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Art and Communication in and through Films

Communication Arts looks at various kinds of communications

between people, between cultures, and between organizations done
through journalism, media outlets, TV, public relations, advertising,
and all kinds on business communications. This specialty looks at how
to apply communications skills to television, radio, and film
production. This type of program will likely include courses in
broadcast management, writing, and television/film production.

All societies have engaged in formalized types of communication

through telling stories about their histories, whether it is an oral saga of
a dynastic family or an annual ritual such as Greek tragedy. With the
advent of writing, the oral tradition was transcribed and became less
permeable. As certain alphabets became dominant, many minority
languages were lost, along with their literary corpora.

You can build a solid core of knowledge in film, video, photography,

and new and emerging media. Scriptwriting, cinematography, lighting,
sound recording, and editing are all part of the mix of professional skills
you'll learn here to prepare yourself for a career as an artist creating
compelling stories for public knowledge and action.

The photography program's focus allows you to learn both analogue

and digital modes of communication through a variety of genres
including fine art photography and photojournalism.

You can choose to focus on the business side of film and video —
financing, distribution, marketing, management, entrepreneurship,
even intellectual property law — to equip yourself for a career as a
producer or production manager.
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Or you can bring your creativity into play and stretch your capacity in
experiential learning, applying underlying principles of virtual reality
and game design to non-game contexts.

You'll also gain access to the abundant resources SOC has to offer,
from our state-of-the-art film and video studios and equipment to
our renowned academic and research centers that leverage the vast
experience of our faculty and give our students unique academic and
professional opportunities.

You'll learn from expert faculty who are working professionals in

film, media, and game design and who know what it takes to tell stories
of consequence that influence and convince. They've won Oscars,
Emmys, and a multitude of other awards, and their work appears across
the media landscape. Their innovative instruction and their insightful
mentorship have opened doors to rewarding careers for thousands of
our students.

Film resembles painting, music, literature, and the dance in this

respect—it is a medium that may, but need not, be used to produce
artistic results. Colored picture post cards, for instance, are not art and
are not intended to be. Neither are a military march, a true confessions
story, or a strip tease. And the movies are not necessarily film art. There
are still many educated people who stoutly deny the possibility that film
might be art. They say, in effect: "Film cannot be art, for it does
nothing but reproduce reality mechanically." Those who defend this
point of view are reasoning from the analogy of painting. In painting,
the way from reality to the picture lies via the artist's eye and nervous
system, his hand and, finally, the brush that puts strokes on canvas. The
process is not mechanical as that of photography, in which the light
rays reflected from the object are collected by a system of lenses and
are then directed onto a sensitive plate where they produce chemical
changes. Does this state of affairs justify our denying photography and
film a place in the temple of the Muses?
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It is worth while to refute thoroughly and systematically the charge

that photography and film are only mechanical reproductions and that
they therefore have no connection with art—for this is an excellent
method of getting to understand the nature of film art. With this end in
view, the basic elements of the film medium will be examined
separately and compared with the corresponding characteristics of what
we perceive "in reality." It will be seen how fundamentally different
the two kinds of image are; and that it is just these differences that
provide film with its artistic resources. We shall thus come at the same
time to understand the working principles of film art.

THE PROJECTION OF SOLIDS UPON A PLANE SURFACE

Let us consider the visual reality of some definite object such as a cube.
If this cube is standing on a table in front of me, its position determines
whether I can realize its shape properly. If I see, for example, merely
the four sides of a square, I have no means of knowing that a cube is
before me, I see only a square surface. The human eye, and equally the
photographic lens, acts from a particular position and from there can
take in only such portions of the field of vision as are not hidden by
things in front. As the cube is now-placed, five of its faces are screened
by the sixth, and therefore this last only is visible. But since this face
might equally well conceal something quite different—since it might
be the base of a pyramid or one side of a sheet of paper, for instance—
our view of the cube has not been selected characteristically.

We have, therefore, already established one important principle: If I

wish to photograph a cube, it is not enough for me to bring the object
within range of my camera. It is rather a question of my position
relative to the object, or of where I place it. The aspect chosen above
gives very little information as to the shape of the cube. One, however,
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that reveals three surfaces of the cube and their relation to one another,
shows enough to make it fairly unmistakable what the object is
supposed to be. Since our field of vision is full of solid objects, but our
eye (like the camera) sees this field from only one station point at any
given moment, and since the eye can perceive the rays of light that are
reflected from the object only by projecting them onto a plane
surface—the retina—the reproduction of even a perfectly simple object
is not a mechanical process but can be set about well or badly. The
second aspect gives a much truer picture of the cube than the first. The
reason for this is that the second shows more than the first—three faces
instead of only one. As a rule, however, truth does not depend on
quantity. If it were merely a matter of finding which aspect shows the
greatest amount of surface, the best point of view could be arrived at
by purely mechanical calculation. There is no formula to help one
choose the most characteristic aspect: it is a question of feeling.
Whether a particular person is "more himself" in profile than full face,
whether the palm or the outside of the hand is more expressive, whether
a particular mountain is better taken from the north or the west cannot
be ascertained mathematically—they are matters of delicate sensibility.
Thus, as a preliminary, people who contemptuously refer to the camera
as an automatic recording machine must be made to realize that even
in the simplest photographic reproduction of a perfectly simple object,
a feeling for its nature is required which is quite beyond any mechanical
operation. We shall see later, by the way, that in artistic photography
and film, those aspects that best show the characteristics of a particular
object are not by any means always chosen; others are often selected
deliberately for the sake of achieving specific effects.

DELIMITATION OF THE IMAGE AND DISTANCE

FROM THE OBJECT

Our visual field is limited. Sight is strongest at the center "of the retina,
clearness of vision decreases toward the edges, and, finally, there is a
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definite boundary to the range of vision due to the structure of the

organ. Thus, if the eyes are fixed upon a particular point, we survey a
limited expanse. This fact is, however, of little practical importance.
Most people are quite unconscious of it, for the reason that our eyes
and heads are mobile and we continually exercise this power, so that
the limitation of our range of vision never obtrudes itself. For this
reason, if for no other, it is utterly false for certain theorists, and some
practitioners, of the motion picture to assert that the circumscribed
picture on the screen is an image of our circumscribed view in real life.
That is poor psychology. The limitations of a film picture and the
limitations of sight cannot be compared because in the actual range of
human vision the limitation simply does not exist The field of vision is
in practice unlimited and infinite. A whole room may be taken as a
continuous field of vision, although our eyes cannot survey this room
from a single position, for while we are looking at anything our gaze is
not fixed but moving. Because our head and eyes move we visualize
the entire room as an unbroken whole. It is otherwise with the film or
photograph. For the purpose of this argument we are considering a
single shot taken with a fixed camera. We shall discuss traveling and
panorama shots later. (Even these aids in no sense replace the natural
range of vision nor are they intended to do so.) The limitations of the
picture are felt immediately. The pictured space is visible to a certain
extent, but then comes the edge which cuts off what lies beyond. It is a
mistake to deplore this restriction as a drawback. I shall show later that
on the contrary it is just such restrictions which give film its right to be
called an art. This restriction (though also the lack of any sense of the
force of gravity, see p. 32) explains why it is often very difficult to
reproduce intelligibly in a photograph the spatial orientation of the
scene depicted. If, for example, the slope of a mountain is photographed
from below, or a flight of steps from above, the finished picture
surprisingly will often give no impression of height or depth. To
represent an ascent or descent by purely visual means is difficult unless
the level ground can somehow be shown as a frame of reference.
Similarly there must be standards of comparison to show the size of
anything. To show the height of trees or of a building, for instance,
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human figures may be introduced beside them. A man in real life looks
all round him when he is walking; and even supposing he is going up a
mountain path with his eyes fixed on the ground at his feet, he still has
a sense of the general lie of the surrounding country in his mind. This
perception comes to him chiefly because his muscles and his sense of
balance tell him at every instant exactly in what relation his body stands
to the horizontal. Hence he can continually assess correctly the visual
impression of the slanting surface. In contrast to such a man is one who
is looking at a photograph or screen picture. He must depend upon what
his eyes tell him without any assistance from the rest of his body.
Moreover, he has only that part of the visual situation which is included
within the confines of the picture to help him get his bearings. The
range of the picture is related to the distance of the camera from the
object. The smaller the section of real life to be brought into the picture,
the nearer the camera must be to the object, and the larger the object in
question comes out in the picture—and vice versa. If a whole group of
people is to be photographed, the camera must be placed several yards
away. If only a single hand is to be shown, the camera must be very
close, otherwise other objects besides the hand will appear in the
picture. By this means the hand comes out enormously large and
extends over the whole screen. Thus the camera, like a man who can
move freely, is able to look at an object from close to or from a
distance—a self-evident truth that must be mentioned inasmuch as
from it is derived an important artistic device. (Variations of range and
size can also be obtained by lenses of different focal lengths. The
effects are similar but involve no change of the distance from the object
and, therefore, no change of perspective.) How large an object appears
on the screen depends partly on the distance at which the camera was
placed from it, but partly also on how much the picture is enlarged
when the finished film is projected. The degree of enlargement depends
on the lens of the projection machine and on the size of the theatre. A
film may be shown in whatever size is preferred—as small as the
pictures in a child's magic lantern or gigantic as in a movie palace.
There is, however, an optimum relationship between the size of the
picture and its distance from the spectators. In a motion-picture theatre,
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the spectator sits relatively far away from the screen. Hence the
projection must be large. But those watching pictures in a living room
are quite close to the screen and therefore the projection may be much
smaller. Nevertheless, the range of sizes used in practice is wider than
is altogether desirable. In large theatres, the projection is larger than in
small ones. The spectators in the front rows naturally see a much larger
picture than those in the back rows. It is, however, by no means a matter
of indifference how large the picture appears to the spectator. The
photography is designed for projection of a particular relative size.
Thus in a large projection, or when the spectator is near the picture,-
movements appear more rapid than in a small one, since in the former
case a larger area has to be covered than in the latter. A movement
which seems hurried and confused in a large picture may be perfectly
right and normal in a smaller one.

The relative size of the projection, moreover, determines how

clearly the details in the picture are visible to the spectator; and there is
obviously a great difference between seeing a man so clearly that one
can count the dots on his tie, and being able to recognize him only
vaguely—more especially since, as has been pointed out, the size in
which the object is to appear is used by the film director to obtain a
definite artistic effect. Thus by the spectator's sitting too near or too far
away a most disagreeable and obvious misrepresentation of what the
artist intended may arise. Up to the present, it is impossible to show a
film to a large audience so that each member of it sees the picture in its
right dimensions. After all, spectators must, as far as possible, be placed
one behind the other; because when the rows of seats extend too far
sideways, those sitting at the ends will see the picture distorted—and
that is even worse.
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Philosophical Meaning from Movies

For almost as long as there have been films, there have been
philosophical theories about their art status, inherent realism, and
distinctive aesthetic character. But philosophy of film did not become
a unified field of study until the 1990s, the period in which analytic
aesthetics generally began to pay more attention to the individual arts.
Among the various philosophies of art, philosophy of film is
distinguished by the degree to which it draws on a broader theoretical
tradition. Many scholars in film studies are important contributors to
philosophy of film. There is a particularly rich and productive
collaboration between cognitive film theorists and philosophers on our
engagement with films. In addition, some of the most influential views
in the tradition of film theory influenced by psychoanalysis and
semiotics have been subject to philosophical critique. It is important to
note that philosophy of film is not the same thing as the increasingly
popular practice of “doing philosophy” with film—using particular
films to illustrate philosophical problems. There is some overlap,
however, in interpretive work that also sheds light on distinctive
features of the art form—for example, on how film narration works.
There is also overlap in the growing subfield of film as philosophy:
with the use of particular films as case studies, authors develop general
accounts of the way film, as a distinctive artistic medium, can prompt
and sustain philosophical reflection. Work in this subfield involves
careful analysis both of the nature of philosophical activity and the
nature of film as an art. Given the relative youth of the field, there is
still plenty of work to be done in philosophy of film. The focus so far
has been on narrative fiction film, and so more work is needed on
nonfiction film—for example, documentary—as well as on
experimental film. The main topics currently pursued in philosophy of
film are described below, but with more work on different kinds of film,
as well as on specific film genres and filmmaking traditions, new topics
will undoubtedly emerge. Another important source of growth and
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development in the field is reflection on the significance of

technological changes in filmmaking. Most notably, the ongoing shift
from filmstrip-based to digital film has profound implications for our
understanding of the art form. Philosophers have only just begun to
explore these implications.

The philosophy of film is the discussion of philosophical problems

related to film, its nature, effects, and value. But what of philosophy in
film? We say that certain filmmakers, such as Ingmar Bergman, Sergei
Eisenstein, Jean-Luc Godard, Eric Rohmer, Wim Wenders, and
Richard Linklater, are philosophical, meaning that they grapple with
philosophical questions in their work. Likewise, we describe many
films as philosophical, as in some sense doing philosophy However, it
is not altogether clear how a film could “do philosophy.” Of course, it
all depends on exactly what we mean by “doing philosophy.” And it is
plausible that doing philosophy is something along the lines of offering
arguments related to a philosophical question. If so, then we must ask:
How can a film argue? Or, how can a filmmaker argue using a film? I
think film can do philosophy, and in this article I defend a position close
to what Paisley Livingston calls the bold thesis of cinema as
philosophy. My goal is not to merely play gadfly to Livingston, but to
defend a well-articulated, strong thesis about the philosophical abilities
of film; the bold thesis fits the bill. As described by Livingston, the bold
thesis is that some films can make innovative, independent
philosophical contributions by cinematic means. In the abstract, the
idea is simply that film can do philosophy in an interesting way. And it
is certainly not interesting to point out that a film could be philosophical
by simply presenting a philosopher reading a paper. If the film as
philosophy thesis has any significance, it must hold that film can do
philosophy in a way more “cinematic” than merely recording a talk. In
addition, if film can do first-rate philosophy, it must be able to make
original contributions to the field. The central problem with the bold
thesis is that it runs into what Livingston calls the problem of
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paraphrase. Before exploring this problem and my solution, it will be

useful to tighten up the version of the bold thesis that I intend to defend.
Livingston may have a couple of different ideas in mind when he says
that the bold thesis holds that film can contribute to philosophy by
“means exclusive to cinema.” As mentioned above, the general spirit
of this qualification is to distinguish between filmed presentations of
philosophical debates, discussions, or arguments, and other more
interesting candidates.
The common philosophical contributions that films make are more
like the typical contributions made in the philosophical literature: they
may help illustrate a position, an objection, or explore the significance
of a claim, but they are rarely historically unique. Although there may
have never been a film that has made an innovative and independent
philosophical contribution, and it is certain that few have, there is no
reason to think that films cannot do philosophy. This is not to say that
there are no limitations on the philosophical abilities of film or that film
is a philosophical equal in every way to language. In fact, I think that
neither of these claims is true. My goal in this essay is merely to defend
the bold thesis of film as philosophy, but I am sure that one can come
up with an even bolder thesis that cannot be defended, such as the super
bold thesis. By way of the example of October, I argue that films can
offer analogical arguments that can be both innovative and
independent. Eisenstein’s commentators are not speaking
metaphorically when they find an argument in the “For God and
Country” sequence, and I am not being an obscurantist in pinpointing
the argument. Nor is the argument in the sequence any more dependent
on interpretations than many linguistic philosophical texts. There is
ample reason to think that the film is able to do philosophy independent
of linguistic means, and, further, that the means employed, namely, the
means of montage, are as cinematic as can be. So, yes, film can make
innovative and independent philosophical contributions through
paradigmatic cinematic means.