yar we had been shown. Is he
supposed to symbolize the fact of general human
isolation and abandonment? Or the fact that every
action has consequences for innocent bystanders?
Or that children are the real sufrers from the
entangled efforts of adults to straighten out their
lives? The effect here is to
attaching so much importaLl<
arm, and generally to blot out
ual sufring by invoking a
about which this film has not
The general difference bet
a stage type is that t1e indi1r
film naturally takes precedenc
in which that individuality gel
on film social role appears ar

movies have an inherent te
democratic, or anyway the ide
(But because of film's equally
crowds, it has opposite tende:
cistic or populistic.) This dep
ing film types as inhabited by
or may well meet in other
recognized recurrence of film
come a central idea as we pro
I am emphasizing only d1at
performers there was until re
for them to recur in, except
which we have already met tl
1
would not have expected to sc
siblings. I cannot at the mOm(
person in a flm making an ore
of a newspaper, or a ticket to
let alone writing a check. (Pin
Su11 prove the rule: in the for
purchase is a climactic seen<
latter, it provides tl1e whole >l
One recalls the lists of stars
who have provided the movie
subjects - indi,riduals capabl
for individualities, whose inc
whose inflections of demea
were given full play in its
r
vided, and still provide, stapl
one gesture or syllable of mo
passing mannerism was enou
tiom all other creatures. The
of singularity - d1at we cn s
our disguises of bravado and
one, perhaps a god, capable 1
defeats. This was always 1r
their distinction by beauty
made them more like us -
difference from us less a m;
to which we must accede, tha:
sibility, to which we must I
made them even more gla
should be able to stand upor
M, or combinations and
: but there they were, and
M that movies cn never
r_pes? What it means is
.ay of creating individuals:

. For what makes some

ilarity with other members
rrking separateness from
of black human beings
blacl people were sterco
"servants, loyal retajner.
31 given, and were not in a
lh idualities that projected
irng a soial role; \\ e rec
kionally the humanit)
manifest itelf; and the
ot of a human indi\ idual
u of humanity becoming
II itl flt Wind Vi\ icn
on Butterfly McQueen's
- mid\\ ifer), and finding
If. slaps her in rage and
stun M with a question:
assuming about blackness
:ual claim of a black git'l,
more ignorant than her
te mysteries of childbirth?
h apparently complimen
W ith such creatures know
C from nowhere, and in
usted absolutely or not at
ith whom you either do or
. lier the slap, we are left
uall frightened in a hu
W one limited b) a di
nd forgers what it is to b
energetic resourcefulness
to bully. At the end of
- Poiul, as the wounded
fom h boar to the dok,
children and, just outside
oman in his life (Patricia
Ya, holding on the still
:1. prmer, who only the
AYb has been killed. The
nd unnoticed black child
had been shown. Is he
he fact of general huma
nr? Or the fact that every
for innocent byst<mders?
" real sufferers from the
.ts to straighten out their
lives? The effect here i to rebuke Garfeld for
attaching so much importance to the loss of his
arm, and geneIlly to blot our attention to individ
ual suffering by invoking a massive social cil
about which this film has Uthing to say.
The general diffen:nce between a film type and
U swge type is that the individuality captured on
film naturally tkes precedence over the social role
in which that indi\idualiry gets expressed. Because
on film social role appears arbitrary or :ncidental,
mO\ ies h:le an inherent tendenC) toward the
democratic, or anyway the idea of human equal it).
(Bur becuse of flm's eual! natural attraction to
cro\1d, it has opposite tendencies toward the fas
cistic or popuJisric.) This depends upon recogni
ing film t) pe as inhabited by fgure \\C ha\e met
or may well meet in other circumstance. The
recogni zed recurrence of flm performers \\ill be
come a ccnrral idea as \\e proceed. At the moment
I am emphasizing only that in the L of black
performers there was until recently no other place
for them to recur in, except just the role \\ithin
which we ha\'C already met them. For C\ample, we
would not have e`pected to see them as parents or
siblings. I cannot at the moment remember a black
person in a flm making an ordinary purchase say
of a newspaper, or a ticket to a movie or for a train,
let alone writing a check. (Pink)' and A Raisin in 1he
Srm pro\c the rule: in the former, the making of a
purchase is a climactic scene in the film; in the
latter, it provides the whole subject and structure.)
One reclls the lists of stars of e\el) magnitude
who ha\e provided the movie cmera \\ith human
subjects - indi\iduals capable of flling its need
for indiYidualites, \\hose indi\;dualites in tur,
\\hose inflections of demeanor and disposition
\\ere ghen full pia in its projection. The) pro
'ided, and still prO\ ide, staples for impersonators:
one gesture or S)liable of mood, two strides, or a
passing mannerism was enough singlC them out
from all other creature. The) relized the m)th
of singularit) -that we cn still be found, behind
our disguises of bravado and cowardice, h) some
one, perhaps a god, capable of defeating our self
defeats. This was always more important than
their distinction by beuty. Their singularity
made them more like us - an) way, made their
difference from us less a matter of metaphysics,
to which we must accede, than a matter of respon
sibilit) , to which we must bend. But then that
made them even more glamorous. That the)
should be able to stand upon their singularit)! l f
The Word Viewed
one did that, one might be found, and called out,
too soon, or at an inconvenient moment.
What was wrong with type-casting in films was
not that it displaced some other, better principle of
casting, but that factors irrelevant to fum-making
often inlluenced the particular figwes chosen.
Similarly, the f. 1miliar historical fact that there
arc movie cycles, taken by certain movie theorists
as in itself a mark of unscrupulous commcrcialjsm,
is a possibilit) internal to the medium; one could
e\en say, it is the best emblem of the fact that a
medium had been created. For a cycle is a genre
(prison mo\ ies, Ci\il War mo\ ies, horror movies,
etc.); and a genre is a medium.
\s Ilollywood de\eloped, the original rypes
ramifed into individualities as various and subtle,
as far-reaching in their CJpacitie to infect mod
and release fantasy, as any set of characters who
inhabited the great theters of our world. We do
not know them by such name as Pulcinella, Cris
pin, Harlequin, Pantaloon, the Doctor, the Cap
tain, Columbine; \\e call them the Public Enemy,
the Priest, James Cagney, Pat O'Brien, the Con
federate Spy, the Army Scout, Randolph Scott,
G;lr) Cooper, Gable, Paul Muni, the Reporter,
the Sergent, the Sheriff, the Deputy, the
D.A., the Q!mck, the Shyster, the Other Woman,
the fallen Woman, the Moll, t1e Dance Hall
I lostess. I ollywod was the theater in which
they appeared, because the films of Hollyood
constituted a world, with recurrent faces more
familiar to me than the faces of the neighbors of
all the places I h:n e lived.
The great mO\ ie comedians -Chaplin, Keaton,
\\. C. Fields - form a set of types that could not
ha\e been adapted from an other medium. Its
cretion depended upon two conditions of the
flm medium mentioned erlier. These cnditions
seem to b neessities, not merely possibilitie, so
I \\ill s) that t\\0 necssities of the medium were
disco\ered or C'p:mded in the creation of thee
types. First, mo\ ic performers cannot project, but
are projected. Secnd, photographs are of the
world, in ''hich human beings are not ontologie
all) fa\ored O\ er the ret of nature, in which
objects are nor props bur natural allies (or enemies)
of the human character. The first necessity-pro
jected visibility- permits the sublime comprehen
sibility of Chaplin's natural choreography; the
second -ontological equality -permits hjs Pruus
tian or Jamesian relationships with Murphy beds
and llights of stairs and with vases on runners
on tables on rollers: the heroism of momentary
Stanley Cavell
survival, , ietche's man as a tightrope across an
abyss. These necessities permit not merely the
locales of Keaton's extricarions, but rhe philosoph
ical mood of his countenance and the Olympic
resourcefulness of his body; permit him to be
perhaps the only constantly beautiful and continu
ously hilarious man c1 cr seen, as though the ugli
nes in laughter should be redeemed. The) permit
Fields to mutter and sutTer and curse obsessi1el),
but heard and seen only by us; because his ati
butes are those of the gentleman (confident swag
ger and elegant manners, gloves, cane, outer
heartiness), he can manifest cominuously, '' ith
the remorselessness of nature, the pl)chic brural
iries of bourgeois ci1 ili zation.
Ideas of Origin
It is inevitable that in theorizing about film one at
some point speculate about irs origins, because
despite its rccenmess, its origin remains obscure.
The facts well enough kno11 n about the im en
tion and the im enrors of the cmera, and about
improvements in fixing and then moving the
image it captures. The problem is that the inven
tion of the photographic picture is not the same
thing as the creation of photography as a medium
for making sense. The historical problem is like
any other; a chronicle of the facts preceding the
appearance of this tehnology does nor explain
why it happened when and as it did. Panof.ky
opens his study of film by remarking, "It was nor
an artistic urge that gave rise to the discovery and
gradual perfection of a new technique; it \as a
teehni<J invention that g.ne rise to the discO\ er)
and gradual perfection of a new art." \\e seem
to understand this, but do we understand it?
Panofsk) assumes we kno1 what it is that at an)
time has "given rise" to a "ne1\ art." lie mentions
an "artstic urge," bur that is hardly a candidate to
serve as an explanation; it would be about :1s useful
as explaining the rise of moder science by appeal
ing to "a scientific urge." There ma) be such
urges, but they are themsehes rather badly in
need of explanation. Panofsky cites an arrisric
urge explicitly as the occasion for a ne11 "tech
nique." But the motion picture is not a nell tuh
uique, any more than the airplane is. (What did we
usc to do that such a thing enables us ro do better?)
Yet some idea of fying, and an urge to do it,
preceded the mechanicl imenron of the airplane.
\'hat i "gi1en rise to" b such im enrions as
mo1 able r pe or the microscope or the stem en
gine or the pianoforte:
It 11ould be surprising if rhe history of the estab
lishment of an artistic medium 11ere less complex a
problem for the historical understanding than (Sa))
the rise of modern science. I rake Bazin to be sug
gesting this hen he re1crses the apparent relation
bct\\ecn the relevant rechnolog) and the ide of
cinema, emphasizing that the idea preceded the
technology, parts of it b) centuries, and that parts
of the technolog) preceded the invention ofmo1ies,
some ofit b) centuries. So what has to be explained
is not merely how the le;t :IS technically accom
plished but, for example, 11hat stood in the \H) of
its happening earlier. Surprisingly, Bazin, in the
selection of essays I ha1 e read, does not include
the contemporary condition of the related W as a
pan of the ideological supertructure that elicited
the new material basis of film. Bur it is certainly
rele1 :1nt th:l the burning issue during the latter half
of the nineteenth ccnrur, in painting and in the
no1cl and in the theter, wa realism. And unless
film captured possibilities opened up by the arts
themsehes, iris hard to imagine th:n its possibilities
as an artiric medium 110uld ha1 e !hOI n up as, and
as sudden!) as, they did.
The idc;l of and wish forthe 110rld re-created in
its 011 n image 11 as sarisfied ti last by cinema. Balin
clls this the m) th of total cinema. But it had
ah1a)S been one of the m}ths of art; each of the
arrs had satisfied it in irs 011 n 11a. The mirror 11as
in 'arious hands held up ro nature. In some 11 a sit
was more full) satisfied i n theater. (Since theater is
on the whole not now a major art for us, it on the
whole no longer makes contact ith its historical
and ps)chological sources; so 11e arc rarel) gipped
b) the trauma we must once ha1 e suffered 11hen
the leader of the chorus stopped contributng to a
narrati1 e or song and tured face the others,
suffering incarnation.)
What is cinema's wa) of satisfying the myth?
Automarially, we said. But 11 hat docs that mean -
men mythically, as it 11cre? It means satisfying it
without my ha1 ing to do an thing, satisfying it by
''ishing. In a 110rd, magica/6. I ha1e found myself
asling: l lo1 could film be art, since all the major
arts arise in some way our of religion: :\ow I cn
answer; Bcc.1use mo\'ics arise out of magic; from
belum the world.
The better a film, the more ir makes contact
with thi!> source of its inspiration; it ne1er wholl)
lose touch 11 ith the magic lanter behind it. This
suggest 11 hy mo' ies of the ! mastic ( T Cabinet
'Dr Ctlgan. Blood ofa Port)1
magic (say, materialization and
"hile they ha1c provided mooc
ne1 er established themselves a
.wever strong!) this "possibil
the physical medium of filin; T
me psychologically tri1ial C
;edium of magic itself. It is o
:ted magic is it'elf made te<
.l y interesting (The Invisible /
\Ir Hyde, Frar1kenstein, 2001:
'ut then that becomes another
dle physicality of our world.
s, in m01 ics, as magic, whi
UC of science. In parricula
retains magic's m)stery and I
ence-ficrion film< exploit not I
-us aspcts of adventure, and '
special effects specialize in, b
mumbo-jumbo of hearsay scie
ting is impervious to the ne
must re1erc the atom recalcitr:
n's roo late!" The dialogue has
tnbox-and-levcr contraptions
ciently convincing in prime F
ilms arc carried by the immc
that motivates them (say, dcst
higher forms of life, as though
of human life is due to its
:orcs
Erwin Panofk), "Style and M
Pictures, in D<micl Talbot, I
Simon and Schuster, 1959), p.
2 .dc Buin, II!at i s Cium1
(BerLclc): Unil crsiry of Cl
p. 110.
3 Certain!) I am not cnccmc
ma) be, through film, what J
Film Til Nom (first publish<
as "pos:.ibilitics . . . open for th
ual [i.e., nun-dialogue sounc
photogphicall) Visual] cincr
i the menlimc the mo\'icha'
be n.
- Bazin, II lul i s Citmil?, p. 12.
ibid.
6 Sec Mihad Fried, T/ru Am
bridge, Mass.. FogArr Muse
sit), 1965), T. 3; and "i Janet'
.arch 1969, pp. 2879.
; Se 1\lichacl Fried, ''Ar and C
June 1967; reprinted in G1
.% microscope or the steam en
ne?
rising if the history of the Cstab
rc medium were less complex a
rorical underswnding than (say)
scence. I take Bazin to be sug
re1erses the apparent relation
nr technology and the idea of
' that the idea preceded the
:it b centuries, and that parts
-eceded the invention of mo1 ie ,
i. So what h to be C\plained
:he fet 1as technicl! accom
mple, what stood in the \:) of
C. Surprisingly, Bazin, in the
I haYe read, docs not include
onditon of the related arts as a
c superstructure that elicited
W of flm. But it is certain!)
'lling issue during the latter half
enrur, in painting and in the
eter, was realism. And unless
bilities opened up by the arts
3 to imagine that its possibilities
would have shown up as, and
.!.
wu
.
ish for the world re-creatd in
msfied at las/ by cinema. 13azin
of total cinema. But it had
the myths of art; e;1eh of the
nits 011 n way. The mirror 11as
j up to nature. In some 11a it
ied intheater. (Since theater is
" a major an for us, it on the
le contact "ith its historical
urces; so we are rarely gripped
Monce have suffered "hen
Jstopped contributing to a
'ld tured to face the other.
l)
\\a) of satisfying the m) th?
jd, But "hat docs that mean
it "ere? It means satisf)ing it
4 do anything, satisfying it by
:agiwi(J. I have found myself
ilm be art, since all the major
1y out of religion? 011 l can
"ie arise out of magic; from
, the more it makes contact
, inspiration; it never wholl)
magic lantern behind it. This
of the fantastic (Thl' Cabinl'/
oj'DrCaligari, Blood ofa Poe!) and filmed scenes of
magic (sa), materialization and dematerialuation),
"hile they ha1e pro1idcd moods and de1 ices, ha1 C
ne1er established themsehes as cinrmatic media,
ho11e1er strong!) this "possibilit)" is suggested b)
the physical medium of flm: they are technicall)
and psychologically tri1ial compared "ith the
medium of magic itself. It is otherwise if the pre
sented magic is itself made technicaU) or physic
all) interesting (Tiu Int'isiblr .Han. Dr ]l'ky/1 ami
Mr Hytl. Frrmkensuin, 2001: A Spau
Odyssy
)
,
but then that becomes another wa of confirming
the ph) sicalit) of our "orld. Science present! it
self, in mo1 ies. as magic, hich "as indeed one
source of science. Ln particular, projected science
retains magic's mystery and forbiddenncss. Sci
ence-fction fl exploit not mere I) certain ob1 i
o aspecrs of ad1enrure, and ofa phiclit) that
special effects specialize in, but alw the terrific
mumbo-jumbo of hearsa) science: ".I) God, the
thing is impervious to the negati1e beta ra)! \ e
must rel'erse the atom recalcirration spaner, before
it's too late!" The dialogue has the surface of those
tinbox-and-le1 er contraptions that 11ere suffi
cient!) com incing in prime Flash Gordon. These
films are carried by the immediacy oi the iantas)
that moti\atcs them (say, destruction b) lower or
higher forms of life, as though t1e prccariousnes
of human life is due U its biological stage of
Notes
En,;n Panofsl. , "St) le and :\ ledium in the .\l0 ing
Picture;." in Danjel Talbot, ed., Frm (:- c\ \ orL:
Simon and Schuter. 1959). p. 31.
2 Andre Bum, IIla/ 1s Cinmw!. O6. Hugh Gr)
(Berl.ele): l ni,ersi of Clifra P. 196i),
p. I IO.
3 Crain! I 8 nor concered IO den thr there
ra be, through fl. "ht Paul Roth in thi Tt
Film T1l \or (f>l publihcd in \930) refer. to
3X "po.sibilirie . . . open for the gt ;ound and \i
ual [i.e., non-dialogue sound. and pcrhap; non
phowgraphicll) 'isual] cinema oflhe future
.
But
in the meantime the mo1ie ha1e been "hat thC) ha1c
been.
4 Bazin, If 7wt rs Cmema?, p. 12.
Ibid.
6 Sec :\lichacl Fried, Tlre lmmw11 Pamlt.( (Cam
bridge. :\lass.: Fogg .\rt :luseum. Hanard lni,er
siry, 1965), n. 3; and ":\laner\ Source;," lrtfmrm,
March 1969, pp. 28-/9.
7 Sec :\lichael Fried, "Art and Objecthoou," lr(/immr,
june \967; reprinted in GregOr) Bamd, ed..
The World Viewed
dc1 elopmcnt); together with the myth of the one
l:) and last chance in which the (external) danger
can be al erted. And certainly the beauty of forms
and motions in Frankenstein's laboratory is essen
tial U rhc success of Fmnkenslein; computers seem
primiti1e in comparison. Jt always made more
sense to steal from God than to try I outwit him.
llo11 du mo1 ies reproduce the world magically?
Not b) literall) presenting us with the world, but
by pcrmiuing us to 1iew it unseen. This is not a
"ish for power o1er creation (as Pygmalion's was),
but a "ish nor to need power, not to have to ber
its burdens. It is, in this sense, the re\erse of the
m) th of Faust. And the "ish for imisibility is old
enough. Gods ha1e profited fromit, and Plato tells
it at the end of the Republr as the Myth of the
Ring of G) g. In 1 iewing ftlms, the sense of
im isibilit) i s an e'pression of moder privaq or
anOn) mit. 1r is as though the 11orld's projection
e:plains our forms of unkno11nness and of our
inabilit) ro know. The explanation i s not so
much that rhc "orld is passing us by, as that Ye
are di5placcd fromour natural habitation within it,
placed at a ditance fromit. The screen overcomes
our f':ed distance; it makes displacement appear as
. 1t
our natural cundtnon .
.
.
.
\Vh;H do we wish to view in this way? What
specific forms dicover this fundamentl condition
of the medium of film?
ll1111111al lr (:'e\\ Yorl.: E. P. Dutton, 196),
pp. 11(7.
8 \\hen pinrin! found out ho1 10 acknowledge the
(Jet that painting had shapes, shapes becme forms,
not in the sere of patterns, but in the sense of
lntainen. \ form then could Kit: jr sbape to what
it contaaned. \nd cntent culd transfer it signif
ance a painting ro "hat cntains it. The shape
pnodt, lilc g1it) , or eergy or air. (See Michael
Fried, 'Shape a Form." ".rtfmrm, J:o,embcr 1966;
repnntcd in Henr) Geldzahcr's ctalogue, ,Vew York
Pamlm, am/ Srulp11 re: /9-0-1970 [e" York: E.J.
Ounon, 1969].)
This i not, a far as we yer kno\, a possibilit) of
the flm or screen frame - "hc only repeats the
fact that flm is nor painting. The most imporram
feature oft he screen form;l remains 11hat it was from
rhc beginning of mo' ies-its scale, irs absolute largc
nc''

\ a1iarion of fom1at-e.g., CinemaScope - is a
matter determined, so f as l can tell, by questions of
conlcnicncc and inconenience, and b} fashion.
Though perhaps, as in painting, the declaration of
S:e Ca\ll
color 2 such required or benefte from the e'en
greatetexpanses ofwider screens.
The idea may seemobviously false or foolish that
the esnial Dt1VOgtc0dtcrcnccbcvccn IDc world
Wit is and Wit i screened Uthat the screened \Orld
do not exist; beuse tDU O\"erlooks - or perhaps
obscurcl) states -a fuUy ob,ious diference between
them, viz., that the screened world is t\1 o-dimcn
sional. I do not deny the obscurity, but better a real
obscutity than a falseclarity. For /hat is two dimen
sional? The world whjch is screenedis noI+ its objects
and moIion are a three-dimensional as ours. The
scren itself, then' Or the image on it? We seem ro
understand what it means to say that a painting is
two-dimensional. But that depends on our under
standing that the supporIon which paint is laid is a
three-dimensional object, and that the description of
that object will not (except in an eccpTonal or 'acu
ous sens) be the description of a paillting. )lore
significantly, it depends on our understanding of
the support as limiting the extent of the painting. in
two dimensions. This is not the relation between the
scten and the images projected across it. It seems all
right to S) that tDc SctccD U twoimeDsion0l, but it
\\Ould not followthat " Dar ) ou mthere has the s an1e
dimensionality -any more than in the CSof paint
its suppon, and the painting. Shadows are t\ o-di
mcnsional, bur they arc made by thtee-dimensional
objets - tracings of opacit). not gradations of it.
This suggests that phenomenoloclly the idea of
rwo-dimensionaljr is an idea of ether transparency
or outline. Projeted images are nor shadows, rather,
one migl11 way, t hey are shades.
9 This idea is de' eloped to some extent in my es y5
on Endgfmt and KinK Lflr in Must We 11'/raJJ What
le Sfy? ( 1ew YoIk' Scribener's, 1969).
1 0 Ba7in, What i s Cintuw?, p. 97.
I I Panofsk), "Style and \ledju in the 10\ ing
Picture," p. 28.
1 2 The Film Age." in Talbot, Film, p. i4.
13 Panofsky, "Srylc and Medium in rhe Movi ng
Pictures," p. 18.
14 !bid., p. 24.
15 Ibid.p. 25.
16 Withm that condition, objects a such ma) se
displaced and close-up of an object ma) render
it trouti. Dadajst:. and surrealists found in film a
direct confirmation of their ideologies or sensibil
ities, particularly in film's massi,e capacities f
noIalg0 and fejuXtapsition. This confiratio
is, I gather, >meMmes taken to mmD that Dadajr
and surrealist !:Im$ constitte the at"t/111-gordt of
film~making. It might equally be taken Iu show
why film made these movements obsolcrc, as the
world has. One might say: othing is more surrel
ist than the ordinar) e\enrs of the modern world:
and nthing les re,eals that fact than a surrelis
attitude. This sas nothing about the 'alue of par
ticular surrealist films, which must succeed or f
on the same terms as any orhers.
Ideas of displacement (or comrasted position).
of prhacy, and of tDc inabili to kno\1 are linked
in m]stud of the problemofother minds, "Kno"
ing and Acknowledging," in Must It llra11 /Vhot
leS1y?
A Note on t
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