Professional Documents
Culture Documents
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Contents
Acknowledgments
vii
Introduction 3
janine marchessault and susan lord
PART I. EXPANDING CINEMA IMMERSION
1
111
126
vi
Contents
160
177
210
284
304
327
Contributors
341
Index
349
Acknowledgments
FL U I D S C R E E N S , E X PA N DE D C I N E M A
Introduction
jan i n e m a rch e ssau lt a nd s u sa n l o r d
And you cant help but arrive at the conclusion that a single, common prerequisite of attractiveness shows through in all these examples: a rejection of
once-and-forever allotted form, freedom from ossification, the ability to
dynamically assume any form.
An ability that Id call plasmaticness, for here we have a being represented
in drawing, a being of definite form, a being which has attained a definite
appearance, and which behaves like the primal protoplasm, not yet possessing
a stable form, but capable of assuming any form and which, skipping along
the rungs of the evolutionary ladder, attaches itself to any and all forms of animal existence.
Why is the sight of this so attractive?
...
A lost changeability, fluidity, suddenness of formations thats the subtext
brought to the viewer who lacks all this by these seemingly strange traits which
permeate folktales, cartoons, the spineless circus performer and the seemingly
groundless scattering of extremities in Disneys drawings.
Its natural to expect that such a strong tendency of the transformation of stable forms into forms of mobility could not be confined solely to means of form:
this tendency exceeds the boundaries of form and extends to subject and theme.
An unstable character becomes a film hero; that is, the kind of character for
whom a changeable appearance is ... natural. Here, changeability of form is no
longer a paradoxical expressiveness, as in the case of stretching necks, tails and
legs: here, God Himself commanded the character to be fluid.
Sergei Eisenstein, Eisenstein on Disney1
Fluid Screens
Eisensteins admiration of Disneys animation was based largely on the
aesthetic appreciation of the malleability of the image an experience
he links to Lewis Carrolls Alice in Wonderland: Now I am opening out
like the largest telescope that ever was! He was fascinated by the scattering of extremities found in Disneys drawings a phenomenological
attractiveness that emerges, he wrote, from a fictitious freedom. For
an instant. A momentary, imaginary, comical liberation from the timelock mechanism of American life. A five-minute break for the psyche,
but during which the viewer himself remains chained to the winch of
the machine.2
Marshall McLuhan was always distrustful of the idea of flows as a
way of thinking about the spatial and temporal formations of electric
media. Like Eisenstein, McLuhan turned to Carroll to find the spatial
model for understanding the present space-time formation:
There is no longer any tendency to speak of electricity as contained in
anything. Painters have long known that objects are not contained in
space, but that they generate their own spaces. It was the dawning awareness of this in the mathematical world a century ago that enabled Lewis
Carroll, the Oxford mathematician, to contrive Alice in Wonderland, in
which times and spaces are neither uniform nor continuous, as they had
seemed to be since the arrival of Renaissance perspective. As for the speed
of light, that is merely the speed of total causality.3
The metaphor of flow is far too functionalist and reductive for McLuhan.
It reinforces a linear model of communication, a model of transfer rather
than one of translation, which for him preserved the complexity of all
human interaction. It is perhaps ironic that the theorist who made the
global village a globally understood metaphor worried that flow would
hearken back to a rationalist conception of linear space, a conception
which, as physics has shown, is an inaccurate understanding of electricity as a container and one-way movement. Thus McLuhan prefers the
painterly connotations of spatial terms like field or Carrolls construction (mathematically correct) of warped spaces. These impressed McLuhan precisely because they are discontinuous, not uniform, and reflect
the heterogeneity of the cultures of the world.
Zygmunt Bauman coined the term liquid modernity to characterize
the present moment in the history of modernity and capitalism. Liquid-
Introduction 5
ity and fluidity, he has argued, are the perfect metaphors for the new
flexibility of a space unfixed and time unbound. Fluids travel easily,
they spill, run out, splash, and so on. The central characteristic of
this new fluidity is time, since without the moment to mark it out, it
would be amorphous.4 In this way, Bauman avoids the problematic
characterization of a world made of indiscriminate flows, an image of
movement and ephemerality that can obscure real social and economic
conditions, frictions that force or hinder movement.5
Twenty years ago, communications theorists predicted that the
media were converging into one and that all information would be
transmitted through a singular medium a concern echoing the cultural theorists of the early part of the century. Yet at the beginning of
the twenty-first century, we can see that no one medium will dominate
the mediascape. The stories consumed in the industrialized democracies of the world are received through a multiplicity of hybrid and
networked screens, creating a fragmented reception that increasingly
characterizes our waking hours. As Henry Jenkins has pointed out,
convergence must be understood as a process that has several different
manifestations. Economic convergence highlights the fact that media
ownership is converging through horizontal integration of the cultural
industries. This is evidenced through the trans-media exploitation of
branded properties (e.g., Buffy, Harry Potter, Pokmon etc.) that is,
the increase in media tie-ins and synergies across the sphere of entertainment. Importantly, we need to consider convergence in terms of the
increased reality of media concentration and monopolies. Such media
concentration generally takes place across different media: the most
powerful corporations own multiple media and have strong alliances
with other industries. Thus, the concentration of ownership is also
enhanced by alliances between media groups and convergences of
interests. Media giants like Time Warner own interests in film, television, books, games, the Web, and music industries as well as real estate.
Clear Channel, a new player on the scene, owns 1,200 radio stations
across the United States and controls almost all large outdoor video
screens and myriad concert venues across North America. It is these
powerful media groups that have taken control of expanding media
and leisure markets, which include book publishing, music, online
media, theme parks, sports, and so forth. Such concentration of power
is the result of changes in national policy and law and will have profound effects on national cultures around the world which is why cultural policy is absolutely vital to our thinking about expanded cinema.
Introduction 7
Introduction 9
assembly in space with equally powerful images of assembly in time
images of worldwide synchronization and coordination.
10
Introduction 11
12
Eric Havelock, have helped to establish a Canadian intellectual tradition in cultural and communication studies. This tradition is characterized by a discourse on technology,20 a discourse that sees technology
as constitutive of social and psychic space.
McLuhans work is particularly relevant to the present volume. It
cannot be divorced from his immersion in the Catholic intellectual tradition, which includes Aristotle, Augustine, and Aquinas. This is a tradition that in his interpretation prioritizes the poetic process and artists.
Poetry is the privileged art form, for contemporary poetry has healed
the breach between art and science.21 Language is the primary medium,
which he sees as a collective work of art because of its connection to oral
culture, to human speech, and to the temporal realm. For McLuhan, the
artist provides the source of great insight. Artists are the antennae of
the culture not because they are privileged humans or visionaries but
because artists take as their object human perception and cognition.
According to McLuhan everyone should use the methods of art to see
through the mediated environment and to understand the epistemological biases created by our technologies. Canadian intellectuals, he
argued, were especially well positioned to do this. As a former colony
of France and England, and because of our close proximity and distance
from the last empire, the United States, intellectuals working in Canada
have a unique perspective on the world. The countrys particular geography in relation to the United States has enabled it to keep an eye on
things and to function as an early warning system providing a model
for anticipating future events.22 Yet McLuhans media studies are
geared not so much towards the future (even though he has been called
a media prophet) as to the present moment. For McLuhan, the inhabitants of the Western world of literacy should approach things with a
keen sensory awareness and a desire (the Romantic dictum) to see
things as they really are through reflexive methodologies. This interest
in perception led McLuhan to interdisciplinary formulations, to an
interest in neurophilosophy before it was formulated as a field. One of
McLuhans contributions to communication studies is a conceptualization of space as produced, of time as living culture, and of culture as living time. He drew attention to the architectural space of the school in
the city and to the city as an educational space not simply filled with
rhetoric, but constructed by it. Theorists of space and architecture from
Henri Lefebvre to Edward Soja share this insight. McLuhan has focused
attention on the background and the spaces that both shape and are
shaped by everyday experiences.
Famously, McLuhan maintained that The Gutenberg Galaxy was a
Introduction
13
14
Introduction
15
16
Introduction
17
18
images and Burnett concludes his essay, and Part I of Fluid Screens, by
offering examples of screenless contexts for the consumption of digital
images and narratives.
Historical memory is often full of traps, such as nostalgia for
moments of political engagement, solidarity, and community building,
for this nostalgia erases as much as it preserves. These concerns with
the complexity of digital time comprise Part II of this volume. The technological ability to preserve pasts and upload them toward a future
has, according to Caitlin Fisher, met with essentialism, and its attendant
binaries, in certain versions of cyber-feminism. As she notes, it is
impossible to ignore the fact that many of these hypertexts are produced by white women. Fisher cites Blair and Takayoshi, who remind
us that the Web is yet another cultural site where users are bombarded
with representations of women based more on an essentialist definition
of woman than the lives of real women from varying cultural backgrounds. Fishers article interrogates this reification of past practices,
with its repositing of core images of the (white) female body, its Webbased forms of consciousness-raising groups (with its homogeneous
membership), and its deployment of metaphors of home, weaving, and
other female practices. She wonders whether this is a reflection of the
larger retro-culture or if it is about searching through the archive for a
means both to put to rest the homogeneity of its culture and to rescue
those elements of a past that has yet to be realized for a generation of
young women who are finding old political problems to be far from
over. Is there a way to perform an immanent critique or to see these
hypertextual experiments as generative texts? What might this kind of
monstrous reading practice reveal? Perhaps revisiting 1970s aesthetics,
themes, and preoccupations in this new context might be productive
for feminisms. Rather than dismiss these formulations as old, essentialist, or naive, what productive tensions and pathways might we discover in them?
Rinaldo Walcotts reading of the film The Last Angel of History by the
black British filmmaker John Akomfrah considers the way in which the
digital has provided the means of archiving black music, making it
available not just for global markets but for artists who then cut and
mix the history in a reflection of diasporic homelessness a downloadable Africa. He posits a critique of the assumption that black people
have been more alienated than others from technology, situating black
history in the history of modernity and modernism, and within the
terms of the aesthetic project of futurism. For Akomfrah, and for Wal-
Introduction
19
20
between Emile de Antonio and Walid Raad is perhaps the most extreme
comparison of that which can be found between Sara Diamonds work
of the 1980s and Vision Machines project in development since 2000:
the ontological status of the archive, its truth-yielding potential, has
become unusable for the production of counter-truths. In other words,
this is not merely about timelines of capital or about the ruined index,
it is also about new movements of time and uses of technology that
take place with liquid modernity: the infinite multiplication of
truth claims and their correlative commodification create a condition
in which the interested artist (one concerned with, for example, the
Lebanese wars, Iran-Contras effects, Indonesian genocides, guest
workers, a thirty-four-year civil war in Guatemala) is now forced to
relinquish the future of truth (and, hence, justice) that the interrogated,
critically montaged archive had promised. Yet it is the way in which
political collectives are acting to build archives and use databases that
represents new models for thinking about how history is written.
Glenn Willmotts essay concludes Part II of this book by problematizing the very idea of digital time as deep media, something that is
beneath the surface, that structures all of our interactions. While he
acknowledges that digital technology has transformed the world, he is
also cautious about overstating the case in a manner that is romantic
McLuhans global village was perhaps the first romance of the digital
world and for him this romance has produced its tragedies. Willmott
analyses the infamous case of Mr Bungle, who raped and tortured users
in LambdaMOO in 1993. Mr Bungle, he tells us, was not simply an
aberration; he was a product of VR. Like the interactive artwork by Graham Harwood, A Rehearsal of Memory, which creates a patchwork of
inmates memories and tattoos at the Ashworth Mental Hospital in Liverpool, these tragedies reveal a great deal about the status of bodies in
the context of the so-called dematerialization brought about by the digital revolution. For Willmott, the digital suffers from an institutionally
bounded form of alienation. Chris Markers Level Five and Daniel
David Mosess Kyotopolis offer insights into the relations of time and
value produced in the digital world the tragedy of the utopian and the
terrible.
Games are a global industry that now exceeds Hollywood in terms of
box office revenues. War games are particularly popular and often push
the boundaries between virtual and actual in disturbing ways. Nick
Dyer-Witheford and Greig de Peuter open Part III of the book by examining the historical relationship between military simulation and digi-
Introduction
21
tal play, focusing on the game Full Spectrum Warrior a game designed
for the U.S. Army as a military training tool and for the public as popular entertainment. There are currently some forty games that are custom built for military purposes and popular consumption. What does
this mean for the future of war and entertainment? According to the
authors, FSW contributes to [the] banalization of war by promoting
uncritical identification with imperial troops; by clichd celebration of
the virtue of their cause and the justice of their activities; by routinizing
the extermination of the enemy; by diminishing the horrors of battle,
and exalting its spectacle. Like Willmott, they are concerned with the
way that actual bodies are being iterated through these new games.
John McCullough also looks to understand the changed context of
physical labour in his analysis of the Canadian film and television
industry. McCulloughs starting point is a crisis created by the overdeveloped animation sector of the volatile global film market. Within
this context, his analysis of the Canadian patterns of production in relation to global markets provides important insights into the status of
independent and national media and the labour that makes it possible.
In conjunction with Canadas status in the global image market,
McCullough looks at the way the digital has shifted relations of media
work in the industry. Although a great deal of talk around the digital
emphasizes the rise of independent media, little attention has been
paid to the increasing atomization of work, labours largely specialized, dispersed and freelance status ... negotiated in an increasingly
unregulated and competitive manner in the image and labour marketplace. This means that workers are often overpowered by ownership,
experiencing a loss of the workforce. Sadly, Canadas situation is that
it is tied to Tinseltown, and the phrase coined by Canadian film historian Peter Morris many years ago to describe the film industry, embattled shadows, still holds strong.
Kirsty Robertsons essay introduces mobility into the discussion of
digital culture by considering localized screenless technology par excellence, the mobile or cell phone. Cell phones are the tools of a new, constantly connected, social. Like all of the authors in Fluid Screens,
Robertson is concerned with the materiality of digital environments.
She looks to the actions of Jon Agar, who takes a hammer to his cell
phone in order to foreground the hardware and trace each of its miniature components to different parts of the world. This dissection reveals
a global economy of power and domination at work in the tiny handheld device. Like McCullough, Robertson understands the digital in
22
dialectical terms, both as profiteering and revolutionizing. She is concerned with the new kinds of sociality introduced by cell phones in
urban and developing spaces ring tones and private conversations are
reconfiguring the public realm and the transit systems. The cell phone
and text messaging have also redefined the tactical strategies for activism and protest, political mobilization, and global movement across the
world. The new capabilities of cell phone photography, video, or of
cells adapted to soft fabrics point towards new extensions of the social
circumstances created by mobile communication devices.
Writing from Lebanon, Laura U. Marks raises the question of how to
create embodied images and experiences in an age of hypermediation.
Using the work of Henri Bergson and Charles Sanders Peirce, Marks
considers perceptual paradigms for multisensory experiences. These
paradigms came into being at the very moment when capitalist modernity began the process of creating the informatic world. Through this
lens, Marks sketches out the relationship between experience and perception in the information age. While the current era has produced
information environments that are not conducive to diversely embodied experiences, activists must take back the flow to reintroduce and
reawaken new forms of thought and creativity. Her hope lies with
immigrant people, whose marginal positions within corporate and
state power structures may change the flow of information-rich
places: It is the very people who are missing, citizens of nowhere, for
whom independent perception and thought are not a luxury but a
necessity. Through subterranean communication networks, these citizens may create a new ground for thinking through the media.
Like Marks, Sean Cubitt presents tactical strategies for intervening in
global flows. His essay is concerned with the possibilities offered by the
digital artwork. He begins with the landmark essay by Walter Benjamin, The Task of the Translator. Viewing the differences between
analogue and digital as one would different languages, Cubitt explains
that the nature of the digital must be situated in terms of the universes
created by distinct languages. His essay is a manifesto for the engaged
digital artwork. Inspired by the anti-commodity aesthetics of 1970s
conceptual art, the digital artwork will need to move beyond the negative aesthetics of the historical avant garde. The committed artwork
will need to be fully engaged in the flow in order to intervene in it.
Artworks must be process-oriented, self-reflexive in a way that understands their own materiality, temporality (as connected to and responsible for the future), and positionality in terms of networks of
Introduction
23
flows. The global must be understood as a determining force. The artwork is engaged in work. It engages the audience in its own creation in
a way that redefines interaction towards a more fully articulated participation. Finally the digital artwork must be beautiful (rather than sublime) that is, historically grounded, concerned with communication
rather than representation. Bringing together many of the points raised
throughout this book and indeed directing us towards many artworks
that display his precepts, Cubitts essay is a forceful and convincing
description of politically committed digital aesthetics.
Finally, the book concludes with a utopian and imperative Afterword
by Gene Youngblood, whose ideas and insights have shaped the conceptual framework for this book. Youngbloods essay is a call for the
creation of a global democratic public sphere. As noted earlier, he
directs our attention to a virtual power that is invisible and often overlooked: the uncontrolled conversation among the peoples of the world
made possible through the Internet. Talk, by which he means all
modes of human expression including audio-visual, is the most powerful of human actions because it enables humans to construct shared
realities. Witness that image of solidarity on 15 February 2003, when
more than ten million people took to the streets around the world to
protest neoliberal globalization and U.S. imperialism. This was a manifestation of the power of talk, the power that leads to action. But while
such actions were coordinated across spaces, they were not synchronized across time zones. Youngblood calls upon artists and activists to
organize an event, a gesamptkunstwerk that would consolidate a global
public sphere. This would be a series of daily outdoor performances in
a continuous unbroken sequence over weeks and months that are telecollaborative multimedia performances and multimedia teleconferences. While Youngbloods proposal is admittedly utopian, it leaves us
with a sense of possibility and a question: why has this not been
attempted?
NOTES
1 Sergei Eisenstein, Eisenstein on Disney (London: Methuen, 1988), 212.
2 Ibid., 11, 223.
3 Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, ed. W.
Terrence Gordon (Corte Madera, CA: Gingko Press, 2003), 348.
4 Zygmunt Bauman, Liquid Modernity (Cambridge: Polity, 2000), 2, 1011.
24
Introduction
25
19 Susan Buck-Morss, Aesthetics and Anaesthetics: Walter Benjamins Artwork Essay Reconsidered, October 62 (1992): 5.
20 Arthur Kroker, Technology and the Canadian Mind: Innis/McLuhan/Grant
(Montreal: New World Perspectives, 1984).
21 Marshall McLuhan, Catholic Humanism and Modern Letters, in Christian
Humanism in Letters: The McAuley Lectures, Series 2 (West Hartford, CT: St
Joseph College, 1954), 78.
22 McLuhan, Understanding Media, viixi.
23 Harold Innis, The Bias of Communication (Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 1991), ix.
24 Ibid., vi.
25 Ibid., vii.
26 Marshall McLuhan, Canada: The Borderline Case, in The Canadian Imagination: Dimensions of a Literary Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1977), 222.
PART I
Expanding Cinema Immersion
30
Janine Marchessault
total cinema would lead to the disappearance of the screen (i.e., holographic cinema),5 the contemporary context presents just the opposite:
frames within frames that foreground the materiality of the screen. In
this essay, I focus on one of the most complex of the multi-screen pavilions at Expo: Labyrinthe. The exhibition was designed by Colin Low
with Roman Kroitor, who were both established documentary film
directors from the Unit B at the National Film Board of Canada (NFB).
The Labyrinth Project proposed an audio-visual experience that they
believed could well transform the future of cinema by creating a new
medium. My account does not seek to establish a pre-history of digital
cinema but rather to point to this experiment, one of thousands tied to
the experimental media cultures of the sixties, to illustrate an increasing
desire on the part of artists to create entirely new architectures for sensory immersion that would expand the experience of film.6 I would like
to draw attention to a particular attitude underlying the NFBs Labyrinthe. This was an attitude that was at once utopian and pragmatic,
combining a profound awareness of the world as organic interconnectivity and simultaneity as communicative possibility.
Expo as Earth City
I was a young child when I attended Expo 67, and my memories of it
are vague. Yet childhood memories, unreliable as they may be, often
preserve lasting impressions of a time. Two themes dominate my recollection. The first is distinguished by an awareness of the materiality of
the earth as a liquid planet the image of the space-age mirrored in
the designed environment of soft edges and orbed surfaces. The second
was a notion that television would serve as a means of corporeal transportation. This idea might well have been reinforced by Star Trek, which
featured a transponder that seemed made of cathode ray beams,
which was of course a wonderful (and ironic) encapsulation of the electromagnetic waves that made TV transmission possible. All across
North America, primary schools added special features to curricula,
inspired on the one hand by Expo and on the other by the promise of
space travel.7 In a peculiar fashion, the two projects were synonymous.
Both shared the humanistic guise of Man and His World, the theme of
Expo 67, and both concerned the future planet and technology. Growing up in Montreal, I can recall more than one school project geared
towards imagining the future of the planet as a utopian city (one of
McLuhans early formulations was the planet as city)8: a fluid and
boundless world that operated off the ground. This is the context in
which I would like to analyse one of the most successful multi-screen,
multi-chamber film experiments at Expo 67.
Organized by the NFB for Expo, Labyrinthe was precisely the kind of
future cinema earth city project that a collective fantasy was conjuring
in the popular culture of the sixties. One of the expressive metaphors for
this fantasy of modernity was an excess of screens, and Expo 67 was
filled with them. As Judith Shatnoffs review in Film Quarterly described, film came on two screens, on three, five, six, nine in a circle, 112
moving screen cubes, a 70mm frame broken into innumerable screen
shapes, screens mirrored to infinity, a water screen, a dome screen.9
And new names were being invented to describe these screens: Circle
Vision, Polyvision, Kino-Automat, Diapolyecran, and Kaleidoscope.
While the Moscow Worlds Fair featured Glimpses of the USA, a projection on seven screens by Charles Earnes in 1959 (which upstaged The
Family of Man photographic exhibition curated by Edward Steichen),
and while the New York Worlds Fair (1964) had dozens of multi-screen
projections, including Glimpses of the USA on fourteen screens at the
IBM pavilion,10 there was nothing that matched Expo in terms of sheer
quantity of international and experimental films.11
As a future-tense city, Expo was said to be itself a cinematic city, filled
with structures made of webs and screens that refracted and reflected
other images, bodies in movement, and atmospheric variations. Indeed,
the master plan design intent, whose chief architect was Edouard Fiset,
recommended that designers and architects explore the new possibilities of webs and film-like materials. Expo was called the Space-Frame
Fair because so many pavilions covered large areas with lightweight
materials creating structures that were demountable and ready for
transportation. It is the immaterial, the impermanent, the non-linear, the
ephemeral of Expo that gave it its modern futuristic sheen, mirroring
the new, dematerialized commodity culture of North America.12 Thus it
was not the monumentality of a disposable imperial city, expressing
mans dominance over the earth,13 that we find at Expo 67 but the flexibility of the city in movement. Not surprising, transportation and the
orchestration of traffic were the key components of the entire plan, with
trains uniting vast areas of the complex site. The trains were themselves
a complicated network of movements and connections, organized
according to different speeds, operating at different heights while offering riders a variety of vistas.14 Expos one thousand acres with two manmade islands built on the St Lawrence River (le Notre-Dame and le
32
Janine Marchessault
objected to) stems from its lack of content. Students of media can
observe the way they transform the structures of time and space, work
and society. They will come to understand the form of power that is in
all media to reshape any lives they touch.17 All other media are hybrid;
they are the result of a meeting which produces a moment of freedom
and release from the ordinary trance and numbness imposed by them
on our senses. The interface between two different media has characterized the undertakings of the best artists: Dickens, Shaw, Eliot, Joyce,
Eisenstein, the Marx Brothers, Chaplin, and many more, who were able
to produce new forms of entertainment and art. It often takes a great
artist to anticipate the hybrid created by the clash of cultures, which
often occurs during wars and migrations.18 This idea of the interface
between old and new technologies was central to the new synesthetic
cinema that was pioneered at Expo and later theorized by Gene Youngblood in his landmark study, very much inspired by Expo 67, Expanded
Cinema (1970).
Mind-Expanding Screens
The relation between screen and architecture, the screen as architecture, was endemic to the humanist design of Expo. Whereas classical
depictions of dehumanization staged the cinema screen as precisely
that which alienates humans from the social fabric of everyday life
Fritz Langs Metropolis (1922) is a great example of this idea Expos
image of the screen, as we shall see, was just the opposite. R. Buckminster Fuller, whose geodesic dome was an important milestone for those
multi-screen experimenters at Expo, wrote the wonderful introduction
to Youngbloods book. Fullers planetary vision of an earth space
challenged the view of the earth that portioned it into tiny static cubes
of property, an idea based on a two-dimensional picture of the world
that did not include the space above the ground, that is, the universe.
Instead, Fuller counterposes Einsteins larger view of a non-linear universe, a complex of frequencies, waves, broadcasts, and instantaneous
communication within the context of the universe. For Fuller, Youngbloods book is important because it uses the scenario-universe principle: a scenario of non-simultaneous and only partially overlapping
transformative events. Youngbloods theorization of synesthetic art is
most valuable for its educational potential: it will synchronize the
senses and humankinds knowledge in time to ensure the continuance
of the ... Space Vehicle Earth.19 The new ecological art forms will lead
34
Janine Marchessault
Fig. 1.1 Table I, Presentations at Expo 67, reproduced from Fran Lewin, Man and His Sound Expo 67, Journal of the
SMPTE (March 1968).
38
Janine Marchessault
this as the fundamental shift in the popular imaginary towards understanding simultaneity as a space to be controlled. McLuhan would
state in War and Peace in the Global Village: As visual space is superseded, we discover that there is no continuity or connectedness let
alone depth and perspective.29 This is where space becomes acoustic
(space-time).
This idea of cinema as environment was intrinsic to The Labyrinth
Project, and the influence of television on the Unit B directors is well
known. The shift from theatrical to non-theatrical distribution of NFB
films in the early fifties began an involvement with television that
would influence how documentaries were being made. Essentially,
when the Film Board began to make content for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), the Unit B in particular was involved in
making short documentaries for television with The Candid Eye series.
The films for The Candid Eye were akin to found stories (Kracauer),
which had no beginning, middle, or end.30 The films were heavily influenced by the realist aesthetics of Cartier-Bresson in which everyday life
reveals itself photographically and phenomenologically in a decisive
moment.31 This shift to television affected the way films were produced, exerting an increased demand on film production. Not only was
there a growing need for more films, but the films had to be produced
more rapidly. The demand was for Canadian realities, for multiple realities distributed to multiple destinations around Canada.
One fact that often goes unrecognized is the NFBs substantial technological innovations in the areas of sound recording, film cameras,
and projection.32 These contributions were all geared around mobility
of the camera in both animation and live action, and of film exhibition.
Two of the most important technological innovations towards this
quest for mobility, as Gerald Graham has called it, are the first synchronous sound recording technologies produced by the Board in 1955,
which enabled a greater flexibility for location shooting and helped to
consolidate the NFBs reputation in the area of cinema direct.33 The
other innovation, pioneered at Expo, was the development of largescreen projection using 70 mm and 35 mm film, which eventually grew
into IMAXs 70 mm film projection. For The Labyrinth Project, the NFB
developed a synchronous multi-screen shooting apparatus made out of
five Arriflexes mounted in a cruciform shape (fig. 1.2). The cameras
could operate all together or in combinations. The films were projected
using five synchronized projectors set out in a similar shape. Both the
camera and projection apparatus adapted the principles of television
Fig. 1.2 Chamber 3, cruciform screens. In the Labyrinth, 1967, National Film
Board of Canada (all rights reserved).
studio switching technology, which enabled greater flexibility in covering simultaneous actions.
Thus, we find two kinds of screen expansions developed by the NFB.
In the first, we are dealing with the content of the frame the camera
and sound apparatus are set free to document the outside world
because they are no longer tied to studio shooting (the division
between outside and inside breaks down). In the second, which builds
on the first, the spectator is set free in a new cinema architecture to create individualized views through screens that exceed any one persons
perception.34 Both of these innovations are geared towards greater participation and interactivity on the part of filmmakers and spectators.
Arguably, this increased mobility and expansion, the opening up of
new spaces of apprehension, is tied to the contradictory forces of capitalist media expansion: these produce a greater democracy of image
production and consumption, and greater social and economic control
40
Janine Marchessault
over images. I will explore this point further on, but for now, suffice it to
say that both Low and Kroitor believed that the synesthetic cinema they
were designing for Expo was a new medium that could well revolutionize visual culture.
Labyrinthe
( ... )
The river is moving
The blackbird must be flying
It was evening all afternoon
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.
Wallace Stevens, Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird35
create a state of mind. Low and Kroitors production notes describe the
methodology:
We are making a pictorial labyrinth of life, as it now is on this planet. In
a labyrinth, the point is to choose the path that leads to the goal, i.e., to
avoid the false turns, the cul-de-sacs. In life, there is no way of knowing
beforehand what these false turns may be before one gets into them.
There is no royal road to wisdom. Only experience can teach that, if it
ever does. The labyrinth we are making is therefore not with the point;
do this or do that. The only guide there can be in life is a state of mind
... The point of the labyrinth is the discovery that such a state of mind
exists. In order that this discovery can take place (to whatever degree), a
journey is undertaken, in ritual form. By ritual form is meant that the
participant partakes of certain experiences, but is not actually personally
involved in them. (Perhaps the correct technical word is not ritual but
artistic).38
Low had been particularly interested in the myth from Mary Renaults
book The King Must Die, which was a popularization of the story.39 The
Labyrinth Project was working with a common story or a proto-story
that is structured through different stages corresponding to different
states of being which the exhibition would induce. The myth itself is a
narrative that appears in different religions and cultures, and the use of
it in this project lends an experience of objectivity: This is not a matter
of personal opinion, it is part of current knowledge, mostly expressed
either in academic writing or in veiled fashion in various religions, etc.,
neither area of which is really part of the present world psyche.40
Northrop Frye was a crucial consultant for the project, and several of
his essays appear alongside production notes. He also attended meetings at various stages of the projects development. An excerpt from his
newly published book Fables of Identity: Studies in Poetic Mythology
(1963) that appears among Tom Dalys production notes might shed
some light on the suggestion that artistic experience be the ultimate
goal of Labyrinthe. Looking to Wallace Stevenss speculations on the
imagination, Frye explains that art is a unity of being and knowing,
existence and consciousness, achieved out of the flow of time and the
fixity of space.41 Stevenss poetry, with its emphasis on multiplicity
and facticity, is particularly apt for understanding synethestic cinema.
We can also comprehend the logic of how temporal flow and spatial fixity come together in the merging of architecture and cinema.
42
Janine Marchessault
Fig. 1.3 Floorplan of the Labyrinth building. In the Labyrinth, 1967, National
Film Board of Canada (all rights reserved).
The guide reinforced the sense that this cinema experience would irrevocably transform viewers it promised a visceral and unforgettable
experience. Labyrinthe proved to be one of the most popular highlights
of Expo 67 with audiences waiting in line for up to seven hours to get
into the forty-five minute screening.43
44
Janine Marchessault
Fig. 1.4 Chamber 1, vertical and horizontal screens. In the Labyrinth, 1967,
National Film Board of Canada.
walls, floor and ceiling. The prisms were made of partial-silvered glass so
when the lights were on the audience, it would be the audience reflected
back to itself, and when the lights went off the audience and came on in
the prisms, it made an infinity of stellar lights. A cosmos.47
and transmitted a multiplicity of different flashing lights that were triggered by an experimental soundtrack combining electronic and animal
sounds. The installation was meant to enhance the sense of disorientation, to break down boundaries between identities, human and nonhuman, creating an endless, acoustic, decentred space. When the light
caught a person in the mirror, the image was dissipated across an infinity of spaces. Once the audience had walked down the intimate corridor, they entered the final phase of their journey.
46
Janine Marchessault
(3) enrichment of image by juxtaposition of several elements of the same
event or location;
(4) possibility of a kind of visual metaphor or simile; and
(5) representation of two or more events converging and merging into a
single event or a single event fragmented into several images.49
The principle aesthetic quality of the multi-screen cinema was simultaneity. It is this single quality which calls up memory (sometimes longforgotten) and imagination to make sense of the stimuli. Multi-screen,
according to Roman Kroitor, is to single-screen what the language of
poetry is to the language of prose.50 As McLuhan, who was no doubt
referring to Labyrinthe, noted: Multi-screen projection tends to end the
story-line, as the symbolist poem ends narrative in verse. That is, multiple screens in creating a simultaneous syntax eliminates the literary
medium from film.51 Multi-screen cinema as a synesthetic medium
was understood by the Labyrinthe producers as a new language capable
of accessing the unconscious mind and releasing new kinds of associations deeply buried in the human psyche. A multi-channel soundtrack
helped to create focal points in relation to the total image. Indeed the
multi-image was conceived as sound, that is, as boundless, simultaneous, multi-directional. Sound liberates the image from the constraints of the single screen as images are merged in the same way it is
possible to merge sounds.52
The image in the multi-screen cinema is liberated not only from the
screen but also from the constraints of traditional forms of drama, story,
and plot. For Youngblood, this represents the natural evolution of the
cinema. Synesthetic cinema transcends the old languages just as television transforms the earth into software. It is the reflexivity of television
that brings everything, including the act of viewing, into view as a
world of simultaneous becoming.53
The Labyrinthe theatre had all the spatial attributes of the mega-city
as Reyner Banham described Expo, replete with mechanical movement, a multiplicity of levels, emphasis on fun or ludique experiences,
people in complex environments, and information saturation.54 Traffic
flow was strictly controlled by a master programmer who oversaw the
flow in a time sequence organized like a sausage machine.55 One may
wonder how the Labyrinthe theatre functioned as a space of drift aimed
at exercising areas of the brain generally not used56 if the movement
was so orchestrated. Yet it was the space between the images of the theatre, the arrangement of the screens and mirrors, their multiplicity, and
The design for Labyrinthe did not simply include multiple screens but,
rather, a fluid space for viewing as a transformative artistic activity.
Low spent much time designing the mezzanine area, which included
several dramatic displays of labyrinths throughout time. The material
space of viewing and the very act of viewing are very much part of the
films. This is the temporal dynamic that is included in Labyrinthe as a
theatrical performance of expanded screens and intermediality the
merging of screen and architecture. The pavilion was designed so that
audience members would exit with a view of the St Lawrence River. In
keeping with the humanist spirit of Labyrinthe, the final view also
included Safdies utopian vision of community living, Habitat.
The Labyrinth Project can be read as the sensory training ground for
the new global citizen, where simultaneous information inputs create
not confusion which numbs the senses but a new oceanic consciousness.58 This represents the world in all its plurality, which in NFB style,
in the Canadian Liberal governments style, was read as the mythological cultural mosaic of humankind that was the basis for Pierre
Trudeaus new plan for Canadian federalism.
Colin Low did not continue to work on the project with Roman
Kroitor, who was able to develop it into a new technology called IMAX.
He left the project just as it was being redevised as a commercial technology. Instead, he went to work on the anti-poverty program at the
NFB called Challenge for Change. A citizens action media experiment
that began on the Fogo Islands in Newfoundland, this communitybased project used 16 mm, Super 8, and video to foster inter-community
48
Janine Marchessault
NOTES
I would like to thank Scott McFarlane for his help with research and for his
impeccable insights into the Labyrinthe materials. The essay was presented at
the Montreal at Street Level Conference held at the Canadian Centre for Architecture in collaboration with the Faculty of Fine Arts at Concordia University in
April 2005. A later version of the paper was presented as part of the McLuhan
Lectures at the University of Toronto in July 2005. I am grateful to Carolyn
Guertin and Dominique Scheffel-Dunand for their critical responses.
1 Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographic Man
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1962); Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, ed. W. Terrence Gordon (Corte Madera, CA: Gingko Press, 2003); Raymond Williams, Television: Technology and
Cultural Form, 2nd ed., ed. Ederyn Williams (London: Routledge, 1990).
2 Expo 67 was held in Montreal from 28 April to 27 October 1967. Sixty-one
countries participated. Library and Archives of Canada has an excellent
website that brings together many of the original documents and photographs of the event: http://www.collectionscanada.ca/expo/.
3 Tom Gunning, The World as Object Lesson: Cinema Audiences, Visual Culture and the St. Louis Worlds Fair 1904, Film History: An International Journal 6, no. 4 (1994): 423.
4 Dean Walker, After Expo, Movies Wont Be the Same, Canadian Industrial
Photography, NovemberDecember 1966, 323, 38.
5 Andr Bazin, The Myth of Total Cinema, in What Is Cinema? vol. 1, trans.
Hugh Gray (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), 1722.
50
Janine Marchessault
53
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Stephen Crocker
over the world before I left St Johns, blends in with the rolling metal
squeak of the street car on Franzeninkatu, the distant beat of reggae
music from the club down the street, the news broadcast from CNN a
floor below, and the sound of Get Smart dubbed into Finnish that booms
from the next room. In the midst of all this, how can I say what belongs to the room and what makes it my own?
One popular response to this situation is to suppose that, in the age of
global communication, a room, or even a city, is not a unified location.
It is a phantasmagoria of globally dispersed, heterogeneous sensations
and disconnected fragments of information that lack any overriding
unity. Helsinki is not a single, definable entity. It is a nexus, a matrix, or
a nodal point. This idea, which became popular in the 1980s and 1990s,
emphasizes the centrifugal effects of global media. The collapse of
older, metaphysical ideas of unity leaves us with scraps and fragments
of sense that have spun out from the collapsing centres. With this
change comes a new kind of sense perception a distracted or even
schizophrenic consciousness.
What strikes me here in my room in Helsinki, however, is the ease
with which all these widely differing sounds and sensations adhere
together in some strange new kind of unity that does not make it difficult to pay attention to what I am doing, but even provides a kind of
nest for thinking.
Instead of focusing on the disembedding of things and the empirical
diversity of sensations, my impulse is to try to understand how things
re-embed and go together now. Clearly sensations do not hang together
in any simple kind of unity. Friedrich Kittler has pointed out that the
staggering rate of expansion and change of technology now makes it
impossible to describe it in its totality. New media defy any holistic definition, not just because of the continual addition of the latest piece of
software or gadgetry, but also because of the way each new part produces an ecological change in the whole environment. Nevertheless, I
am going to suggest that there is one constant feature about the new
multimedia environments that we can describe, which is their multiple
character. As will become clear, I mean multiple here in a strong sense.
It is not just that the new media environments contain multiple things,
but that they are themselves multiplicities, in the sense that Henri Bergson, Gilles Deleuze, and Michel Serres give to that term.
A multiplicity is an array of mutually interpenetrating parts that can
coalesce into a kind of quasi-whole, which is not fixed, or fully formed,
but shifts and changes with the changes in the parts. Multiplicity
55
becomes more important and relevant an idea the more that multi and
multiple become a regular part of our daily lexicon. All the keywords
that describe our new technologically mediated, global environment
invoke the multiple: multimedia, multitasking, multimodal, multisensory, multicultural, multidimensional, multinational. What does multiple mean in these cases? The multiple in multiplicity is not just an
adjective that describes a number of pre-existing things. Multinational,
for instance, does not mean many nations. Multi describes an organizational logic that qualifies the sense in which nation, media, or task is
understood. In a multiplicity all the parts are dependent on one another
and go together as a group. They form a whole. But the whole that they
form changes with the change among the parts. A multiplicity is an
open whole, if you like. What matters is that it is neither a unified thing
nor simply a set of fragments. It is an internally differentiated whole
that is changing in time.
Michel Serres gives us many beautiful examples of multiplicities: A
flight of screaming birds, a school of herring tearing through the water
like a silken sheet, a cloud of chirping crickets, a booming whirlwind of
mosquitoes ... crowds, packs, hordes on the move.4 It is not difficult to
add to Serress list. An audience clapping is one thunderous affirmation
with its own patterns and rhythms. It is at the same time, though, an
untold number of tiny distinct sounds that are present at the same
moment. Our built environments now share many of these qualities.
We need new concepts to describe these kinds of environments because
the interpenetration of different kinds of sensation and information,
which they make possible, surpasses the dialectic of unity and fragmentation in which many of our most familiar philosophical and sociological ideas originate.
While multiplicity is a rigorous philosophical concept that aims to
unsettle the old Platonic dialectic of the one and the many, we should not
think of it as a rarefied theoretical abstraction. Instead, it describes our
most common encounters with the world. In fact, what is abstract is the
expectation that the world should be either fully unified or fully fragmented. Dont we most commonly find ourselves in the midst of uncompleted projects that we have taken up or, more likely, been thrown into,
and in which things have been intertwined to the point where they cannot be separated without being radically altered? For this reason Michel
Serres says that we should understand multiplicity not as an epistemological monster but rather as the ordinary lot of situations, including
that of the ordinary scholar, regular knowledge, ordinary work, in short
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Stephen Crocker
our common object ... We recognize it everywhere yet reason still insists
on ignoring it.5 Here is how Serres describes multiplicity:
The multiple as such: heres a set undefined by elements or boundaries.
Locally, its not individuated; globally, its not summed up. So its neither
a flock, nor a school, nor a heap, nor a swarm, nor a herd, nor a pack. It is
not an aggregate; it is not discrete. Its a bit viscous perhaps. A lake under
the mist, the sea, a white plain, background noise, the murmur of a crowd,
time.6
57
the world but for insight into the nature of complex sensations.9 I am
not suggesting that hearing is a more fundamental sense than vision or
smell or any of the others. It is more a matter of strategy. I am hoping
that audile analysis might provide a way of displacing the hegemony of
vision and getting at wider changes in the nature of sensation. Thus, the
conclusion reached here is that digital media, or multimedia, do not
alienate or desensitize us. In fact, the global circulation of money,
images, messages, products, and ideas makes possible new kinds of
insights into the nature of sensations and the complex unities in which
we are now involved.
Glenn Goulds Three-Dimensional Environment
At the height of his career, Glenn Gould, one of the worlds greatest
concert pianists, quit the stage. To the astonishment of his followers,
Gould left the recital hall to explore new forms of electronic communication such as radio, television, and recorded sound. In his new experiments with sound aesthetics, Gould tried to understand how our basic
notions of sensation, presence, and consciousness were being changed
by new globalizing media. The sort of environment he studied is more
prevalent now than when he first began to probe it. As such, it might
turn out that, much like Marxs analysis of nascent capitalism, Goulds
insights are even more revealing of our present than of his own time.
Gould left the stage because he was excited by the potential of the
new multidimensional environment, which could not be fully appreciated in the isolated atmosphere of the concert hall. He was no doubt
influenced in this thinking by his long-time friend and mentor Marshall
McLuhan. In a conversation with McLuhan, recorded the same year he
quit his live performances, Gould reports on the strange new multidimensional quality his playing has taken on. He tells McLuhan that he
expects that in the future it will not seem strange to play the piano, as
he has now begun to do, along with the noise of two radios or a television. The Goldberg Variations accompanied by the white noise of the TV
set is not only the sign of a new kind of sound but a whole new way of
living that Gould calls three-dimensional experience.10
McLuhan is not surprised by this idea. After all, multidimensionality was already a central feature of his own theory of global media. In
Understanding Media and other books, McLuhan tried to show that global electronic communication produces a new depth of experience in
which each of our actions implicates us in the actions of distant others.
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dazzlingly futuristic. Now, even the car, once the symbol of our atomized isolation from each other, is a central network access point to complex global systems. Louis Menand describes the upper-middle-class
experience of a traffic jam in New York City: Six CDs in the changer
and a video playing in the back seat, laptop plugged into the dashboard, cell phone in continual operation, entire families creep along the
conveyor belts that Americas highways have become.23
We readily identify these sorts of environments with the effects of
globalization. In fact, the over-saturated informational context is not
just an aspect of globalization but its very precondition. All the various
kinds of globalization economic, social, technological share the
same form as the disembodied sound that fascinated Gould. They
require that we be present in one situation and at the same time be
attuned to a number of other background ones that originate at a distance from us. And, like the sounds that John Cage mixed up, they
blend together to produce new wholes in which the original divisions
are no longer recognizable.
Focusing on the audile dimension of these changes allows us to consider elements of our contemporary environments that might be overlooked in the visual analysis of modern life. Much has been written, for
example, about the way in which the fixed point of view in Renaissance
perspective creates the condition for our will to a detached mastery of
the world. We regard the globe, like a Renaissance canvas, as a single
space from which we are removed and on which we circulate messages,
money, and commodities. To make this point, Hannah Arendt drew a
direct line from Albertis essay On Painting, which taught us to see the
world through a frame, and the launching of the Sputnik five hundred
years later.24 Heidegger suggested as much with the age of the world
picture, or the world as a picture.
The phenomenology of sound, on the other hand, tells a very different story. Sound is immersive. We find ourselves already thrown into it,
and overwhelmed by it. It addresses us, whether we wish it to or not.
Unlike vision, sound is omnidirectional. There is no acoustic equivalent
of the point of view. There is no one point of mastery from which to listen to the world. There is instead a zone or place of audition.25 And,
because it is omnidirectional, sound is passively received. We do not
gaze out onto an environment of sound; we find ourselves already
immersed in it.
It was sounds immersive, enveloping character that led McLuhan to
believe that it held the key to understanding the global age. The sort of
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65
The mixing of sound that becomes possible with tape recording puts
this kind of causal listening to the test. When sounds no longer refer
back to their sources, we are able to listen to them not for what
they reveal about the world, but for their own properties as sensations.
This is what Chion, following Pierre Schaffer, calls reduced listening.
Reduced is meant in the phenomenological sense that Husserl gave to
the term. Phenomenological reduction suspends our immediate natural attitude to the world and directs us to the things themselves. For
Gould, McLuhan, Cage, and their contemporaries, the study of sound
was interesting for what it revealed not about a source but about the
organizational structure of sensation.
Multiplicities and Microperceptions:
Leibniz and Virginia Woolf at the Seashore
In a very perceptive essay on the mid-1960s generation of intellectuals
and artists of whom Gould, McLuhan, and Cage were all prime examples Susan Sontag argues that they were united by the conviction that
sensation, rather than the idea, had become the basic unit of art.30 They
were not interested in policing the borders of aesthetics, or explaining
what art means, but rather in analysing and extending sensations. Sontag points out that it was this holistic interest in sensation that propelled the collapse of such familiar distinctions as art and non-art, and
high and low culture. This seems to be especially true of the experiments in sound. Sound provided a way of understanding not just what
an individual sensation consists of, but the way in which a group of
them could form in aggregates or blocs. In this way, sixties audio theory
carried on what had been a kind of subterranean theme in philosophy
and aesthetics.
Bergson had regarded sound and melody as the royal road to understanding the multiple character of complex emotions and sensations.
And, long before him, Leibniz saw in complex sounds a model for
studying phenomena that could not be classified under what were then
the received categories of unity. Gilles Deleuze takes Leibnizs account
of the composite sound of a wave as a paradigmatic example of the
ways in which conscious perception emerges from a folding (fold = pli)
of a multiplicity (multi-ply) of indeterminate perceptions.
The sound of a wave is composed of a thousand tiny (micro) perceptions that are already at work in the background, preparing and following whatever rises to consciousness as a macro perception. The wave
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is not a simple clear given that produces an effect in us. It is the product
of a set of relations among preconscious or molecular perceptions that
are not in themselves discernible. Here is how Deleuze describes a
wave:
For example, the sound of the sea: at least two waves must be minutely perceived as nascent and heterogeneous enough to become part of a relation
that can allow the perception of a third, one that excels over the others and
comes to consciousness (implying that we are near the shoreline).31
67
fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured
and soothing tattoo to her thoughts and seemed consoling to repeat over
and over again as she sat with the children the words of some old cradle
song, murmured by nature, I am guarding you I am your support, but
at other times suddenly and unexpectedly, especially when her mind
raised itself slightly from the task actually in hand, had no such kindly
meaning, but like a ghostly roll of drums remorselessly beat the measure
of life, made one think of the destruction of the island, and its engulfment
in the sea, and warned her whose day had slipped past in one quick doing
after another that it was all ephemeral as a rainbow this sound which
had been obscured and concealed under the other sounds suddenly thundered hollow in her ears and made her look up with an impulse of terror.33
Leibniz and Woolf listen at the seashore not only for evidence that
the world exists, but also for insight into the nature of perception.
Approaching sixties audio experiments as similar kinds of exercises in
understanding the new organizational structures of sensations may
help us think in new ways about the environmental and phenomenological dimensions of globalizing media. For Goulds generation, the
torrent of sound and image does not produce a distracted or fragmented consciousness, but something approaching the composite form
of Leibnizs wave. For that reason, they can provide an important alternative to the images of disintegration and distracted perception that
have become popular ways of describing our consciousness of the globalizing world.
Against Flatness and Distracted Perception
In the 1980s and 1990s it was popular to describe the cultural development of the postwar world as a progressive flattening of experience. In
the absence of any full and whole experience, the world, supposedly,
comes to us in the form of isolated, flat signs. Flatness is the central thesis of what were, arguably, the three most influential works of cultural
theory in the past quarter-century: Jean Baudrillards Simulations, JeanFranois Lyotards The Postmodern Condition, and Fredric Jamesons
Postmodernism, or the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism.34 Lyotard describes
the decline of Enlightenment grand narratives as a flattening of knowledge: The speculative hierarchy of learning gives way to an immanent
and, as it were, flat network of areas of inquiry.35 Fredric Jameson and
Jean Baudrillard identify the same flat quality as the new cultural dom-
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71
NOTES
1 Anthony Giddens, The Consequences of Modernity (Stanford, CA: Stanford
University Press, 1990).
2 You can listen to a sample of the symphony at http://www.flong.com/
telesymphony.
3 Available at http://www.dogme95.dk.
4 Michel Serres, Genesis (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), 2.
5 Ibid., 5.
6 Ibid.
7 For Bergsons theory of multiplicity, see Time and Free Will: An Essay on the
Immediate Data of Consciousness, trans. F.L. Pogson (London: George Allen
and Unwin, 1972), chap. 2, on continuous and discrete multiplicities.
Deleuzes most important texts on multiplicity include Bergsonism, trans.
Hugh Tomlinson (New York: Zone Books, 1988), 3847; Gilles Deleuze and
Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, trans. Brian Massumi (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 1987), 89, 24552, 4828; Gilles Deleuze,
Difference and Repetition, trans. Paul Patton (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1994), 18291; and the lecture Theory of Multiplicities in Bergson,
http://www.webdeleuze.com/TXT/ENG/bergson.html. Serress most
important text on multiplicity is Genesis, but the idea is developed in many
of his other books, including The Troubadour of Knowledge (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1991), and Rome: The Book of Foundations (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1992).
8 Serres, Genesis, 7.
9 Michel Chion, AudioVision: Sound on Screen (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994).
10 Glenn Gould, The Medium and the Message: An Encounter with Marshall
72
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Stephen Crocker
McLuhan, in The Art of Glenn Gould: Reflections of a Musical Genius, ed. John
P.L. Roberts (Toronto: Malcolm Lester Books, 1999), 246.
Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man (New York:
Signet Books, 1964), 25.
For a good overview of the history of sound aesthetics in the twentieth century, see Douglas Kahn, Noise, Water, Meat: A History of Sound in the Arts
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999).
Don Ihde discusses this experiment in Listening and Voice: A Phenomenology
of Sound (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1976).
For a good account of Wagners efforts to tame noise and distraction, see
Jonathan Crary, Suspensions of Perception: Attention, Spectacle, and Modern
Culture (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999), 247ff.
Luigi Russolo, The Art of Noises, originally published as a booklet on
11 July 1913. The Niuean Pop Cultural Archive, http://www.unknown.nu/
futurism/noises.html.
Ibid.
Katherine Hayles, How We Became PostHuman: Virtual Bodies in Cybernetics,
Literature, and Informatics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999),
207ff.
Walter Murch, foreword to Chion, AudioVision.
See Walter Murch, Stretching Sound to Help the Mind See, New York Times,
1 October 2000.
See Fredric Jameson, Totality as Conspiracy, in The Geo-Political Aesthetic:
Cinema and the World System (London: British Film Institute, 1992).
Todd Gitlin, Media Unlimited: How the Torrent of Media and Sounds Overwhelms Our Lives (New York: Henry Holt, 2001).
Michel Serres, The Art of Living Michel Serres, interview by Mary
Zurzani, in Hope: New Philosophies for Change (Sydney: Pluto Press, 2002),
201.
Louis Menand, The Talk of the Town, New Yorker, 2 July 2001, 21.
See Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1961).
See Ihde, Listening and Voice.
For a lucid discussion of these points, see McLuhans interview with Playboy
magazine, Marshall McLuhan A Candid Conversation with the High
Priest of Popcult and Metaphysician of Media, in The Essential McLuhan, ed.
Eric McLuhan and Frank Zingrone (Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 1995),
23369; see also The Extensions of Man; and The Medium Is the Message: An
Inventory of Effects (New York: Bantam Books, 1967).
Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse (London: Grafton Books, 1927), 35.
73
28 Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, trans. Margaret Paul and W. Scott
Palmer (London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd., 1911), chap. 1.
29 Chion, AudioVision, 2634.
30 Susan Sontag, The Basic Unit of Contemporary Art Is Not the Idea, but the
Analysis of and Extension of Sensations, in McLuhan: Hot and Cool, ed. Gerald Emmanuel Stearn (New York: Signet Books, 1967), 24958.
31 Gilles Deleuze, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, trans. Tom Conley (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1993), 88.
32 For an excellent analysis of these points, see Daniel W. Smith, Deleuzes
Theory of Sensation: Overcoming the Kantian Duality, in Deleuze: A Critical
Reader, ed. Paul Patton (New York: Routledge, 1997), 2958.
33 Woolf, To the Lighthouse, 20.
34 Jean Baudrillard, Simulations (New York: Semiotexte, 1987); Jean-Franois
Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984); Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism, or the
Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1991).
35 Lyotard, Postmodern Condition, 39.
36 Jameson, Postmodernism, 27.
37 Deleuze and Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus, 32.
38 Serres, Genesis, 131.
39 Arjun Appadurai, Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 32.
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canisters. They were smaller and weighed less. Print and shipping costs
diminished. Libraries, film clubs, collectors, and middle-class homes
began to buy and also store films in their libraries, on bookshelves, and
in their parlours. The spread of home cinemas was spurred even further
with the introduction of 8 mm films and equipment in 1932. In other
words, making films smaller, less expensive, and easier to ship was a
key factor, albeit one of many, in increasing the viability of non-theatrical film exhibition and the transformation of cinema into a collection of
material objects suited to widespread consumption outside of movie
theatres. Films-as-objects literally changed shape as did the routes they
travelled; the number of spaces in which films could be seen also
increased. As these small films found new life in, among other places,
middle-class homes, their aesthetic specificity became apparent. Qualitatively different from their theatrical counterparts, the non-theatrical
and domestic moving image was smaller, and over time and repeated
use, became scratched, discoloured, and faded. Because 16 mm and
later 8 mm films were also viewed on a range of consumer-oriented,
small-space screens, their projection enacted notably different dynamics of light and size than cinemas dominant mode of exhibition in
movie theatres. In short, the experience of cinema was expanded by the
consumer imperatives of small films and screens. Thus from the 1920s
onward, small screens articulated cinema to the politics and dynamics
of domestic institutions as well as those of public entertainment.14
Similarly, the technology of television transformed moving images
previously secured on celluloid into broadcast signals sent through the
air, dematerializing and rematerializing them on small pieces of household furniture. Films made using the academy frame ratio (1.33:1) fit
the television screen but were irretrievably altered by their travels,
appearing grainy, wavy, and blurry compared to their theatrical runs.
As televisions small screen spread throughout the 1950s, theatrical
movie screens grew larger. The original dimensions of the classical
Hollywood frame changed to suit the emergent widescreen formats of
1950s movie theatres (ranging from 1.66:1 to 2.55:1). As these wider
films were eventually translated back to the television screen they were
altered even more dramatically, reshaped as well as recoloured, reedited, submitted to pan and scan and other cropping techniques, interspersed with commercials, and seen on much smaller screens of a notably different shape in living rooms.15 To be sure, television transformed
the conditions in which we watch moving pictures, irrevocably influencing film aesthetics along the way. As television occupied an increas-
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QuickTime
Integrating the material networks of cinema into our critical frameworks is a crucial critical step toward sharpening our scholarly methods in film and media studies. Not only does the networked screen help
us to understand changes germane to the history of film; the concept
also helps us to understand the rapid diversification of moving-image
cultures and practices in the present. For instance, in 1991 Apple Computer introduced yet another possible mode by which moving images
might be distributed to and exhibited on screens. QuickTime is one of
several streaming technologies that allow individual computer screens
to play moving-image files accessible on innumerable Web pages. Not
initially designed for downloading files, QuickTime turns the computer screen into a private, on-demand playback system, providing a
platform that links the click of a mouse to thousands of short movies
that remain on their host sites. There are many genres of Web-streamed
films, including experimental and artist-designed pieces, media-savvy
parodies, narrative and non-narrative shorts, and commercial film trailers. These movies can be found on websites dedicated solely to making
such films available17 or may be found on sub-sites of larger institutions.18 Yet, despite the range of qualitatively different organizations
and films, there are several features these movies tend to share, largely
because of their like modes of distribution and exhibition. These films
appear grainy, jerky, flat. Colour is washed. Focus is shallow. Background detail is lost and blurred to abstraction; foreground details also
frequently appear fuzzy. Fast movements are likewise indistinct. These
movies are almost always rectangular (though occasionally square),
mimicking cinemas widescreen ratio. They rely heavily on sound and
music, yet often forego the tight coordination required for synchronized sound, particularly in the form of dialogue. Moreover, one must
also note that each of these characteristics clarity, rhythm, and synchronization also depends on the media reader you use, the processing speed of your computer, and the nature of your connection to the
Web. Also important to emphasize is that these images appear differently, depending on the time of day they are viewed, other traffic on the
Web, and your server and bandwidth. And, of course, they are really,
really small, frequently no bigger than two to three inches wide,
dwarfed even by the diminutive desktop, laptop, or hand-held screens
on which they appear.
With their own aesthetic specificities, streamed movies imply and,
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indeed, rely upon images that are connected as much to their original
pro-filmic event as to the modes by which they are disseminated and
seen. In short, little Web movies announce their aesthetic interpenetration and dependence upon their mode of transport. These movies are a
clear shift away from a material set of images and sounds secured on
celluloid as an object in a film can (an object with relative endurance)
toward a sequence of images and sounds that are bound irretrievably to
the systems and the logics of a particular kind of technological traffic.
This traffic does not, as with celluloid or DVD, involve shipping images
from one location to another, their original material status relatively
intact. Indeed, this kind of traffic shares far more with broadcasting
than with the distribution models conventionally attached to the cinema proper. Both are greatly affected by the environments in which
they circulate. More than this, QuickTime provides a distinct kind of
network, consisting of code, digital and analogue networks, servers,
Web browsers, media players, and microprocessors that each play a
role in how precisely the information that will eventually yield a moving image will look and what the price of admission will be (i.e., the
cost of up-to-date computer equipment, broadband connections, and so
on).19
One way to understand some of the changes digital technologies
have brought to moving-image culture is to think about the ways in
which streamed Web films index a distinct kind of networked cinema.
Streamed Web films relay an identifiable emergent aesthetic that is
dependent on overlapping and constantly interacting systems of
motion and variability. Streaming cinema offers moving images that are
themselves constantly changing because of the fitful networks of which
they are a part and on which they wholly depend. QuickTime movies
announce variation and unpredictability.20 They resolutely reject or
perhaps make a mockery of realist conventions of cinematic perfection
and of the idea of pristine, invariable film texts. They achieve this with
a vaguely cinematic and miniature frame littered with user controls:
pause, fast forward, and play buttons, time and control bars, browser
icons, indicators of connection speed, and memory remainders.
The small size and the jerky, grainy qualities of moving-image texts
are not new to visual culture. Early photography and motion pictures
underwent similar phases. Indeed, rejecting our recent frenzy for the
new, little Web movies resonate so much with early cinema and Edisons peepshow Kinetoscope that they have been characterized as
quaint and nostalgic.21 Yet the specificities of Web movies do not
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small box, requiring attention to the effects not only of scale distortion
but also of frame size. I will return to explore this further.
IMAX
In sharp contrast to the small size of QuickTime is the bold monumentalism of IMAX. Like QuickTime, IMAX is a distinct network devoted
to showing moving images, similarly bearing the marks of its own technological specificity and institutions. IMAX technology comes with its
own camera, celluloid, release schedules, projection system, and
screens. Rather than browsers, servers, operating systems, and computer manufacturers, IMAX has long been connected with museums,
scientific organizations, tourism, and, more recently, grand entertainment complexes. Like QuickTime, IMAX is an imaging system that
operates at one remove from Hollywood cinema. Both are relatively
recent additions to visual culture, serving as highly visible elements of
emergent screenscapes. Yet, notably different from little Web movies
and their quaint intimacy and variation is the pronounced precision,
clarity, and size of IMAX. Whereas QuickTime engages an individualized user, IMAX declares itself to a global audience.
IMAX originated in a large multi-screen experiment at Montreals
Expo 67, called Labyrinthe (see Janine Marchessaults chapter in this
volume). IMAX Systems Corporation was founded in 1970. Its first
permanent screen, Cinesphere, was constructed at Ontario Place in
Toronto in 1971. As of January 2005, roughly 240 IMAX screens could
be found in thirty-five countries worldwide.24 IMAX began as a special-venue format and was attached initially to museums and other
educational and tourist sites throughout the 1970s and 1980s. In the
1990s and early 2000s IMAX established closer links with mainstream
exhibition venues such as mall-based theatres and stand-alone megaplexes. Yet, its film library remains dominated by titles that bespeak its
roots in documentary and edutainment films, the most successful of
which are The Dream Is Alive (Graeme Ferguson, 1985), Everest (David
Breashears, 1998), and SpaceStation 3D (Toni Myers, 2002). Two of
these are about space exploration. The third, Everest, documents a
climbing team seeking to ascend the tallest mountain in the world.
IMAX brokers in the spectacle of gigantism. It is the biggest and most
successful large-screen format in the world, its pre-eminence assured
by its recent diversification into current-release Hollywood actionadventure films.25
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IMAXs corporate slogan is Think Big. Despite the oversized camera, large film stock, and expansive subject matter, none of these would
translate as fully without IMAXs colossal screen. Most of these screens
are eight storeys high (24.5 metres [80 feet]) and 30 metres (100 feet)
wide.26 As such, they can accommodate an image almost ten times
larger than a standard theatrical screen, 3,100 times bigger than a
twenty-seven-inch television set, and 192,000 times bigger than a typical QuickTime movie. The screen itself weighs almost eight hundred
pounds. IMAX is notably huge and utterly immobile, a monument to a
longstanding Western preoccupation with technology, vision, and
size.27 Predictably, its subjects enact these predilections. IMAX films
frequently feature large subjects mountains, sea, space weaving thin
narratives with the tropes of spectacular travel. Exotic locations are
accented by slow, sweeping pans, orchestral scores, and suspended
non-diegetic moments of waves crashing, the earth spinning, and
mountains jutting up and away from the infinitesimal marks of civilization. At times, even its unthinkably large screen strains to house the
enormity of its images.
IMAX films are filled with bright colours, deep focus, vertical tilts,
and travelling shots into spaces too big for the eye to fully assess in a
single glance. Aerial glides and panoramic surveys punctuate its
adventures. Steady point-of-view shots accentuate the confident invitation to fly, dive, ski, slide, fall, or simply observe and master space. The
image is unremitting and sure. Movement through mountain crevices
is slow and smooth. Images of flowers, trees, and clouds are rich and
full. Background landscapes and foreground characters are rendered in
sharp detail. There are frequent attempts to emulate motion inward
and outward, from foreground to background, background to foreground. With IMAX you find yourself moving into and out of great
heights and depths, travelling downward to the bottom of the sea or
upward to the stars. Framing and editing tend to reassert the centrality
of the camera/protagonist and thus re-enact one of classical cinemas
standard techniques: spatial and temporal omnipresence. With IMAX,
the camera is everywhere you need it to be at exactly the right moment.
But it is crucial to observe that the meticulous and confident control of
IMAX imagery is in part a compensation for the destabilizing effects of
that sublime invitation to be engulfed by its gigantic images. IMAX
offers certainty through its aesthetic techniques and its standardized
screening spaces, yet it also simultaneously threatens to take this away
with the power of its determined enormity.
The cinematic conventions employed in IMAX films foreground
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87
talist thematics. On a television, IMAX films hold no promise of engulfment, enrapture, or seduction. Having shrunk by a factor of over three
thousand, the slow and breathtaking surveys of Everests towering
peaks and deep crevices become stretched, tiresome, and parodic. The
characters are flat (and perhaps clinically pathological). The images are
dull. The drama borders on senseless. The films monumentalism
seems self-indulgent and unappealing. As an aesthetic and an experience, IMAX is made qualitatively different by a small screen; it needs its
giant screen to fully unfurl its own logics. Shrinking its images results
not only in a diminishing sense of awe but also a distorted picture that
consequently clarifies its preoccupations.
Susan Stewarts research can help us to further understand the specificity of IMAXs enormity and QuickTimes smallness. In her book On
Longing, Stewart explores the phenomenology of collectible objects and
their display. With special attention to questions of size, she argues that
the gigantic and the miniature involve a distinct kind of experience for
any given observer. According to her, assessing the phenomenological
dimensions of an observers encounter with objects of varying dimensions serves as a fertile site to consider the interplay of meaning,
materiality, and scale; changes in size determine a particular and
increasingly distorted relation between the conventions of the mark
and its meaning.33 In other words, changes in size augment and subvert
otherwise recognizable images and objects. Analysing the results of this
distortion allows insights into the distinct function of size large,
medium, or small for aesthetic experience. Stewart argues that in the
context of display, size is always about distortion. Both the miniature
and the gigantic thus present themselves as abstractions of knowable
relations between things. In their smallness or their largeness, they distort or abstract our understanding of any given object and carry with
them connotations that further shape their meaning.
According to Stewart, size is relational but also specific; the differences between the miniature and the gigantic are numerous. The latter
incites awe rather than intimacy. It produces a sensation of discomfort
and danger. She writes: The gigantic continually threatens to elude us,
to grow too large for possession by the eye. There is something lush,
profuse, unstoppable in the very idea of the gigantic.34 For Stewart (as
for Burke), the gigantic is most fully articulated by the experience of
something like landscape, which brings us within an immediate and
lived relation to nature as it surrounds us. The parallels to IMAX are
instructive. When we watch IMAX, which frequently features images
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89
size and consequent abstraction of more familiar realist representational practices provides a further example of Stewarts basic assertion
about the relations between meaning, materiality, and size. Playing
with scale invokes an image that recalls now-distorted cinematic conventions, sending us searching for clues as to what this new form
means. The smallness, the thinness, the flatness of Web films exercise a
kind of cat-and-mouse game with the new user-spectator. Rather than
a cinema of attractions, little Web films suggest what I would like to
call a notably fragmented cinema a cinema of suggestion that calls
attention to its materiality and its status as bound to a tightly integrated network.
Perhaps most important, this cinema of suggestion draws the eye of
the viewer in, closer and closer, exaggerating a sense of interiority
already endemic to the mode by which such images have travelled and
the domestic context in which they are often seen. There are no opportunities to choose ones relationship to the scale of the screen, by choosing a seat in a movie theatre, for instance. Conversely, if one should
choose to control the image by, for instance, enlarging the window in
which it appears on screen, one is faced with increasing abstraction. As
the image strains to fill the screen, it is stretched and becomes meaningful less by what image appears than by the innumerable spaces
between the pixels, paradigmatically transfiguring what we see. The
distended code yields images incompatible with the dominant conventions of the intelligible screen. As Stewart suggests of the miniature
book, the very fact of the miniature object as marker of meaning is an
affront to reason and its principal sense: the eye.37 The miniature
images push our understanding of cinematic convention and our habits
of watching. Paradoxically, enlarging that image alerts us to the material specificities of the little movie and extends the distortion further.
Engaging with streamed Web films is a kind of leap of faith into the limits of the cinematic signifier, as they seek to mimic Hollywood realism
but spiral toward the abstract despite themselves. It is a small cinema
that suggests ownership and depends on fantasies of the private and
the domestic and yet at least for now makes powerful use of the
unseen to establish its visual distinctiveness.
I have initiated a dialogue on the similarities and dissimilarities of
two distinct forms of networked cinema: IMAX and QuickTime. One is
gigantic, the other miniature. One is based on crystal clarity and steady,
declarative images. The other is grainy, jerky, and demur. Taken as dislocated images, their formal properties seem strikingly different. Yet,
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NOTES
1 I am indebted to Will Straws brief but suggestive essay on these themes,
Proliferating Screens, Screen 41, no. 1 (2000): 11519. Straw draws attention
not just to the proliferation of screens but to the importance of addressing
the material products of film culture that have accompanied cinemas dispersion through digital networks and satellite systems.
2 See, for examples, Vivian Sobchack, ed., Meta-Morphing: Visual Transformation and the Culture of Quick-Change (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press, 2000); Lev Manovich, The Language of New Media (Cambridge, MA:
MIT Press, 2001); Constance Balides, Jurassic Post-Fordism: Tall Tales of
Economics in the Theme Park, Screen 41, no. 2 (2000): 13960.
3 At the Society for Cinema Studies meeting in Denver 2002, Lev Manovich
asserted that in the face of such changes we need to reorganize the discipline away from film studies, media studies, or visual studies to what
he calls software studies.
4 Richard Maltby, Nobody Knows Everything: Post-Classical Historiographies and Consolidated Entertainment, in Contemporary Hollywood Cinema,
ed. Steve Neale and Murray Smith (London: Routledge, 1998), 2144.
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5 Among those voicing such claims, David Bordwell is perhaps the best
known. See David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson, Film Art: An Introduction, 6th ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2002); and David Bordwell, On the
History of Film Style (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997).
6 The New York Times recently reported that 58 per cent of Hollywoods
income in 2002 came from home video sales, more than twice as much as
box-office revenue. Within home sales, DVD ranks as the most profitable
and fastest-growing revenue generator. At some studios, executives in
charge of home sales approve films for production because of the primary
role home and soon DVD sales have in the market. David D. Kirkpatrick,
Action-Hungry DVD Fans Sway Hollywood, New York Times, 17 August
2003, 1.
7 Anne Friedberg, Window Shopping: Cinema and the Postmodern (Berkeley:
University of California Press, 1993).
8 Lauren Rabinovitz, For the Love of Pleasure: Women, Movies, and Culture in
Turn-of-the-Century Chicago (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press,
1998); Vanessa Schwartz and Leo Charney, eds, Cinema and the Invention of
Modern Life (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996); Tom Gunning, Phantom Images and Modern Manifestations: Spirit Photography,
Magic Theater, Trick Films, and Photographys Uncanny, in Fugitive
Images, ed. Patrice Petro (Bloomington: University of Indiana Press, 1995),
4271.
9 For exemplary work that also synthesizes trends in film historiography, see
Barbara Klinger, Film History Terminable and Interminable: Recovering
the Past in Reception Studies, Screen 38, no. 2 (Summer 1997): 10728.
10 John Belton, Widescreen Cinema (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1992); Barbara Klinger, The New Media Aristocrats: Home Theater
and Domestic Film Experience, Velvet Light Trap 42 (fall 1998): 419; William Paul, Screening Space: Architecture, Technology, and the Motion Picture Screen, in The Movies: Texts, Receptions, Exposures, ed. Laurence
Goldstein and Ira Konigsberg (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press,
1996), 24474.
11 Anna McCarthy, Ambient Television (Durham, NC: Duke University Press,
2001).
12 Vivian Sobchack, The Scene of the Screen: Envisioning Cinematic and Electronic Presence, in Materialities of Communication, ed. Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht and K. Ludwig Pfeiffer (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press,
1994), 87. While I take inspiration from Sobchacks work, my scope is by no
means as ambitious. Whereas Sobchack explores a phenomenology of the
cinema and other visual media (photography, video), I am committed to
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
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21
22
23
24
25
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baum, 1999), packaged along with other Web shorts, available through
Amazon.com.
See Vivian Sobchack, Nostalgia for a Digital Object: Regrets on the Quickening of QuickTime, Millennium Film Journal 34 (winter 2000): 423. See also
Lev Manovich, Little Movies: Prolegomena for Digital Cinema, http://
www.manovich.net/little-movies. (I would suggest that these are thoughtful though extremely partial renderings of the form. As it has aged, QuickTime has ushered in as many innovative, self-consciously hi-tech, and
aggressively corporate forms as it has expressed a kind of quaint and nostalgic yearning for cinemas past.)
QuickTime also functions as a computer-based media player, allowing moving images to be downloaded fully as complete files and then played at the
discretion of the computer user. I will not explicitly address this particular
use of QuickTime. But I would like to suggest that it would require a somewhat modified analytic terminology. As distinct from the streaming capacities of QuickTime, downloading and storing such movies affords the user
increased individual control. While computer speed and video cards maintain relevance, Internet traffic does not. This diminishes but does not eliminate variations in play speed.
Vivian Sobchack has articulated the rich links between QuickTime and the
work of Joseph Cornell. See Sobchack, Nostalgia for a Digital Object. There
are productive links between Web films and fluxus, in particular the films
produced through this movement and the subgenre of mail art. Both flux
films and mail art were particularly attuned to the question of time, to
loops, networks, institutions, and to the materiality of aesthetic forms. See
Craig J. Saper, Networked Art (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
2001); Michael Crane and Mary Stofflet, eds, Correspondence Art: Source Book
for the Network of International Postal Art Activity (San Francisco: Contemporary Arts Press, 1984); Bruce Jenkins, Flux Films in Three False Starts, in In
The Spirit of Fluxus, ed. Elizabeth Armstrong, Joan Rothfuss, and Simon
Anderson (Minneapolis: Walker Art Center, 1993), 12437.
IMAX Inc. reports that 60 per cent of these screens are in North America,
and approximately 50 per cent are in museums, planetariums and maritime
centers. The other 50 per cent are in commercial theatre complexes. See
http://www.imax.com/ for more corporate information.
This includes films such as Polar Express (2004), Spiderman 2 (2004), The
Matrix Reloaded (2003), and Star Wars: Episode One The Phantom Menace
(1999). IMAX has aggressively sought relationships with Hollywood distributors in order to expand beyond its educational and exploration titles
and to insert IMAX into the commonsense of everyday film culture.
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26 There is some indication the IMAX screens will actually get bigger. A recent
addition to Sydney, Australia, is 96.9 feet (29.5 metres/ten storeys) high.
27 For a persuasive analysis of IMAX that extends this line of thinking to
include the relations between IMAX, knowledge, and vision, emphasizing
its imperialist tropes, see Charles Acland, IMAX Technology and the Tourist Gaze, Cultural Studies 12, no. 3 (1998): 42945.
28 Andr Bazin, What Is Cinema? trans. Hugh Gray (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1967).
29 Edmund Burke, in an essay called A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin
of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful (1757).
30 For more on IMAX, see Charles Acland, IMAX in Canadian Cinema: Geographic Transformation and Discourses of Nationhood, Studies in Cultures,
Organizations, and Society 3 (1997): 289305.
31 Plugged in on 29 December 1999, NASDAQs video screen at Times Square
was heralded as the largest and most expensive video screen in the world.
At a cost of $37 million, the 8,400 LED panels were designed to endow the
electronic stock exchange with a physical presence that it otherwise lacked.
The sign is used to display market information and advertisements.
32 Everest is the most profitable IMAX movie. It is also in many ways prototypical, documenting not just a journey to the peak of the highest mountain,
but also the journey of the biggest camera up the biggest mountain. This
journey is, of course, underwritten by numerous American museums and
scientific foundations. The camera was carried by local Sherpas. The imperialism of IMAX as gaze but also as a mode of production is transparent.
33 Susan Stewart, On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1993), 38.
34 Ibid., 129.
35 Ibid., xii.
36 Ibid., 131.
37 Ibid., 40.
The power differential created by Western-dominated technologys colonization of global cyberspace raises justified disquiet.1 Even the evolution of such global conventions as the basic desktop interface can have
a profoundly chilling effect on the rise of innovative ways of conceiving
points of contact with computer technology.2 Pierre Lvy suggests that
some types of cultural representations will have difficulties surviving,
or even coming into being, in environments lacking certain intellectual
technologies, while they may prosper in other cognitive societies.3
Thus, in some circles, the changes wrought by computer technology are
considered seriously detrimental and capable of eradicating or eroding
existing representations of oral traditions or other modes of expression
not rooted in Western precepts. The rise of a virtual global culture
seems inevitable to theorists such as Lvy, who acknowledges the brutality of cultural destabilization but insists that such negative outcomes should not prevent us from recognizing the most socially
positive forms now emerging.4 Based on the Western assumption that
such advances necessarily outweigh the losses that might occur,
Lvys position underscores the very real imperialist threat posed by
computer-based forms.
Such concerns are leading to a polarized debate in which the reaction to emerging technologies is usually and simplistically divided
along a horizontal axis of paranoid technophobia versus an enthusiastic endorsement of the revolutionary powers of innovation.5 Such
anxiety can be attributed to what Michael Heim has referred to as the
collision of the tectonic plates of culture, which occurs when a new
and revolutionary technology arises and subsumes old forms within it.6
Added to this is a growing sense that computer-based narratives are
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Sheila Petty
This paradoxical struggle between colliding imperatives is underscored by Moudjibath Daouda, who suggests that the development of
the Internet in Africa presents conflicting terms: on the one hand is
Africa the consumer, whose dependence on technology produced by
the West is a continuance of colonial legacies; on the other is the real
possibility for development of the continent by African regional integration and expansion of African products and services into a global
market.19
African nations are coming together to create strategies that would
redress these barriers. For example, NEPAD recognizes that the integration of Africa into emerging information societies is critical and views
Africas cultural diversity as a means of leveraging entrance.20 Furthermore, early evidence already demonstrates that Africans not only make
innovative use of new information and technology strategies but are
also effectively competing in the global market.21 In West Africa, a
womens fishing cooperative is using Web technology to compete in
world markets, and Namibian secondary school students, many of
whom had no previous computer experience, participated in an archive
project that preserved one of the largest insect collections in Africa.22
Thus, despite the many social and economic barriers facing African
people, these examples provide evidence that, given access and opportunity, Africa is able to take advantage of the ICT revolution.23
An early illustration of this transformative progression is demonstrated by the website Dakar Web. Facilitated by the Inter Society for
Electronic Art (ISEA), Dakar Web ran from 1 to 24 February 1999 in
Dakar, Senegal, as a series of workshops intended to provide African
artists drawn from various fields of visual arts, literature, and music,
with the opportunity to create Web fictions based on a collaborative
working process. Directed by Montreal artists Eva Quintas, Michel
Lefebvre, and Catherine McGovern,24 the workshops took place at
Metissacana, Senegals first cyber caf, and culminated in five Web fictions including Amika, Cauris, Lait Miraculeux, Petit Pagne, and Talibs.25
However, the fact that Dakar Web is a co-production between Senegal
and Canada raises issues of authorship and control. Co-productions
based on what have been described as alliances between North/South
partners can be potentially problematic given undeniable power differentials between so-called developed and underdeveloped nations. In
addition, creative control of the final product and conflicts between culturally different approaches to production can become issues of concern.26 Yet, such cooperation can also have positive benefits. For
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image emphasizes her infectious, happy smile, which some of the gentlemen of the Plateau take as flirtatious. These sections underscore
Amikas innocence by foreshadowing the unending poverty that will
later drive her to despair. Finally, the icons from the front page repeat in
the last section of the screen, allowing the user to move through the
three narrative threads in the order she or he chooses.
Ambiguity and metaphor are major contributors to the shape of the
narrative. As it branches out, the social environment through which
Amika navigates is implied by a description of three metaphorical
zones: the Plateau and its poverty-stricken inhabitants are caught
between the Mountain, where the wealthy live, and the Centre, where
the wealthy make their money. The extent of Amikas exclusion from
privilege is implied by the revelation that people of her status are only
allowed to travel to the Mountain in order to sell the flowers that grow
on the garbage heaps in the Plateau. The economic divide is heightened
by a depiction of the Mountain people as scarabs who descend to the
Centre to roll up large balls of money that they then stockpile on the
Mountain. Yet another indication of marginalization occurs in an incident where Amika, in a desire to fit in with the fashionable young
women of the Centre who wear short skirts, rips her own to just above
the knee. There is no direct statement that Amika fails to achieve the
desired acceptance: rather, this is indirectly alluded to by the fact that
her exposed knees reveal that she does not have the opportunity to
wash often, indicating a lack of access to water and hence underscoring
her poverty. In each of these cases, the text offers no explicit judgment
on whether or not the economic gap between Africans is just: it merely
describes the situation, leaving the user to choose her or his own perspective regarding the significance of Amikas living conditions. This
strategy evidences distinct pedagogical goals as the discursive space
that arises from the narrative encourages the user to debate ethical
quandaries raised by a community divided into haves and have-nots.
The influence of oral tradition on African narrative structures creates
a profoundly unique worldsense based on ontologies in which the
world consists of interacting forces of cosmological scale and significance rather than of discrete secularised concrete objects.40 This is evident in the narrative structure of Amika as supernatural forces play a
major role in the development of the action. For example, despite their
human-like figures, the Witnesses are not clearly human, nor are they
purely mystical; rather, they occupy an interesting middle ground
between the two. Dedicated to gossip and their own amusement, the
105
tions and demarked by text and digital photographs. The text at the top
of the screen identifies the Lanternautes as the children of Ymanja,
goddess of the sea. As bearers of light, the Lanternautes illuminate the
depths of the ocean but leave their marine world for land if they hear a
genuine distress call. The digital photographs of the Lanternautes
emphasize a particular relationship with Ymanja. Portrayed in long
shot, they are depicted in the foreground on a sandy beach with blue
water in the middle ground and luminous sky in the background. The
metaphorical presence of the goddess, indicated by the water and brilliant sky, grounds the Lanternautes in nature, giving them an ethereal,
otherworldly visual force. The story space of the Lanternautes, strongly
linked to nature imagery, evokes a sense of spirituality that is absent
from the urban space of the Witnesses. Viewed in this light, the Lanternautes appear associated with the mystical force of African tradition as
a means of healing urban alienation. This is underscored in a later
branch revealing that the Lanternautes only leave the sea when they are
responding to the distress of individuals who have lost the light in their
lives. Their drive to intercede on behalf of these individuals and rekindle their light makes a powerful contrast with the Witnesses, who not
only refuse to intervene but subject the individual to ridicule. The difference in their status as narrative agents is further demonstrated by
the respect they command: for example, when their journey through
the city takes them across busy roads, truck drivers yield to them in deference. Thus, the Lanternautes represent an affirmative connection to
the rhizome of African identity and are symbolic of positive community values worth reverence.
The above descriptions of the three narrative patterns that comprise
Amika may appear to reflect a linear arrangement of story elements.
However, as Gabriel and Wagmister argue, digital weaving involves
interlacing lines that are connected on an aesthetic and conceptual level
by the cross threads of interactivity.41 In other words, what has been
described above in a linear fashion for the sake of clarity is experienced
by the user as a series of fragments assembled through choice. Thus, the
user is at the loom, drawing threads through at will by clicking on the
icons at the bottom of each page and creating a narrative pattern and
meaning that is unique to her or his experience. In this sense, Amika
unfolds like a mystery, as the user must delve into the relationship
between narrative fragments, just as she or he must determine the ideological relevance of each page. Furthermore, the structure of the narrative threads ensures that the user must explore them all in order to
107
body on the ground, as the text describes her screaming, hurling body
as a sight no one pays attention to. Although there is no direct reference
to the Witnesses encountering Amika and participating in her humiliation as onlookers, the proximity of their image to those illustrating her
distress implies that this is the case. The fact that Amika does not
acknowledge their presence heightens the sense of voyeurism by leaving it open to interrogation. Thus, the absence of an explicit statement
of relationship between the sections compels the user to forge the interconnections her/himself.
Although the effect is somewhat delimited by the users non-linear
assemblage of the narrative, it is worthwhile noting that Amika possesses narrative resolution in which the intervention of the Lanternautes is key to restoring positive African social values. In the final
branch of the narrative, screen space is broken into three sections. In the
top third, a digital photograph on the right depicts the Lanternautes
gathering around Amikas prostrate form. The text, located left of the
image, indicates that they have heard Amikas piteous cries and have
come with the light she needs. Below the text is another photograph,
this time of a single Lanternaute striding across the rocky ground. To
the right, the text states they will build a bonfire if they find the person
they are searching for, as a means of restoring happiness to their lives.
The last section is dominated by two phrases. The first asserts that the
Lanternautes return Amikas smile and the last, cast in a larger font,
declares that it is a genuine smile, indicating that Amika has been spiritually restored. It is significant that the narrative climaxes ambiguously in the text. This achieves two goals: first, the strategy foregrounds
the word as the most important aesthetic in the work, connecting the
Web fiction to the continuing evolution of African oral history. Second,
it serves to give primacy to the supernatural forces that rescue Amika,
therefore creating an open ending as the light given her has many
possible explanations. For example, it could indicate an affirmation of
African spirituality as a reservoir of strength or represent the selfknowledge attained through a difficult journey. Hence, the absence of a
definitive resolution creates a kind of narrative persistence that fosters
discussion beyond the conclusion of the story as the user seeks to interpret the true meaning of the ending. Ultimately, by engaging the users
imagination, Amika generates both debate and interactivity.
Although the question of access to technology remains contentious in
Africa, the success of Amika as an early African Web narrative lies in its
ability to recast existing African narrative and aesthetic strategies to
NOTES
A version of this chapter was originally presented at the Media in Transition 2
Conference at MIT, 1012 May 2002. I am indebted to Michel Lefebvre for providing access to the Dakar Web projects. My thanks also go to Santichart
Kusakulsomsak and D.L. McGregor.
1 I borrow the phrase iterative circle in my title from Pamela Jennings. See
her Narrative Structures for New Media: Towards a New Definition,
Leonardo 29, no. 5 (1996): 34550.
2 Steven Johnson, Interface Culture: How New Technology Transforms the Way We
Create and Communicate (New York: Harper Collins, 1997), 229.
3 Pierre Lvy, Becoming Virtual Reality in the Digital Age, trans. Robert
Bononno (New York: Plenum Trade, 1998), 126.
4 Ibid., 140.
5 Eric J. Cassidy, Preface: Virtual Futures, in Virtual Futures: Cyberotics, Technology, and Post-Human Pragmatism, ed. Joan Broadhurst Dixon and Eric J.
Cassidy (London: Routledge, 1998), ix.
6 Michael Heim, The Cyberspace Dialectic, in The Digital Dialectic: New
Essays on New Media, ed. Peter Lunenfeld (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press,
1999), 44.
7 Teshome H. Gabriel and Fabian Wagmister, Notes on Weavin Digital:
T(h)inkers at the Loom, Suitcase: A Journal of Transcultural Traffic 2, no. 12
(1997): 105.
8 Sean Cubitt, Digital Aesthetics (London: Sage, 1998), 147.
109
9 Ibid.
10 Nwachukwu Frank Ukadike, Black African Cinema (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1994), 2.
11 Yaya Karim Drabo, Le Paradoxe Africain de la Tlvision: lAlternative par
la Contrainte, in Petits Ecrans et Dmocratie: Vido Lgre et Tlvision Alternative au Service du Dveloppement, ed. Nancy Thde and Alain Ambrosi (Paris:
Syros-Alternatives, Vido Tiers Monde and Vidazimut, 1992), 108.
12 See http://www.isea.qc.ca/africa/dakar/index.html.
13 NEPAD (New Partnership for Africas Development), http://www.
africanrecovery.org/Documents/AA0010101.pdf (October 2001), 23.
14 Ibid.
15 Ibid.
16 UNESCO, Information and Communication Technology Policies and Strategies, http://www.uneca.org/codi/docs/doc22EN.pdf (7 August 2001),
11.
17 Ibid., 14.
18 UNESCO, A Strategy to Accelerate African Development through the
Increased Use of Information and Communication Technologies, http://
www.uneca.org/codi/docs/doc25EN.pdf (7 August 2001), 3.
19 Moudjibath Daouda, Les Enjeux dInternet en Afrique, Africultures,
December 1999, 6.
20 NEPAD, 23.
21 UNESCO, A Strategy, 2.
22 Ibid.
23 Ibid.
24 Eva Quintas is a photographer and initiated the workshops for ISEA.
Michel Lefebvre is a writer and multimedia producer. Catherine McGovern
is a Web art producer.
25 Workshop participants: Amika (Ndary L, Massamba Mbaye, Moussa Tine,
Madick Seck); Cauris (Serigne Mbaye Camara, Viye Diba, Frres Guiss);
Lait Miraculeux (Mamadou Fall Dabo, Sa Diallo, Alpha Sow); Petit Pagne
(Rackie Diankha, Pape Teigne Diouf, Assane Gning, Vieux Mac Faye); Talibs (Anta Germaine Gaye, Fatou Sow Ndiaye, Djibril Sy).
26 The question of authentic African authorship in European/African co-productions is the subject of much debate in African indigenous media production. For further discussion see Clment Tapsoba, The Influence of Aid on
the Creativeness of Filmmakers, Ecrans dAfrique 1314 (3rd4th quarter
1995): 8693, and Teresa Hoefert de Turegano, FESPACO 1999: The Cultural
Politics of Production and Francophone West African Cinema, Black
Renaissance / Renaissance noire 3 (fall 2000): 14567.
8-14 In rural Vermont, boundary rocks are hidden in the forest, are everywhere, no place remains unknown, untouched, no matter how distant.
I receive my first e-mail from Africa.
The materiality of the image means very little on digital. You are viewing a recomposed material. You are working against density. Content
becomes king, externalized, broad lines of action thats all you can
see. Different areas of interest come into play including accessibility,
large swaths of data, an array of possible structures, repetition, and
reproduction.
8-15 Perhaps in digital, its not what you see so much as how its permutated? how its reconstituted? A friend argues digital is more material,
since you can potentially address every pixel individually. Thus structure, not content, becomes critical: how the data is accessed is the determining feature. In this way, Digital = a conceptual device, a recontextualization through variable indexing, a mapping to create meaning, space named in order to reconstitute time.
In video and digital projection, admittedly, subtlety is lost; blacks are
Regular Type = Comparisons between digi, analogue, film: the backstory (from entries
in fall 2000).
Bold = Playlist project meeting notes (from entries in spring 2003).
Italic = Inner thoughts, responses, questions, unspoken (from entries in summer 2003).
hard to judge, theres slippage. Your eye grows accustomed to the deteriorated quality of the image it adjusts and with it a whole set of values shadows, colour, detail are undermined. The aesthetics and
social implications of Robert Venturis theories of a mobile spectatorship for architecture are instructive here: for the Baseball Hall of Fame
he designs a billboard building wherein stats from baseball history
are manipulated onto a giant billboard as seen from the highway,
behind which a one-storey, temporary-looking structure houses the
museum that is, we live in a world of frontage, illusion, mobility, and
surface.1
8-18 But, argues a friend, you need to consider that as processing speeds
increase and storage gets ever smaller and cheaper, there is no reason that
home video couldnt have, say, 100 times more pixels than 70 mm has
grains, and thus would eventually have far greater resolution than film.
And surely some future liquid crystal display (or whatever) could produce black-black blacks. So the promise of superseding film is still on the
table, though a part of me says this has been on the table for fifteen years.
Its not there yet.
Today, cosmologists are saying that Surface is the limit of knowledge.
With depth gone, the philosophical basis is changed. Duration becomes
less important than contact.
History: In 1970, I edit my first film on an upright moviola with a
postcard-size screen. The machine resembles an old sewing machine
turned upside down, a bug on its back with its legs flailing, many
wheels, and a foot pedal. You turned it on and it would spin in a furor
and split your film lengthwise down the middle (as likely as not). The
flatbeds, their reels lying flat on the machine, were a more stable
option, particularly the German-made Steenbeck developed during the
war. By the 1970s, they were common in the States, with a nifty switching system where the gears and sprockets could be changed between 16
and 35 mm. The United States turned out its own editing table, the
Moviola, but it was never as reliable as the more sturdy and mechanically designed Steenbeck, which, like Kleenex, was a brand name that
became the name for the thing.
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Topology
Intellectual property
In kind
How to keep it tidy
115
117
trated, the image melted, pixels leached, pouring off the surface, its
reds and greens sliding like a high-contrast duplicated film print at old
drive-in movies where the pizza ads look bloody and hysterical. I
always liked that look myself, but it is fabulously unstable an artifact
as out of date and appealing as drive-ins themselves.
9-5 Why is everything processed? Why wish it werent?
Film is the digi model clearly: ideas of bins, cuts, dissolves, frames,
non-linear timelines all reference mainstream cinema practice while
these, plus ideas of discontinuity, gaps, jump-cuts, systems, interruptions, weave, and repetition explicitly reference experimental film
practice.6
9-6 Why do multi-screens seem so palpable, so delicious, right now? They
jump the film model entirely there is no uni-focus and more clearly multiple screens recreate the way information comes in at us, impossible to
take in at one time.
We come up with
Corn syrup
Saccharine
Zylotol
Aspartame
Glucose
Sucrose
Honey
We represent volume.
We represent breakpoint.
Haunted by thoughts of degradation when we read that the cloned
sheep Dolly is/was aging more rapidly, we realize digi life may have a
short future as well. What we thought were exact reproductions, material copies imagined out of factory models, permanent dupes, are nothing so much as Xeroxes: fading copies. Time, or is it space, demands
unique particularities, however transitory. Its a different kind of time
certainly, more spontaneous, more exploratory (potentially): all these
versions available and re-available, redo and looping functions, immediate feedback, ability to insert words and phrases, dates and intertitles
at the moment of ideation. A very immediate performative time at the
edit bench. Waiting to render.
9-10 I buy hand weights to have beside my editing table to work out my
upper body while Im waiting for rendering or the machine to come on.
THE MACHINES ARE TRAINING THE BODY.
Go around non-stop
Change to plastic money
Jacket and sneakers mark globalism
Creating a universal system of clips with directory and database of
views
We get stuck with engineering
A scatter bulletin view
9-12 Am I wedded to depth?
How a timeline keeps going?
Handcrank that globalism.
Early on in the editing of 16 mm, Ill go through all my material a second time and more for selects. Ive often thought the best shots show up
now not the obvious good take, but the strange, witty, oddball material. When the piece is close to being done, I am usually looking for
some remembered shot or seeking some bridge and might go through
119
all my material again. Ive adapted this process to digi. It works best
when you digitize every shot of your original; otherwise, the later process is complicated by the need to digitize all parts you missed. Either
way, its a time-consuming process. Some makers have their digi masters transferred to VHS to protect the fragile original while they log and
familiarize themselves with the material. This is a reconstructed workprint model, underscoring the idea of original and copy, alien to the
concept of digital, yes, but a practice that acknowledges digi-tapes
real-life fragility.
9-13 Drop outs
Crackling
Rumble
Flipping
Sounds like turning motors
Ripple delete
Cocks and guns
In the can
The other screen has genitals
Set it
Forget
Our Method of investigation involves a deliberate poetics.
We aim to create an interface.
9-14 How many paragraphs could be written on that word interface? The
language of the new technology is suggestive of and strangely references
analogue processes and meta-definitions this insistent reference to the
arguably outdated body.
Connect any cold to hot lead
Wrap what happens at edge to go further
Dont do anything until we harness the cold lead
Reds are potentials
From 1973 to1975, WNBC editors are still working with hand-cranked
rewinds and a jerrybuilt system that rigged the sound rolls under the
viewer, to be read off a magnetic head on the synchronizer. With these
improvised and funky mechanics, these news editors could cut synchronous pictures amazingly fast. And they were using a technology already
fifty years old [rumour has it that at CNN, editors are working analog since
they havent retooled!]. On a motorized editing table, invented in the
1950s, you feel physically exhausted after a solid eight- to twelve-hour
day. Usually its been a dance of getting up to the bin, reaching over,
searching or picking out shots, stopping and returning the film to fast
rewind and relooking. [Does this sound nostalgic at this point in time?] As
far as getting a notebook or a cup of coffee, these activities recur in the
eight- to twelve-hour day on the Avid/FCP, but the muscle/bone dance
has been in a smaller circle the bin is a click away, after all making
decisions faster, less bodily structured. And its much harder on your
eyes. In 1989, I edit 3/4 analog video and have a different kind of headache that night than I had ever had before. My body aches. My brain circuits do adjust. I dont have headaches every time I edit now, but I do feel
a video effect on the brain and eyes, under the gaze of the computer.
That was nothing.
Unlike other views, geometry counts.
We have Scatter view, Space view, and Time view.
Data index is Bin view.
We are going to have chains of processing channels composing
ladders of operations across everything.
This is spatial?
Ive only just invented this and we may not make it.
A chain of vast plug-ins
9-16 Were making Vertovs dream plebian
All access depends on how we navigate, i.e., how we name history.
Plant sign posts
Reuse a phrase
Trans-global ELITE
Neo PETS
Hacker conventions and a doc plot Letters talking across borders
Time and money
BETAVILLE the
Premise: imagining technology more accurate than human sight
121
9-17 But isnt that replaying Dziga Vertovs outdated optimism? His
1928 formalist film masterpiece Man with a Movie Camera combines
humane city symphony with exhilarating referential film form. By the
1930s this energy is not so much exhausted as controlled, stymied by Stalin. You see the beginnings of this decline in Vertovs sound film Enthusiasm (1931) with its billowing factory smoke and darkening drums. Today
we exist in a more pessimistic, slicker state. We experience the corporate
machine as surveillance of the local. A reversal of the pyramid of power
and information is what is needed, but will we be able to sludge through
it? How to negotiate the fear of the human body disappearing into the
Net? We have incorporated taken into the body, into our day the
ephemeral, distance, pause button and absence. We use it to get closer.
Perhaps Peter Kubelkas Pause (1976) marks a significant moment. This
16 mm film by the great Austrian film experimentalist is a monument to
the inability to speak face to face. Emotion refigured in non-language.
Duration filled with expressive body movements suggestive of intent but
unreadable. Kubelka has before and after Pause been involved in an ongoing unfinished film project: Monument for the Old World (Denkmal fur
die alte Welt). It is tempting to think of Pause in relation to Beckett, tape
overwhelming Kubelkas avowed classicism.
Then comes the question of ownership?
We discuss Leningrad vs. Legend examining different
ways to collaborate.
Man. I was blown away. It was a girl doing electronics.
Some things never change.
Maybe we should begin each statement with Bastard.
How to move into another environment?
A file handler can solve these problems?
In a real-world scenario rounding them up.
Theres a latency issue here.
A head room issue.
Containers are where the mutability occurs.
Error as Genre: The mistakes one makes on the flatbed with celluloid
in hand are different from those encountered on a computer. Cutting
film directed me to these structural errors and fortuitous possibilities
grabbing the tail [end] of a shot when one wants the head [start],
seeing the upside result. My film DARK DARK (2001) is constructed
around just such ideas, described as a montage of footage from four
pre-existing films, composed and ordered by what seems an incredibly
complex design. Narrative chronologies are alternately straight or
inverted, within each of which the individual shots proceed alternately
forward or in reverse the film simultaneously goes backwards forwards and forwards backwards. The result is experienced as multiple
waves of counter-intuitive time that collide with each other like ripples
in a bathtub. The disorientation of duration is complicated by the films
physical disorientation: its frequently rotated about the horizontal or
vertical axes.7 The point that this is a kind of mistake you wont
encounter on digital. Though you can reconstruct them. In the digi
realm, there are other errors: for example, on the time line, things get
moved, covering up one track or another, creating rhythms and unexpected counterpoint. In this case, the image is printing over material, a
process that is intrinsic to analogue video as well, but not to film editing. There are also artifacts, fallacies of cloning and looking for a source
that mistakenly lies under same names. Labels become essential in digital even as an indexing error can cause fruitful digressions.
We already have a ton of names.
Implicitly created directories as opposed to explicit and
unconsciously created directories
All the past available all the time
That would be a key word thing.
Searches are alive
You want a dead search? Why?
9-18 Using physics, the hard-drive spins
A set of instructions for my notes
Many alphabets for instructions
Many letters for action
Shift drag backwards.
I want to upset the file holders
123
Wiki it out.
9-19 O wick wick wacky.
The future is behind us.
Protocol of long distance collaboration:
off the hook, out of control, the phone is ringing.
Rapid fire Thumbnails
Bites Points Modifications
Edit the view mode
Property can change
Meta-data you cant
Change newer than one hour will be red
Hybridity lives! Colleagues shoot a feature in half-inch because they
like that slippery look, edit on digital and transfer back to film for projection. Students shoot off the screen and combine that with digital and
process through Premiere, happy with their dub. It seems film will
struggle on until Hollywood decides to shift to hi-resolution DV, and
then therell be more years of activity among persistent artists celebrating the fragility and light-projected hallucinations of film and mixed
mediums. By then there will be mini hi-def DV, cheap(er) and sophisticated systems with user-friendly interface and add-ons. There will be
wall TV, multiple-screen movies, and mini single-channels everywhere,
as are now on Viennese subways and in New York cabs. Fulfilling Venturis prophecy of the mobile spectator by mobilizing the billboard as
well. There is no escape from the barrage of commodity ads, inducements, and time entrapments. As what we describe as memory grows
cheaper, the ambivalent Luddite in us all wonders how and if our real
memories are being diluted, sabotaged by stereotypical sentimentali-
125
NOTES
With thanks to Playlist originators Willie La Maitre and Eric Rosenzveig, as
well as Henry Hills and Melissa Ragona, all of whom read and advised. Any
remaining errors are mine.
1 Robert Venturi, Museum of Modern Art Papers on Architecture (New York:
MOMA, 1968).
2 Dara Birnbaum, architect-turned-videomaker, whose early works from 1979,
Wonder Woman and Kojak/Wang, used looping and interruption from contemporary TV shows and advertisements to humorously investigate and critique
mainstream gender stereotypes.
3 Jean Piaget, Structuralism, trans. and ed. Chaninah Maschler (New York:
Harper Colophon, 1970).
4 Ibid., 34.
5 The information about the life of CDs comes from a column on computers in
the Village Voice, Mr. Roboto, 18 September 2003.
6 See Lev Manovichs Theory of New Media (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000)
for a more lengthy analysis of how avant-garde film practices predicate ideas
embedded in the digital explosion, how a library of film facts parallels the
idea of data bank, and how films ability to transpose, invert, insert, and
move non-linearly in the editing process etches out decades earlier these
same processes in the digital revolution that takes place at the end of the
twentieth century.
7 From an interview conducted in September 2003 via e-mail with Jeremy
Rigsby, Media City Program Director, Windsor, Ontario, for publication in
XX, a quarterly published by the Windsor Feminist Theatre (winter 2004).
Introduction
Discussions of digital aesthetics in the context of new media tend to
focus on characteristics that are for the most part drawn from previous
media and art forms. The question is: are digital forms of expression
genuinely transforming traditional forms of representation and expression from literature to media?1 Are we dealing with a new set of phenomena and practices that require a different approach to the analysis
of digital cultures and the discourses and representations that they produce? The answers to these questions may well be found in new ways
of thinking about the photographic foundation upon which so much
traditional and new media are built. My response to these questions has
been to develop some new terms that, for me, explain more easily the
synthesis of new media with conventional forms of expression that use
images. I offer these for debate and discussion. I am convinced that new
discourses are needed. This essay tests out that claim.
One of the central characteristics of new media, especially with
respect to spectators, that Lev Manovich discusses in his book The Language of New Media is the change from viewer to user.2 Most of the
literature on new media carves out similar distinctions old media are
for passive viewing and new media allow for, even encourage, interaction or use. User is not a term I am comfortable with, not only
because it is derived from the early days of research in the computer
sciences,3 but also because it constrains our understanding of how
computers actually work, as well as how humans use them. The term
user refers to how people interact with the screened interfaces of a
computer and what they do or accomplish in the process. As a term, it
127
129
131
use of Final Cut Pro to edit a film is not just a duplication of what might
have been done with machines like a Steenbeck or a Moviola.) What do
virtual fish swimming in a virtual fish tank look like? What kinds of
discourses are we developing to deal with increasingly intelligent
objects like the Sony robotic dog Aibo? What does it mean to visualize
the human body through techniques that have been drawn from holography? Remote sensing permits the visualization of contexts that are far
removed from the viewer, yet, at the same time, the construction of the
screen space allows for interaction. What must be understood in all of
this is that representational and symbolic processes have been transformed into geometric and mathematical activities. Can we talk about
an aesthetic of the mathematical? Should we?20 Imagine a context
within which you could actually, physically pick up a mathematical
symbol and then throw it into a space and watch the symbol morph
into a character. This is precisely the kind of dynamic media environment that begins to describe the aesthetic potential of imographic activities and is, quite appropriately, at the centre of the aesthetic concerns of
the Matrix series of films.
Aesthetics
As the digital infiltrates every aspect of our lives, transforming objects
into intelligent vehicles for visualization and representation, the question of aesthetics will become ever more urgent. For example, what will
happen when a fridge is given the ability to talk? Will we begin to wonder about its shape and colour in a completely different way? If televisions are going to make choices for us based on our viewing patterns,
are we going to have to rethink what we mean by television screens?
What happens when rendering processes create three-dimensional
worlds inside computers? Can the polygons that are the basis for the
creative work here become the objects of analysis and critique?
All of these questions need to be explored with a different set of discourses from the past and a heightened sense of the radical transformations that digital forms of expression are making possible. Digital tools
are changing the landscape of expression and creativity, not only in the
arts but in every cultural form. It will be necessary to respond with new
critical languages and new categories if we are to critique digital cultures with more than just a descriptive response or a duplication of previous models of aesthetic analysis (fig. 6.1).
133
Fig 6.1 This is a good example of an imograph. It was created using Photoshop. Does this mean that the word text is different when placed on this page
using Microsoft Word than when placed within the context of a JPEG built
using the tools of a graphics program? Are all of the variables different enough
here to suggest that the word text has become an aesthetic object? How does
this differ from what the poet ee cummings did with words on a page? In the
first instance, both the word processor and Photoshop encourage manipulation, transformation, and playfulness. The screen turns into a canvas with
powerful tools including the possible use of network-based elements. Second,
the fact that figure 6.1 is a file means that it can be converted and changed further by anyone. As a file, it is just data. On the printed page, it turns into a
more fixed form, but now can be scanned into a computer and, once again,
become data. It is this set of possibilities and potential shifts (both in character
and quality as well as location) that make figure 6.1 an imograph.
Transformations
The key term here is variables. Within the context of the computer that
I am using, it would be possible to add sound to fig. 6.1. It would also
be possible to extract the imograph and move it to another program. In
other words, unlike the book that you are holding in your hands, all of
the elements of fig. 6.1 can be transformed. Now, it can be argued that a
Xerox copy of the page in which this illustration appears has many of
the same possibilities. This is true. The distinguishing factor is that the
computer builds all of these variables into its operations. Many different stages of creativity can be developed, imagined, and generated
within a time frame that is compressed and very fluid. Digital environments build on these potential transformations, and, as more and more
texts and images appear within computerized environments, the role of
the printed page will change into an artifact with many variables in
other words, the printed page will become more fluid.
I would go further and suggest that digital technologies encourage
transformative and playful forms of interaction. This in no way precludes the fact that the same activities can be pursued using analogue
tools. It is simply that an imograph housed within a computer becomes,
as I have said, the equivalent of data, and this makes it possible to
reduce or to expand upon all of its elements instantaneously. The material of the digital world is radically different from conventional materials, and the results are a variety of windows, maps, and configurations
of information that often defy easy classification. Fig. 6.1 was created
using a series of mathematically defined codes that translate fragments
of an image into a series of ones and zeroes. The presence of the underlying code has no material impact on the relationship viewers or readers develop with the imograph, in large measure because it is invisible.
In other words, it is not possible for me to recode the programming
logic of Photoshop, and yet my use of some of its elements binds me to
the program and many of its aesthetic assumptions (fig. 6.2).
Networks
I would suggest that imographs no longer operate outside of the networks into which they can be placed. This will have a profound impact
on potential interlocutors and also on the nature of the viewing process. It means that the reproduction of imographs can take place within
so many different venues, and using so many different tools, that the
135
Fig 6.2 This imograph was taken using a digital camera at low resolution. It
was loaded into a Macintosh G4 and further altered within Photoshop. It was
then imported into Microsoft Word. In the digital world, I could send this imograph via e-mail and ask for feedback or place it onto a Web page. On the
printed page, the feedback can only be asynchronous. On a computer this
image can be e-mailed to another individuals graphics program and then
altered in a variety of unpredictable ways. This is very similar to sampling in
music, and there are resonances with the process of creating a collage in analogue media. This ability to borrow from a variety of different sources is made
easier within digital environments in part because of the fluid way in which
imographs and sounds can be networked.
137
139
Fig 6.4 Blue Window Pane (CAVE), Margaret Dolinsky (used with permission).
NOTES
1 Janet Murray, Hamlet on the Holodeck: The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1997); Lev Manovich, The Language of New
Media (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2001).
2 Manovich, Language of New Media, 205.
3 M. Mitchell Waldrop, The Dream Machine: J.C.R. Licklider and the Revolution
That Made Computing Personal (New York: Viking, 2001).
4 Tor Nrretranders, The User Illusion: Cutting Consciousness Down to Size
(New York: Viking, 1998).
5 See the first chapters of Ronald Burnett, Cultures of Vision: Images, Media and
the Imaginary (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995) for an exploration of these issues.
6 Diana Forsythe, Studying Those Who Study Us: An Anthropologist in the
World of Artificial Intelligence (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press,
2001), 52.
7 Ibid., 523.
8 Ibid., 53.
9 Richard Coyne, Technoromanticism: Digital Narrative, Holism, and the Romance
of the Real (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999).
10 Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999).
11 Ken Hillis, Digital Sensations: Space, Identity, and Embodiment in Virtual Reality (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999).
12 Gerald Edelman and Jean-Pierre Changeux, eds, The Brain (London: Transaction Publishers, 2001); Brian Cantwell Smith, On the Origin of Objects
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1998).
141
13 Oliver Grau, Virtual Art: From Illusion to Immersion (Cambridge, MA: MIT
Press, 2003).
14 Marie-Laure Ryan, Narrative as Virtual Reality: Immersion and Interactivity in
Literature and Electronic Media (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,
2001).
15 William J. Mitchell, The Reconfigured Eye: Visual Truth in the Post-Photographic
Era (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1992).
16 N. Katherine Hayles, Writing Machines (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2002).
17 Patrick Maynard, The Engine of Visualization: Thinking through Photography
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997).
18 Steven Holzman, Digital Mosaics: The Aesthetics of Cyberspace (New York:
Touchtone, 1997).
19 For further information on this extraordinary film, go to http://www.
wakinglifemovie.com/.
20 Edward Tufte, Envisioning Information (Cheshire, CT: Graphics Press, 1990).
21 Marc Bhlen, http://www.contrib.andrew.cmu.edu/%7Ebohlen/
dinnerTable.htm (site now discontinued).
22 Robin Petterd, The Language of Interactivity in the Context of Immersive
Video and Sound Installations (31 May 2001), http://www.otheredge.com.au/exchange/writing/language_of_interactivity.htm.
23 Aguedo Simo, Microworlds, Sirens and Argonauts, http://anim.usc.edu/
simo/.
24 Fabian Wagmister, Jeff Burke, et al., Networked Multi-Sensory Experiences:
Beyond Browsers on the Web and in the Museum, Museums and the Web
2002, http://www.archimuse.com/mw2002/papers/wagmister/
wagmister.html.
25 Margaret Dolinsky, Blue Window Pane CAVE Art Environment, http://
dolinsky.fa.indiana.edu/bwp/synopsis.html.
26 Gary Greenfield, Simulated Aesthetics and Evolving Artworks: A Coevolutionary Approach, Leonardo 35, no. 3 (2002): 2839.
PART II
Digital Time Archive
The second section of the book moves from spatially based considerations to notions of time, memory, and history. The politics of time
underscores much of modernity, especially in regards to technology:
labour value, commodity culture, leisure time, and the digital
diaspora of the maquiladoras and the urban unemployed. The power
to fill or empty time, to value it unequally across classes and peoples,
has specific implications for culture. Considering contemporary
worlds, Homi Bhabha has warned of a danger that the presentism
of the net may drain everyday life of its historical memory.1 This historical memory itself was, of course, never free of mediations; whether
of national, gendered, or class-based inequities and fantasies, the processes through which memory becomes illuminated as history have
been formed by contestation, by struggle. The essays in this section are
concerned with warnings such as those voiced by Bhabha and, as such,
ask questions about the cultural and/or gender bases of the history,
memory, and identity nexus. The writers go beyond the polarized
arguments about technology, especially in regards to gender, globalization, and the devastation of cultural differences rooted in traditions
that are not part of Western or masculinist precepts.
1 Homi Bhabha, preface to Home, Exile, Homeland: Film, Media and the Politics of Place, ed.
Hamid Naficy (London: Routledge, 1999), viii.
Im trying to explain core imagery to an Introduction to Womens Studies class as part of my Why have there been no great women artists
lecture. I arrive at the 1970s, peel off a layer of clothing to reveal my lavender Calyx Retrospective T-shirt. Its got a huge vagina on it, with little
flower petals around the edges. Whats that? says a girl in the front
who should know better. I want to hand her a speculum. Its a vagina,
I explain, patiently. Some students in the back stifle a euuuw. I lift a
copy of Tee Corrinnes Cunt Coloring Book off the podium. (On the back
it reads: Womens Studies. Adults only. XXX. I dont want to get too
off-track unpacking this. Just show the pictures.) Core imagery, I start
again, vaginas, flowers, seashells recall Judy Chicagos The Dinner
Party ... (I click the image on the screen). See, look closely every plate
has a famous womans vagina on it. Euuuwwwww! Okay, I begin
again, why would artists want to use this kind of imagery? What was
going on politically at the time? What do you remember about feminism in this period? A hand shoots up: Georgia OKeeffe? Hmmm.
Lets get back to that. Others? How quickly things are lost.
And how odd it was for me, then, at the turn of the millennium,1 to
find so much of this lost feminism again, online, proliferating in feminist hypertexts. An uncanny number of women working online were
describing digital writing technologies through the invocation of second-wave feminist terms like the everyday, womens time, and
embodiment, and contrasting these with the demands of geometric
space and linear time, often posited as masculine. And while some
hypermedia works I was exploring did use fragmented writing spaces
and multivocal narratives to deconstruct Woman, there was less interest in deconstructing her than you might imagine. Alongside hybrid
And Guyer is certainly not the only woman to describe digital writing
technologies in terms of the body and womens everyday. Hypertext
author Judy Malloy writes, along the same lines, hypernarratives imitate the associative, contingent flow of human thought and the unpredictable progression of our lives.3 While the mapping of this
technology with the body is famously found as far back as 1945 in
media pioneer Vannevar Bushs As We May Think,4 we do find the
argument gendered in interesting ways. The gendering is implicit in
147
the texts above, but theorist Sadie Plant makes the connection between
multitasking hypermedia and the feminine explicit: Think of the difference between DOS and Windows and youll see that the future is
female.5
Core imagery abounds, too. Carolyn Guyer and Martha Petrys
hypertext Izme Pass, for example, is a collaborative response to
Michael Joyces hypertext WOE, or a Memory of What Will Be
indeed, Izme Pass subsumes WOE within its structure. Written using
Storyspace, a hypertext authoring package with a spatial interface
(each hypertext screen is represented by small boxes that can be moved
around to form diagrams and images), Guyer and Petry rewrite Joyces
mandala layout with their own: a diamond- or o- or almond-shaped
map headed by a Mandorla, the Asiatic signifier of the yoni, the divine
female genital.6 Shelley Jacksons online hypertext My Body: A
Wunderkammer contains the following vivid invocation of criture feminine: My vagina had rewritten Joyce. It was then I knew I was going to
be a writer.7 The allusion is certainly to James Joyce, but possibly to
Michael Joyce, as well, rewritten and swallowed up, as you recall, by
Guyer and Petrys text. And VNS Matrix, an Australian group, writes,
in their Cyberfeminist Manifesto for the Twenty-First Century,
we are the modern cunt
positive anti reason
unbounded, unleashed, unforgiving
we see art with our cunt
we make art with our cunt
we believe in jouissance madness holiness and poetry
we are the virus of the new world disorder
rupturing the symbolic from within
saboteurs of big daddy mainframe
the clitoris is a direct line to the matrix.8
As I continued to explore hypertexts online, I found dozens of examples of pieces that seemed politically and aesthetically anachronistic
action taking place in the womens spaces of kitchens and bedrooms
as if the publicprivate split were only now being considered and interrogated for the first time, rather than thirty years ago in important
visual art, feminist video work, as well as political texts. Flash animations of bodies, bodies, and more bodies, seashells, the ocean, vagina as
interface, images of naked women floating through the air it was Judy
Chicagos The Dinner Party all over again, and even if the plates were
more vagina dentata this time, this widespread attention to woman
versus big daddy mainframe, this allegiance to gender binaries,
would seem to beg critical intervention. Jouissance, madness, holiness,
and poetry we could use more of, undoubtedly, but what about the difference debates? What about the feminism that moved beyond this
kind of essentialism and this kind of dualism?
What might the return of these familiar themes and devices in hypermedia in the year 2000 signal? The computer seemed, to me, a fluid
screen, indeed, through which these themes had passed, apparently
effortlessly across a generation, uninfluenced by thirty years of debate.
Did the appearance of these texts point to a calculated rejection of contemporary feminist theoretical preoccupations? To ignorance of key
issues in Western feminism? Were they an expression of a longing I had
yet to identify?
My first thought was that these hypertexts should be read as being as
much about nostalgia as about the future. And it was impossible for me
to discount the fact that so many of these hypertexts were apparently
being produced by white women. Blair and Takayoshi remind us that
the Web is yet another cultural site where users are bombarded with
representations of women based more on an essentialist definition of
woman than the lives of real women from varying cultural backgrounds.9 And Faith Wilding, a feminist artist active in the 1970s
(famous for her knitted womb roomat Womanspace) and one of the
very few of those women working with electronic media today, has also
observed that a more negative cycle is also repeating itself, as the
women who have found their way into cyberterritories are generally
those who have economic and cultural advantages in other territories.10 Issues of sameness and access to cultural texts and production
become urgent again.
Culture is tied, of course, to a sense of place to home home as a site
of exploration, negotiation, and cultural reproduction. Perhaps more
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Consciousness-Raising
Its not surprising, then, perhaps, that we witness indulgence for those
narratives of feminism for which we remain nostalgic. And some feminists make the connection between the kinds of practices hypertext
enables and the nostalgia it can trigger explicit: Australian feminist theorist Susan Hawthorne, for example, in words resonant with Guyers
assertion that hypertext as a technology is particularly feministfriendly, notes that hypertext is described as a practice wherein ideas
of centre, margin, hierarchy, and linearity are replaced by multilinearity, nodes, links and networks. She writes:
Apart from multilinearity these were words in common usage among
feminists in the 1970s, and multilinearity certainly describes what we were
151
whipped out of our gigantic purses, seemingly personal but made for
show. Perhaps its not surprising that so many feminist hypertexts
make use of family photographs.19 The fat photo wallet is deployed
again in Judy Malloys fictional Its Name Was Penelope, a text that makes
extensive use of photographs. In the work, old photos represent individual memories whose associations are changed each reading as the
photographs are constantly shuffled by the computer.20 While her work
has been compared to the cinematographic montages of Trinh T MinhHas films in which fragmentation and discontinuity simultaneously
lead to opening spaces for multiple readings,21 this kind of digital photographic practice, especially given its thematic relationship to private
domestic space, resonates at the same time with earlier, less experimental feminist work like collage work and quilting, in which the personal
and the visual meet.
Recovering Herstories
Third Generation: A Website Project on Family Photographs and the Rhetoric
of Memories of Nazi Germany and the Holocaust is a lifewriting website
project by Rachel Schreiber, Andrea Slane, and Jael Lehmann that also
uses family photographs to explore the relationship of personal history
to public politics while at the same time continuing the longstanding
feminist project of telling the lost stories of women. Each of the project
members identifies as a granddaughter, positioning herself on the
motherline. Each of the project members was raised looking at these
photographs, along with historical photographs of Nazi atrocities taken
at the end of the war. The photographs, they write, are often ordinary:
holiday celebrations, vacations, family gatherings, portraits but their
larger historical context makes them extraordinary as well.22
Pascal Trudels hypertext Synchronicit also takes domestic themes of
the family album as a space of departure. The project is composed of
ten animations and soundtracks inspired by ten old black and white
photographs of my family, she writes, most of them taken between
1910 and 1940. Like the photographs we see in Third Generation,
Trudels photographs are ordinary, everyday fragments, captured in
albums across families: Two children and their mother / Two boys
and two cats / Two girls and a ball / The brass band / Venice / The
nurses / The wedding / The honeymoon / The young woman / The
labyrinth.23 It is their ordinariness, in fact, that Trudel sees as poetic and
magical photographs so specifically grounded in narratives of family
153
155
may have surprising value, revealing tensions and pathways that prove
to be productive for feminisms. By revisiting 1970s feminist preoccupations in hypermedia a new kind of critical space may be opened up
with fresh answers as to where we might go from here.
This return to the body, arguably this reconstruction of Woman,
here in the digital realm, this return to familiar domestic scenes, can
also be read in the context of being produced by hypertext practitioners
who have no idea that they are engaged in repetition and whose entry
points are various. They are indebted to growing up with the legacy of
feminism in popular culture and a curiously ahistorical cyberfeminist
girl power that at least occasionally gives a nod to both Haraway and
Irigaray. The Web offers a different arena for politics with the possibility
for wide dissemination. Intriguingly, it might well be through this kind
of work, in the context of hypertext projects whose centre is always
shifting, that we will be challenged to arrive at, for example, a real
rethinking of the place of essentialism in feminist thought or the continuing need, across generations, to share individual stories in search of
pattern.
Alongside monstrous reading practices we may wish to bring to
these texts, some of the core imagery online is already pretty monstrous, no longer so easy to imagine as being possible thirty years ago.
Linda Dements inspired little cyberflesh girlmonsters are visually suggestive of the weaving together of cyborg and speculum:
linda dement (ld): I collected body parts from women, they donated
their body parts digitally, and I put those bits and pieces together to create
little monsters. From that I made a work that is really about monstrous
femininity, its like a black comedy, there are little monsters and digital
videos of various monsters behaviours and stories and medical information about the physiology of certain monsters.
miss m: What kind of monsters are they?
ld: Very fleshy, female, conglomerate. All of the monsters are made up of
womens body parts, different body parts. They are conglomerations.
miss m: To give people a picture who have not had the chance to see [the
work] what do you mean by body parts?
ld: Everything. Lots of people sat on the scanner. Weve got hands and
faces, not many though, because its hard to put your face on the scanner,
the lights are too bright. A lot of scars, bums, feet, hands, anything. And by
the time Ive made the monsters you cant really recognize particular
things anymore. They are just strange, fleshy shapes.36
157
NOTES
1 Most of the hypertexts discussed in this paper were visited in 19992000.
2 Carolyn Guyer, Along the Estuary, Mother Millennia, coordinated by Carolyn Guyer (2000), http://mothermillennia.org/Carolyn/Estuary.html.
3 Judy Malloy, Hypernarrative in the Age of the Web (2003), http://
www.well.com/user/jmalloy/neapaper.html.
4 Vannevar Bush, As We May Think, Atlantic, July 1945, 1018.
5 Sadie Plant, The Future Looms: Weaving Women and Cybernetics, in Clicking In, ed. Lynn Hersham Leeson (Seattle: Bay Press, 1996), 134.
6 Carolyn Guyer and Martha Petry, Izme Pass, and Michael Joyce, WOE,
Writing on the Edge 2, no. 2 (spring 1991).
7 Shelley Jackson, My Body: A Wunderkammer, Alt-X Publishing Network
(1997), http://www.altx.com/thebody/.
8 VNS Matrix, Cyberfeminist Manifesto for the Twenty-First Century (1996),
http://sysx.org/vns/manifesto.html.
159
161
163
often largely not intended to speak. Many of these engagements suggest new and different histories. These new or different histories require
that we rethink the place of black people in the modern and postmodern articulations of our times. I am interested in the sight of sound as it
recombines new and old musics to create new sound sculptures that
our ears have not borne witness to before.5 These musics provide a new
history of the ear. They share a discontinuous history with some previous black musics, most of all what is referred to as free jazz or avantgarde jazz, a sound and practice of noise which had to retrain the ears
sensibilities to make it intelligible to listeners. However, these new technologically driven musics occupy a place within black diaspora cultures through which the communicative aspects of transnational
community are maintained and transformed for local consumption, all
the while fitting contradictorily into the networks of global capitalist
relations for these musics are produced for consumption and are consumed. Additionally, these musics are as much related to the very specific personalities who make or create them as they are tied into a
complex network of nightclubs and other parties which provide a transnational network of demand and consumption. However, we should
also be cautious and note that not all consumption is the same. Consumption varies with regards to historical relations of production. Do
black people consume these musics differently from others? Are there
different ways in which black people in Toronto, London, and Detroit
consume these musics? And what about the overwhelmingly large consumption of these musics by white cosmopolitan youth and others?
One cannot be too glib about the complex terrain of consumption and
desire that these computer-driven sounds occupy in contemporary
musical taste cultures. What is crucial is that the music and its consumption must be placed in the discontinuous history of black Atlantic
music-making and its specific historical context.
In W.E.B. DuBoiss seminal text The Souls of Black Folk, music plays a
central role in his suggestion that African Americans have given the
United States any folk culture that it might have. In the chapter Of the
Sorrow Songs popularly known as the Negro spirituals DuBois
suggests that these songs/sounds represent the only authentic cultural
expression of the United States, forged in the crucible of the conditions
of early nation-state formation that of chattel slavery. DuBois writes:
Little of beauty has America given the world save the rude grandeur God
himself stamped on her bosom; the human spirit in this New World has
165
tice was as much about the look of masculinity and a certain kind of
creative insubordination as it was about the performative qualities of
Miles Davis as entertainer. This look of sound as mapped onto the body
of the entertainer takes its ultimate spectacle in Michael Jacksons recreation of himself as a kind of multiracial, deracialized body.8 But the era
of music television has such a profound impact on the look of sound
that a film like The Last Angel must negotiate some difficult terrain in
terms of how to represent sound visually without creating a music
video. In numerous hip-hop videos technology and computer paraphernalia are everywhere seen, but what Akomfrah does is to refuse
the cybernetic as spectacle but to integrate it as one important component of sound. By so doing the film fashions a site of sound, which
engages with the cybernetic as source, and yet something more; that
something more is the cybernetic as cipher of transnational communicative practice a web of historical and contemporary conversations,
disagreements, pleasures, and disappointments.
The Workings of Diaspora
Kobena Mercer, in Diaspora Culture and Dialogic Imagination: The
Aesthetics of Black Independent Film in Britain, writes of a critical
dialogism. For Mercer a critical dialogism allows for a reworking of
both nation and community as multiple. In this way, questions of race
and class are irrevocably linked with questions of gender and sexual
politics. This irrevocable mixing or creolizing of the conceptual terrain
of thinking the Human and therefore thinking community is Mercers
attempt to overturn the oppositional relations of hegemonic boundary
maintenance.9 Mercer continues to argue that critical dialogism questions the monologic exclusivity on which dominant versions of national
identity and belonging are based.10 A generous reading of diaspora
perambulations can be ceded within Mercers conceptualization of critical dialogism. This is so because diaspora concerns itself with both the
national, or more specifically the local, and its outer-national identifications. Critical dialogism allows for both antagonism and connection
within and across the black diaspora as well as within and across
national boundaries. What is at stake within diaspora workings when
we confront moments of critical dialogism is how to understand and
make community. In this way community is struggled over and not
assumed despite or in spite of some common historical moments. Mercer is interested in critical dialogism because he wants to author a the-
ory of aesthetics that can move beyond the invocation of mythical and
singular origins.
Furthermore, Stuart Hall tells us that diaspora is about a point of
departure that does not necessarily only mean a place of origin or an
original homeland. For black peoples, the place of origin is often signalled as that Enlightenment invention of continental space/place
known as or called Africa. In an essay in which he looks at Caribbean
diaspora identities in England, Hall tells us that instead departure
might suggest axes or vectors ... the vectors of similarity and continuity; and the vectors of difference and rapture.11 These vectors signal the
more nuanced and complex facets of black diaspora identifications
instead of a return to origins as a site of certainty and knowability. Hall
is careful to chart history not as a linear progression but rather as meandering and much more Creole than we sometimes are willing to
acknowledge. We shall see shortly how these vectors of difference and
continuity, similarity and rupture, work in Akomfrahs film. Hall also
points out that diaspora identities are those which are constantly producing and reproducing themselves anew, through transformation and
difference.12 Therefore diaspora identities are not locked into uncovering their relation to a lost past, but rather diaspora identities seek to
come to terms with a past interrupted and to make sense of the new
modalities through which life is lived, modalities which recognize both
pleasure and pain, desire and disappointment as the conditions of its
humanity. Hall cautions us and I follow him:
I use the term [diaspora] metaphorically, not literally: diaspora does not
refer us to those scattered tribes whose identity can only be secured in relation to some sacred homeland to which they must at all costs return, even
if it means pushing other people into the sea.
167
black cultures and what Hall calls Prsence Europenne. The central
importance of Kraftwerks The Man Machine to contemporary black
electronic musics is a case in point. This nearness cannot be too easily
overlooked, for it complicates the question of how we might call community into being and how we might understand the historical relations of what community we attempt to call into being in specific
political moments. The European presence in the Americas in relation
to blackness obviously conjures up the violence of colonialism, imperialism, and contemporary racisms. However, the relationship is also
somewhat more complex than the technologies of victimhood used to
subordinate black peoples. As Hall has pointed out concerning the
complexity of the situation:
In terms of popular cultural life, it is nowhere to be found in its pure, pristine state. It is always-already fused, syncretized, with other cultural elements. It is always-already creolized not lost beyond the Middle
Passage, but ever-present: from the harmonics in our musics to the
ground-bass of Africa, traversing and intersecting our lives at every point.
How can we stage this dialogue so that, finally, we can place it, without
terror or violence, rather than being forever placed by it? Can we ever recognize its irreversible influence, whilst resisting its imperializing eye? The
enigma is impossible, so far, to resolve. It requires the most complex of cultural strategies.14
black music. That is, it is more than figuring origins; it is about black
music and something more. The something more is a nation of a community born into but more usefully a community built out of meaningful political dialogue. Even more specifically, I want to suggest that
music is given sight in the film so that the workings of diaspora in its
ephemera, sensibilities, consciousness, material and other conditions,
its disappointments, pleasures and pains, and its political identifications might be partially exposed might be seen. Last Angel, then, is a
double project or what Hall calls the double inscription.15 It seems to
document contemporary black musics and their relationship to technology, and it also seeks to mirror those musics in content and form in
its cinematic language.
Following Hall we can now come to terms with diaspora as being
more than a traumatic dispersal from an original homeland yes it is
that, but it is also much more. To reiterate Hall, diaspora is about
renewal. Last Angel gives sight to the process of renewal through the
cybernetic orderings and disorderings of contemporarily derived technological practices. The real vision of the film is not, I would suggest, in
its Afro-futurism but rather in its unsentimental gaze backwards. As
the Data Thief or narrator tells us, returning home is impossible. Highlighted in the film is the ambivalence of history, genealogy, and archaeology as fixed signals of time, community, and identity. Instead,
something else is being appealed to. It is the displacement, relocation,
and dissemination that Gilroy alerts us to that gives music sight in the
film.16 Last Angel maps a history of the trauma that ushered in contemporary black musicality. By musicality I mean something broader than
music as form and content; I mean an entire cultural apparatus and sensibility encapsulated in something called black sound/music. But also
Last Angel takes this musicality to reframe cinematic language, and this
is where the sight of sound becomes both evident and blackened.
The film itself draws upon black diaspora sonic aesthetics. In particular a cut n mix aesthetic structures the films narrative. That is, the
film refuses linearity in favour of a back and forth, a constant crossing,
a kind of collaging of image and sound text to frame the cut n mix of
black diaspora sensibilities and histories. As Dick Hebdige put it some
time ago: The roots dont stay in one place. They change shape. They
change colour. And they grow. There is no such thing as a pure point of
origin, least of all in something as slippery as music, but that doesnt
mean there isnt history.17 Akomfrah draws on the music and its
untraceable genealogy to produce a film that while aware of the place
169
171
culture of modernity. These musics occupy an ambivalent place in capitalist relations of production not only as exchange value but also
importantly as use-value. It is the use-value of these musics that Last
Angel engages in an archaeological dig into the crossroads for viewers
to see. The crossroads in West African cosmology are places of danger
and possibility where communication can occur, and this notion has
travelled to the New World.20
The trope and language of travel, migration, and movement is central to Last Angel. The language of movement is important to diaspora
aesthetics, forged as they are within the contexts of dislocations and
displacements. The films thematic focus on three musicians who call
on the trope of movement to give sight to their sound Sun Ra and his
Arkestra, Lee Scratch Perry and his Black Ark, and George Clinton and
Parliament and their Mothership Connection brings into the discourse of black diaspora aesthetics and narratives the futurology of the
past. By this I mean that the Exodus narrative is a central aspect of the
narrative myth-making of the black diaspora. This myth understands
black people as being displaced, sometimes roaming in a place they do
not belong to and requiring a necessary return to their original homeland. The iconography of space and alien beings used by these musicians when they visualize their music is as much about futurology and
its potential for liberation from an alienating real world as it is about
the historic alien experiences of black life in the Americas. But the
important thing about renewal in the context of the postmodern world
is not a return to the invented space of Africa, but rather an Africa that
lives through digital and cybernetic relations. A downloadable Africa.
This downloaded Africa is, however, not devoid of its presence and its
present that is, its current and past historical contexts. In the film
Africa is also a specific place with a specific history, and the invocation
of Ghana, in particular, raises many questions concerning issues of
place and displacement as well as citing the filmmakers birthplace.
This citation of birthplace is one way in which the advanced technologies of the music under discussion and the relationship of filmmaking
to Africa as a geopolitical entity are made evident. However, specific
musical trends now cross each other in ways that allow for far more
multiplication than we can sometimes immediately acknowledge.21
The Sight of Sound and a Sonic Diaspora Community
Part of what I am suggesting is that struggles around the making of
community are a central aspect of our thinking about what diaspora
might mean. Issues of community and diaspora raise such questions as:
What kinds of transnational or outer-national political identifications
are worthwhile and useful? What new codes of belonging will be developed that would allow for a much more far-reaching notion of what
constitutes the human? At stake is what Derrick May calls a species
jump in his attempt to argue for a humanizing of technology. This species jump should complicate the categories through which we live out
our social and cultural identities. Last Angel gives two interesting examples of the struggle to make sonic diaspora or digitized community and
their potential pitfalls.
The question of origins lies at the heart of both. For example, the
astronaut Bernard Harris tells us in the film that on an intended tour to
Africa he would be displaying a flag that is a combination of all the
flags of the nations of Africa, since, as a son of Africa he had made it
into space as their representative. Harriss desire to place Africa in a
central position vis--vis his space experience is part and parcel of the
relation between those in the diaspora and the imagined lost homeland.
But the collage flag that he is forced to carry actually highlights the
problem of origins, for his flag cannot pinpoint any one or specific
African place but must instead forge a unity that can only be an
ambivalent and ambiguous site of desire and representation. Harriss
desire to return to origins is already complicated by his having to stake
a claim to an invented Africa. It is, however, an Africa he needs. It is
also an attempt to make community through a particular and specific
appeal to history a history of origins and, in his case, affiliation. Last
Angel returns to Africa as source, imaginary desire, and, importantly, as
a code for understanding modernity as we know it and live it, in all its
viciousness and possibilities.
Similar tensions exist between musicians/DJs Derrick May and A
Guy Called Gerald. Mays and Geralds disagreement centres on the
use of the term jungle. What is interesting about this disagreement is
that it highlights the antagonisms of divergent yet related histories.
May brings to the conversation a U.S. rejection of the term jungle and
therefore cannot understand why black London calls their music Jungle. Gerald, who credits his desire to make music to having heard
Mays music on the radio, has a different history of the term jungle. As
he tells it in the film, Jungle as a name comes out of an area or neighbourhood in Jamaica referred to as the Jungle. Thus black Londons
music takes its name from the back and forth movement between
Jamaica and London. What is highlighted in this debate are the differ-
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175
late capitalist culture. In this way the sight of sound the film offers us is
an archaeology of our present-future. This different archaeology allows
us to assess the ethics of race, nation, community, and diaspora belonging. The film offers up an ethics of what, in the words of desire in Frantz
Fanons Black Skin White Mask, a new humanism or, to cite Derrick
May again, a species jump may look like.
NOTES
1 Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 80.
2 See Andrew Goodwin, Dancing in the Distraction Factory: Music Television
and Popular Culture (London: Routledge, 1992); Simon Frith, Andrew Goodwin, and Lawrence Grossberg, eds, The Music Video Reader (London: Routledge, 1993).
3 Arthur Knight, Jammin the Blues, or the Sight of Jazz, in Representing Jazz,
ed. Krin Gabbard (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1995), 13.
4 Ibid.
5 Quincy Troupe, Avalanche (Minneapolis: Coffee House Books, 1996).
6 W.E.B. DuBois, The Souls of Black Folk (New York: Signet Classics, 1982),
265.
7 Gilroy, The Black Atlantic, 80.
8 See Michael Akward, Negotiating Difference: Race, Gender, and the Politics of
Positionality (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995).
9 Kobena Mercer, Diaspora Culture and the Dialogic Imagination: The Aesthetics of Black Independent Film in Britain, in Blackframes: Critical Perspectives on Black Independent Cinema, ed. Mbye Cham and Claire AndradeWatkins (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1988), 59.
10 Ibid.
11 Stuart Hall, Cultural Identity and Diaspora, in Diaspora and Visual Culture:
Representing Africans and Jews, ed. Nicholas Mirzoeff (London: Routledge,
2000), 24.
12 Ibid., 31.
13 Ibid.
14 Ibid., 30.
15 Stuart Hall, Cultural Studies and Its Theoretical Legacies, in Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies, ed. David Morley and Kuan-Hsing Chen (London:
Routledge, 1996).
16 Gilroy, The Black Atlantic, 80.
Forgetting to Remember
One thing still upsetting me, however, is that no one kept proper records of
meetings or decisions. This led to my failure to recollect whether I approved an
arms shipment before or after the fact. I did approve it; I just cant say specifically when.
Ronald Reagan, Iran-Contra scandal admission1
I have found it so difficult to believe what people told me of what happened
under the Khmer Rouge regime, but today I am very clear that there was genocide ... It was so unjust for those people. My mind is still confused.
Khieu Samphan, former Khmer Rouge leader2
The plaintiff complains that he has been fooled about the existence of gas chambers, fooled that is, about the so-called Final Solution. His argument is: in order
for a place to be identified as a gas chamber, the only eyewitness I will accept
would be a victim of this gas chamber; now ... there is no victim that is not dead
... There is, therefore, no gas chamber.
Jean-Franois Lyotard, The Differend3
The Indonesian army did not kill anybody ... Ive never heard of the civilian
death squads.
Kemal Idris, Indonesian Army General
who oversaw the extermination of the PKI4
Towards the end of his life, Ronald Reagan could remember nothing.
The holes in his memory into which slipped illegal arms shipments,
and much else besides, had opened alarmingly. His memory was all
hole from which no fact, figure, or image could escape. It was not so
much that he had forgotten, it was that he could not remember.
The mind of Khieu Samphan by his own account is still confused.
Like Reagan before, his memory became all black hole. He recognizes
that something happened, but he just cannot say specifically what happened; he too has trouble remembering.
Both these examples of troubled recollection were staged within the
purview of a judicial and forensic apparatus that affirmed the reality of
a historical event whose details called for determination. Plainly put, in
both these cases there had been at least an admission that something had
happened something criminal, something terrible, something whose
details needed to be remembered. Much harder is a process of remembrance where no such apparatus exists, where no event is admitted to
have passed.
This chapter sketches out a practice whose aim is to seek a media
form that might adequately address a history that refuses to recollect its
systematic violence within a judicial, ethical, or forensic frame a
history that nonetheless conjures and casts the spectral threat of that
violence. We propose a practice that is at once intervention and investigation into history as terror, specifically the history of the 19656 Indonesian massacres. This essay reflects upon the implication of the digital
in this practices methods and processes, suggesting ways in which a
hitherto untheorized digital poetics may inform the notion of history
on which the practice is predicated and the mode of historiography
through which it proceeds.
Martyrs and Memory
On the night of 30 September 1965, six of Indonesias top army generals
were abducted and murdered in an abortive coup attempt. Who was
ultimately behind this operation, as well as their final objectives,
remain unclear.5 In a response that appears to have been remarkably
well rehearsed, General Suharto seized control of the armed forces and
instigated a series of nationwide purges to consolidate his power.
The CIA provided radio equipment and arms, MI6 provided black
propaganda (propaganda whose imputed source is the enemy), the
U.S. military provided training and cash, the U.S. State Department
provided death lists, and the Agency for International Development
provided support for youth groups that were groomed to become
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This psychological warfare campaign was part of a systematic extermination program in which anywhere between 100,000 and 2,000,000 people were murdered.11 These figures are impossible: on the one hand,
they are radically deflated and kept from circulation so as to shield the
operation from the condemnation of the international community of
conscience. On the other hand, higher figures, even inflated figures,
are deliberately allowed to circulate threateningly.12 Such divergent
estimates render attempts to count the dead, to recount their history,
and to hold to account the murderers fraught with terrible uncertainty.
That is to say, the trail of noughts in these tallies are more precisely
ciphers in that they mark both mass graves and empty graves graves
waiting to be filled. They are threatening placeholders, as were the
rumoured crocodile holes that supposedly awaited the anti-communist notables and political leaders.
A history of the massacres would be a string of such holes, and the
ciphers in the tallies of the dead form an abysmal archipelago, a network of absences and silences haunted by whispers and by a sometimes spectral, sometimes spectacular, violence. This history itself does
not seek merely to deny or hide its violence but to allow it to circulate as
a haunting force that suddenly, from time to time, flares up in an awesome display of violence.13
Snake River
At the National Security Archive in Washington, DC, an anonymous
and untitled folio of notes records some of what little is publicly known
of the 19656 Indonesian genocide. A Sumatran massacre of 10,500 people is recorded in a typical entry as follows:
CARD NO: 20 143
DATE: NO DATE
INDIVIDUAL: N. Sumatra
ITEM: From North Sumatra came a report of the slaying of 10,500 prisoners, who had been arrested for PKI activities. Their bodies were thrown
into the Sungai Ular.
The Sungai Ular, or Snake River, is distinguished only by its size and
relatively swift flow. It was for this reason that it was chosen as an execution site unlike slower, smaller rivers, the Snake River could be
relied upon to carry the dead out to sea.14 Before the river meets the sea,
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183
vivors imaginatively infiltrate the history from which they have been
excluded. The process offers a medium through which they can
respond to events that they are unable to forget but have been forbidden to remember.
Recording their responses to the contemporary performance of a history of terror, a history that is itself an instrument of terror, allows them
to speak and to speak into their own history. It is a form of memorialization, mourning, and a moment of healing. Perhaps it is a first step
towards justice in a context where no effective judicial framework has
been established or is likely to be established soon.
Yet another histrionic layer is added as this footage re-enactment
overlaid by re-narration and response is used as source material for a
performance by the local Ludruk troupe, a Javanese improvisational
popular village theatre. Ludruk incorporates dance drawn from the
Javanese martial art pencak silat and borrows promiscuously from a host
of sources, high and low. Decidedly carnivalesque, its subversive
mocking of established orders has at times been met with severe official
response. Durasim, widely considered one of the forms greatest talents, was tortured to death by the Japanese military administration in
the early forties.17
The scenes, based on the layered film material, are performed in the
village, to an audience that includes Sharman Sinaga and those he once
terrorized on the London-Sumatra plantation. This show and its reception are also filmed, performance and response together becoming
another stage, another layer. Whereas the staging of Sinagas performance invites a consideration of the connections between history,
memory, trauma, and the politics of genre through a performative
investigation of the ways in which the televisual and cinematic imaginary has shaped historical imagination, this staging suggests the subversive and therapeutic possibilities offered by popular genre forms in
the recovery, recounting, and working through of traumatic memories
and histories that are otherwise repressed or suppressed. Again, the
possibilities of going through the motions are moments not only of
historical recovery but of imaginative transformation. If Sharman
Sinaga demonstrates one mode of revisionism, then the Ludruk appropriation of his performance instances another form of historical
revisioning. These experiments with genre are one passage, one path
towards transformation, towards becoming other. Here lies the redemptive potential of the method. The aim is to both reveal and resist
what the method makes manifest, to imagine oneself as other in the act
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picture of what Colby is saying. With each pass, the lip reader picks out
more and more phrases like from time to time, isolating the population, and sportsmanship. The words from each pass are layered over
the others, each at the same relative point of utterance. This results in a
thick and strangely contoured voice track some moments become
dense with the same words or phrases, a crowd of echoes seemingly to
issue from Colbys mouth. At other moments, different words are read
from the same mouthing, the syllables of each interfering with those of
the others to produce a perverse double- (or triple-) speak. Some words
are picked up on one pass and not another. William Colby is saying different things at the same time; but, of course, he is saying nothing. The
silence beneath the re-narration is telling. It speaks at once of the uncertainty of historical knowledge and of the deliberate attempt to erase it.
In place of an account of the murders, and in place of the voices of the
murdered, we have footage of a small, spectacled man in a suit mouthing banalities in silence. Whereas in the Ludruk performance the spirit
of Colby possessed the performer, here we possess Colby. We speak as
Colby; we give him a voice. As he mimes, he is mimicked, both mocked
and mined for what he withholds. Some historical knowledge is
yielded, and something more is made known of the regional policy that
he was instrumental in shaping and administering. More tellingly, the
banal administration of tremendous power and violence is made to
speak through his silence, and the official history that he authored is
given another voice that speaks out against it. It becomes the material
of a historical imagination it would want to destroy.
This process is a form of archaeological performance. The historical
fragments that are recovered are artifacts of the present. The speech of
the past reaches us only as a contemporary performance.18 Each stage
of the interpretation exerts pressure on the preceding and subsequent
stage yet remains, in itself, distinct. With analogue technology, this process would be all but impossible. Unless one had dozens of small,
portable tape recorders for recording and playing back successive narrations, the best one could do is replace one of two soundtracks on a
videotape or else use a mixer to blend the narrations which could not be
unmixed. Thus, digital technology makes possible a method wherein
each new layer is an addition or a supplement, rather than something
that erases earlier versions. In a project on historical remembrance and
excavation in situ, this is essential.19 A digital palimpsest is fashioned
where overwriting does not entail writing out. Each layer interacts with
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and refracts the others, yet its singular features remain intact. Layering,
of course, is built into the architecture of the editing software.
Digitally layered artifacts pervade contemporary media space. The
process can be heard in any pop song where voices are filled out, in
multi-screen news initiated by CNN, or in the voice-over commentary
on DVDs. For Vision Machine the tools of digital post-production offer
an ideal figure and metaphor. The material infrastructure informs our
conceptual framework and a working methodology of successive reenactment, circling the same gesture, the same scene, the same event,
asking participants to repeat and rehearse, and then relaying these
rehearsals to different participants, projecting them onto each other and
into different generic contexts. Importantly, this process of digital layering allows the figuring of a particular construction of spectrality, of
ghosts informing the quotidian field in which the digital project
unfolds. After all, the history that the project addresses is quite literally
haunted. That is to say, it produces and is populated by ghosts.
The production process must include both the community of spirits
and the fraternity of metaphors. Indeed the video itself has conjured
spectres, precipitated possessions. The domain of ghosts is parallel to,
and distinct from, the world of the living. Yet it occupies the same space.
This spectral realm is not so much contiguous with the corporeal world
as it is co-extensive with it.
Contrast the digital process of layering with the analogue process of
montage. Let us take for example Marcel Ophlss film The Sorrow and
the Pity (1972), which is essentially a montage of testimonies. Memory,
and the resistance to remembering, speak through testimony. It is montage, however, that re-members, puts together fragments of testimony,
articulates memory into historical chapters. This conception of remembering history is predicated on the possibility of recovering and
articulating a coherent and original historical event and truth. This
articulation proceeds by way of a subtle cross-examination whereby
one account is held up to the next, inconsistencies exposed, denials
made to betray themselves, confessions teased out. If in The Sorrow and
the Pity each account that abuts the next in some sense betrays the other
as untrue, the elements are nonetheless the lies from which emerges
the truth a truth against which the lies can be judged even if it can be
arrived at only via these lies.20 The instrument of this cross-examination is montage. The hinge of the edit is the pivot of the scales that
weigh one account against the other, and the totality of accounts
against a notion of justice, truth, and authenticity. Much is in the balance. Thus, Ophls uses montage to deliver justice from history.
Indonesias relationship to the massacres of 19656 remains beyond
the frame of judicial scrutiny, and much of the evidence that might supply a coherent account has been destroyed. Here the judicial figure cannot be drawn on and history has been rendered incoherent by a stillpresent terror; collecting the fragments and gluing them together will
not produce a coherent whole.
Freuds figure of the eternal city is appropriate here. The image of
contemporary Rome superimposed on the sedimented ruins of ever
more ancient settlements served Freud as a spatial metaphor for the
psyche. Freud found the analogy ultimately unsatisfactory, however.
The architectural figure points to the physical impossibility of two
objects occupying the same space (one building can be built only on the
ruins of another), while in the psyche this co-extensivity is achieved.
A spectral co-extensivity structures the field of social relations the
film involves, and digital layering allows working methods, and produces works, structured by the possibilities of a congruent spectral coextensivity.
In his Theses for a Philosophy of History, Walter Benjamin provides
another figure through which to imagine this difference between a process of chronicling structured by syntagmatic contiguity and a historiography that works through successive layering:
Where we perceive a chain of events, he [the angel] sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage upon wreckage and hurls it in front
of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make
whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing from Paradise; it
got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer
close them. This storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his
back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward.
189
tribution, and exhibition. In ways that we hope will go well beyond the
experiments of the twentieth century avant-garde, this is a promise that
Vision Machine hopes to fulfill.
NOTES
1 From a speech broadcast on PBS, 4 March 1987.
2 Seth Mydans, A Top Khmer Rouge Leader, Going Public, Pleads Ignorance, New York Times, 3 January 2004.
3 Jean-Franois Lyotard, The Differend: Phrases in Dispute, trans. Georges Van
Den Abbeele (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1988).
4 From a filmed interview with Vision Machine, 21 July 2004.
5 See especially Benedict Anderson, Petrus Dadi Ratu, New Left Review 3
(MayJune 2000): 9.
6 For excellent background on the United States role, see Peter Dale Scott,
The United States and the Overthrow of Sukarno, 19651967, in Pacific
Affairs 58 (Summer 1985): 23964. For the CIA, State Department, and U.S.
Defense Departments roles, see especially Foreign Relations of the United
States 19641968, vol. 26, documents 142205 (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office). Regarding death lists, see document 185, along
with the research of journalist Kathy Kadane.
7 Paul F. Gardner, Shared Hopes, Separate Fears: Fifty Years of U.S.Indonesian
Relations (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997), 229.
8 See Scott, The United States and the Overthrow of Sukarno, and also John
Pilgers film The New Rulers of the World (2001). See also Jeffrey Winterss
Power in Motion: Capital Mobility and the Indonesian State (Ithaca, NY: Cornell
University Press, 1996).
9 Commander of Kostrad (Indonesian Army Strategic Reserve) General
Kemal Idris, from a filmed interview with Vision Machine, 20 July 2004.
Footage available upon request. Vision Machine cassettes I317 through 20.
10 Benedict Anderson, afterword to Am I PKI or Non PKI? Indonesia 40 (October 1985).
11 Indonesian member of parliament Permadi received the deathbed confession of Sarwo Edhie. In a July 2004 interview, he says Edhie claimed that
two million were killed. The same report appears in Andersons Petrus
Dadi Ratu. The CIA cites a figure of 100,000 in their own research study
internal report, Indonesia 1965: The Coup That Backfired, December 1965.
Robert Cribb cites 500,000 dead in The Indonesian Killings of 1965/6: Studies
from Java to Bali (Clayton, Australia: Monash University Press, 1990).
191
12 So, for instance, though the systematic terror of the massacres was downplayed for an international public, that very terror was deliberately conjured by the CIA six years later, when, going after Salvador Allende, they
sent cards to key figures on the radical left and the ultra-conservative right,
each day for a month, reading Djakarta se acera (Jakarta is coming). See
Scott, The United States and the Overthrow of Sukarno, and also Donald
Freed and Fred Simon Landis, Death in Washington (Westport, CT: Lawrence
Hill, 1980), 1045.
13 Vision Machine interviews with victims families suggest that the trauma of
this spectral threat is always linked to the fear of the spectacular return of the
violence.
14 Rivers like the Sungai Brantas, flowing from Kediri through Surabaya, in
East Java, were choked. See P. Rochijat, Am I PKI or Non PKI? Indonesia 40
(October 1985); Cribb, The Indonesian Killings; Peter Dale Scott, Using Atrocities: U.S. Responsibility for the Slaughters in Indonesia and East Timor,
unpublished monograph.
15 Remembering, Repeating, and Working Through is the essay in which
Freud first outlined his ideas on the compulsion to repeat.
16 Vision Machine film project, The Globalisation Tapes, 70 minutes, 2003.
17 Petra Christian University, Performing Art: Ludruk, Popular Theater from
East Java, http://www.petra.ac.id/eastjava/cities/sby/performing.htm.
18 The contemporaneity of this historical project is important to stress. The
profound violence of 19656 still haunts national life; it is neither spoken
nor unspoken, rather, it is whispered, threatened, insinuated into the subtext of daily discourse.
19 Even where multiple analogue tracks might produce comparable results,
similar experiments with re-narration certainly would not be portable
enough to bring to remote villages in the Sumatran plantation belt.
20 The phrase two lies between which emerges the truth is Susan Lords.
Several of this papers key insights were offered by her.
When this present itself ... has become progressively unmoored from tradition,
when media saturation wipes out spatial and temporal difference, by making
every place, every time available to instant replay, then the turn to history and
memory can also be read as an attempt to find a new mooring ... The art of memory counters aesthetic desublimation and the ideology of the anti-aesthetic.1
Andreas Huyssen, Memories of Utopia
Introduction
With the concurrent emergence of database narratives, copyleft, archive
plundering, file sharing, access to classified documents, we are seeing
new elements and formations of the historiographic imaginary of
media artists. In this essay, I explore the relationship between these elements of digital technologies, archives, and databases in the context of
globalization and the political affinities forged under these conditions.
I argue that there is a historiographic imaginary and an aesthetic specific to this confluence of events and processes, and I use the occasion of
this essay to investigate that imaginary.
The first part of the essay is focused on the post-1968 instability of
futurity, which finds its expression in many social and political forms
(dispersions of identity politics after the end of cohesive structures) and
which in media arts is expressed through the language of the history/
memory debates. The second focus of the essay is on the work by digital media artists from the late 1990s until today. The shift from politics
as a project connected to left history, anchored to class analysis and
struggle, to politics as subaltern emergence, affiliated with decoloniza-
193
195
The abiding concern for class in the political media arts from the
1960s to the 1980s was inextricable from a historical consciousness
about political life; that is, to be left was to be historical insofar as the
future was thinkable. The image banks that constitute the work undertaken by Marker or Sara Diamond, for example, can be understood as
having emerged from a process of working through the problematic
polarity between historical consciousness and memory work: images
taken from public archives are set within a Brechtian fiction (Diamond)
or poised against the personal archives of social subjects of the
documentaries; personal testimonies are set against public records; and,
in Diamonds own personally derived works, layers of memory are
strewn between and disturb the public face of the loved one. The dual
work on history raises a series of questions relevant beyond the specifics of any one artists work. What do we want from the past? What longing is the image performing? Is the image from the past activated by an
interrogation of its status as truth or is the image from the past an
unquestioned testimony of injustice? But what meaning for the present
or future is suffering supplying for us? The answer to this question, as
posited from a Marxist position, is the fact of the continuity of oppression. This consciousness is what motivates the assemblage of a left
archive and what informs the montage of sequences. In an article analysing Patricio Guzmns films about Chile, memory, and history, Tho-
197
privileged spectator allowed into the wings, in contact with the image,
entering into the image.13 The function of the image for thought
(Deleuzes question) raises different questions than does the status of
the image in relation to its historical referent, its status as document or
visible evidence. Deleuze and Daneys periodization is helpful for
understanding the work of media artists who think history in terms of
images. The modern event the holocaustal event which White
discusses as that which exists as image, was confronted by filmmakers
such as Alain Resnais as a problem for seeing: can I bring myself to
look at what I cant help seeing.14 Behind the image is nothing: You see
nothing as El says to Elle in Hiroshima Mon Amour; thus it is the surface
of the image itself that we must learn to read as it unfolds before us.
Montage became secondary, giving way not only to the famous
sequence shot, but to new forms of composition and combination.15
The new-media artist of the contemporary period works within the
third phase of periodization; and this idea of slipping into an image
because each image now slips across other images could best be understood in terms of streaming. In the shift in historiographic practices
from sequence to stream, the works reflect on the political, ethical, and
aesthetic stakes and possibilities of spacetime compression, instantaneity, simultaneity, and so forth that arise with the confluence of globalization and digital media. The vertical historiographic imaginary of
these practices is one built on a given of the intense interconnectivity of
global flows. Sean Cubitts chapter in this volume is concerned to
present a specificity of the digital aesthetic. Networks and connectivities
of technologies of capital become the content of works whose ostensible
subjects are unavailable to the sequential forms of representation:
In the information economy, the nodes are functions of their networks.
The global today is necessarily prior to the local, especially those localities
that, like the border-free trade zones of Tijuana studied by Coco Fusco, are
sites of oppression. The reality of a woman forced into prostitution by the
strategic requirements of the global economy cannot be photographed. No
indexical account, anchored in the preeminence of the local in industrial
culture, would be sufficient to understand the forces acting on her. A photograph would only stir the sentimentality defined a hundred years ago
by the novelist Meredith: pleasure without responsibility. Responsibility
today derives not from empathy, and certainly not from metropolitan prurience, but from understanding the networks that force her into this double economic and sexual oppression. The task of an iconic art is no longer
199
to depict but to articulate the symbolic regimes that describe, define and
give meaning both to her experience and to that of her oppressors, who
include every user of the computers she builds when not supplementing
her non-union subsistence wages with sex labour in the tourist economy.
The digital artwork must be networked, and the formation of alternative
networks is a critical function of them.16
In Skollers elaboration of this form of historiography in the experimental traditions, he turns to Eleanor Antins The Man without a World, Ken
Jacobs Urban Peasants, and Daniel Eisenbergs Cooperation of Parts. Each
of these films reflects on the Jewish cultural histories that were lived
out during and after the Holocaust. The indeterminacy between events,
the simultaneity of events, and the unfulfilled or unrealized possibilities of the past are qualities that adhere to works such as the database
narrative Tracing the Decay of Fiction by Pat ONeill (in conjunction with
the Labyrinth Project at USCs Annenberg Center for Communication);
the Recombinant History Projects Terminal Time; Linda Wallaces Living
Tomorrow; and Ross Gibson and Kate Richardss Life after Wartime. For
each of these works, the structure exposes or thematizes the dual
processes of selection and combination that lie at the heart of all stories.20 The coeval relation between events is heightened through the
deployment of a random dynamic between archive and database. For
example, Gibson and Richardss Life after Wartime is a CD-ROM and
installation project that comprises images from an archive of crime
scene photographs from Sydney, Australia, from 1945 to 1960 combined
with remains of text fragments that function as captions to the images
when the work is played. The combination of digital archive and
random-selection database yields a heightened sense of simultaneity,
temporal interconnectivities, and vertical narrative structures. The
explanatory text for the CD-ROM underscores the select and combine
historiographic mode:
There are 2 scenes in the Life After Wartime CD-ROM. In the first, choose
from the image stream by clicking on an image. After 3 choices an image/
text/music sequence plays. Choices in scene 1 influence the image flow in
that scene. Each choice in scene 1 is constructing a web-like meta-narrative
in the other scene, forming around various characters and locations. These
are represented by accumulated glimpses, rumours and facts. Hold
the mouse down on the glimpses thumbnails to see the enlarged image.
Toggle between scenes using the spinning icon. The ESC key returns you
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to the startup screen at any time without affecting progress (click on PLAY
to continue). It will take you hours to explore Life After Wartime. It is recommended that you SAVE/LOAD your progress from the startup
screen.21
In her exhibition text for Linda Wallaces work Living Tomorrow, Victoria Lynn elaborates on the connection between streaming, layering,
and the indeterminacy of the archives limits: Linda Wallace has created an archive of images which are transferred into Mpeg2 files that
then (in Lindas words) peel away from the database, streaming
(metaphorically) into the three separate yet connected screens you see
here. The question raised by the work is: where does the archive begin
and end and where does the interface to it begin and end? She further
discusses the digital artists work by differentiating it from the modernist montage: The digital stream makes montage dynamic. While a
collagist travels through imagery and memory at their work table, an
electronic media artist can travel through imagery within space and
time, distorting, reversing, editing, remixing, splintering, fragmenting,
pivoting, mirroring, masking and layering through software filters.22
What we need to add to this formalist approach is the political concerns
that inhere not just as content but as that which yields specific forms.
In post-colonial and globalization studies, the representational strategies employed to address the radical temporalities that emerge in the
contexts of cultural difference and the politics of decolonization have
been analysed by writers such as Homi Bhabha and Dipesh Chakrabarty, as well as Latin Americanists such as Nestor Garcia Canclini and
Angel Rama, who have been influenced by Fernando Ortizs theory of
transculturation. Bhabha and Chakrabarty in particular argue that the
analysis of the social formations and cultural enunciations of temporality permit us to think other forms of worlding (Chakrabarty) as coexistent and as possible.23 As Bhabha has written: What is in modernity more than modernity is the disjunctive post-colonial time and space
that makes its presence felt at the level of enunciation.24 In Latin American studies, Canclini and Rama advance Ortizs theories of transculturation, as opposed to acculturation, as a means by which to understand
how cultural difference fractures the time of modernity.
In the formation of cultural identity in cross-cultural encounters there
are, of course, various cultures of time and accompanying orders/theories of history: aesthetic-narrative, economic-rationalist, national-monumental, cultural-ritualist, gender-psychic, revolutionary-utopian, and
so forth. And these larger or macro-temporalities never exist one without another; nor do they exist without a correlative practice in everyday
life. These macro-temporalities come into existence as such with modernity, and hence with colonialism and with the difference the encounter
brings into history. Of the many Eurocentric traps available to the critic
studying cultures of time is one laid out extensively in Johannes
Fabians Time and the Other. His critique concerns the moral, ethical, and
epistemological consequences of anthropologys advancement of colonialism through the tool of evolutionary time (the sequentialization/
spatialization of time): It promoted a scheme in terms of which not only
past cultures, but all living societies were irrevocably placed on a temporal slope, a stream of Time some upstream, others downstream.
Civilization, evolution, development, acculturation, modernization
(and their cousins, industrialization, urbanization) are all terms whose
conceptual content derives, in ways that can be specified, from evolutionary Time.25 Written in 1983, this critique of Eurocentric, modern
anthropology is now familiar, and specific variants have been vigorously taken up in ethnography and documentary film studies. Particularly useful to the digital forms of database narratives and recombinant
histories is his corrective: an argument for coeval temporality. He
argues that because the history of the discipline of anthropology reveals
that the use of naturalized-spatialized time almost invariably is made
for the purpose of distancing those who are observed from the time of
the observer, a critical praxis can be built through, first of all, a recognition of the contemporaneity and synchrony of observer/observed.
Two works that are particularly interesting to consider in terms of
this idea of coeval temporality within the context of colonial history and
globalization are Terminal Time and Vision Machines ongoing project
about the genocides in Indonesia. Terminal Time is well described and
analysed by Steve Anderson in Past Indiscretions: Digital Archives and
Recombinant History26 and Vision Machines project is presented by
two of the collective members, Michael Uwemedimo and Joshua Oppenheimer, in this volume. Briefly then, Terminal Time, created in 2000
by a group of artists, computer scientists, and filmmakers, is an artificial intelligence-based interactive multimedia apparatus that constructs
real-time historical documentaries covering the past 1000 years of
human history. The database consists of thousands of image stills, commentaries, and video clips. The recombinant histories produced from
this material are broken down into three parts representing three
epochal periods of time. The interactivity is enacted through audience
responses to the presentation of the apparatus (survey questions are
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measured and coded through the use of an applause meter) first in the
form of genuine responses to survey questions that are intended to
refine and focus [the audiences] attitudes towards ideologies of race,
gender, colonialism, technological positivism, etc. The content of the
documentaries reflects a slightly exaggerated version of the audiences
stated values; and in the second presentation they are asked to elicit
different responses to the apparatus. These are then recombined, and
the apparatus presents a final version that reveals the structuring of historical thinking and ideological interests in history, as well as the layering of discontinuities, webs of stories, and the coeval temporalities of
contested interests in historical events. According to Anderson, Terminal Time presents a three-pronged critique of documentary conventions,
historical authorship and utopian discourses of interactivity ... Terminal
Time offers a form of participatory history in which individuals and
groups are positioned as possessing the potential to radically alter conceptions of the past.27
Terminal Times politics of time is activated through its performative
layering of historys construction, as well as through its critical deployment of the technology of storage and retrieval systems, artificial intelligence, communications industries, and foreshadowed paths of
history. While all of Terminal Times facts are true, the apparatus is
interested in demonstrating the productive power of the false.
Vision Machines project also works with documentary material and
participant-observers, but here the interactivity is not given to database
narratives but to re-enactments and digital layerings of evidence and
interpretation, obfuscation and silence. While ideology critique is certainly an effect of their project, the trauma that lies at the heart of Snake
River and The Globalization Tapes requires a different mode of analysis:
digital layering of historical excavation and histrionic reconstruction,
which combine to produce what they call an archeological performance. The historiographic method produced by Vision Machine produces a density most usefully understood in terms of sideshadowing
because the history is literally haunted with an unrepresentable and
irrecoverable history of the genocide of between 100,000 to 2,000,000
Indonesians during the anti-communist campaign of terror that began
in October 1965. The innumerability is also used as a form of terror. As
Uwemedimo and Oppenheimer explain, To excavate the history of the
massacres, Vision Machine has developed a research and production
method that is perhaps best thought of as an archaeological performance. Between a buried historical event, and its re-staging with historical actors, this method opens a process of simultaneous historical
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That is, the ostensible fact is a productive fiction. The project produces
documents based in the declassified and partially declassified materials from the United States government; as well, they work with the way
in which the government documents classified material that is, the
way the state creates its archive of secrets.
The Speculative Archive is interested in the way state self-documentation functions to produce both a particular history and a potential
history a fork in time that brings multiple secrets into a type of composite. For example, their tape Its Not My Memory of It is composed
of three sets of potentialities, each one opening with an interview given
by a government official involved in the regulation and release of
secret material. The confidence of power that gives agency to these
officials and the way in which a particular historiography is produced
by the culture of secrecy are themes that in themselves deserve attention. I want to briefly discuss the first of the three parts. It opens with
Charlie Talbott deputy director of the Directorate for Freedom of
Information and Security Review in the Pentagon speaking about
how the Freedom of Information Act functions. He provides an example of how in the time of the Iran hostage crisis during Jimmy Carters
administration the Washington Post requested all the top-secret information on the crisis; ten years of litigation later, thirty-two linear feet of
paper was reduced to one linear foot. He explains the way in which
declassification guidelines work and so forth. After his testimony, the
tape continues with a rescued document: a text that had been shredded
by the U.S. embassy in Tehran, rescued by a group of Iranian students,
and pieced back together. The Speculative Archives project here is to
animate the restoration of the text, with a voice-over of a subject of the
text an Iranian man named as a CIA informant. In the animation of
the text, strips of shredded paper are aligned and realigned in an effort
to bring sense to the text. The voice-over analyses the various potentialities of meaning in the recombinant secrets as they are streamed
before us.
Walid Raad and the Atlas Group is virtual and is located between
Beirut and New York City. In the projects use of fictive and historical
data of the Lebanese wars, it undertakes the unmaking of the archive
and its atrocity aesthetics by deploying the power of the false and a
constellational historiographic mode facilitated by digital processes.
While the Atlas Group is the virtual diasporic name of Walid Raads
art context and collaborative network, Raad himself appears with the
work, performing the inevitable artists talk as an extension of the work
of debilitating the fetishization of fact. In one instance of this perfor-
mance, Raad, while performing the set up for the presentation projected his computers desktop on the screen. The desktop is replete with
folder icons, each given a precise archival title such that in combination we see the potentiality of a complex history. In fact, each folder is
empty producing one moment in a virtual historiography of the Lebanese wars. Other elements in the project include a videotape of The
Dead Weight of Quarrel Hangs, archival photographs from media events
where important political and military figures are shown standing
around bomb craters, an installation sculpture of one such bomb crater,
a digital database of information about the Lebanese wars, and material
from a historian of Lebanon. This diary is filled with notations related
to the horse races attended by Prof. and other intellectuals. The concern
over the winning horse, the timing of that win, and so forth are at once
obsessional absurdities of the control, precision, and measurement of
facts that anchor war to both capital and national history, and are
expressive of the sense of the gamble of history, the random access to
events, the impossibility of certainty, and the incompossible relationship between chance and structure. This mapping of virtual history is at
once fictive and virtually true. The relationship between chance and
structure is expressed here by one critics description of a part of the
project:
Generally, My Neck is Thinner than a Hair deals with the history of car
bombings during the civil war. Specifically, it delves into one particular
explosion, a car detonated in the Beirut neighborhood of Furn al-Shubbak
on January 21, 1986. With colleagues Tony Chakar and Bilal Khbeiz, Raad
formed a research team of sorts, gathering anything they could get their
hands on, and limiting their search to a fifty-three-day frame. The three
assembled press reports, television news footage, radio programs, and
interview transcripts. They trawled through the neighborhood and interviewed people living there now about the bombing.29
The Atlas Group resists the atrocity aesthetics that are inevitably produced through the victimologies of documentary projects by interceding with potential narratives and random structures of composition.
Conclusion
The storied or fabular nature of historical knowledge the meaningfulness given to fact has been taken by new-media artists as a given,
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209
211
Deep Media
But there are surface media, and there are deep media. On the surface
are all those particular media of which we are normally aware, because
they are immediate to us and are the media with which our bodies and
senses directly interface (the computer terminal our hands are typing
upon, the electric light our eyes are ranging across, the roads our vehicles are traversing, the radio our ears are hearing). Deep media, however, are never immediate to us, as they underlie the current production
and existence of surface media themselves (machinery behind the electronic network, the labouring body behind the machinery, the electronic network behind the weapons of mass destruction). When you
have a deep medium that is dominant in a society, that underlies at
some level all or most other media (hence social communication and
individual subject formation), you have the oral or print cultures
described by McLuhan, the gift or commodity cultures described by
Mauss, or the artisanal and feudal or industrial and capitalist cultures described by Marx.2 Whether deep media are thought more in
terms of language systems, or of economic or other systems, their function has always been grounded in symbolic exchange and the reproduction of values, which is to say, a signifying system, a textuality.
I might set before myself a typical commodity, say a small tin can
containing cocktail sausages. Such a tin does not simply present to me
the anticipated referent within, of course, but also communicates to me
its label, the image, the printed text, and a whole world of fantasy and
desire, a mythology of weiner-sausageness the depths of whose connotations only Roland Barthes could plumb, and whose commodification
only Andy Warhol could completely de-reify in the absurdity of a
restored human creative gesture. It does all this, even as it also presents
the can itself, which I try to forget, but which Ive bought into the
world of preserved food storage that structures my diet, of industrial
processes and countless scientists, investors, managers, labourers, who
make the can, refine the metal, dig the ore, etc. the whole world of
global work and movement of capital which makes this unobtrusive
little thing possible, as Marx reminds us. There is a great grinding, suffering, joyous world a world that is no more or less than a particular
and powerful, perhaps precarious, condition of our present history
produced and reproduced, which is to say textualized and communicated, in my purchase and consumption of these sausages. This is a
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size and discontent, because the work that most people can do is no
longer valuable in the virtual factory and marketplace. The poor are
freed from commodified labour, and indeed from alienation as such.
This is a profound gain, perhaps, but must come at the cost of the social
wealth, which remains in the hands of the few still locked inside the
capitalist cage (who can perhaps fetishize, as in the white appropriation
of rap, the dispossessed creativity glimpsed without). On the other
hand, for these few themselves, the experience of virtual play on the
Internet, in the game world floats up like a mirror image of this real,
tragic freedom, even as it is recontained in the commodity form of specialized leisure products. For the leisure time of the virtual reality (VR)
user is, as has often been pointed out, dependent on the devalued work
time of an underclass. Behind every screen is a sweatshop. The homeless kid roams the pavement while the computer kid surfs the Web, the
dialectical twins of a new age. Not the digital user but the underclass is
the real, if immiserated, subject of the new economy. The userclass
knows its uncanny kinship, and wears the digital nomad like a second
skin, a tattoo.
The digital revolution is not, therefore, a merely technological one,
because the distribution of wealth can be unfair under any conditions.
Digitization can only create the situation wherein a human revolution
can begin, whereby production may be seized in the name of new values because, unlike in the past, its technology has exhausted one system of value creation and opened up the possibility of another.
Centrally, the value of labour time the sheer temporality of human
effort in production that is shucked off by the new commodity is
ready for new energies to inhabit and expand, without any common
principle of organization, without a negotiated plan.
Bungled Time
These are precisely the new digital media parameters explored by Stanley Kim Robinsons epic novels of the civilization of Mars: the power of
digitized analysis, production, and automation is there complete, and
all that is left is to create a human world in which this power is justly
distributed with revolution.6 But the new temporality is also curiously thematized. The twenty-four-hour Earth clock keeps on ticking,
but an extra fifty-some minutes spills open at midnight, when the
clocks stand still and time is set free to signify the difference of the
Martian day.
215
217
tage point, reveals itself to be violence directed toward VR itself, for not
being real (enough) that is, violence directed toward VR as a real
product, and its personas as the productions of real people. Hence Mr
Bungles desire, not to indulge fantasy violence in a VR game with
merely VR characters (like a video game), but to strike out at fellow VR
users themselves, through their created personas, and specifically at
the illusion of power (the users as their own producers, rather than the
interfering Mr Bungle, i.e., modern economy) of VR. Mr Bungles voodoo dolls actions may thus be read as overdetermined performances of
alienation both for Mr Bungle (as doll) and his victims (ventriloquized). It is this violating appropriation of others work of creation,
rather than the imaginary abuse alone which doubles it in content, that
is so horrifying, and so uncanny. For VR, Mr Bungle is the return of the
repressed.
Gates in Time
Mr Bungles story expresses in digital aesthetics the archaic tragic structure as opposed to romance of the digital revolution. If Mr Bungle is
a kind of sadomasochistic double of the repression of the real in VR, he
is from this perspective akin to the normal user, even as he is from
another, a deviant a kind of structural fate or revenge. For his readers,
the suffering inflicted by his virtual crimes is not simply evil, but revelatory and, as Dibbell says in his title, productive of a new kind of community. This is digital tragedy.11 Does the tragedy belong to life or to
art? Is the virtual communitys ongoing re-creation of itself through
narrative text an art or everyday life? The shifting ontologies of VR and
RL make these questions difficult to answer. If MUDs are a sign of
things to come, these questions point to the end of art as mastery of
form in commodifiable space and to its rebirth as mastery of initializations in a postcommodity flux, of the gateways in what Lord and
Marchessault call our fluid screens.
For the artist in a VR community like LambdaMOO or There can only
be identified by productions (narrative actions, object creations) that
stand apart by initiating or diverting the flow, by producing new gates
which send the digital user toward the unseen creative depths, limits,
and possibilities of the virtual medium. The programmer who creates
or alters the software foundation of a MUD is thus engaging in artistic
production, just as any user is who, like Mr Bungle, sets new parameters for self and community reproduction in VR. Of course, while Mr
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Bungles user, and perhaps the VR programmer, merely indulge in fantasy or dream creation along with the culture industry at large (Cubitt
has said that MOOs articulate an infantile maternal world),12 the work
of the artist will always be what T.S. Eliot called disciplined dreaming:
play grasped precisely as work, in the symbolic rather than imaginary
orders. For the digital artist, immersed in the flow of the deep medium,
producing new origins and parameters from within, rather than
expressive forms from without, a tragic embrace of the suffering-liberating ambivalence of the digital revolution is unavoidable.
The form of the virtual work of art is contingent not only on its media
and mediation but on the past and future work of others; it finds completion as product in the propagation of work beyond it. For this reason
the VR community is not just one digital product among others, nor
simply the dialectical antithesis of a real-life digital society described
above. The VR community is the tendential product of any radical or
fully immersed digital art. This is most readily seen in digital art created in interactive surface media, as in interactive installations and
Internet programs. But it is also echoed in spectator surface media, such
as digital theatre, video, and cinema.
Interactive Spectacle
Peter Lunenfeld describes the CD-ROM installation work created by
Graham Harwood, A Rehearsal of Memory, as just such a tragic gate:
Harwood went to Ashworth Mental Hospital in Liverpool, where he
recorded the thoughts and memories of the inmates ... [He] scanned the
inmates bodies, stored them in memory (note that Rehearsal of Memory
abbreviates as ROM), radically modified the raw images, and created a
series of composite naked figures to form the ground for his interactive
work. Using a mouse, users scroll across Harwoods patchwork prisoners.
As they pass over this fleshy sea of scars and tattoos, users trigger memories: with sounds from the hospital resonating in the background, the
patients offer anecdotes about their crimes and sufferings.13
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in both form and content. It alternates between two spaces, real and
virtual: the real concerns a woman searching the computer memory of
a vanished friend, never seen in the film; the virtual concerns the history of the Japanese island of Okinawa during the Second World War,
which is digitized in the friends computer memory, at a hidden depth
of digital architecture cryptically coded level 5. The VR community
explored by the film is twofold, since both the relationship between
the missing friends (the communication between their very souls) is
now in VR, and on a larger scale, the relationship between the French
present and the Japanese past (the communication of history as social
memory) is also in VR. The one VR is allegorical of the other. The personal and the public are alike digitized communities, each confronting
the recognition of hardly representable suffering and the creative value
of survival.
The gates in Level Five are the characters that is, there are no characters. There are only text and image traces that function as somatic and
cognitive gates, allowing memory to flow without pooling or stabilizing in any character (woman or man) or setting (Paris or Okinawa, past
or present). The digital production is not technological, then, for either
of these VR communities. It is insistently intersubjective, dependent on
the navigations of the user the woman or the cinematic audience. For
the woman user represented in the film, who navigates in this way, this
kind of work is bewildering enough. For the passive user of Markers
digital cinema, who must develop an imaginary identification with this
work in VR but cannot navigate it him or herself, the horror is twofold.
There is a sense of failed navigation or paralysis of memory viewing
the othered work of the film, ones own work excluded from it. This
effect of the organization, the parameters set in the organization of the
surface medium, fuses with the horror of failed navigation or paralysis
of history itself, (not resisting) the tragedy of Okinawa: (not viewing)
the work beyond the film. Like A Rehearsal of Memory, the work is a call
to remember oneself in digital flows into, out of, and apart from the
work of others.
Tragedy grasped as the double-edged, utopian and terrible, spectacle
of digital immersion in history is also witnessed in Daniel David
Mosess play of light across and through and in and out of the open
face of the planet, the stage drama Kyotopolis (1993).17 Here the digital
production using sound and video to create VR spaces and worlds
which interact with real ones evokes not the past, but the future, that
almost present dream of the city of tomorrow, which is the global
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Indian village. Moses recasts the digitally transformed and interconnected world, foreseen by McLuhan, as the re-appropriated product of
Native history, and its real and virtual communities as the extended
relations of Native family. At the heart of the drama are three characters
more virtual than real: Babe Fisher, a little Indian girl who is the star of
a VR community of Little People mediated by television (but who is
now literally lost in space, her only trace the televised image of a rotating spacecraft, her face perhaps at the window); Tommy Hawk, an
Indian clown who is host of and presiding genius behind the Little
People TV program (a shape-shifter whose production studio is a Batcavesque hideout inside a Hawaiian volcano); and Mary Oh, a VR
media celebrity (and grown-up Little Person, who seeks the life story of
the orphan Babe). It is the latter plot, the utopian (because global village) identification of the non-Native with the Native character, and the
suffering she must confront and work through as she pushes this identification further into the truth of Babes life, that is central and the tragedy of Kyotopolis. In a word, as VR communities perform a (utopian)
reverse-assimilation of non-Native to Native life and history, RL society
persists in the (oppressive) appropriation of Native to non-Native prejudice and economy.
This dialectic is played out by Mary, who must ultimately confront
the (real) joyous, creative power of the digital trickster Tommy as well
as the (real) exploitation and misery of the virtual idol Babe. For Mary
and the other characters, and for us, Babes death is explicitly Christlike: she becomes the hurt and loss at the centre of things that allows
the characters to turn and talk to each other she becomes their part
real, part virtual, common ground. Near the end of the play, a cycle of
projected images appears in the chaotic wake of a butterfly:
The butterfly disappears into a shadow as the other pulsing places, the
projected petroglyphs and city and Milky Way, also return, in their
cycling, and the space station, Moon Two, rises above a clearing bank of
clouds. Its moon bright and large, a spectacle of rings and squares,
spheres and cubes a gigantic high technology astrolabe, a turning tesseract, a future spirit catcher.18
words of the others to complete her own dream, and the work of the
others to complete her life. As a drum beats at the close of the play
each beat a pulse of energy, a digital unit of light in dark Babe finds
her steps and dances away on this path.
Zero Work
The digital world has produced its romances. McLuhans was perhaps
the first: the digital world as an apocalyptic good, an ultimate freedom
of the senses that is, the senses of that literally unlimited and indeterminate human community he called the global village to interact
totally and simultaneously. McLuhan imagined the totality of human
existence as a single, interconnected work of art which meant the final
ranging of forces of good and evil toward some unthinkable utopian or
dystopian future. But the romance of the digital has taken many forms
since: an enthusiasm for unregulated, public forums, or for interactive
play, as democratic ideals; or for the disruption of orthodox notions of
the text or the self in digitally structured communication. Of course,
everything we do in media as artists or otherwise has a value-laden
purpose, belongs to some romance, that someone some cybertopian
or cyberphobe might expose. What my digital sausages warn me is
that the digital is not one vehicle for such values or romances among
others. It is not one thing out there among other things, good or bad,
but is now everywhere, has all other media as its content. We consume
and incorporate it everywhere. Hence digitization is not something
new coming into the world to tip the balance toward good or evil. It is
the balance. It is beyond good and evil.
This is where the idea of digital art is most interesting not when it
purveys another romance to consume of the good, the democratic, the
liberating but when it (equally) astonishes us, in a manner seductive
or terrifying, by descending into the digital as mundane, as everyday,
as the ultimate technological exercise of power over time itself, as the
closest thing to the language of the will deployed across time, which
Nietzsche failed to dream of, except as music. Nietzsche thought of
music as the medium closest in form to the reality of power and historical time as an unpredictable, blithe, or turbulent rhythm. But what
Nietzsche really saw was not time, but the mastery of time as history
(but also the unmasterability of time as history) that music stood for
the barely imaginable, ultimate technical rhythm of human control over
nature and remastering of communication, the rhythm precisely of
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smallest, virtual units in time, the rhythm of the digital. The digital is
Nietzsches true element willful yet mercurial, ephemeral yet consequential, seducing and flaming. It is worth trying to imagine what tragedy born not from the spirit of music, but from the spirit of digitization
would be like. It will not at present be sweetness and light; it may not be
recognizable as culture. It is always, already too degraded to be separated out as culture. It is always, already impertinently insisting upon
the mediating, artificial, commodifying rhythms of digital engines
chugging away beneath any message, any moment of time, any work of
art and its audience. We dont like to look at that, even as, with tragic
fascination, we do.
But digital tragedy is perhaps a way of thinking of degradation, of
the fate of media, as itself a creative process, with an immediacy that no
other media could have. That is, degradation, or digitization, is human,
is somehow and radically our own (not out there beyond us, as in market forces or new technologies, but within us, yours and mine). This
degradation must be thought of, as Sean Cubitt says of textual communication, as a kind of sociality degree zero, or social noise,19 in whose
digital form the terrible and seductive flux of time as history reveals
itself, but at least reveals itself in a virtual mirror of collective desire, as
a material, malleable, human thing. We must inhabit this zero that is no
longer void but has to be rethought as a kind of solidity: a break in the
flow that marks the negentropic intervention of intelligence, human or
technological, in the timeless time of the electromagnetic.20 We may
justly believe, therefore, in a utopian role for art today; but if it is to
come from digital art, it will perhaps have to come from this overcoming of time as masterful objectification and degradation, and release us
to new possibilities for, because also beyond, our sense of pleasure and
work alike.
NOTES
1 Sean Cubitt, Digital Aesthetics (London: Sage, 1998), 234.
2 A theoretical note on deep media: The cultures I list here are all multiple
media social formations encompassing a heterogeneous array of material
and institutional technologies, economic practices, and zones of sensory and
psychical experience. The concept of deep media is not totalizing but generalizing. A deep medium is pervasive enough to affect all other media
(including the negative effect of marginalization or transvaluation of media
5
6
7
outside its realm) and the zones of experience they produce, while itself
remaining only sporadically or partially affected by other media. For example, digital technology has completely transformed personal written correspondence, but personal written correspondence cannot be imagined, in
similar proportion, to have transformed digital technology. For McLuhan,
media were not only ways of communicating but ways of knowing, feeling,
and making (of making things, or making things happen). As extensions of
ourselves, media translate us, create us, numb us, and excite us, in countless
specific and different ways. Even so, the deep media that I have called dominant in this regard, at the bedrock of culture, cannot be identified with what
Marxists have called modes of production. The latter term is a historicist one
that already signifies human power over what gets made for whom, and
why; it enfolds group values and decisions that are properly institutional.
Deep media may profoundly affect our subjective lives, but they are not
themselves other than objective processes. A mode of production is perhaps
best thought of as the intersection of human institutions which create, distribute, and adjudicate value, with a dominant or deep medium. Postmodern critics, both Marxist and non-Marxist, remind us that these institutions
are also multiple and irreducible to a total system, so that we speak of a
dominant institution such as contemporary capitalism as a mode of production in the understanding that we are speaking of a general condition rather
than a dystopian or utopian unity. In shorthand, it is now possible to identify social and economic institutions as modes of information, a dominant
mode of institutional formation as a mode of production, and the dominant
technology of interface or translation among institutions as a deep medium.
Jim Davis and Michael Stack, The Digital Advantage, in Cutting Edge: Technology, Information, Capitalism, and Social Revolution, ed. Jim Davis, Thomas
Hirschl, and Michael Stack (London: Verso, 1997), 12144.
Given current world population and pressure on resources, an end to scarcity is hardly imaginable, nor a struggle between classes for control of
them. Rather than posit a Marxian class revolution on the grounds of such
class struggle, Davis and Stack postulate (contra Marx) a redistribution of
wealth that should follow from the end of productions of surplus value,
hence the end of capital accumulation as such.
Davis and Stack, The Digital Advantage, 128.
Kim Stanley Robinson, The Mars Trilogy, 3 vols (New York: Bantam, 19936).
Julian Dibbell, A Rape in Cyberspace; or How an Evil Clown, a Haitian
Trickster Spirit, Two Wizards, and a Cast of Dozens Turned a Database into
a Society, in High Noon on the Electronic Frontier: Conceptual Issues in Cyberspace, ed. Peter Ludlow (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996), 37595.
227
8 Clive Thompson, The Making of an X-Box Warrior, New York Times Magazine, 22 August 2004, 35, 36.
9 Dibbell, A Rape in Cyberspace, 377.
10 Cubitt, Digital Aesthetics, 16.
11 I am drawing on Raymond Williamss notion of tragedy as a historical genre
in which disorder is suffered in order to reshape and renew a community
in short, for modernity, a viable aesthetic for revolution.
12 Cubitt, Digital Aesthetics, 16.
13 Peter Lunenfeld, Snap to Grid: A Users Guide to Digital Arts, Media, and Cultures (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000).
14 Toshio Iwai, Ugo Ugo Lhuga (Fuji Television, Japan, October 1992March
1994).
15 Whereas either pleasure or violence is an implicit, if powerful, register of
the tragic gateways digitized above, their complicity itself is the explicit
theme of recent cinematic works by David Cronenberg. Above all, Cronenbergs eXistenZ (1999), which is about a VR community interacting in a
three-dimensional game world, explores at the level of digital surface media
the repetitive compulsive seduction and destruction plots that overtake
users personas and relationships as they lose the ability to distinguish
between VR and RL. Cronenbergs films, however, perhaps tend toward
dystopia more than tragedy; even the most seductive of his works, M Butterfly (1993), is by virtue of its political and betrayal plots, tinged with the
same cynical horizon.
16 Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy and Other Writings, trans. Ronald
Speirs, ed. Raymond Geuss and Ronald Speirs (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1999).
17 Daniel David Moses, Kyotopolis (Toronto: Playwrights Union of Canada,
1993).
18 Ibid., 91.
19 Cubitt, Digital Aesthetics, 23.
20 Sean Cubitt, Good Vibrations: Time as Special Effect, abstract published in
the program for Images: The 13th Annual Images Festival of Independent
Film and Video (Toronto, 1322 April 2000). A revised version of the talk
may be found at http://www.waikato.ac.nz/film/staffpages/sean/
as.html.
PART III
Liquid Space Mobility
The final section of Fluid Screens seeks to understand the social, economic, and material structures of screen technologies in terms of the
mobility of cultures and people. The first essay in this section provides
a chilling and detailed reading of the military entertainment complex
and the aesthetic/anaesthetic tension of its users. This materiality of the
circuitry of media production, distribution, and reception is considered
throughout the essays in this section by an emphasis on aesthetic phenomena. This section connects analyses of media industries with the
liquidity of capital in terms of labour practices within a Canadian film
and television industry context. The specific responses to this condition
include the use of digital media, such as cell phones, to animate protest
and expand the theatre of the public. The section ends with two analyses that focus on efforts to intervene in and redirect the flow of information and power through the specificity of citizenship in global contexts
and through the processes and connectivity of a digital aesthetics of the
committed artwork.
Games of Empire
Video and computer games are exemplary media of contemporary
empire. Just as the eighteenth-century novel was a textual machine creating the bourgeois subjectivities requisite to an emergent capitalism,
and as television and film were media vital to twentieth-century Fordism, today digital play a global industry whose revenues exceed those
of the Hollywood box office is a constituent component of both planetary hyper-capitalism and of insurgencies against it. And nothing is
more central to games or empire than war. In this essay, we briefly
review the historical relationship between military simulation and digital play, and then focus on one instance of this connection Full Spectrum Warrior, a dual-purpose simulation designed both as a training aid
for the U.S. army and as a commercial game. Such games are among the
visualization and virtualization technologies of what Jordan Crandall
calls armed vision, which, he argues, are essential to new global complexes of military power.1 In their crossover of combat training and
popular entertainment, digital war games are a major site of the banalization of war that Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri describe as necessary for habituating imperial biopower to perpetual conflict.2
MIMENET and the Institute for Creative Technologies
Several recent studies of the military-entertainment complex, militainment, or what James Der Derian calls MIMENET (the militaryindustrial-media-entertainment network), have delineated the shared
genealogies of digital play and military simulation.3 At first, the domi-
nant partner was the U.S. national security state. Pentagon funding
supported the computer laboratories where Spacewar and other protogames were created in the 1960s.4 By the 1990s, however, postCold
War military budgets were declining, while commercial games had
advanced so fast as to be superior to the Pentagons in-house simulations. A newly frugal military began to adopt or adapt civilian games
for training purposes.
9/11 gave this rapprochement a massive boost. U.S. military budgets shot back near to Cold War levels, but alliances between games
companies and armed forces did not disappear. On the contrary. The
military poured funds into co-designed simulations to anticipate the
new challenge of the war on terror. Developers rushed to capitalize on
market opportunities created by media coverage of terrorism and the
invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq: Sony infamously attempted to copyright the slogan Shock and Awe. War game sales rocketed, and collaboration with the military gave such products the cachet of authenticity
that console-warriors craved.
Some instances pushed the intersection of virtual and actual war to
the extreme. One was the U.S. Armys widely discussed online computer game Americas Army, launched in 2002 to recruit young Americans with no experiential connection to war, but plenty to video games.
Another, starting from a commercial basis, was Kuma Reality Games, an
online gaming service launched in 2004, whose website reports the war
on terror in a format mimicking CNN or Fox, and then invites paying
subscribers to re-live an event in the form of playable missions an
attack on Al Qaeda in the Afghan mountains, the capture of Saddam
Hussein, or the assault on Fallujah: Wherever the war takes our forces,
well put you there.5 While Americas Army and Kuma Reality received
most attention in the mainstream press, militarygame industry
overlaps were ubiquitous. The Department of Defense Game Development Community, a network aiming to connect the entire community
developing games within the US military and supported by DARPA
(Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency), currently lists some
forty games custom made for military purposes, about twenty-five
off-the-shelf products considered useful, as well as several mods, or
game modifications.6
Even in this crowded field, however, the Institute for Creative Technologies (ICT) occupies a special place. ICT epitomizes the intersection
of military planning, computer simulation, film studios, and video
game developers in what Der Derian terms a new configuration of vir-
233
tual power.7 Based at the University of Southern California, it was created in 1999 by the army and funded to the tune of $45 million to tap
into the entertainment industrys high-tech expertise. A senior official,
Michael Macedonia, describes its goal as to produce a revolution in
how the military trains and rehearses for upcoming missions by
develop[ing] the art and technology for synthetic experiences to a
pitch so compelling that participants will react as if they are real, thus
providing a quantum leap in helping the army prepare for the world,
soldier, organization, weaponry, and mission of the future.8 The ICT
hired talent from game companies and film studios to collaborate in
this mission: the artists who designed the special effects for The Matrix
and Total Recall, screenwriters for films such as Training Day and The
Fast and the Furious, a designer from the Alien movies. The deal was
clear: the military got sophisticated training aids for its soldiers, entertainment companies got insider military knowledge and products to
sell.
ICT creations include simulations with branching storylines to train
U.S. officers negotiating with Afghan warlords; compelling filmed
case studies of interpersonal military leadership issues; investigations of neurobiological discoveries linking affect to learning, aimed at
harnessing emotional valiance and training retention; anticipatory
visualizations of future war, such as the award-winning film Nowhere to
Hide, a sweeping vision of the Armys Future Force in action depicting
vertical envelopment conducted against a fleeing asymmetric enemy;
FlatWorld, which allows users to experience virtual worlds say a
Baghdad street corner under enemy fire without wearing clunky goggles; and the Sensory Environments Evaluation program (SEE), an
immersive virtual-reality tunnel that can re-create unpleasant environments such as abandoned bunkers filled with bats with astonishing verisimilitude. The aim, according to one ICT spokesperson, is to
create veterans whove never seen combat.9 Not the least of ICT progeny are a series of game-like training simulations: Full Spectrum Commander, Full Spectrum Leader, and Full Spectrum Warrior. To understand
these titles requires a short excursion into military doctrine.
Full-Spectrum Dominance
Full-spectrum dominance is a concept whose centrality to Pentagon
thinking was announced in Joint Vision 2020, a planning document
released in 2000 by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Its opening page declares
the U.S. military aim over the next two decades to be the creation of a
force that is dominant across the full spectrum of military operations
persuasive in peace, decisive in war, preeminent in any form of conflict.10 Joint Vision goes on:
The label full spectrum dominance implies that US forces are able to conduct prompt, sustained, and synchronized operations with combinations
of forces tailored to specific situations and with access to and freedom to
operate in all domains space, sea, land, air, and information.11
235
Mission to Zekistan
Turn on your console, load FSW; skip the manual, the tutorials, and the
introductory video; jump directly to the first mission. Here is the
dusty, deserted, sinister Middle Eastern town, with its labyrinth of
winding streets. Here we are, your point of view embedded in the
midst of a U.S. infantry squad. Already barely visible enemies have
opened fire from ambush; in front of you, a truck burns; its driver lies
wounded; automatic weapons chatter; distant explosions reverberate.
You are a soldier-subject in the war on terror: kill or be killed.
And this is all you really need to know. After a few mission failures
you may return to the tutorials, or the manual. There you find the backstory. Zekistan is an imaginary Central Asian country with a three
thousand year history punctuated by violence and bloodshed. After
guerrilla struggle against Soviet invasion comes a civil war in which
Mhujadeen fighters led by the charismatic Mohammed Jabbour Al
Afad emerge supreme. Afads regime converts the country to fundamentalist worship and persecutes the ethnic Zekis, the nomadic
mountain people that had originally settled the region, practising
genocide and forced sterilization. Thousands of ex-Taliban and Iraqi
loyalists set up terrorist-training facilities and death camps. Following a devastating wave of terrorist attacks across Europe and South
East Asia, U.S. intelligence tracks the source to Zekistan. After
repeated warnings and failed diplomatic resolutions in the UN, NATO
votes to invade. Massive air strikes prepare the ground for infantry and
armour to begin the land war which is where you, the virtual warrior
suddenly inserted beside a burning truck on a dirty street, come in.20
This is a complex geopolitical story. But it is basically irrelevant. All
the parts are familiar from innumerable CNN reports, news photos,
and movies: the political premises, the allotted roles, and the desired
outcome predictable. In a prophetic essay, Requiem for Our Prospective Dead, written at the time of the first Gulf War, Brian Massumi
observes how, in a situation where war and nonwar was getting harder
and harder to tell apart, the legitimation of state violence operates primarily in an affective register, through the mass media. This affective
circulation depends on a series of conversions, elisions, and blurs. On
the one hand, the enemy combines attributes of military opponent, despot, terrorist, thug, genocide perpetrator omni-purpose evil. On the
other, there is an implied identification between U.S. soldiers, media
audiences, and foreign populations supposedly being philanthropi-
237
cally aided by our side. As Massumi puts it, All you need do is feel
a oneness with the prospective dead hero, and, based on that, hostility
for the hypothetical enemy.21
Such is the universe of FSW. Zekistan is Iraq, Afghanistan, and Kosovo; Al Afad, bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, and Milosevic; his Zekistan
Liberation Front are composite tyrannical, ethnic-cleansing, weaponscaching terrorist malefactors. You, the player, are our troops, at once
defending the homeland and liberating oppressed inhabitants of
invaded countries. One of the U.S. soldiers whose position the player
adopts displays on his helmet the letters NYPD: New York Police
Department. U.S. soldiers in Central Asia are planetary police. In a
moment of scripted dialogue, after a ferocious firefight has left bodies
strewn all across the streets, one of our infantrymen reflects aloud: I
think just by being here we help.
First-Person Thinker
The virtual experience of FSW is that of commanding two four-person
teams of U.S. infantry: Alpha and Bravo. The players point of view is
normally from behind the shoulder of the sergeant commanding a
team. He voices orders entered by the player on the console pad or
computer keyboard Bravo, pay attention! Move! which are then
executed by the fire team as a group. But the players in-game subjectposition is more complex than it first appears. One can switch from
leader of Alpha to that of Bravo, and back again. Indeed, one can see
from the position of any member of the team if it is necessary to get a
specific line of sight on an enemy position. Even if a sergeant is hit, his
team continues to operate and can carry him to medical aid. So it could
be said that the players implied position is that of a ninth officer,
invisible and invulnerable, commanding both fire teams (and indeed in
the military version this figure is included, and can move between
Alpha and Bravo). But even this officer could not see from all the perspectives available to the player. Ultimately, the player of FSW has a
trans-individual position, as the consciousness of a collective entity.
The protagonists are Alpha and Bravo, a military team experienced as
microcosmic group mind.
The player must complete a series of increasingly challenging missions. Alpha and Bravo clear streets, evacuate wounded, relieve surrounded comrades, discover mass graves, eliminate anti-tank weapons
halting U.S. armour, call in air strikes on enemy vehicles, fight their
239
after she gets out of the shower; the properly domestic: Should be a
letter waiting for you from your family; the derogatory: This place
sure is fucked up in all kinds of ways; and the virtually self-reflexive:
When we get back to base, Im going to whip your ass on the Xbox.
The enemy is, of course, different. Apart from the Osama bin Laden
surrogate, Mohammed Jabbour Al Afad, they are nameless and
mostly faceless. At the beginning there is a fast cut scene displaying
masked figures opening a crate of rocket launchers as the U.S. troops
roll into town. Other than this, the Zekistan Liberation Army always
appears from the perspective of its U.S. opponents, as rather rudimentary figures, usually in the mid to far distance, at the end of streets,
behind sandbags, or on rooftops spraying fire down the street. Scarves
often hide their faces. When they are spotted, Alpha and Bravo identify
them as Zekes, Motherfuckers, or, most often, Tangos, from T for
target. They appear with small icons above their heads indicating
whether they are under cover, engaged (that is, pinned down by
incoming fire), or dead marked with skull and crossbones. They thus
do seem like targets on a firing range. When they die, and of course
they must die, nearly all of them, for the player to succeed, they crumple into inert heaps. As Alpha and Bravo pass by, they occasionally give
them an epithet: Should have done something else today, Zeke.
Armed Vision
FSW features aspects of contemporary warfare beyond simply the firepower and discipline of U.S. light infantry, aspects specific to new
media of visualization and virtualization. In an incisive analysis of
armed vision, Jordan Crandall posits that in the history of visual technologies such as photography, cinema, and video, one can distinguish
two major perspectives: horizontal and vertical.25 The horizontal orientation is set at ground level and concerned with the advance or retreat
of sightlines and perspectives along the terrestrial expanse of the earth.
In contrast, the vertical, or aerial, orientation is concerned with looking downward rather than sideways. The vertical dimension is in origin an optic of surveillance and command: Mapping changes and
discovering patterns, the objective was to understand what moves
(troops? construction materials?), how it moves, and how that movement can be intercepted or exploited.26 It adds to our visual experience
an orientation that is somehow ultimately not for us, but rather is the
perspective of a militarized, machinic eye involved in modes of posi-
241
galore, Tangos like ants on soda, Targets up. Such flights are, however, limited: use too many, and Louise may respond to your panicstricken request with a cool Sorry Charlie, thats a negative.
Sometimes fire can be summoned from the sky. A crucial role for
Alpha and Bravo is not directly defeating the Tangos in firefights but
spotting for devastating air or artillery strikes. Here the role of the
infantry is thus, in Crandalls words, to act as a direct human interface
to a machine that cannot yet fully interface with all of the ambiguities of
a material world a function performed in-game by placing a special
green bomb icon on target. After a few moments the screen is rocked
with spectacular explosions, providing a pyrotechnic gratification
acknowledged by one virtual soldiers scripted comment: Ahh never
get tired o that.
This interplay of vertical and horizontal is of course integral to fullspectrum doctrine, which depends on the combination and cooperation of airforce and army into a single invincible striking power. The
first Gulf War was christened the Nintendo War because it introduced
television watchers to game-like perspectives of gunsight and bombnose cameras. FSW takes things further, by offering both vertical and
horizontal perpectives on war, in a situation where the role of the
human horizontal sight is to vector in the apocalyptic power released
from the vertical heights. We experience, virtually, what Crandall terms
the integration of analyst, operator, database, and weapons network
into a smart image ... unlike anything we understand in civilian perspectives. FSW is one of what he calls the new kinds of militarized formats in visual media, fusing technological innovation and the erotic
charge of combat in renewed, compulsive militarization.28
The Big Lie
That videogames are too violent is a common claim. Full Spectrum
Warrior is perhaps not violent enough. As we have noted, the game is
cerebral, almost chess-like. And the price of failure is remarkably low. If
soldiers in Alpha and Bravo are lightly injured, blood spatters across
the screen. If one is more seriously wounded, he falls, and will,
unaided, eventually die. He can, however, be carried by his squad back
to a casualty evacuation point, where healing is almost immediate. The
wounded man staggers to his feet to upbeat comments: Youve still got
your looks, Wow, am I glad to see you again sarge! Hes one tough
son-of-a-bitch.
243
245
247
We find these unilinear media-effects claims tempting but unconvincing. Media audiences are composed of subjectivities that are multiplicitous, assembled in manifold and contradictory social formations.
Positions inscribed in games (or other media) are not necessarily replicated by players (or audiences). Simulators in military training are one
relay among the myriad circuits of the war machine part of what we
can loosely term diffuse barracks. From this perspective, virtual violence is part of an ensemble of practices aimed at disinhibiting, disciplining, and directing deadly aggression, ferociously etching direct
lines from simulation to actuality. The idea that these conditions are
replicated every time a shooter is played in a civilian living room is
naive but that they are a component of a broader ensemble of affective circulations that ready bodies and bolster legitimation for war is
less so.39 For when the same identities and assumptions are reiterated
by numerous media channels, and asserted by many institutions, the
chances for their successful reproduction rise. In societies on a war footing, militarization becomes part of the ambience of everyday life. We
enter a version of the society of control, where the boundary between
barracks and the living room is imploded:40 hatred towards an officially
designated enemy, triumph in his death, or at least indifference
towards its necessity, vigilance for his wiles, acceptance of casualties in
the course of struggle, uncritical loyalty for our side, all become values promulgated across a wide social bandwidth, on a full spectrum
from the presidents podium to daily news reports. In the era of war on
terror this is the situation in the heartlands of Empire, and especially in
post-9/11 United States.
In these settings, games such as FSW generate subjectivities to which
war and a very selective rendering of it, as we have seen is increasingly normalized. Such games prompt not atrocities of gothic delinquency but, we would wager, of loyal support for the president and the
troops. Their virtualities enter a polyphonic affective, visual, and ideological chorus supporting militarization. Dissonance is still possible.41
The persistence of anti-war activism within digital game culture itself is
a potent reminder that ludic militarism is contested.42 But the battle
song is loud, the opponents asymmetrical. Referring to the process of
socializing populations for participation in and endurance of endless
imperial counter-insurgency conflicts, Hardt and Negri use the phrase
banalization of war. This phrase, which echoes Hannah Arendt, conveys a situation in which ongoing war is a normalized condition in
which the enemy is regularly depicted as an absolute threat to the eth-
NOTES
1 Jordan Crandall, Armed Vision, Multitudes (29 May 2004), http://
multitudes.samizdat.net/article.php3?id_article=1491.
2 Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), 13.
3 James Der Derian, Virtuous War: Mapping the Military-Industrial-Media Entertainment Network (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2001); Jonathan Burston,
War and the Entertainment Industries: New Research Priorities in an Era of
Cyber-Patriotism, in War and the Media: Reporting Conflict 24/7, ed. Daya
Kishan Thussu and Des Freedman (London: Sage 2003), 16375; Tim Lenoir,
All But War Is Simulation: The Military-Entertainment Complex, Configurations 8, no. 3 (fall 2000): 289335; Stephen Stockwell and Adam Muir, The
Military-Entertainment Complex: A New Facet of Information Warfare,
FibreCulture 1 (2003), http://journal.fibreculture.org. See also Tamara
Vukov, The War Game Room, http://www.pomgrenade.org/WGR, which
provides an outstanding graphic and aural archive of the topics explored
here.
4 See Stephen Kline, Nick Dyer-Witheford, and Greig de Peuter, Digital Play:
The Interaction of Technology, Culture and Marketing (Montreal: McGillQueens University Press, 2003), 8490, 99101.
5 KumaWar, http://www.kumawar.com/.
6 Department of Defense Game Developers Community, http://www.
dodgamecommunity.com/index.php.
7 Der Derian, Virtuous War.
249
8 Michael Macedonia, A View from the Military, Defense Horizons (11 April
2002), http://www.ndu.edu/inss/DefHor/DH11/DH11.htm.
9 ICT Web page, http://www.ict.usc.edu/disp.php?bd=about.
10 Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Vision 2020 (Washington, DC: U.S.
Government Printing Office, June 2000). Inside front cover available online,
http://www.dtic.mil/jointvision/jvpub2.htm.
11 Ibid.
12 Ibid.
13 For discussion of the full-spectrum concept, see Rahul Mahajan, Full Spectrum Dominance: U.S. Power in Iraq and Beyond (New York: Seven Stories,
2003).
14 Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Vision 2020.
15 Mike Davis, The Pentagon as Global Slumlord (19 April 2004), retrieved
from http://www.tomdispatch.com.
16 Ibid.
17 Ibid.
18 James Korris, Full Spectrum Warrior: How the Institute for Creative
Technologies Built a Cognitive Training Tool for Xbox, http://www.
asc2004.com/Manuscripts/sessionI/IP-09.pdf.
19 Ibid.
20 Full Spectrum Warrior Instruction Manual.
21 Brian Massumi, Requiem for Our Prospective Dead: Toward a Participatory Critique of Capitalist Power, in Deleuze and Guattari: New Mappings in
Politics, Philosophy and Culture, ed. Eleanor Kaufman and Kevin Jon Heller
(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 1998) 4064.
22 Quoted in Bill Adair, Did the Army Get Out-Gamed? Washington Times,
20 February 2005.
23 Full Spectrum Warrior Instruction Manual.
24 David M. Halbfinger and Steven A. Holmes, Military Mirrors Working
Class America, New York Times, 30 March 2003, http://www.radicalmiddle.
com/military_mirrors.htm.
25 Crandall, Armed Vision.
26 Ibid.
27 Ibid.
28 Ibid.
29 For discussion of the argument that save-die-restart makes games inherently trivial, see James Newman, Videogames (London: Routledge, 2004),
846.
30 Adair, Did the Army Get Out-Gamed?
31 Ibid.
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Ibid.
Paul Virilio, Strategy of Deception (London: Verso, 2000).
David Grossman, On Killing: The Psychological Costs of Learning to Kill in War
and Society (Boston: Little Brown, 1996).
Jim Thompson, Open Letter to the Members of the Entertainment Software
Association (14 July 2005), available online at http://www.kotaku.com/
gaming/top/thompson-calls-for-esa-pres-resignation-112565.php.
Massumi, Requiem for Our Prospective Dead, 44.
Gilles Deleuze, Postscript on the Society of Control, October 59 (1992): 38.
See Vukov, The War Game Room.
We discuss counterwar games in our essay A Playful Multitude? Mobilizing and Counter-Mobilizing Immaterial Game Labour, Fibreculture 5,
http://www.journal.fibreculture.org.
Hardt and Negri, Empire, 13.
Gilles Deleuze and Flix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987), 245.
James Korris, quoted in Steve Silberman, The War Room, Wired, September
2004.
Its changed from working in a coal mine where you handle the film and its
more physical to feeling a bit atrophied because you sit all the time and your
mind and eyes carry all the weight ... mostly you dont get up because its so
fast and easy.
Dede Allen, editor of Bonnie and Clyde, Dog Day Afternoon, Reds1
The studios used to be the schools. Now [the schools] are just churning them
out. I dont know where all these kids go. The market cant sustain it, unless the
world is turning into a big entertainment centre.
Marv Newland, CEO, International Rocketship Productions (Vancouver)2
With sequels of the Gulf War and the latest Hollywood blockbuster
occupying our free time, Newlands observation about the world as a
big entertainment centre seems somewhat banal. But the underlying
logic of the state of affairs he describes is actually a complex story
about culture, labour, and meaning. For instance, one of the implications of Newlands comments is that not only is the real world being
effaced by image-based entertainment, but this simulated world is a
response to a labour crisis in the overdeveloped animation sector of the
volatile global film market. His comments also draw attention to the
particularly dynamic nature of the Canadian film industry, which now
consists of a large number of independent producers who use local and
regional inducements (including surplus labour pools and tax relief) to
compete globally. This process, which sees Canadian cultural production transform itself into global economic activity, is a central theme of
this essay, and I hope that my analysis will be useful in suggesting the
253
nomic, political, legal, pedagogical, geographical, and social contradictions will inevitably create abstract and idealized standards of national
identity. By contrast, lived Canadian culture has always been experienced as fully contradictory.
The imposed national culture (which is always a negotiation with
international commercial interests) is a simulation and is usefully
understood in the context of the critique of the culture industries as
developed by Adorno and Horkheimer and, later, Debord and the situationists. As well, this critical commentary on inauthentic national culture is related to some of the scholarly analysis that has focused its
attention on the mechanism of Canadianization the Canadian state.
Ted Magder, Manjunath Pendakur, and Michael Dorland have all analysed Canadian state film policy, as well as the historical organization of
film and television industries and audiences in Canada.6 Dorland
points out the resistance, in Canada, to understanding culture and
economy as overlapping spheres. As he points out, this gap derived in
part from the fact that cultural activities were not as profitable as economic activity.7 Nonetheless, while the federal government may have
been slow to see the economic value of cultural production in Canada,
preferring to use film as an information and propaganda tool, some
regional and provincial jurisdictions have used movies and television
as an economic engine for decades. Gasher points out, for instance, that
the British Columbia government has been involved in creating a
favourable environment for Hollywood since early in the last century.8
I will argue from a relatively typical position that the two forms of
development (cultural and economic) must be understood as conjoined, particularly in the context of what is now called globalization.
Fredric Jameson makes the overlap of culture and economy explicit
when he observes that, for instance, commodity production is now a
cultural phenomenon, in which you buy the product fully as much for
its image as for its immediate use.9
Consider the case of Molsons. This once-Canadian brewing concern
has performed well against its main competitor, Labatts (which was
once also fully Canadian owned), by emphasizing Canadian national
identity, particularly when advertising its Canadian brand. For example, prior to 9/11, Molsons produced a series of audaciously nationalist
(in some cases, anti-American) television commercials that serve to
emphasize Jamesons point about the overlap of economy and culture.
In a neoliberal economic context, in which the state mobilizes to accommodate globalization, it is not surprising to find the market replacing
the state as the promotional arm of the Canadian nation. The explicit
convergence of patriotic propaganda and commercial advertising was
well received, but it is unsettling in its implications for the further erosion of the distinction between corporate and national identity and,
more generally, capitalism and democracy. Moreover, the chauvinism
and xenophobia expressed in the ads were notable, and it is hard to
imagine that such a tone would be tolerated in a state-sponsored commercial or political statement. This suggests one more area of contemporary social life in which the state has been outpaced by the markets
response to populist desire. One campaign, I Am Joe, was so popular
that it became an alternate national anthem during hockey playoffs in
2000 and 2001. Ironically, and predictably, the actor who played Joe was
so encouraged by his success as a national icon that he moved to Hollywood. With these types of stories in mind, and particularly in light of
Telefilm (1982) and free trade (1988), I consider Canadian film and television to be involved in a dialectical struggle which is alternately cultural and economic. Which is to say that Canadian film and television
culture is an ideological construct of an imagined industry and an imagined national identity. What follows is an admittedly general institutional analysis of the Canadian film and television industries. It
provides a series of insights that serve, provisionally, to describe the current conditions of industrial cultural production as they are influenced
by changes in the international division of film and television labour.
One of this essays central arguments is that the recent reorganization
of film and television labour has had the consequence of altering media
workers relationship to traditions of image-making. My analysis will
focus on four areas: (1) atomization and the current ambiguity regarding responsibility for image-making; (2) changes in technology and the
loss of the workforce; (3) non-U.S. labour used in Global Hollywood;
and (4) the contemporary Canadian film and television labour experience. Each of these areas provides a variety of insights, but I will tend to
generalize in order to provide a useful sketch of the overall situation.
Conditions of film and television work have changed considerably
since the first conceptions and discourse emerged about filmmaking,
but these conditions are rarely portrayed or acknowledged except as
corporate celebrations of the media industries evolution, or as denigration in regards to the perceived low artistic standards and coarse craftsmanship of contemporary image-making. In many cases, there has
been a deskilling and instrumentalization of film and television labour,
which is related to increased commercial, technocratic, and technologi-
255
257
contract technicians and freelance specialists hover at computer consoles, which are their point of entry into a network that provides them
access to power and identity. From some perspectives, the network connection that is encouraged by digital filmmaking and television can be
understood as rhizomatic and utopian. But the dystopian characteristics of this technology relate to the increased potential atomization
prevalent in computer networks. Baudrillard once described the identity encouraged by this structure as being as grand as a node, enmeshed
in the screen and network.11 Scott Bukatman calls this terminal identity, which well describes the subjectivity emblematic of the globalized
digital factory.12 It is also the work experience described by John, a digital animator driven to anonymity in order to protect his job: Work is so
desperate that people will do anything to stay on, people are working
themselves to death.13
Technology and the Loss of the Workforce
While there are a variety of reasons for the changed perception of film
and television work, it is necessary to think of technology as absolutely
crucial in definitions of contemporary culture industries, including
ideas about the workers in that industry. Foremost in this regard is the
fact that while the culture industries, globally, have expanded enormously since the Second World War (and with it labour forces), competition between owners to reduce the cost of labour has also intensified.
One of the ways this has been achieved is through the introduction of
machines, which rationalize the production process. For instance, the
Avid editing system allows for reduced overhead costs such as maintenance of an editing room, but it also, remarkably, helps to control flexible costs of production by regulating and storing a typically timeconsuming labour practice (e.g., recutting versions of the film). In a
sense, what makes Avid an offline machine is that it allows for the
meter of labour costs to be turned off. While this often provides greater
flexibility for independent filmmakers, editors in the industry become
subject to the effects of flexible accumulation. David Harvey describes
these effects in the following way:
New technologies have empowered certain privileged layers, at the same
time as alternative production and labour control systems open up the
way to high remuneration of technical, managerial, and entrepreneurial
skills. The trend, further exaggerated by the shift to services and the
enlargement of the cultural mass, has been to increasing inequalities of
For those workers who gain privilege in the context of flexible accumulation, they become, as Harvey describes them, an aristocracy
within the film labour force. No doubt, this new aristocracy knows the
value of having the right tools. For example, in an interview with Lee
Unkrich, supervising editor on A Bugs Life (U.S., 1998, John Lasseter
and Andrew Stanton), the overwhelming impression is that the editors
talents and obvious enthusiasm are tied to the technology just as a cart
is yoked to an ass. Nonetheless, part of the attraction of Unkrichs job as
a supervising editor is that, in the combination that is him and his
machine, he has the ability to play a significant role in the creation of a
multimillion-dollar cultural artifact. The reason his contribution is significant is that his position, according to the division of labour in his
digital factory, allows him access to most parts of the production process. He is, in this sense, an important node in the production network.
While the job is standardized by the technology, the status that the technology confers is substantial and pays off in terms of being able to pipe
259
in and shape the film, define the characters, and just knock ideas
around. Ultimately, the job seems to be equal parts creative expression
and surveillance. Unkrich explains: I have to be the one person who is
looking at the film as a whole, looking at global continuity issues,
because everyone else is really focused on the minutiae of the shot they
are working on.17 So, while the supervising editor, working through
the Avid, claims global perspective, there are two points worth noting:
(1) the workers under the supervisor are regarded as working on minutiae, and this reminds us of the hierarchic, highly structured, and specialized nature of the work, and (2) the global view is one that is only
directed at the film structure as the largest possible unit of meaning.
Here, not even the A Bugs Life franchise comes under Unkrichs view,
let alone the larger frame of the responsibilities inherent in cultural production, specifically the politics and ethics of image-making. The disconnectedness of this workforce from earlier traditions of imagemaking is amplified when their freelance status is considered. Without
an identity grounded in a place, or organized by a collective activity,
these workers assume identities derived from the values that dominate
the other spaces they occupy especially those of the market.
No doubt, the market is the predominant space and force in these
workers lives and, because the contemporary film and television
workplace rarely looks like or operates like a production plant, these
workers consider themselves, and are considered to be, white-collar
professionals, not blue-collar labourers. This is an achievement which
favours capital, and it is an astounding ideological triumph which even
eluded the union-bashing monopolies of the golden age of Hollywood,
which, at the very least, had to negotiate with organized labour.18 New
Hollywood has left the troublesome battle with labour to independent
producers and politicians, but this has tended to fragment the labour
movements in the entertainment industries, as independent operators
use one group of workers against others, technology against workers,
and one state subsidy against another. In some extraordinary cases,
union locals work to undercut their brothers and sisters in other locals
in order to secure contracts. The obvious net result is the loss of power
for organized labour in the culture industry.
Non-U.S. Workforces in Global Hollywood
U.S.-based producers also undercut film labour by introducing nonunion and non-U.S.-based workforces into the production cycle. This
practice resembles export-processing industrial models, which attempt
Notable in her account is her sense that shes just getting some experience when working for Hollywood. The meaning of this is quite slippery, though, as it can be read in at least two different ways. First, we
can read these comments as indicating that she thinks her work is different from that of the American stars and, moreover, that this difference is marked by Canadian inferiority. This internalized form of
control, which is one manner of colonization by Hollywood, can be
seen to affect a variety of Canadian producers, directors, actors, cinematographers, and postproduction staff. As Gordon Hardwick, man-
261
ager of community affairs for the B.C. Film Commission, admits: One
of the biggest problems weve had is the negative campaign from the
States ... and nothing is necessarily going to change their attitudes
except a positive show of Canadian integrity.22 Of course, Hollywood
can presume this paternalistic posture and demand integrity (which
really means Canadian subservience), because the Canadian economy
is fully integrated with U.S.-based media interests. Dan Johnson, film
policy consultant and CEO of Humewood Communications, explains
that multimillion-dollar investments in Canada by American productions generate significant service sector economic activity affiliated
with the film industry. He correctly observes that if Americans were
discouraged from making movies in Canada, it would adversely affect
companies which supply equipment, trucks, food, locations and so
on.23
Hollywood also exerts substantial explicit control over elite workers
by hiring them as part of the American domestic workforce, and this is
what constitutes the official brain drain by Canadian standards. In
response to this situation, Canadian nationalists and certain offices of
the state charged with resource management argue that Canadian culture is being diluted due to the economic disparity between the homegrown film and television industry and Hollywood. This is the basis
for the venerable Canadian tradition of blaming economic underdevelopment for cultural underdevelopment. But it rings hollow for three
immediate reasons: (1) the elite training received by Canadians must
always be seen within the context of the exigencies of specialist work
discussed above, which tends to subvert national or regional identities
in favour of generic skill competency; (2) elite training is often supported by the Canadian state and corporate sector in order to bolster
Canadian industry not Canadian identity (and so it is naive to assume
that these workers should restrict their aspirations to the farm team if
they have a shot at the majors); and (3) workers usually invest in specialized training to augment their own conspicuous consumption, not
to make conspicuous their Canadian cultural identity. To return to
Kristen Thomson, we can see that when she says shes just getting
some experience, this need not be read as a lament for the nation, but
as an admission that she is apprenticing in Hollywood, with an eye to
gaining all the privilege which that implies. In this sense, the domination thesis is subverted by workers who understand Canadian dependency and work to advance their own economic security and career
trajectory.
263
of thousands of Canadian workers associated with the film and television industry, as well as providing entertainment which orders these
workers leisure time, Hollywood can be said to have effectively
capitalized on its legitimation, by exploiting them as both producers
and consumers. But for many Canadian film and television workers,
Hollywood is not the enemy because, despite the fact that it orders their
free time and seduces away their paycheque, it also provides their
paycheque. And because Hollywood is still Hollywood, these paycheques are considered to be value-added.
Given all this (i.e., specialized and atomized tasks, new technology,
and Hollywoods market dominance), Canadian film and television
worker identity is necessarily and thoroughly contradictory. It is characterized most obviously by: (1) the loss of autonomy and craft, which
has been superseded by technological interfaces and standardization;
(2) a sense of displacement associated with the job (both spatial and
social); (3) the dubious fortune of living in a U.S.-supplement nation;
and (4) the emergence of a global cultural sphere, which is characterized by aggressive neoliberal capitalism and atrophied state support
for non-commercial culture. In such a context, it is highly unlikely that
a unique or discernible Canadian film and television culture will
emerge. In fact, what is interesting about the Canadian situation is that
it is becoming the norm, and this suggests something about changes in
the concepts of culture and national culture that will become increasingly problematic. By looking at cultural labour, one can understand
the true heterogeneity of contemporary entertainment. For instance,
recently in Toronto, the cinematographer Derek Vanlint, who is famous
for his chilling images of dystopian futurescapes in Alien (UK/U.S.,
1979, Ridley Scott) images of such graphic power that we must consider the possibility that we have already seen our futures was busy
shooting a pizza commercial. Not only that, but this international talent
(now based in Canada) was working second unit on the commercial,
applying his particular talents to capturing the beauty of rising crusts.
Despite the fact that this commercial work seems to be a retrograde creative move for someone of such obvious talent and stature, it is important to realize that for elite media workers, the ultimate goal is often to
work on commercials, given that they require less commitment in
terms of time and energy, and the pay is proportionately greater. In
such a situation, it makes sense that workers would prefer work that,
by standards of national culture or artistic vision, seems degraded and
generic, because Global Hollywood teaches us that commerce is the
heart of film and television culture, and that risk must constantly be
avoided. This message is learned by everyone in the industry, and especially those who have survived the industry (such as Vanlint); and in
order to understand the value and meaning of culture today, one must
appreciate these labour conditions. This is also fundamental to understanding the ways in which independent producers and cultural workers are integrated into Global Hollywood. For instance, to return to
Pixar, we see that the extraordinary talents of independent digital animators gave rise to a particular look in Toy Story, but this talent is now
locked into this aesthetic style, which has effectively become recognizable as the Pixar brand, and hence protected by everyone involved in
the franchise who see this aesthetic as their guarantee of a paycheque.
This logic encourages repetition, standardization, and eventually the
routinization of work done at Pixar, as investors focus on expanded distribution of the commodity and protection of the brand and invest proportionately less money on experimental research or development of a
new style. Moreover, in order to cut through the clutter of a glutted
entertainment market, there is an unwritten rule that unique, sometimes personal, style (beyond content) is absolutely mandatory in
attracting an audience. So there is an intensified emphasis on marketing product which amplifies the role of design and aesthetics, including
the design of logos, titles, and packaging (including websites, press
kits, and information packets). While this is not new to industrial media
production, its scale is unprecedented, and the result is that it is difficult to find a space in visual culture that is not touched by the influence
of Global Hollywood. All film and television workers now have to
think about labour issues, in particular their own jobs, in relation to the
marketing of culture, for the more legs their project has, the greater the
chance they will continue working. This frenzy of self-promotion is so
generalized that even avant-garde, documentary, and alternative filmmakers, having internalized the logic of consumerism, also put a lot of
work into promoting their work, including designing a package that
signifies their brand of art.
The use of culture to generate capital, generally, is related to a long
history of attempts to give aesthetic value to standardized, marketable
commodities. Walter Benjamin recognized this democratization of the
aesthetic as the end of aura. The amplification, in the digital age, of
Benjamins revelation forces us to confront the seemingly inevitable
conclusion that art has become a displaced and empty signifier, serving
now only to aestheticize history. It recalls the scene in Ken Finkle-
265
mans The Newsroom (Canada, 19967, CBC-TV) in which the news producer and technician, looking for images to pastiche together to
introduce their fast-breaking story, huddle over an editing console, flippantly sorting through files of famous images of tragedies in history,
juxtaposing histories that are politically volatile or trivialized by their
new context. The scene is comedic because the images are both more
empty and more loaded than expected, but the underlying tragic
theme is that photography allows, and encourages, an irreverence to
the markers of history and to the idea of history itself.
My intention, in opening this essay with reference to image ethics,
was that, at a certain point, the loss of aura, or lack of grounding,
inherent in modern image technologies (from 1830 to present), engenders a series of boundary transgressions that touch on significant ethical issues. For instance: the real becomes effaced by the image, the affect
is valued independent of its cause, the artifact exists apart from its production, the aesthetic masks the apparatus of industrial commerce
that structures the uses of art. These points draw attention to the aesthetics, technologies, and workers involved in the creation of that
increasingly valuable commodity that is culture. The dialectic of labour
and culture includes, for example, the ways in which music videos
have appropriated aesthetic value from young workers (e.g., the directors, shooters, performers, technicians, programmers, designers, and so
on) and have rewarded many of these young workers by putting them
in other products owned by the parent company (sometimes a transnational corporation) in a sense, to use unique work as a saleable
commodity, by calling it style. The careers of David Fincher, Michel
Gondry, Spike Jonze, and Canadas Mr X are fair examples. Or take
Spike Lees aesthetic value as he moves from auteur film, to ads, to
the sidelines of Madison Square Garden for Knicks games. In each manifestation, his cultural value is understood to be real value (i.e., capital),
and these values are related, in complex ways, to labour value. When
Lee is seen making a film, he is understood to be labouring for love and
art; when he shoots the ad, he is doing trash for cash; and when he
promotes New York City (and himself) at MSG, he doesnt seem to be
working at all (which, this suggests, is one of the fringe benefits of
being a cultural producer its not really work!). By treating film and
television labour in this fashion, the industry is able to generate a variety of stories about the perceived value and meaning of culture. These
are also stories about the capitalized value of contemporary aesthetics,
and they encourage people in the world to consider how these different
labour situations, and the styles they help generate, manifest themselves as differential registers of individual, personal wealth.
While my focus on labour highlights the contemporary aesthetic
from the perspective of pragmatic decisions regarding deployment of
industry resources, it is also clear that this is not simply a story about
the political economy of Canadian film and television activity. I have
shown that the labour perspective helps us understand the impossibility of precisely naming a national culture, but this then introduces the
possibility that we could think of culture as something that is made
according to prevalent conditions of practice, and hence inspired by the
heterogeneous ways in which we can imagine film and television playing a role in our lives. The point, then, is less to name culture than to
understand the box within which it exists. In this sense, my emphasis
on market imperatives helps us understand the influence of commerce
in the style, treatment, and forms of all contemporary film and television cultural work, including that which is not primarily intended for
commercial consumption. The role of advertising, and the central place
of consumerism in cultural artifacts, not only is standard operating procedure in the private sector of media culture, but it actually provides a
sense of foundation to an activity which has lost connection to earlier
aesthetic, political, and social traditions. In fact, recent National Film
Board of Canada (NFB) advertisements, intended to recruit new workers, emphasized that the successful candidates would be joining a
team of dynamic, young, media-savvy professionals, proving that
even state filmmaking agencies have begun to speak the language of
Global Hollywood.
It is interesting, then, to reassess the various earlier attempts by the
Canadian government to organize a national film and television culture
around the centralized and service-oriented projects of the NFB and the
Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC). These efforts effectively
brought workers within a somewhat uniform work schedule and
labour contract and, in doing so, provided the basis for a similarly uniform cultural project. That cultural workers were used in this manner,
to develop an affirmative image of the nation, is common knowledge to
most film and television scholars in Canada. But it is worth considering
the national identity-image that is being constructed by contemporary
Canadian media industries and their workers. Brenda Longfellows
analysis of The Red Violin (Canada, 1998, Franois Girard) is instructive
in this regard, for it claims that a reading of the film must acknowledge
the ways in which capital represents itself and is figured in media arti-
267
NOTES
1 Quoted in Mia Goldman, Dede on Digital: An Interview with Dede Allen
(Part 1), Motion Picture Editors Guild Magazine 21, no. 3 (MayJune 2000),
http://www.editorsguild.com/newsletter/MayJun00/dede.html.
2 Quoted in Sarah Schmidt, Thats All, Folks, Globe and Mail, 29 May 2000, R1.
3 George Gerbner, Hamid Mowlana, and Herbert I. Schiller, eds, Invisible
Crises: What Conglomerate Control of Media Means for America and the World
(Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997).
4 Richard Collins, Culture, Communication and National Identity: The Case of
Canadian Television (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990).
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
269
Between the Lines Press, 1989), 96124; John Allen, Post-Industrialism and
Post-Fordism, in Modernity and Its Futures, ed. Stuart Hall, David Held, and
Tony McGrew (Cambridge, UK: Polity Press, 1992), 169220.
Toby Miller, et al., Global Hollywood (London: BFI Publications, 2001) and
Global Hollywood 2 (London: BFI Publications, 2005).
Quoted in Kamal Al-Solaylee, More Than Guns for Hire, Globe and Mail, 6
January 2003, R1.
Quoted in Andre Mayer, Studio Builders Do Boffo Box Office, Globe and
Mail, 10 December 2002, B17.
Quoted in Cathy Carlyle, Discussing Policies on Canadian Film-making at
York, Gazette (York University), 4 April 2001, 1.
Quoted in Schmidt, Thats All, Folks.
Brenda Longfellow, The Red Violin, Commodity Fetishism and Globalization, Canadian Journal of Film Studies 10, no. 2 (fall 2001): 19.
Peter Morris, Embattled Shadows: A History of Canadian Cinema, 18951939
(Montreal: McGill-Queens University Press, 1978).
Quoted in Al-Solaylee, More Than Guns for Hire.
Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Manifesto of the Communist Party, in The
MarxEngels Reader, 2nd ed., ed. Robert C. Tucker (New York: W.W. Norton,
1978), 482.
271
perhaps not surprisingly, one of the essential tools creating and maintaining the global flows that underlie the network is the mobile phone.
Used by both activists and consumer capitalists, and increasingly
available across global lines of wealth and poverty, the cell phone has
prompted revolutions, invented new languages and literacies, produced wars, transformed the sonic environment of the late twentieth
century, formed new communities, encouraged new art for(u)ms, led to
an increased jostling for supremacy in space, altered the choreography
of people in urban environments, changed landscapes, and promoted
new forms of communication. Though a tiny gadget, the cell phone is a
life-altering prosthetic. To see it as such is also to rethink ideas of public
space in terms not of concrete gathering places but also of fluid social
fields that constantly shift and re-form. It demands, in other words, a
powerful rethinking of the public sphere through ideas of confluence,
vectors, trajectories, constantly transforming mutualities, and communities. The question then becomes whether such fluidity, such choice,
and such speed lead to inertia or to potential.
Appropriating the polysemic use of the word screen in the realm of
cell phones and communications, this paper suggests that not only do
mobile phones act as a screen, obscuring the current inequalities of
neoliberalism through a conflation of communication and freedom, but
they also provide a performative canvas for new social roles, collectivities, and art forms. I suggest that it is this very multivalency that opens
the discussion for possible new types of activism located within the
space of global flows of technology, capital and communication, creative industries, and knowledge economies. To make this clearer, in a
connected world, what spaces are opened up that might not even have
been recognized as resistant? In the realm of global networked power,
surely there are meandering traces of resistance that belong neither to
the traditional dichotomy of capitalism and Marxism nor to the
exhausted traditional left-wing critique. Refusing to choose between
the pathways of transcendent communications or material commodity,
I posit the in-betweenness of cell phone use as a place of potential, one
that balances and questions the complex and fragmented spaces of contemporary capitalism.
[ntrdctn]
In the opening chapter of his book Constant Touch, Jon Agar comes into
direct contact with the absent-presence of the material history of con-
273
European forestry companies, the mobile phone is the tool of communication that keeps the bushmeat hunters on top of the location of both
animals and police, the warring factions in conflict, and the often illegal
trade of coltan in operation.9
The forgetting of the plight of the apes is echoed in the factory conditions where mobile phones are assembled. The demand for more
phones, and the promise of constant progress, instant newness, and
rapid obsolescence, create conditions wherein technological devices are
often built in less-than-ideal conditions, in the low-wage and tax-free
havens of global factories often divested of direct linkage to their corporate parents. Even more so than computers, cell phones as fashion statement, technological gadget, and mobile communications device have
their obsolescence built triply in. As such, their evolution as gadgets
overshadows and erases the global passages through which their manufacture takes them. Rather than prompting a call for politically and
environmentally cleaner components to cell phones, the plight of the
great apes, the war in the Congo, or the conditions of manufacture are
largely erased from discussions of cell phone use and innovation.
These stark contrasts are not uncommon in neoliberal systems,
where, as outlined by George Ydice and others, profits are tied up in
wealth creation the granting of property status to what had before
been inviolate, intangible, and outside of commodity status.10 Part of
the fully integrated network described above by Castells is the growth,
since the 1980s, of international trade, the expansion of direct foreign
investment, and the (intangible) stock, bond, and currency markets.
Combined with the proliferation of international trading bodies (such
as the WTO and the IMF), and international trade agreements, the transnational governance of capital is collapsed into an intricate global system of regulatory bodies that act at both national and transnational
levels.
Where knowledge, software, and experience can be characterized as
property, and capitalism is increasingly tied up in the transcendental
flows of information production, the plight of 3,000 apes becomes
increasingly difficult to imagine. Factory workers and apes do not
figure except in that their very tangibility seems somehow less real than
the movement of information. In other words, the collapse of space and
time promised by globalization is far from inevitable, and, in fact, the
fluidity that comes as part of a networked system seems rather to
flow inexorably around that which might halt its passage. That which
is most tangible, such as ape populations and factories, somehow
275
The mobile phone, suggests de Souza e Silva, brings about the creation
of narrative and imaginary spaces, nomadic interfaces that actually
heighten the awareness of physicality when dealing with digital
space.14 The flneur is no longer a solitary creature but is connected to
others through a logic that can be described as anti-binary, that is, both
embodied and disembodied, both material and transcendent.
Encouraging both community and individual spaces of reflection
and collectivity, the mobile phone is a perception machine, an auditory,
visual device that situates the subject as embodied, as immanent. In the
following section, I enter these two perceptive realms in greater depth
the cell phone as both a prosthetic ear and eye and, through an analysis of several art works specifically using the mobile phone, suggest
how they might extend the perceiving body through and into space as
a way of encouraging community formation. I will then return at the
end of the paper to discuss how the history of the cell phones manufacture might be made material through the work of activist and artist
groups, thus bringing together the threads of this argument.
[da na na na, da na na na, da na na na na]
The ringing cell phone introduces a forced intimacy in the city an
intrusion into half conversations. Cultural critic Sadie Plant talks about
a certain collectivity maintained by the ringing phone everyone wants
to answer it, everyone recognizes the sound, and reaches out for it
across space, only to be apprehended at the last moment.15 The reaction
to the ringing phone described by Plant is a moment full of potential.
277
279
Fig 14.1 An image from the Green Arts Barn event, taken from the SEED
Collectives online gallery at http://www.seedcollective.ca. Audiences use
their cell phone keypads to grow a collective virtual forest.
281
NOTES
1 Dialtones: A Telesymphony, Flong, http://www.flong.com/telesymphony/.
2 Ibid.
3 Manuel Castells, The Rise of the Network Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 1996),
41213.
4 Jon Agar, Constant Touch: A Global History of the Mobile Phone (Cambridge:
Icon Books, 2003), 912. See also Kenneth Gergen, The Challenge of Absent
Presence, in Perpetual Contact: Mobile Communication, Private Talk, Public Performance, ed. James E. Katz and Mark Aakhus (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 227.
5 Agar, Constant Touch, 14.
6 Ibid., 13. See also Susanna Paasonen, Mutation and Money: Arguing with
Sadie Plant on the Mobile, Horizon 4, http://www.horizonzero.ca/textsite/
touch.php?is=4&file=15&tlang=2.
7 Ibid.
8 EcoISP, Species on the Brink, http://www.ecoisp.com/species20.asp.
9 Ibid. Determined to keep their hands free of a bloody diamond-sized scandal, companies such as Nokia, Motorola, and Ericsson buy already-made
capacitors from manufacturers who must obtain coltan from shadowy intermediaries.
10 George Ydice, The Expediency of Culture: Uses of Culture in the Global Era
(Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), 194.
11 Walter Benjamin, quoted in Katherine Sykora, Merchandise Temptress: The
Surrealistic Enticements of the Display Window Dummy, in Shopping: A
Century of Art and Consumer Culture, ed. Christoph Grunenberg and Max
Hollein (London: Hatje Cantz Publishers, 2002), 130.
12 Adriana de Souza e Silva, Are Cell Phones New Media? Trace: On Line
Writing Centre, http://trace.ntu.ac.uk/Opinion/index.cfm?article=121.
13 Ibid.
14 Ibid.
15 Sadie Plant, On the Mobile: The Effects of Mobile Phones on Social and
Individual Life, http://www.motorola.com/mot/doc/0/234_MotDoc.pdf.
16 Sale Away, Staalplaat Soundsystem, http://www.staalplaat.org/
sale_away.html.
283
17 New York Associated Press, The Latest Protest Tool: Texting, reblogged at
Rhizome.org, http://rhizome.org/thread.rhiz?thread=14421&page=1.
18 Ibid.
19 One Free Minute, http://www.onefreeminute.net/.
20 URBANtells, Joereinsel.org, http://www.joereinsel.org/urbantells/
index.htm.
21 Ibid.
22 Laura Merians, Cell-Outs and Phonies, Los Angeles Center for Digital Art,
http://www.lacda.com/exhibits/august.html.
23 Dana Karwas, freeSTYLE, The Suburb, http://www.dk22.com/suburb/
index.php?p=44.
24 SEED Collective, http://www.seedcollective.ca.
25 Stacey Young, Secret Speech Aid, ScienCentral News, 16 September 2005,
http://www.sciencentral.com/articles/view.php3?type=article&article_
id=218392411.
15 Immigrant Semiosis
l au r a u. ma rk s
On an autumn day in 2002, I visited the mountain home of some Lebanese friends. Worldly people and, fortunately for me, fluent in English,
they made pains to accommodate me to my unfamiliar setting. Indeed,
the surroundings were glorious: scrub-clad mountains descending to
valleys thick with olive trees and, further, plunging to the cement factories just south of Tripoli and then to the sea. The mountain breeze, the
scents of frangipani and roasting eggplant, the clatter of jackhammers
at the construction site across the valley, the metallic Bach jingling from
mobile phones they all stimulated my senses and my imagination. I
clambered around their orchard, sinking my toes in the crumbly red
earth, examining the growth of olives, and also, for my friends are keen
importers, kiwi fruit and persimmons. On my return, one of my hosts
said, Are you making discoveries? [with a laugh of recognition] The
Discovery Channel. Later, as the sun began to cast long shadows in the
orchard, another friend pointed to an animal on the opposite hill. Its a
fox. [laugh] The Fox Channel.
Which of my experiences that day were my own, and which came to
me pre-formed? An ancient valley bustling with the construction of
postCivil War returnees: do I experience this with my senses or my
intellect? Is a kiwi vine in Lebanon a plant or a sign? Is it a fox or a
Fox? That beautiful afternoon was rich for me with affective experience. But much of it came to me already encoded in concepts that were
not mine, nor ours, alone. And thats a Lebanese mountain: what of the
billion banal urban milieus impregnated with corporate mediation, like
riding a bus through streets thick with signage, advertising posters
overhead, Old Spice and CK One wafting from fellow passengers, cell
phones jingling bastardized Bach? In the age of hypermediation, how
can we have our own experience?
Immigrant Semiosis
285
Two accelerations have occurred in the last 150 years. First, the global
flow of capital and information has accelerated. Second, and necessitated by the first, the translation of embodied experience into disembodied information has sped up. If, as I will argue, what makes us
human is our ability to participate fully in the process of mediation,
these accelerations appear to have a dehumanizing effect. As a result of
these two speedings-up, corporate interests have built a faux sociality
in which meanings look like they are the product of democratic human
communication but they are not. Corporate meaning is imposed, at a
fractal level of detail, on every level of life. Even the meaning of individual, embodied experience appears to be increasingly colonized by
corporate culture. My Lebanese mountain anecdote hints at the way
corporate branding and other forms of predigested experience permeate the very life of the senses. Other examples abound, like the interesting recent phenomenon that youths who communicate via SMS
messages on their mobile phones are starting to grow unprecedentedly
large thumbs with extra nerve endings. So I expand my initial question
into a series of questions that structure this essay: Where can we find
individual experience, at the levels both of embodied sensation and of
thought, in the flow of mediated images in which we are enmeshed?
How can our experience be meaningful? How can this process be truly
social, as opposed to the false sociality by which corporate interests
invade our very bodies? Are there people especially capable of immediate experience?
Further along I will suggest that indeed there are such people, who
have no choice but to experience firsthand while the rest of us languish
in the sweet suffocation of corporate interpellation. These are people
who, falling out of official information grids, must forage on the precarious shoals of real experience. In particular, they are immigrants. Not
those immigrants who are cautiously solicited, with their masters
degrees, marketable skills, and lack of dependents, by the wealthy
countries of the West.1 The agents that I privilege in this essay are those
who make the crossing out of dogged desperation, immigrants who are
unacknowledged and generally illegal. These are Algerians who, having spent their savings on fake papers, smuggle themselves into Spain
to work in construction; Afghanis who survive the Channel Tunnel
crossing clinging to the underside of the Eurostar; Nigerian women
who pay extortionate amounts to a sponsor to become prostitutes; Mexicans who cross the U.S. border by foot through the desert to fill the
labour market for fruit pickers and hotel cleaners. Illegal immigrants
are not only an essential and disavowed source of cheap labour from
Parma to Phoenix but also, I will argue, the twenty-first centurys best
hope for experience that is immediate, communicable, and meaningful.
As part of the process, these agents of social meaning reinvent popular
media, such as the Internet and the mobile phone, as networks that
offer sustenance, exchange, and when necessary disappearance
from the grid.
To analyse the apparent problems with the speed of mediated information, I rely in the following on two philosophers writing in the late
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries: the French Henri Bergson and
the American Charles Sanders Peirce. Why these two? Bergson and
Peirce, both of whose research was informed by contemporary experiments in psychology, analysed acutely the rich process of embodied,
multisensory perception. Both attempted to define a process by which
individuals, through their attentive perception of the world, come up
with rich and reliable information about it. Interestingly, both philosophers were defining these capable and relatively autonomous subjects
of perception just when European and North American societies were
being pervaded by mass-produced image media: photography, advertising, and cinema. Industrial production and mass media were bringing into being a new kind of person, an attentive yet distracted subject
susceptible to instrumental control.2 Just when the new field of psychology was yielding data on perception, the subject of perception was
changing. Thus, their efforts to describe the human subjects of attentive
recollection (for Bergson) and the semiotic process (for Peirce) have a
certain anxious, hortatory, at times even elegiac quality. Yet, for these
reasons, Bergson and Peirce provide useful models of a sensuous and
knowledgeable subject at the beginning of the hypermediated age. The
complementarity of their thought is attested by their mercurial union in
the philosophy of Gilles Deleuze, which informs my own thinking. I
return more frequently to Peirce in this essay, for reasons I will explain
later.
Let me sketch, through a Peircean lens, the relationship between perception and meaning in the information age. For Peirce, the semiotic
process (or, to use his term, semiosis) is a rich and constant process of
mediation, a continuum between impression, perception, and thought.
This life-giving process invites us, indeed demands us, to feel and sense
(Firstness), to distinguish among these feelings and act accordingly
(Secondness), and to synthesize and generalize (Thirdness). Everything
in the world, from crystals to hard drives (to crystals in hard drives),
takes part in this process, a flow so continuous that it is difficult to iso-
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level of complexity still that the pre-emption of Firstness in computerbased experience starts to feel coercive. When computer programs prescribe specific choices and make others inadmissible, identify certain
calculations as meaningful and have no tools for others, enjoin certain
actions and not others, we feel the cramp of no-Firstness. These decisions, of course, are not properties of computers themselves but reflect
the interests of their builders and investors.
The currently dominant branch of psychology, cognitive science,
tends to construct a model of human experience without Firstness,
insofar as it retroactively models consciousness on information processing.9 The reason cognitive science is hegemonic in academic and
corporate research now is that it offers a model of a human subject that
can act on quantified information, as a computer does, and thus can be
monitored, quantified, and directed as a computer can. So the reason
we in postindustrial societies are acting more like computers is not just
due to some general alienation but because the corporate interests that
want to understand and influence human behaviour are applying a
powerful model of human psychology based on information processing. We slam on the brakes, salivate on command, and click those
damned pop-up windows because corporations consult with cognitive
scientists whose computer-derived psychological model, if insulting to
the delicate infinity wed like to imagine is the human being, delivers
results.
We can trace the current fixation with information processing and,
concomitantly, with applied psychology to the nineteenth-century fascination with attention, which, according to Jonathan Crary, became a
central category for philosophy and the new field of psychology in the
latter quarter of that century. Attention, measured in fractions of a second by Wilhelm Wundt at the worlds first psychology laboratory at the
University of Leipzig in 1879,10 was, of course, a skill newly required for
the repetitive work of the assembly line. It meant narrowing the field of
perception adequately to concentrate on a given object, but not so much
as to become rapt in it. Although it was cultivated by industrialized
labour, Crary argues, attention became the privileged form of spectatorship for the new mass art of cinema. Thus the same form of cognitive,
reactive information processing came to dominate both work and leisure in the twentieth century. Indeed, Crary points out, Thomas Edison
saw his Kinetoscope not as a medium of entertainment so much as a
machine for the distribution of quantified and commodified information, along the lines of his earlier invention, the telegraph-stock ticker.11
The implications of this history for early twenty-first-century perception, at least among us in the first world, are vivid. A century of practice
has moulded our perceptual processes to privilege Secondness, conscious perception, and attention. We have become very good at paying
attention to numerous parallel sources of information, whether working on computers, monitoring aircraft paths, telemarketing, or listening
to music on an iPod, sending text messages, walking, and drinking coffee. In terms of perceptual processes, leisure is just practice for work.
This divisive perceptual practice extends to less mediated activities,
like the commodified experience of quality time. In all these activities,
the narrow band of our semiotic process that is attentive consciousness
is hyper-stimulated. The moment of affect, of wonderment in the sensory brush with the world, of latency of Firstness is elided.
Yet information culture also introduces a new kind of Firstness into
experience. This is actually a condensed Thirdness; contemporary
media reintroduce processed information that arrives to our experience
as a First. What I might call Information-Firstness occurs in several
ways. A first way is by incorporating affect into instrumental goals.
Commercial media tend to introduce symbols of affect, which harness
the embodied response to the affection image.12 This kind of affection
image leads resolutely to action. Epic-action movie director James
Cameron insists, Adrenaline is not an emotion!13 but I think he protests too much. Harnessed affection images arouse bodily responses
that lead not inward but onward. Violent computer games employ the
conventions of splashing blood and the cries of the vanquished. Burger
King ads entice with the glistening beads of grease on a hamburger.
Commercial porn employs conventions for arousal the well-lit genital
close-up, the sound loop of ecstatic moaning. These conventions appeal
to our conscious attention, and we respond to them as we do to symbols. They operate in the relatively impoverished realm of pre-processed, pre-thought images; they only look like they are embodied. A
language that speaks our bodies from without, faux-affect is a powerful
tool of colonization.14
A more promising route back to First is through those media that
speak directly to our bodies without harnessing affect to an instrumental chain. This Firstness is not an end in itself but a beginning. As
Deleuze writes, Not that the body thinks, but, obstinate and stubborn,
it forces us to think, and forces us to think what is concealed from
thought, life.15 The best way for us to experience our bodies stubbornness might be to fall asleep and dream, for there, when our bodies are
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acter from the Pokmon game craze, going strong since 1996. From the
experience of both game developers and children (First), Nintendos
canny investment and market research (Second) developed the intricate
game with its characters so attractive to children (Third). So the character Pikachu is not a visual image but an argument that this image will extract money from children (and their parents). The sign Pikachu is dense
with information, which in turn is dense with experience, although
these are special condensations developed with revenue in mind.
Luckily, though, the richness of Peircean semiosis is that Thirds
become, in turn, Firsts of a new and never-ending semiotic spiral. So
the Image, though it condenses within it information and experience
that may never be unpacked, still returns as a First, as raw material of
experience. The Pokmon phenomenon drove crazy parents and aunties (like me) who feared that their children were subsisting bug-eyed
in a predigested world composed on information gleaned by the corporation precisely in order to keep kids in thrall. But have you ever
watched a child draw Pikachu or another Pokmon character? There
you witness the translation of an image that is entirely Third into a
First, the world about to arise to perception, and a series of Seconds, as
the child selectively perceives the little figure, and a Third as she or he
draws it, ever so carefully, each crayon scrawl a considered judgment.
Every Third returns as a First, and each time differently.19
Are you not convinced that the Firstness of Pikachu is not as rich as
the Firstness of digging your toes in the soil under an olive tree? Bergson can help think through the relative wealth and poverty of these two
experiences. Bergson was anxious about photography and other readymade replacements for memory images.20 Attentive recollection, as
Bergson describes it, is like twinned buffet tables between which we
bound until deliciously surfeited, on one side, with the dishes of perception, and on the other, with the seasoning of memory.21 (Or, memory
is the dish and perception is the spice: maybe it depends on how old
you are.) But what if, to employ a rather disgusting image, each of these
tempting arrays is already predigested? For the philosopher of Matter
and Memory, the danger posed by the new mass media was that the circuit between perception and memory, crucial to the enrichment of each,
was closing.
That the objects of perception are becoming ever more homogeneous
for us in postindustrial, first-world societies is constantly being demonstrated with more or less cogency. What about the memory buffet table:
are our very memories also becoming more homogeneous? In some
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ways, yes. The example of Pokmon and other heavily scripted games
is only one of the ways children and even infants come up having experiences that are not theirs alone. Parents show alphabetic flash cards to
babes in the cradle; three-year-olds play with educational DVDs. It
would seem that to the extent that the experiences that form our memories are homogeneous, our memories will come to resemble each
other. And where is the subject then?
Yet I doubt that a heavily symbolic and logocentric early life deprives
people of rich experiences of Firstness. Children still play with their
excreta and fall into instructive mishaps in even the most antibacterial
home. The world is rich with primary stuff that exceeds our grasp of it
and our need to grasp it. To the extent that we still have bodies, we will
still be capable of unique experience, even in our interactions with
densely encoded media objects.
To summarize on an optimistic note: It does seem that we are still
capable of having our own experience in the information age. Increasingly encoded though it is, the world is still rich with Firstness, including the return to a First state of information itself.
But, to keep you reading, let me introduce a gloomy note. Recall that
in the model Ive introduced, information capital selectively adopts
those aspects of experience that it deems useful. It bypasses useless
Firstness, those aspects of experience, such as wiggling your toes in the
soil, that do not seem generative of information or money. Thus much
of what comes to us as Firstness in information media is filtered according to information-capitalist notions of what is meaningful. Meaning is
not determined individually, nor by communitarian, democratic
notions of value. This problem forces us along, like leaves in a gutter, to
that second semiotic bottleneck, what comes Third in experience.
Thirdness
Both Bergson and Peirce modelled a process of embodied thinking on a
fluid relation between the individual and the world. But for Bergson
this was a graciously privileged individual in a somewhat depopulated
world. Bergsons model of embodied perception is an ever-widening,
quasi-hermeneutic circuit in which perception calls up memory and
memory enriches and refines perception. It is a beautiful process, which
I experience occasionally and you probably do too. It requires a subject
with the leisure to discern and to remember, in order gradually to
develop knowledge about the world. But in the hypermediated age,
whos got the time? Bergsons Marxist critics, Georg Lukcs and the
more sympathetic Walter Benjamin, argued that the time so precious to
Bergson, the time of perception and memory, is a time devoid of community and hence of history. Bergson in his conception of the dure
has become ... estranged from history, Benjamin wrote. The dure from
which death has been eliminated has the miserable endlessness of a
scroll. Tradition has been excluded from it.22 Similarly, Lukcs criticized Bergson for ignoring how capitalism distorts the experience of
time into a degrading, depersonalized passage.23 Memory without history, which for the Frankfurt School critics meant social history, is
depopulated. It provides a beautiful sanctuary in which to reflect and
recreate, but when power intervenes in the very experience of time,
memory can only helplessly hold up its hands (and halt, like a clock
whose hands are seized).
Peirce too had in mind an ideal subject of perception, a philosopherscientist who tests all his or her ideas in a rigorous and ongoing interaction with the world. But unlike Bergson, he was adamant that meaning
is produced in an ongoing process of social human interaction with the
world. Sociality is the source of meaning and the basis of the value of
thought. We observe the world, through abstraction produce statements about it, and test these statements. This practice, he argues,
occurs not in the individual alone. It is the community that guarantees
that the signs that circulate within it words, conventions, laws are
grounded in a democratic and scientific agreement as to their meaning
(this is Thirdness) in relation to real objects. As Peirce writes, a symbol,
once in being, spreads and moves among the peoples. In use and in
experience, its meaning grows.24 The value of a sign, then, is its ability
to be taken up, to germinate, to communicate.
Corporate signs are certainly taken up with great enthusiasm. The
fact that they are taken up differently each time gives these signs a certain vitality, about which Peirces semiotics are optimistic. To the extent
that the corporate meanings are taken up and circulated, collective
action by individuals on corporate signs constitutes a community. This
is the argument of studies of fan culture, which emphasize the point in
the semiotic flow whereby corporate Thirds return as collective Firsts.
Are Pokmon, Bach, and Fox transformed in their collective use? In
the first place, no. Insofar as our societies have erected practical barriers
to the transformation of their signs, including copyright law and the
application of anti-defamation laws, their signs cannot be freely taken
up. These barriers certainly impede the flow of living meaning. But it is
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not the main cause of the bottleneck, as lively bootleg cultures attest. If
we return to my example of the child drawing the Pokmon character,
this is a sort of taking up of a corporate sign that generates new meaning, on an individual level. A mobile phones tinny electronic riff on The
Goldberg Variations, infuriating though it may be to Bach aficionados,
makes that piece of music a new object: every return, by every listener,
slightly transforms it.25 If many people take up The Goldberg Variations
in similar ways, allowing it to summon them to duty or distraction on
mobile phones around the world, its meaning as a symbol grows and
changes.
But such transformations of corporate signs are not enough to guarantee that experience is meaningful. Peirce did not have much luck
with fan clubs. He placed his dearest hope in the cooperative action of
a community of students to ensure the gradual emergence of reliable
knowledge.26 What knowledge do these scholars produce? Not abstractions alone; not art; certainly not money. Their modest, disinterested
labour would generate ideas testable in the real world and describing
real outcomes. In the gradual, fallible, and collective process he
describes with loving minuteness, science would uncover objective
truths.27 The purpose of thought, Peirce argued, is to lead to habits of
action: what a thing means is simply what habits it involves.28
So the more important questions are, what meaning do we produce
in the ongoing transformation of corporate signs? What habits of action
result from this process? And (this is a difficult one for all but the most
hard-core Peircean) can they lead to objective truths?
Let us look for the meaning in the experience with which I began. Is
it a fox or a Fox? (Or, as Navajo elder Sam Yazzie asked, Will making
movies harm the sheep?)29 Live people seeing real foxes are transforming that sign according to their memory, as Bergson would say, and
building a new communal understanding of the sign fox, as Peirce
would say. What knowledges, what habits can the community of students develop from seeing a fox in light of the Fox Channel? Should we
shoot it? Feed it lettuce? Sit it in front of the TV with a nice cold arak?
Smug with our superior knowledge (weve seen a real fox), should we
go back to watching TV, but resistantly? (The latter is a term Peirce
would surely have disliked, for the purpose of communication is not to
block meaning but to make useful meaning.)
What if the cable conglomerate aired a documentary on foxes (more
likely on the Discovery Channel)? Certainly here would be a wealth of
signs for the community of students to go and test. We the students
could put its signs into action and thereby learn for ourselves whether
foxes should be shot, like lettuce, and so forth. But most first-worlders
see more TV than foxes. So the Fox Channel (and actually, more ominously, the Discovery Channel and other forms of virtual tourism that
can act as replacements for interaction with the less-mediated world) is
free to make claims about foxes, or other things in the world, that are
untestable for most people. We have no way to determine whether its
information is true, that is, produces belief that leads to habits of action.
(Similar arguments could be made for Pikachu, the Bach jingle, and the
other corporate objects I have been toying with.) Locked in a circuit of
untestable claims, we are assailed by the undemocratic nature of media
knowledge.
The sociality and communicability fundamental to Peirces philosophy are at the same time its weak points, for it is here that corporate
interests have managed to hijack meaning. Peirce did acknowledge that
power corrupts the making of meaning. He condemned social organizations, such as religious hierarchies, that replace scientific inquiry
with forced agreement to the dominant ideas of the time.30 Similarly,
his disdain for the muddy thinking of contemporary philosophers
seems bound up with a critique of their kowtowing to a system of academic privilege.31 He also criticized, with a teacherly disapproval one
can hear in his words, the sheer laziness that prevented humans from
coming up with clear, substantial, useful ideas. But nagging alone will
not produce good students. Peirces anxiety reflects the pressure of
powerful institutions on the modest, collective efforts of the community of students.
In terms of meaning production, then, corporate signs introduce a
deadening, a closed circuit in the semiotic flow. Yes, we can have our
own experience in the information age. Information media allow us to
live a rich mesh of experience, both actual and virtual, at both personal
and impersonal levels. But not social. Information media in capitalism
are not interested in identifying collectives; they are interested in targeting markets. They produce a closed circuit that would rather not be
tested in collective experience. We may have rich individual experience
of mass phenomena, but the social dimension atrophies. If meaning is a
collective, time-based process, our experience is not very meaningful.
The Semiotic Agent
Bergson and Peirce, at the dawn of the information media age, recognized that institutions of power occupy peoples mental space for
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perceiving, thinking, and creating. They worried that corporate symbolization replaces agreement with rhetoric. Each imagined a subject of
knowledge Bergsons centre of indetermination, Peirces community
of students who could continue the project of meaningful experience.
But, retrospective as such formulations usually are, the kind of person
Bergson and Peirce were describing had already ceased to exist. At best,
it persisted only in the leisured classes. The emerging subject of attention described by nineteeth-century psychology was indeed a centre of
indetermination but, like a magnet, capitalist culture had come along
to overdetermine it from the outside.
We in postindustrial, first-world societies are especially subject to the
strangulation of the process of meaning. Individually we are just not
strong enough to rebuild it ourselves: we can have experience, but it is
hard to have meaningful experience. Yet collectively we cannot agree
on truths as quickly as truths are foisted upon us. It is hard to find a
way out of corporate medias short circuit; and frankly, often theres little incentive.
Is there any collective who is capable of taking back the semiotic
flow? This was the urgent question of Deleuze, who drew fruitfully
upon Bergson and Peirce to describe cinematic thought. However,
when the question became not, how do we perceive? but, how can we
survive? he turned away from these two and toward the radical
thought of Nietzsche and Artaud. He understood that both twentyfirst-century media and the people to whom it addressed itself were
objects without a centre. The automatic movement of the cinema produces in us a spiritual automaton that can either be subjugated by the
new images or mutually transformed with them.32 Between us, the people and the media, there is the possibility of annihilation or of profound
creativity but no simple muddling along. The new acephalic, plural
subject, the collective automaton, has succeeded the individual. The
era of luxurious, individual contemplation is over, at least in the postindustrial, hypermediated world. But the collective automaton might be
capable of new forms of creativity and new forms of life. It must be, if
we are to survive as more than slaves.
Deleuze was more interested in the way powerlessness forces us to
believe in life, at least to believe in the body the First that makes possible a new Third than in searching for an agent of change. Where
there might have been an agent, Deleuze discovered a double absence,
the people who are missing and the I who is absent, between which
memory is a membrane.33 Yet in this double absence there is also an
agent precisely because it cannot work alone yet does not form part of
an identifiable collective. It is the very people who are missing, citizens of nowhere, for whom independent perception and thought is not
a luxury but a necessity.
In another writing I have described in detail how the cinema of colonized people derives fabulous new forms of life from the very untenability of their present situation.34 Now I ask: Who is in a position to
bypass the corporate hijacking of the semiotic process? The answer is:
people it is not made for. Unemployed people with time to observe the
world for themselves. People in third world countries where corporate
semiosis is slower, whether through their lack of access to corporate
information or through the bricolage of information from different
sources that demands a testing and winnowing process.
A particularly acute semiotic agency is called for from immigrants,
colonized people who arrive in the land of the colonizer. Immigrants
arrive in unfamiliar circumstances, often literally unable to read the
signs. Much of the knowledge they possessed becomes suddenly useless. At the same time, they are to some degree immune to the corporate
semiotic process that seizes others. Unable to buy and benefit from the
closed-circuit services corporations provide (with the exception, say,
of telephone cards and wire transfer companies like Western Union,
which in any given city advertise in the languages most widely spoken
by immigrants there), they are relatively free from the enchaining
of meaning so compelling for people who are corporations target
markets. Interestingly, Peirce recognized the agency of intercultural
exchange in knowledge. Departing from a critique of religious regimes
from Europe to Siam, he notes that even in the most oppressive society
people exist who possess a wider sort of social feeling and are able to
compare their beliefs with those of other cultures.35
Immigrants cannot rely on prefabricated truths. Their hypotheses
are testable in life-or-death (or expulsion) circumstances. Their perceptual awareness and ability to make fine distinctions, the First and Second of the semiotic process, engage acutely in smelling an edible meal
or smelling a bad deal, differentiating taxis and cop cars, samaritans
and con artists. The process is nothing if not social, for every gleaning
of information spreads by word of mouth. If the truth of information
must be evaluated according to the habits of action it produces, and
these habits are such grave things as legal residence, gainful employment, freedom from persecution, and outwitting those who prey on the
powerless and all this is urgently tested against the experiences of
others then immigrants are the most accomplished community of
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students of our time. They are taking back the semiotic flow, making
meaning that matters.
Similar arguments could be made on behalf of other socially marginal groups, such as poor people, or people with disabilities, in a given
culture. I hesitate to name women, or children, as the agents of this process. Though both need to engage sensory, embodied awareness in
order to read between the signs of unfamiliar or oppressive situations,
both are well-established targets of corporate semiotics. I note that
mobile phonewielding youths are not only growing bigger thumbs;
they are also developing new forms of sociality and new languages
adapted to the economical format of text messaging. But Nokia encourages them to do just that. So I maintain that immigrants, marginal to the
power structures of both corporation and state and possessing subterranean communication networks, seem best to embody Peirces criteria
of autonomy and democracy.
What are the media of these democratic fora, of true Thirdness? Twoway media: cellular telephones, e-mail, electronic word of mouth.
Immigrants also bend unilateral communications media so they become almost interactive: low-watt radio establishes a local community,
for example, for migrant workers, and can be quickly dismantled;
pirated cable television from back home functions as a quasi-interactive
medium, as immigrants avidly cultivate knowledge about the country
they left. But the new two-way, computer-based communications, decentred, accessible from (almost) anywhere, and untraceable off the
grid, provide ideal communications for illegal immigrants. The beauty
of a numeric, placeless address is that the users are accessible as long as
they are in a satellite footprint or near an Internet caf if they want to
be. And by the same token, they can disappear from the reaches of all
those who seek contact creditors, employers, even family merely by
cancelling the account.
But indeed any medium, including Fox TV, is transformed by immigrant semiosis. That slowing-down that first-worlders must work at,
in order to taste the freshness of Firstness, is a basic principle for
immigrants. Anybody can cultivate their own immigrant semiosis in
order to see the world anew. From the velvety olive to the sleek Fox,
the estrangement of fresh perception can urge us backward to the
social, to seek a community of interlocutors with whom we can debate
their meaning. But, only if we agree that there is more meaning than
information media hand down to us. The questions what actions
will result from these new perceptions? what meaning might arise
from these actions? introduces social life back into the very First of
experience.
A last note of modesty and caution. Meaning is destined for the
future. In his later writings Peirce increasingly emphasized that
thought is more powerful and more vital than the material world,
including individual, passing human beings. The surprising sentence
Matter is effete mind, inveterate habits becoming physical laws36 is
another way of saying that the value of thought is in its connection to
other thoughts, whether in communication between people or in the
succession of an individuals thought. So it is not the community but
the thought that outlasts the community, that is ultimately valuable.
Put otherwise, future community is the guarantee of present meaning.
Individual man, Peirce writes, is only a negation to the process of
meaning-making, insofar as he or she is separate from the community
and the future.37
This cold faith in future knowledge might seem at odds with the
warm hope I place in immigrant knowledge. Peirces grail was objectivity, even at the expense of the communities that produced it. Immigrant
semiosis, like that of others with little power, produces solid quasiobjective truth because it is interested, not disinterested. The habits of
action immigrants come up with, based on their rigorous testing, may
not be true for all time, pace Peirce. But immigrant semiosis breaks the
circuit of faux corporate meaning with a vigour that a disinterested
community of scientists lacks. For such future when the community of
students might come (back?) into being, immigrant semiosis guards a
triadic toolbox: remember your body; remember how to think; keep
learning how to communicate.
NOTES
I am deeply indebted to Ali Ferdi Ahmani, a master of immigrant semiosis, for
showing me how humans can build meaning with senses alert and communications, even from jingling mobile phones, richly democratic. I am also grateful
to Martin Lefebvre, a much more exacting Peircean than am I, for his generously thoughtful comments. The germ of this writing was my catalogue essay
Slow Down! Affect in the Information Age, for the program Out of Time at
the Oberhausen Short Film Festival (2001).
1 Canadas Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (formerly Bill C-11),
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he described the pull into action that is the underlying principle of continuity editing. Now something different is going on in popular media. In commercial movies, advertising, computer games, and music television,
continuity is a thing of the past. Jump cuts, reflexivity, shock, and spectacle
call attention to the film as a constructed object. But there is nothing subversive about these films anti-illusionism.
Cameron said this in a discussion with students following his receipt of
an honorary doctorate at Carleton University in May 1997. He argued that
his films, such as The Terminator and Titanic, arouse more complex responses than the mere production of adrenaline.
Is the collective awe people feel on viewing a glorious sunset different from
the collective awe produced by a Steven Spielberg movie or a Cline Dion
recording? I think so. Neither is natural there is some social consensus
that a sunset is glorious but the sunset is not trying to compel us to its
ends, as the powers behind Spielberg and Dion are.
Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2: The Time Image, trans. Hugh Tomlinson and
Robert Galeta (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1989), 189.
With the exception that these prior analyses are not mine alone, as memory
is for Bergson, but social.
Such films are the subject of Martine Beugnets book Cinema and Sensation:
Contemporary French Film and the Art of Transgression (Edinburgh: Edinburgh
University Press, 2007).
See Laura U. Marks, Invisible Media, in New Media: Theories and Practices
of Digitextuality, ed. Anna Everett and John T. Caldwell (New York: Routledge, 2003); and Enfolding and Unfolding: An Aesthetics for the Information Age, Vectors: Journal of Culture and Technology in a Dynamic Vernacular
4 (spring 2007), http://www.vectorsjournal.org/issues/04_issue/
unfoldingenfolding.
This process is illustrated in the example a childs drawing in Marks,
Enfolding and Unfolding.
Crary, Suspensions of Perception, 326.
Henri Bergson, Matter and Memory, trans. Nancy Margaret Paul and W. Scott
Palmer (New York: Zone, 1988), 105.
Walter Benjamin, On Some Motifs in Baudelaire, in Illuminations, trans.
Harry Zohn (New York: Schocken, 1968), 185.
Crary, Suspensions of Perception, 327n107.
Peirce, Logic as Semiotic: The Theory of Signs, in Philosophical Writings of
Peirce, ed. Justus Buchler (New York: Dover, 1955), 115.
I believe this is especially true of music, which, like smell, has a strong affective relationship to precise, individual, spatiotemporal memories.
Immigrant Semiosis
303
In his essay The Task of the Translator, Walter Benjamin offers a metaphor that seems as apposite to the transitions between analogue and
digital as it is to both the problem of translation and the ethics of interpretation:
Fragments of a vessel that are to be glued together must match one
another in the smallest details, although they need not be like one another.
In the same way a translation, instead of imitating the sense of the original,
must lovingly and in detail incorporate the originals way of meaning,
thus making both the original and the translation recognizable as fragments of a greater language, just as fragments are part of a larger vessel.1
305
307
309
and Net art undertaken by Steve Dietz at the Walker Art Gallery is a
case in point. Dietz was clear as curator, and the design of the frame
that surrounded the documented sites ensured that any visitor should
be too, that what was archived there is not art but documentation. (The
Walkers Net art archive was discontinued in 2001; some of the content
can be accessed via the Way Back Machine, but the significant framing
is no longer available further evidence of the ephemerality of media
arts in general and Net art in particular.) The important task of
archiving does not deny ephemerality: on the contrary, it affirms the
gap between archive and art and asserts if anything the necessity of
the distinction. Like the special effects blockbuster, the digital artwork
is condemned to be cutting-edge; but, unlike the blockbuster, it does
not suffer from the patina of the out-of-date that so rapidly scratches
the emulsion of films that have passed their sell-by. Instead, that passage into the archive ensures both that the code enabling the work
becomes a resource for other artists (an author who teaches writers nothing teaches no one)10 at the same time that it ceases to function as an
occupant of the present. If the Web, as auto-surveillant traffic in documents, is a self-mapping device, its cartography is itself effervescent
a simulation that is no sooner recorded than it becomes defunct. In the
same way, the instruction set that generates a digital artwork is over as
soon as it has completed its run. This is why the effects movie is never
an artwork, and why Photoshop images are so aesthetically moribund:
what has been aesthetic in them is the process of making once that
process is terminated, the art is over, and what is presented to the public is only its discarded archival image. To this extent, whatever is
mimetic in the digital is a mimesis of a task already accomplished, a
body that is already past, and as such is excluded from the aesthetics
of digital artworks, in which the process is as yet unfinished. The
mimetic persists, but as a raw material for further processes. In this
sense, the digital artwork is obliged to be incomplete, its ephemerality
dependent on the deferral of all goals to a time which cannot be
achieved in the artwork but toward which it aspires, and in whose
direction it gestures.
Moreover, the ephemerality of the digital is an integral element of its
formal properties. As Virilio would say, the invention of the computer
is also of necessity the invention of the computer crash. Many of the
most significant works Jodis are the most obvious are dependent on
the disruption of the normative efficiency which has been inscribed
into computer design as an ideology if not a reality. In the Net artwork
311
The processual nature of digital art makes it incomplete and imperfect, in the sense that it cannot achieve the absolute completion and
perfection of pure presence. In fact that metaphysics of presence, abandoned first by mathematics in the mid-nineteenth century, now haunts,
as absence, only the transitory sublime of annihilation as special effect.
Nonetheless, though practice has all but abandoned it, the sublime still
haunts contemporary aesthetics from Adorno to Danto as both the Kantian marvelling at domination and its negation, the abjection of the subject. This unappetizing metaphysical binary suits the times, as visible in
the new cult of Bataille as it is in the neo-Kantianism of Lyotards late
writings. The result is a performance, typical of idealist metaphysics,
which simulates the aesthetic dialectic in the static play of a rational/
irrational binary that merely enacts modernitys logic of efficiency and
degradation. In aesthetic terms, here rigor mortis masquerades as danse
macabre. It fails not so much because of this stasis, however, nor because
of its misreading of the present as what is the case, but because it takes
reason and unreason as essential terms in an epoch in which essences
no longer pertain. What distinguishes the digital artwork is its elegance, in the sense intended by David Gelernter: its clarity, economy of
means, operational grace.12
This is not to say that digital artworks are passionless and formalist.
On the contrary: the hall of binary mirrors that traps essentialist art produces that affectless manipulation of tear ducts, erections, and fight-orflight adrenal secretions in sedentary and stultified consumers. It is
rather the case that the characteristic emotions of digital artworks the
movement through disorientation to new orientation, for example, in a
dislocated place, the gasp at beauty realized on the wing, the complex
humour of, for example, the First International Competition of Form
Art are more subtly and actively conformed to the changed character
of accelerated modernity. They are, in a word, necessary. The digital artwork must be necessary: its elegance is a function of the need for the
work. That need can no longer be formed as expression, although it
remains true that contemporary capital is ever more dependent on the
hyperindividuated narcissism of the competitive corporate playpen,
and an art that pretends to bypass that lens of subjectivity thereby fails
to respond to the necessity of individuation as a passage through which
a work moves. Expression remains, but now as the anonymous product
of autonomous networks.
Aesthetic necessity arises at once from the fact of flow, its mediations
and the temporalities they engender. The tendency of capital is toward
313
between future and present is both affirmed and eradicated. The future
must be both continuous with the present (all debts depend on the concept that they can eventually be paid) and entirely divorced from it
(since debt is the motor of financial flows, they must never be allowed
to be paid). It is this fault line of difference between present and future
that requires the digital as its necessary outcome: its elegance derives in
part from its determination as the inhabitance of the present as difference. The digital artwork has no choice but to affirm the immanence of
the future at the point of its emergence.
The necessity of the digital artwork is then not organic in the sense
propounded by Romantic aesthetic philosophy, since it necessarily
abjures wholeness. Instead, the digital works at the level of mediation
as the unhappy conscience of dominant communication, a cyborg will
to grace. The digital is then communicative rather than representational. This places it in opposition to the evolution of e-cash as the
supposedly immaterial universal signifier of all exchange values, promoting the substitutability of everything for anything. Asserting aesthetic difference restores neither the individuality of objects nor the
objectality of individuals, the reciprocal functioning of index and identity resulting from industrial modes of communication. Instead, it
asserts the primacy of mediation, of the material of relations. In this perspective, the digital artwork can be assessed according to the breadth,
depth, and complexity of the networks it engages or engenders. Unlike
Deleuzean difference, however, aesthetic difference is not an absolute
horizon external to all humanity and all communication; but it is a difference intrinsic to communication which, viewed outside the confining
determinations of the actually existing historical conditions, is defined
by its tendency towards inclusiveness and its capacity for translation,
misunderstanding, and so for interpretation and systemic innovation.
Communications own need, bred in the interface of combined human
and technological networks, is that of a newly cyborg communicative
species for inclusion and autonomy. The digital is the necessary next
phase in this historical process, a process which I believe is synonymous
with history: hastening the globalization of the mediating infrastructure while driving forward those internal contradictions that make the
global and deferred information economy unthinkably neither present
nor future. Like Ed Dorns railway wagon, everything is behind and
nothing in front. Mediation is the activity through which the hybrid
communicative species become, and specifically how they become
other than they now are.
When, as D.N. Rodowick explains, Deleuze argues that what philos-
315
puter-specific forms of the early Web, moving instead towards a contextual design, alert to the bodies that use it.15 At the same time, the
success of Wiki and the blogosphere suggest a hunger for what Tim
Berners-Lee described as the full interactive power of alternatives to the
commercialized Web like the Linux-based Amaya browser.16 The old
balance cannot be restored: instead, it must be remade, as it is in interventions like The Webstalker that not only offer control but demand
active participation. Something similar is true of RTMarks Web works,
which imitate the control structures of corporate Web design but
demand action if they are to be experienced not as parody but as art.
Digital media are grounded in work in a second sense: to return to an
earlier theme, electronic media are grounded not in leisure, as the televisualization of the Web insists, but in the workplace. In place of the
elite contemplation of the refined consumer, the digital artwork
demands the intellectual and emotional graft needed to change the
work into something else, very clearly in the collective montage
projects now such an integral part of Web art, but also in projects like
Sera Furneauxs Kissing Booth, where users not only orchestrate virtual kisses but record their own into the booths database. In this
instance, the work does not exist until the user provides the input. This
culture of the database is akin to activist post-artworks like the SOS
Racisme mail-bombing of Le Pens National Front, or the Zapatista
Internetas of the Frankfurt stock exchange. Conceptualism left a legacy
of anti-commodity art: its dialectical outcome is a pro-work work. The
digital artwork is work, a labour shared in the humancomputer interface and, like any work, founded in a social process that demands cooperation among workers and between workers and those anonymous
forebears whose skills are enshrined and concretized in the dead labour
of our machines.
As work, the digital requires the shared labour, specifically, of artist
and audience, to the extent that the distinction begins to blur. To what
extent are Audio-ROM the authors of a sound piece I might make with
their programs and interfaces but using my own samples and, since the
coding is open, my own coding too? This scares, on the one hand, those
brought up in the expressive ideology of the art schools and, on the
other, those humanist scholars who, thirty years ago, leapt at the novel
focus of the Birmingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies to
abandon attempts to understand labour. Yet work is today a curiously
liberating principle. To the extent that artists relinquish control over the
artwork and, to that extent, over the audience, the audience must
assume the same degree of responsibility for the work that the artist has
abandoned in offering it to them. Without that assumption of responsibility, the artwork resorts to the default state of older art: passivity and
what we must now understand as the anaesthetic. The digital artwork
demands responsibility: there is no art where the audience does not take
up this gauntlet and where instead it reserves for itself the sentimental
position, enjoyment without responsibility. This is the burden of Eduardo Kacs Teleporting an Unknown State, in which the survival of a
small plant depended on CUSeeMe clients providing it with remote
sunlight, or Ken Goldbergs Telegarden, which depended on telerobotic
users to tend the garden.17 Likewise, since even in death the labour of
past centuries is still exploited, the digital artworks destiny is to redeem
and liberate the concretized labour embodied in our communicative
machines. That is how the past becomes future, beyond the old lie of
posterity. After all, we are the future that our ancestors looked to to
judge and justify them, and we are not worthy unless we seize the
present as the becoming of their future. This is the responsibility that we
take up, the only people among all the humans who have ever lived
who are alive now.
Under the existing circumstances difference is not a given, a foundation (however complex), or a horizon but a job of work: making a
difference. Communication, under the historical conditions of contemporary capital, can no longer be presumed as an a-historical given. In a
time in which it is almost entirely identifiable with the circulations of
global finance, such that our consumption of commodities even is
merely a necessary moment in the circuits of capital, communication
must be fabricated, since it is no longer natural. On this fabrication
depends the making of a culture that is no longer crowned by the negation of its own negativity, as remains the case with accelerated modernity. Instead, the digital must turn towards the positive construction of
the present as difference, a creation that only becomes possible in the era
of a planetary communications infrastructure. As construction, the digital must forswear the sublime, for the sublime confronts us not as the
incomprehensible but as the incommunicable, an absolute horizon
beyond history. To construct is to act historically, to embrace the interests, human and technological, that have been left so egregiously unsatisfied by the culture of the commodity itself increasingly embraced in
the anaesthetic of its own sublime absence from itself. Change is the
quality of history and of beauty what is transient, what comes into
being in the moment as the emergence of futurity. The digital artwork
must be beautiful.
317
These explorations can be summarized in terms of a series of principles I have tried to voice here:
The digital artwork must be networked.
The digital artwork must be material.
The digital artwork is processual.
The digital artwork must mediate.
The digital artwork must inhabit the present as a moment of becoming.
The digital artwork is obliged to be incomplete.
The digital artwork is by nature ephemeral.
The digital artwork must be imperfect.
What distinguishes the digital artwork is its elegance.
The digital artwork must be necessary.
The digital artwork is cyborg.
The digital artwork must be communicative.
Artisanship is integral to the digital.
The digital artwork is work.
The digital artwork demands responsibility.
The digital artwork must be beautiful.
The digital is a malleable aesthetics, based on the principle that anything that can be made can be remade.18 Where the artworks of the
industrial era hover between existence and non-existence, presence and
absence, the digital seizes on the not-yet for its own domain at the
moment of its emergence. Its time is the time of becoming. The cost is
great: the loss of permanence, of authority, of wholeness. As work, the
artwork that ceases to transform the emergence of the future ceases to
be art and becomes archive.
To emphasize work is not merely to insist on the physical actuality of
instruction sets and displays. It indicates something of the conditions
under which the digital is undertaken as a task. Timothy Druckrey notes
that programming determines a set of conditions in which the represented is formed as an instruction, while language destabilizes the conditions through the introduction of formations in which the represented
is destabilized.19 The imbalance of instruction and extra-textual formations results in a new crisis in the theory of representation, itself already
reeling under the twin blows of consumer capitalism and postmodern
pessimism. The act of interpretation does not become impossible, faced
with the interminable question of the truth of the representation, but
more necessary. At the same time, the automation of tasks as programs
creates a two-tier society: those who enter data and those who interpret
it. For those who create new means for both tasks is reserved what
increasingly appears to be the core of twenty-first-century wealth: intellectual property.20 To the extent that IP treaties are increasingly aimed at
removing the Berne Conventions droits dauteur,21 they are postmodern.
To the extent that they are reinscribing them as tradable commodities
owned by corporations, they are entirely capitalist.22 For all that Marx
has fallen off the core curriculum of media and art theory, class, commodity, and expropriation remain the largest challenges to any future,
and to that extent ethical imperatives driving digital art. Only when that
art is genuinely work can it communicate at the level of work, which
once again is becoming the centre of political life.
The innocence of play is denied us in a time when play has become a
key strategy of the corporate management of creativity in hock to the
production of new consumer goods. We may no longer inhabit the
present for its own sake, as the impressionists and the Lumire brothers
could, but only for the sake of a future for which we are enjoined to take
responsibility. The great negation that guided the avant-gardes of the
twentieth century no longer holds in the twenty-first; and, without that
guide, we risk the sentimental positivity of Ewoks and Tamagotchis.
Most of all, we suffer the immense burden of beauty, the terrible onus of
bringing into existence. But, on the positive side, we have the whole of
history, its staggering defeats and millennia of immiseration, to propel
us into the new.
NOTES
1 Walter Benjamin, The Task of the Translator, in Selected Writings, vol. 1,
19131926, ed. Marcus Bullock and Michael W. Jennings (Cambridge, MA:
Bellknap Press/Harvard University Press, 1996), 25363.
2 Theodor W. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, ed. Gretel Adorno and Rolf
Tiedemann, trans. Robert Hullot-Kentor (London: Athlone Press, 1997),
567.
3 Coco Fusco, The Bodies That Were Not Ours and Other Writings (London:
Iniva/Routledge, 2001).
4 Hayden White, The Modernist Event, in The Persistence of Memory: Cinema,
Television and the Modern Event, ed. Vivian Sobchack (London: Routledge,
1996).
5 Margaret Morse, Virtualities: Television, Media Art, and Cyberculture (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998).
319
6 Saskia Sassen, The Global City: New York, London, Tokyo (Princeton, NJ:
Princeton University Press, 1991).
7 Manuel Castells, The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture, vol. 1, The
Rise of the Network Society (Oxford: Blackwell, 1996).
8 Gilles Deleuze and Flix Guattari, LAnti-Oedipe, vol. 1, and Mille Plateaux,
vol. 2, Capitalisme et Schizophrnie (Paris: ditions de Minuit, 1972, 1980).
9 Paul Virilio, Open Sky, trans. Julie Rose (London: Verso, 1997).
10 Benjamin, Walter, The Author as Producer, in Selected Writings, vol. 2, part
2, 19311934, ed. Michael W. Jennings, Howard Eiland, and Gary Smith
(Cambridge, MA: Bellknap Press/Harvard University Press, 1999), 76882.
11 Sawad Brooks, http://www.thing.net/~sawad/erase/trait/text.html, 2000.
12 David Gelernter, The Aesthetics of Computing (London: Phoenix, 1998).
13 D.N. Rodowick, Gilles Deleuzes Time Machine (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1997), 192.
14 Umberto Eco, Faith in Fakes: Travels in Hyperreality, trans. William Weaver
(London: Minerva, 1986), 93.
15 Jay David Bolter and Diane Gromala, Windows and Mirrors: Interaction
Design, Digital Art and the Myth of Transparency (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press,
2003).
16 Tim Berners-Lee, with Mark Fischetti, Weaving the Web (London: Orion,
1999).
17 Ken Goldberg, ed., The Robot in the Garden: Telerobotics and Telepistemology in
the Age of the Internet (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2000).
18 Andy Deck, Curatorial Algorithms and Malleable Aesthetics, Millennium
Film Journal 34 (1999): 8291.
19 Timothy Druckrey, Netopos ... Notopos: The Fate of Reason in the Global
Network: Teleology, Telegraphy, Telephony, Television, Telesthetics, in Ars
Electronica: Facing the Future, ed. Timothy Druckrey and Ars Electronica
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999), 311.
20 Terry Flew, New Media: An Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2002), 154-9.
21 Armand Mattelart, The Information Society, trans. Susan G. Taponier and
James A. Cohen (London: Sage, 2003), 1256.
22 Christopher May, The Information Society: A Sceptical View (Cambridge, UK:
Polity Press, 2002).
Afterword:
What We Must Do
gene youngblo od
On 15 February 2003 more than ten million people poured into streets,
plazas, and boulevards around the world to demonstrate against neoliberal globalization and U.S. imperialism. Unprecedented in human
history, it was a manifestation of enormous unconquerable power, an
image of boundless solidarity and hope, provided that one was fortunate enough to see it. This was a utopian image, so it did not appear on
the screens, or in the pages, of the imperial Broadcast. For the majority
of world citizens who restrict their knowledge of human affairs to corporate or state media, the demonstrations were invisible.
But behind that cancelled image of power in the streets was another
kind of power, a virtual power that was also invisible the conversation on the Internet that made the demonstrations possible. We all
know that it is this power, not the one displayed in the streets, that the
masters of the world fear the most.
The World Wide Web has been available to a minority of the worlds
population for about eleven years, and digital tools of audiovisual production, best understood as integral components of the Internet, have
come to maturity only within the last few years. Thus, even though the
Internet was greeted immediately with the expected (and appropriate)
utopian discourse, we are only now beginning to feel its true power. I
say feel because there is a crucial difference between conceptual recognition and muscle recognition, between understanding and doing.
By utopian I mean that which is not permitted. The theatre of action
is the place at the root of this word that means no place. And of all
actions that are not permitted, uncontrolled conversation among the
peoples of the world is the most powerful, and the most threatening to
hegemonic authority. Conversation is the most powerful of human
323
325
across France and Italy in the early seventies, and the Casino Container
built by the German design group called Pentagon for Documenta 7 in
1987. Recent Internet-connected examples of wireless mobility were
unveiled by demonstrators in the streets around the U.S. Republican
National Convention in New York City in September 2004. These
included wireless Internet (WiFi) connections, backpack transmitters,
various forms of disruptive guerrilla radio, micro-radio, low-power
FM, walkie-talkie, CB radio, and video cell phones. For a protest-performance called Bikes Against Bush, a wireless Internet-enabled bicycle
was outfitted with a custom-designed printing device that printed
spray-chalk messages sent from Web users around the world directly
onto the streets of Manhattan.
Wireless and radio transmissions must be interfaced as much as possible with MIDI technology for dynamic telepresence. Mobile wireless
telepresence ambient and transient, neither here nor there, appearing
and disappearing at (public) will is an elusive and mysterious form of
power that is always already everywhere and nowhere. Even though
institutions may sponsor particular telecollaborations, the events must
be staged outdoors, in streets, parks, and other public spaces. Telepresence that is outdoors, mobile, and wireless is a potent form of agency,
even if it is only metaphorical. Individuals and groups moving through
the world untethered, unfettered, and unbounded, projecting their will
and causing things to happen locally and globally this is an image of
collective force that transcends space and implodes time. If utopia is not
a place, mobile wireless telepresence is atopia a place without a name.
The teleconferences in this event must take place between experts
and ordinary people, between featured speakers and audiences. They
must be organized around themes that are relevant to the overall event
discussions of the sociopolitical, economic, cultural, and environmental implications of what is transpiring on the network as they speak.
The overarching theme of the conferences must be the challenge to create on the same scale as we destroy. Essential topics in this context are
democratic globalization, democratic world media, and world-collaborative solutions to environmental problems.
The full spectrum of audiovisual and computational technologies,
from high-end to low-end, must be integrated throughout the network
so that locations with lesser resources can participate in the global multimedia conversation. Finally, the telecollaborations and conferences
must be broadcast on TV and radio wherever possible and streamed on
the Internet.
I have described a supremely utopian project that is unlikely to happen. I propose it in the spirit of Antonio Gramscis dictum Pessimism
of the intellect, optimism of the will. I am trying to start a conversation
about this idea. Is it reasonable? Is it as necessary as I think it is? Even if
it is not, it would certainly be beautiful, and it would change the world.
It would be a gesamptkunstwerk beyond anything yet realized. The mystery is why it has not been attempted.
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Contributors
342 Contributors
Contributors
343
Nick Dyer-Witheford is associate professor in the Faculty of Information and Media Studies at the University of Western Ontario. He is the
author of Cyber-Marx: Cycles and Circuits of Struggle in High Technology
Capitalism (University of Illinois Press, 1999), and, with Steven Kline
and Greig de Peuter, of Digital Play: The Interaction of Technology, Culture
and Marketing (McGill-Queens University Press, 2003). His research
interests include analysing emergent forms of counter-power against
high technology and globalized capital, and the political economy of
the computer and video game industry.
Caitlin Fisher is a theorist, creative writer, and Web artist with broad
interdisciplinary interests. She is assistant professor at York Universitys Department of Film and Canada Research Chair in Digital Culture. Her research and teaching focus on the social and cultural aspects
of communication technologies, hypermedia, feminist theory, augmented reality, and digital multimedia work (she completed Yorks first
hypertextual dissertation in 2000). She is a founding editor of j_spot:
Journal of Social and Political Thought, an electronic journal covering a
wide range of intersections between theory, politics and political action,
aesthetics, cultural criticism, and social and economic justice. Her most
recent publication is These Waves of Girls, a hypermedia novella exploring memory, girlhoods, cruelty, childhood play, and sexuality, which
won the Electronic Literature Organizations 2001 prize for fiction.
Susan Lord is associate professor in the Department of Film and Media
and holds cross-appointments with the Departments of Art and
Womens Studies at Queens University. She has published several articles reflecting her general research interests in media and temporality,
feminist media theory and culture, Cuban visual culture, and Canadian
cinema. With Janine Marchessault, she is involved in a research project
about artists collectives and citizenship practices. Recently she coedited, with Annette Burfoot, the anthology Killing Women: The Visual
Culture of Gender and Violence (Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2006),
and, with Glenn Gear, Dorit Naaman, Matt Soar, and Miriam Verburg, a
special issue of Public entitled Digital Poetics and Politics: The Work of
the Local in the Age of Globalization. She is completing a book on the
late Cuban filmmaker Sara Gmez, as well as a manuscript called Sublime Machines/Time Zones.
Janine Marchessault is associate professor in the Faculty of Fine Arts
344 Contributors
Contributors
345
Drugs and Politics (Serpents Tail/ICA, 1997), and his films include The
Decline of Industry in the Industrialized World (2007), The Globalization
Tapes (with Vision Machine, 2003), The Entire History of the Louisiana Purchase (1998), and These Places Weve Learned to Call Home (1996), as well as
the in-progress film works of Vision Machine, of which he is a member.
Sheila Petty is dean of the Faculty of Fine Arts and Professor of Media
Studies at the University of Regina. She edited the book A Call to Action:
The Films of Ousmane Sembene (Flicks Books, 1996) and co-edited Canadian Cultural Poesis (Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2006). She is especially interested in bridging art/cultural theory and practice, and this
has led to several curated film and video exhibitions such as Identity and
Consciousness: (Re)presenting the Self at Reginas Dunlop Art Gallery and
Inventions of Nation at the MacKenzie Art Gallery and the Walter Phillips Gallery in Banff. She has written extensively on issues of cultural
representation, identity, and nation in African and African diasporic
cinema and new media, and has a forthcoming book on African
diasporic film and a forthcoming monograph on the TV series Law and
Order.
Kirsty Robertson is a PhD candidate in the Department of Art at
Queens University and a lecturer at the University of Toronto. Her
research interests include contemporary art and activism in Canada,
surveillance culture, cyborg theory and practice, reconciling feminist
craft theory with contemporary art practices, and post-colonial theory
and new media practice. She is presently working on a dissertation that
examines the intersections between visual culture and protest (in particular the global justice movement) in Canada.
Michael Uwemedimo is a writer, curator, and member of the filmmaking collaboration Vision Machine. Michaels latest writings appear in
Jean-Luc Godard: Documents (Pompidou Centre, 2006), Building Bridges:
The Cinema of Jean Rouch (Wallflower, 2007), and his forthcoming book,
The Interview (Manchester University Press, 2008). His recent curatorial
projects include Possessing Vision: The Cinema of Jean Rouch (ICA, 2000),
Jean-Luc Godard: A Retrospective (NFT/Tate Modern, 2001), Truth or Dare
(Whitechapel Gallery, 2006), and After the Fact (BFI Southbank, 2007).
Michael is currently research fellow at Roehampton University.
Vision Machines filmmaking focuses on re-enactments and dramati-
346 Contributors
zations by perpetrators and survivors of political violence, and investigates relationships between genocide and genre, spectrality and ghosts,
and the possibilities for filmmaking to intervene in economies of terror.
Vision Machine has worked with covert operators, paramilitary death
squads and their victims, documenting processes of dramatization and
fictional adaptation to explore not only the performance of political violence, but also the stories and images used to justify the routines of that
violence. Exploring the imbrications of memory and performance, and
working from Southeast Asia to the American desert, Vision Machine
has staged musical numbers and gangster scenes, westerns and weepies as catalysts for the actors in these terrible histories to reveal the
many ways in which history can imagine violence as heroic, and killers
as heroes.
Rinaldo Walcott is associate professor in the Department of Sociology
and Equity Studies in Education at the University of Toronto, where he
also holds the Canada Research Chair in Social Justice and Cultural
Studies. His teaching and research have been largely in the area of cultural and post-colonial studies with an emphasis on black diaspora
studies. He has published on music, film, queer theory, literature, and
theatre. His most recent scholarship branches out from black studies to
engage with other forms of marginalized difference in the Canadian
nation-making project. This new project, Other Canadians and the Remaking of the Nation, will result in the Other Canadians Database:
Culture Re-making the Nation, which will consist of film and video
made by Other Canadians. He is the author of Black Like Who? Writing
Black Canada (Insomniac Press, 1997), and the editor of Rude: Contemporary Black Canadian Cultural Criticism (Insomniac Press, 2000).
Haidee Wasson is assistant professor of Cinema, Concordia University,
Montreal. She has previously taught at the University of Minnesota, as
well as in the Department of Visual and Environmental Studies, Harvard University. As a Fulbright Scholar, she has been a visiting fellow at
the Museum of Modern Art and New York University. Her books
include Museum Movies: The Museum of Modern Art and the Birth of Art
Cinema (University of California Press, 2005) and a co-edited collection
(with Dr Lee Grieveson) on the history of film studies (Duke University
Press, 2008). She has published numerous journal articles and book
chapters on topics such as emergent technology and visual history, the
museum gift shop, museums and cinema, early home theatres, and the
Contributors
347
Index
350 Index
Baudelaire, Charles, 13
Baudrillard, Jean, 67, 73, 213, 257,
268, 314
Bauman, Zygmunt, 4, 5, 23
Bazin, Andr, 29, 48, 85, 95
B.C. Film Commission, 261
Beatles, The, 58, 61
Beckett, Samuel, 215
Belton, John, 92
Benjamin, Walter, 6, 911, 14, 22, 115,
188, 197, 208, 264, 275, 282, 294,
302, 304, 31819
Benning, James, 199
Bergson, Henri, 22, 54, 56, 635, 689,
71, 73, 2867, 2917, 302
Berland, Jody, 268
Berne Convention, 318
Berners-Lee, Tim, 315, 319
Bernstein, Michael Andr, 199
BET (Black Entertainment Television), 160
Bhabha, Homi, 143, 194, 201, 2089
Bikes Against Bush, 325
bin Laden, Osama, 237, 240
Birnbaum, Dara, 113, 125
black: body, 170, 173; music, 16093
Black Audio Film Collective, 193
Black Skin White Mask, 175
Blair, Kristine, 18, 148, 158
Bland, John, 32
Blue Window Pane, 1389, 141
Bhlen, Marc, 141
Bolter, Jay David, 140, 314, 319
Boole, George, 304
Bordwell, David, 92
Bradley, Steve, 278
Braidotti, Rosi, 155, 159
brain drain, 261
Breashears, David, 83
Brooks, Sawad, 310, 319
Index
cell/mobile phone, 15, 212, 523, 62,
27082, 2846, 288, 295, 299300
Cell-Outs and Phonies, 279, 283
Czanne, Paul, 13
Chakar, Tony, 2067
Chakrabarty, Dipesh, 201, 209
Challenge for Change, 47
Changeux, Jean-Pierre, 140
Chaplin, Charles, 33
Chicago, Judy, 145, 148
Chion, Michel, 56, 645, 723
Chiron, Julie Ann, 158
Chroma-Key, 8
CHUM-CITY, 256
CIA, 178, 185, 1901, 2045
Cincera, Raduz, 34
cin-criture, 9
Cinesphere (Ontario Place), 83
Circle Vision, 31
City of Gold, 40
Clark, Danae, 268
Clear Channel, 5
CNN, 54, 120, 187, 232, 236, 256
coeval temporality, 2023
Colby, William, 1856, 204
Collingwood, R.G., 35, 50
Collins, Richard, 252, 267
Columbine massacre, 246
computer-generated image (CGI),
252
Connearn, David, 310
Cooperation of Parts, 200
Corrinne, Tee, 145
Coyne, Richard, 140
Crandall, Jordan, 231, 240, 242, 2489
Crary, Jonathan, 72, 289, 3012
Cribb, Robert, 1901
Cronenberg, David, 227
Cubitt, Sean, 97, 108, 198, 208, 210,
217, 219, 225, 227
351
352 Index
Dialtones, 270, 277, 282
Diamond, Sara, 20, 193, 1956, 208
Diankha, Rackie, 109
Diapolyecran, 31
Diba, Viye, 109
Dibbell, Julian, 215, 21718, 227
Dickens, Charles, 33
Dietz, Steve, 309
digital aesthetics, 14, 17, 23, 126, 145
57, 21026, 229
digital artwork 15, 223, 30418
digital video 17, 86, 131, 156, 189
Dinner Party, The, 145, 148
Diouf, Pape Teigne, 109
Discovery Channel, 284, 2956
Disney, 34, 23, 34, 154
DJ Spooky, 170
DNA, 8
Dogme 95 manifesto, 53
Dolinsky, Margaret, 1389, 141
dome screen, 31
Don, Abbe, 150, 158
Dorland, Michael, 253, 268
Dorn, Ed, 313
DOS, 147
Dostoevsky, Fyodor, 215
Drabo, Yaya Karim, 109
Dream Is Alive, The, 83
Druckrey, Timothy, 317, 319
DuBois, W.E.B., 1634, 170, 1756
Duchamp, Marcel, 8
Dulac, Germaine, 9, 24
Eco, Umberto, 32, 314
Edelman, Gerald, 140
Edhie, Sarwo, 190
Edison, Thomas, 81, 93, 289
Edwards, Gordon, 32
Einstein, Albert, 33, 307
Eisenberg, Daniel, 200
Index
Frankfurt School, 294
Freed, Donald, 191
Freedman, Mark, 262
Freedom of Information Act, 205
freeSTYLE, 279, 283
Fretwork: ReForming Me, 154
Freud, Sigmund, 68, 155, 188, 191
Friedberg, Anne, 10, 24, 75, 92
Frye, Northrop, 32, 401, 43, 50, 217,
331
Fulford, Robert, 34, 49
Fuller, R. Buckminster, 8, 334, 49
Full Spectrum Commander, 233, 235
Full Spectrum Leader, 233, 235
Full Spectrum Warrior (FSW), 21, 231
48
Fung, Richard, 193
Furneaux, Sera, 315
Fusco, Coco, 198, 306, 318
future cinema, 2948
future/futurology/futurism/futurity, 8, 12, 18, 20, 22, 2948, 57, 112,
123, 1478, 155, 161, 168, 171, 174,
188, 1937, 219, 2212, 224, 233,
235, 263, 300, 308, 310, 31213, 316
18
Gabriel, Teshome, 97, 100, 105, 108,
110
Gance, Abel, 35
Gardner, Paul F., 179, 190
Gasher, Mike, 253, 268
Gaye, Anta Germaine, 109
Gehr, Ernie, 199
Gelernter, David, 311, 319
George Clinton and Parliament and
their Mothership Connection, 171
Gerbner, George, 267
Get Smart, 54
Gibbons, Scott, 53
353
354 Index
Guyer, Carolyn, 1467, 149, 154, 157
9
Guzmn, Patricio, 196, 208
Habermas, Jurgen, 24
Habitat, 32, 47
Halbfinger, David M., 249
Hall, Stuart, 1669, 175, 269
Halliburton, 246
Hammid, Alexander, 34
Hansen, Miriam, 24
Haraway, Donna, 156
Hardt, Michael, 9, 24, 231, 2478, 250
Hardwick, Gordon, 260
Harris, Bernard, 172
Harry Potter, 5
Harvey, David, 2578, 268
Harwood, Graham, 20, 21921
Havelock, Eric, 12
Hawthorne, Susan, 14950, 158
Hayles, Katherine, 60, 72, 141
Hebdige, Dick, 168, 176
Hegel, Georg W.F., 13, 58, 312
Heidegger, Martin, 62, 68, 314
Heim, Michael, 96, 108
Heisenberg, Werner, 8
Highmore, Ben, 49
Hillis, Ken, 140
Hiroshima Mon Amour, 198
historical excavation, 181
historiography, 92, 2046, 208
History Channel, The, 195
histrionic reconstruction, 181
Holmes, Steven A., 249
holographic cinema, 30
Holzman, Steven, 141
Horkheimer, Max, 253
Hornstein, Shelley, 268
Hours, The, 53
HTML, 150, 314
Index
Jennings, Pamela, 101, 108, 110
Johnson, Dan, 261
Johnson, Steven, 108
Johnson-Eilola, Johndan, 155, 159
Joint Vision 2020, 2334, 249
Jonze, Spike, 265
Joyce, James, 33, 147
Joyce, Michael, 147, 157
Julien, Isaac, 193
Kac, Eduardo, 316
Kahn, Douglas, 72
Kaleidoscope, 31
Kant, Immanuel, 311
Kaplan, Nelly, 50
Karwas, Dana, 279, 283
Katz, John Stuart, 268
Khbeiz, Bilal, 206
Kinder, Marsha, 208
Kinetoscope, 81, 289
Kino-Automat, 31, 34
Kissing Booth, 315
Kittler, Friedrich, 54
Kleenex, 112
Kline, Stephen, 248
Klinger, Barbara, 923
Klubock, Thomas Miller, 197, 208
Knight, Arthur, 162, 175
Kodak, 93
Kolko, Beth, 161
Korris, James, 24950
Kracauer, Siegfried, 911, 24, 38, 50
Kraftwerk, 167
Kroitor, Roman, 30, 401, 467, 50
Kroker, Arthur, 25
Kubelka, Peter, 121
Kuma Reality Games, 232
Kyotopolis, 20, 2223, 227
Labatts, 253
355
356 Index
Lucasfilm, 252
Ludruk (theatre), 184, 186, 204
Lukcs, Georg, 294
Lull, Ramon, 304
Lumire brothers, 318
Lunenfeld, Peter, 21920, 227
Lynn, Victoria, 201, 209
Lyotard, Jean-Franois, 67, 73, 177,
190, 311
Macedonia, Michael, 233, 238, 245,
248
Magder, Ted, 253, 268
Malloy, Judy, 146, 152, 1578
Maltby, Richard, 745, 91, 93
Man with a Movie Camera, 121
Man without a World, The, 200
Man Machine, The, 167
Manovich, Lev, 91, 934, 1257, 140
Marble Springs, 153
Marchessault, Janine, 218
Marker, Chris, 20, 1956, 2212
Marley, Bob, 174
Martin, Juliet, 154, 159
Marx, Karl, 57, 68, 211, 226, 267, 269,
318
Marx Brothers, 33
Marxist/Marxism, 197, 213, 226, 272,
294
M.A.S.H., 216
Massumi, Brian, 2367, 24950
Matrix, The, 94, 132, 216, 233
Mattelart, Armand, 319
Mauss, Marcel, 211
May, Christopher, 319
May, Derrick, 162, 170, 1723, 175
Mayer, Andre, 269
Maynard, Patrick, 141
Mbaye, Massamba, 16, 98, 109
M Butterfly, 227
McCarthy, Anna, 76
McGovern, Catherine, 99, 109
McLuhan, Marshall, 4, 8, 1115, 20,
23, 25, 29, 312, 345, 38, 46, 4851,
5663, 65, 68, 72, 21011, 2234,
226
McRobbie, Angela, 176
memory, 15, 1819, 467, 81, 123, 138,
143, 147, 149, 151, 174, 17790, 192
207, 21920, 222, 2917, 302, 310
Menand, Louis, 62, 72
Mercer, Kobena, 165, 175
Meredith, George, 198, 306
Merians, Laura, 283
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 10
Merrell, Floyd, 287
Metissacana (Senegal), 99
Metropolis, 33
Michener, Wendy, 43, 50
Microsoft: corporation, 24, 246, 310;
Windows, 147; Word, 133, 135;
Xbox, 235
Microworlds, Sirens and Argonauts,
137
MIDI, 325
Military Operations in Urban Terrain
(MOUT), 235, 238
Miller, Toby, 269
Millhouse, 195
Milosevic, Slobodan, 237
MIMENET, 2313
Minh-Ha, Trinh T., 152, 193
Mitchell, William J., 141
modernity, 4, 6, 910, 18, 20, 22, 31,
143, 162, 164, 1702, 193, 197, 201
2, 208, 227, 308, 311, 316
Molsons, 253
montage, 13, 1878, 1956, 198, 201,
3056, 315
Montreal Film Festival, 29
Index
357
NAFTA, 307
Nakamura, Lisa, 161
Napoleon, 35
narrative geography, 189
NASA, 281
NASDAQ, 86
358 Index
Peirce, Charles Sanders, 22, 2868,
2917, 299300, 3023
Pendakur, Manjunath, 253, 268, 337
Pentagon, 205, 2323, 235, 246
performance, 47
Persaud, Nalini, 195, 208
Petit Pagne, 99, 109
Petry, Martha, 147, 157
Petterd, Robin, 141
phantasmagoria, 910, 54
Photoshop, 133, 135, 309
Piaget, Jean, 114, 125
Pilger, John, 190
Pink Floyd, 61
Pixar, 252, 264, 268
Plant, Sadie, 147, 157, 159, 276
Plato, 55
Poch-Goldin, Alex, 267
Pokmon, 5, 221, 2912, 2935
Polar Express, 94
Polar Life, 34
Polyvision, 31
postmodern, 68, 163, 170, 171, 212,
226, 31718
Power in Motion: Capital Mobility and
the Indonesian State, 190
Prince (the artist now known again
as), 174
projection, 8, 31, 38, 46, 78, 83, 90, 93,
111, 123, 136, 225, 312
QuickTime, 14, 16, 77, 808, 94;
screens, 15
Quintas, Eva, 99, 109
Raad, Walid, 20, 193, 194, 199, 204,
205, 206, 207
Rabinovitz, Lauren, 92
race memory, 19, 170, 174
Rama, Angel, 201
Rathburn, Eldon, 45
Rauschenberg, Robert, 310
Recombinant History Project, 200
Red Violin, The, 2667
Reed, Ishmael, 170
Regan, Ronald, 1778
Rehearsal of Memory, A, 20, 21920,
222
Reinsel, Joe, 278, 283
Renault, Mary, 41
Resnais, Alain, 198
Resonance of Four, 314
Revolution in Military Affairs
(RMA), 234
Richards, Kate, 200
Rigsby, Jeremy, 125
Rist, Pipilotti, 86
Robinson, Stanley Kim, 214, 226
Rochijat, P., 191
Rodowick, D.N., 313, 319
Rogoff, Irit, 279, 281
Rouvelle, James, 278
RTMark, 315
Ruby, Jay, 268, 332
Russolo, Luigi, 59, 72
Ryan, Marie-Laure, 141
Safdie, Moshe, 32, 47
Sale Away, 277, 282
Samphan, Khieu, 1778
Samplers: Nine Vicious Little Hypertexts, 154
Sankofa Collective, 193
Sassen, Saskia, 307, 319
Schaffer, Pierre, 56, 65
Schapiro, Miriam, 154
Schiller, Herbert I., 267
Schmidt, Sarah, 2679
Schneeman, Carolee, 8
science fiction, 35, 161, 170
Index
Scott, Peter Dale, 1901
Scott, Ridley, 263
screens, 5, 7, 16, 301, 335, 39, 438,
51, 7480, 824, 86, 901, 935, 117,
1312, 136, 138, 173, 201, 218, 305,
321, 324, 339
Seck, Madick, 16, 98, 109
SEED Collective, 2801, 283
Sembne, Ousmane, 108, 110
Sensory Environments Evaluation
program (SEE), 233
Serres, Michel, 546, 61, 6973
Shakar, Gregory, 53
Shannon and Weaver, 307
Shatnoff, Judith, 31, 49
Shaw, George Bernard, 33
Shepperson, Arnold, 110
Shine, Anthony, 32
Shive, Adam, 137
Shock and Awe, 232
Signal Germany in the Air, 199
Sim, Agueda, 137
Simpson Fletcher, Yael, 195, 208
Simpsons, The, 260
Singer, Ben, 93
Siskind, Jacob, 49
situationists, 253, 314
SKG, 75
Skoller, Jeffrey, 199200, 209
Slane, Andrea, 152, 158
slaves/slavery, 170, 297
Smith, Daniel W., 73
Smith, Michael Peter, 24
Snake River, 1803, 2034
Snow, Michael, 58
Sobchack, Vivian, 77, 912, 94
Soja, Edward, 12
Sontag, Susan, 65, 73
Sony, 132, 232, 235, 2456
Sorrow Songs, 1634, 170
359
360 Index
of Memories of Nazi Germany and the
Holocaust, 152
Thompson, Clive, 227
Thompson, Francis, 34
Thompson, Kristen, 2601
Thompson, Robert Farris, 176
Thomson, Douglass H., 158
THQ Inc., 235, 2456
Tiananmen Square, 115
Time Warner, 5
Tine, Moussa, 16, 98, 108
To Be Alive, 34
Tomaselli, Keyan, 110
Toop, David, 162
Toronto Explorations Group, 32
Total Recall, 233
Toy Story, 264
Tracing the Decay of Fiction, 200
Training Day, 233
transculturation, 201
trauma, 168, 174, 183, 191, 194, 2034,
208, 243
Travis, Molly Abel, 158
Troupe, Quincy, 175
Trudeau, Pierre, 47
Trudel, Pascal, 152, 158
Tsing, Anna, 24
Tufte, Edward, 141
TVTV, 324
Tyrwhitt, Jacqueline, 32
Ugo Ugo Lhuga, 220
Ukadike, Nwachukwu Frank, 109
UNESCO, 109
Universe, 40
Unkrich, Lee, 2589, 268
Urban Peasants, 200
URBANtells, 278, 283
Utopia, 199
Uwemedimo, Michael, 2024
Valery, Paul, 61
Vandelman, Harry, 32
Vanlint, Derek, 2634
Vasulka, Woody, 7
Venturi, Robert, 112, 123, 125
Vertov, Dziga, 1201
Viacom, 75
video games, 138, 232, 252
Village Voice, The, 215
Viola, Bill, 137
Virilio, Paul, 246, 250, 3089, 319
virtual reality (VR), 20, 60, 128, 138,
21423, 227, 233
Vision Machine, 193, 2024
Vivendi-Universal, 75
VNS Matrix, 147
Von Trier, Lars, 53
Vukov, Tamara, 248, 250
Wagmister, Fabrian, 97, 100, 105, 108,
110, 141
Wagner, W. Richard, 59, 64, 72
Waking Life, 1312
Waldrop, M. Mitchell, 140
Walker, Dean, 48
Walker Art Gallery, 309
Wallace, Linda, 2001, 209
Warhol, Andy, 211
Washington Post, 205
water screen, 31
Way Back Machine, 309
We Are Young, 34
Webstalker, The, 315
Weibel, Peter, 7, 49
White, Hayden, 19798, 318
WiFi, 325
Wiki, 315
Wilding, Faith, 148, 1534, 158
Williams, Raymond, 29, 48
Wilson, Brian, 61
Index
Wilson-Goldie, Kaelen, 208
Winters, Jeffrey, 190
Wise, Wyndham, 501
Witchs Work Is Never Done, A, 154
WNBC, 119
WOE, or a Memory of What Will Be,
147
Womens Labour History Project,
193, 195, 208
Woolf, Virginia, 53, 63, 6570, 723
World Lesbian Biography, 151, 158
Wundt, Wilhelm, 289
361