Favorite Books on Cinema - Part 2

Looking Awry is one I always go to when I'm working with Lacanian concepts. 

 

Looking Awry was significant for me when I wrote Cinema of Confinement. I recommend it if you want to learn more about the intersection of psychoanalytic theory and cinema.

There are lots of great examples from movies and books to help understand these complex concepts. Žižek is not suggesting that using examples from popular culture avoids the complexity of theory. Rather, it is a way of exploring theoretical concepts, but looking at them from a different perspective--thus looking awry.

One example that stuck with me is Patricia Highsmith's "The Black House," a story about a group of men who get together at a bar and reminisce about an old house in the town that is associated with nostalgia and memories. A young engineer, who just moved into town, hears about the myth of the old house and decides to visit it. Finding nothing mysterious about it, he tells the men that it is just an old, filthy ruined house. The men freak out and attack the young engineer and windup killing him.

 

As Žižek explains, the young intruder reduced their fantasy space to an everyday, common reality. "He annulled the difference between reality and fantasy space, depriving the men of the place in which they were able to articulate their desires” (9). 

The old house is an empty screen for the men to project their nostalgic desires and memories upon, which was then reduced to nothing by the engineer. Here, Žižek draws our attention to the fantasy screen, the protective screen from the Lacanian Real, the "thing" that haunts and disrupts the symbolic order. A point Žižek makes over and over is that if you remove the fantasy screen, you don't get "reality." Instead, you get a nightmarish form of reality. The fantasy screen provides a sense of reality, keeping the Real at a distance. In the case of the engineer, he unplugs the men's fantasy screen.

In Cinema of Confinement, I discuss the ending of Rope (1948), how the penthouse becomes a strange and distorted space after Rupert (James Stewart) discovers the corpse Brandon (John Dall) and Phillip (Farley Granger) had hidden throughout the dinner party. 

The big window acts as a sort of fantasy screen for Brandon and Phillip, which keeps danger at a distance. But when their secret is exposed, Rupert opens the window and fires a gun, calling attention to the authorities. The space then becomes flooded with lights from a nearby neon sign, the sounds of the city amplify. The characters movements are suddenly protracted and creaturely. The orderliness of space becomes distorted as an the fantasy screen collapses.

 

There are lots of great examples in Looking Awry from cinema and worth checking out. Also see Enjoy Your Symptom and Žižek's book on Krzysztof Kieslowski. Of course, there is his collection of essays on Alfred Hitchcock. I also recommend Matthew Flisfeder's excellent book on Žižek's work on film. 

 

 

The Record Store Can Read My Desire

Damon Krukowksi's great book (and podcast) Ways of Hearing explores how digital media have transformed the way we hear. 

In the chapter on "power," he considers the difference between Spotify's "Discovery Weekly" and visiting a record store. Spotify's algorithm considers what you listen to, adapting to your tastes and likes. He notes, "At Spotify, the dream is to provide you with music without your participation-the algorithm will know what you want" (111).

 

 

But when we visit a record store, one has to navigate its space. As Krukowski states, "You adapt to it" (11). If you ever been to Amoeba in Los Angeles--clearly the case!

 

(Me at Amoeba Music)

By adapting to the store's layout, you might come across a surprise, maybe a record you hadn't thought about purchasing. This process involves your unconscious desire. As I explained in an earlier posting, the logic of desire operates on absence. The object cause of desire (what Jacques Lacan terms objet a) can never be satisfied.

 

 

At the same time, the object cause of desire sustains the psychical force of desire because it is unattainable. It is sometimes described as the real of one's desire. Real - meaning the impossible, or in this case, the stumbling block of desire. 

In a previous post on the gaze, I noted how cinematic forms can elicit our desire. Like the narrative and formal construction of a movie, the design and layout of a record store considers your desire. A record store is already designed for you to engage with it.

Not all stores will elicit your desire. But in my recent journey to Amoeba, the store reads my desire in how it displays its merchandise. It is not adapting to me (as Spotify does with Discovery Weekly), but is trying to elicit my unconscious desire in anticipating a surprise purchase.

 

 

But this raises a question: can algorithms such as Discover Weekly read your desire? In a podcast on the Lacanian Real with Todd McGowan, he argues they can't because they repeatedly tell you what you want.

I think McGowan's claim lines up with Slavoj Zizek's critique of technological singularity. For Zizek, singularity can't account for the unconscious. Likewise, algorithms don't know how to read our unconscious desire. 

Instead of a "surprise," (something unexpected which emerges from your encounter at a record store), you discover something new with Discover Weekly, which is based on your tastes. As Krukowski writes, "You find the answers you want to the questions you already know to ask. . . . This makes an ideal experience if all you want is what you want. But what if you're looking for something else?" (112). That "something else" is what Lacan call objet a which algorithms can not provide. 

Another way to think about algorithms is they operate on mastery. By contrast, a record store operates on both absence ("something else") and mastery ("all"). As you navigate the story, you try to master it. At the same time, what draws you into the store is absence (unconscious desire).

Immanuel Kant - The Schema

I found some papers I wrote in grad school and thought I would share. This one was from a class I took on Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. It explains the concept of the schema. I remember this was a strange concept when I first learned it. I would later learn Slavoj Zizek would sometimes use the schema to explain how fantasy works. I hope you find this helpful. I am using the Cambridge edition, citing A/B version of the Critique.

The purpose of this paper is to investigate Immanuel Kant’s critique of abstract concepts. For Kant, to unravel an abstract concept is to know the determinate rules for human cognition; that is, to uncover the forms of judgment that allows one to conceptualize an object of experience. Empiricist philosophers such as Hume and Locke have tried to solve the problem of abstract concepts but without the employment of a priori conditions. The starting point for both Hume’s theory of impressions and Locke’s theory of ideas is the realm of experience. However, for Kant, experience as a starting point cannot demonstrate what is universal and necessary for the possibility of a priori judgments. To solve the problem of abstract concepts, Kant introduces the notion of a schema which is a determinate rule that mediates the relationship between appearances and the categories. There are three problems of abstract concepts associated with the schema: empirical concepts (in relation to the universal and particular), pure sensible concepts, and pure concepts of the understanding. In this paper I will explain the problem of empirical concepts in regards to the particular and universal, which the empiricist philosophers could not solve, and show how the employment of the schema solves the problem of abstract concepts.

 

In the section on transcendental deduction, Kant demonstrated how the combination of the transcendental aesthetic (the conditions of time and space) and the pure concepts of the understanding present the possibility of experience. Per Dieter Henrich, Kant’s transcendental deduction is a two steps process in a single deduction, exemplifying the connection between the intellectual and sensible conditions of human knowledge. The importance of the transcendental deduction is that it demonstrates the objective validity of the categories for the possibility of experience. Objective validity is vital for Kant’s transcendental deduction because it establishes the necessary truth for the possibility of judgments. 

 

The transcendental deduction, however, only tells us the story on how forms and structures operate within the mind. Kant’s next endeavor must present the empirical side of the story in order to fully proclaim his Copernican Revolution; that is, objects conform to our knowledge. To fully solve the problem of abstract concepts, we must understand how content is employed within the forms of the mind, because, as Kant states, “Thoughts without content are empty, intuitions without concepts are blind” [ B75/A51]. Without the employment of content, the categories of understanding would remain idle. 

 

Kant posits that general logic cannot supply the rules or forms for the power of judgment, noting that “General logic contains no precepts at all for the power of judgment, and more over cannot contain them” [B171/A132]. For instance, everyone can learn how to interpret a type of triangle or square, such as a right angle or a rhombus; but the power of judgment through the lens of general logic cannot state that this particular triangle or square is universally correct. Paul Guyer explains in Kant and the Claims of Knowledge, “If rules were needed to apply concepts, which are themselves rules, then further rules might be needed to apply concepts, which are ad infinitum” (162). General logic cannot inform what the determinate rules or precepts are for the power of judgment. Applying one rule to another rule under general logic leads to an infinite regress and not what is necessary and universal. 

To avoid the problem of an infinite regress Kant argues that there must be determinate rules (forms and structures) for the power of judgment. The transcendental deduction alone cannot produce an object of experience. The combination of the manifold of intuition and the categories require an additional mechanism to direct the appearances in order to produce an object of experience. Kant notes, “[T]he function of the understanding in the category must also contain a priori form conditions of sensibility … that contain the general conditions under which alone the category can be applied to any object” [B179/A140]. For Kant, there must be something “homogeneously contained” in the representation of the object in order to arrive at the concept of an object such as a dog or a plate. Kant notes, “In all subsumption of an object under a concept the representations of the former must be homogeneous with the latter” [A137/B176]. The notion of subsumption posits something particular in the representation that is homogeneous with the object. In other words, properties of objects are represented by predicates, and what links the predicates to the categories is what Kant terms the schema.  

 

The schema is a determinate rule that mediates that relationship between appearances and the categories. The schema is pure a priori and is also sensible because its application to the category is transcendental time-determinate. Kant notes, “[An] application of the category to appearances become possible by means of transcendental time-determination which, as the schema of the concept of understanding, mediates the subsumption of the later under the former” [B178/A139]. The transcendental deduction cannot mediate the appearance to the categories because pure concepts have they no time determination. It is the schema as a transcendental time-determinate that links the appearance to the categories. Every sensory application must contain time; and because time is a prior, the schema is therefore a transcendental procedure.

 

Kant demonstrates the notion of the schema through the concept of a plate. Our arrival at a concept of plate (as an empirical image) is because we have a concept of circularity or roundness which subsumes under the concept of plate. That is to say, the concept of plate homogeneously contains a mark of roundness. The predicate “roundness” delineated by the schema links the categories to the concept of a plate. 

 

One can also think of the schema as a theatre usher. We have the patrons which represent the unperceived data of the manifold. The manifold (the patrons) are ordered and filtered through the doors to the theatre in regards to time and space; and, lastly, the aisles acts as the categories with each seat being a mode under the tables of categories. The schema is the third element that ushers or mediates each patron into their seat or mode under the categories. The usher would be the only one who knows where to seat the patrons. 

As noted earlier, one of the three problems of abstract concepts associated with the schema is empirical concepts (the relationship to the universal and particular). Particularities are concepts we come to know in the phenomenal world such as a dog or a plate. Universals are forms that are rule governed and are the workings behind the scene that allow the particular to emerge. Empirical philosophers have not been able to provide a theory on how we can formally know an object of experience because their starting point is the particular not the universal. Philosopher such as Hume and Locke have argued theories that relate to empirical concepts, but nothing that demonstrates universality on how we come know an object of experience. For instance, Hume’s theory of impressions posits the mind can know, for example, the concept of dog based on one’s past experience of various breeds of four-footed animals. For Hume, the mind constructs a judgment based on resemblance, contiguity and causation. And over time, the mind creates a building block of this past experience. For example, I can know the difference between a Poodle and a Bulldog because my mind compares and contrasts with those particular breeds based on past experiences. That is to say, Hume’s theory works with the relations of the particular based on past judgments of dogs. But particularity cannot arrive what is necessary and universal. Hume’s theory of impressions cannot solve the problem of abstract concept because it does not provide a general rule for human cognition on how one comes know the concept of dog. 

 

Moreover, empiricist philosophers could not solve the problem of abstract concepts because they were working from what Kant calls the reproductive image (the empirical image). For Kant, empirical images cannot produce a proper theory of knowledge because it represents particularity, not universality. As Kant notes, “The concept of dog signifies a rule for in accordance with which my imagination can specify the shape of a four-footed animal in general, without being restricted to any single particular shape that experience offers me or any possible image that I can exhibit in concreto” [B181]. The schema solves the problem of abstract concept because the predicate “a figure of four-footed animal,” as rule is subsumed in the empirical concept of dog. The schema constrains the categories because it is impossible for the mind to think of all types of dogs in one given thought. The problem the empirical philosophers wrestled with was they were working from the image itself. The empirical image cannot be a determinate rule because, as pointed out with general logic, it is always relative. Kant states, “The schema is in itself always only a product of the imagination; but since the synthesis of the later has as it aim on individual intuition but rather only the unity in the determination of sensibility, the schema is to be distinguished from an image” [B179/A140]. The schema is not the conclusion (the empirical image), but is the procedure (pure a priori) that allows the conclusion (the concept of dog) to emerge. As Norman Kemp Smith notes in Commentary to Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason” second edition, “Images become possible only through and in accordance with the schemata, but can never themselves be identified with them… Images are always particular; schemata are always universal" (338). It is the schema that mediates between appearances and the categories that makes the image of a dog or any object of experience possible. 

 

The notion of the schema debunks the empiricist’s problem of abstract concepts because it demonstrates a universal and transcendental procedure for the power of judgment. And because the schema is transcendental, it aligns with Kant’s Copernican revolution that object must conform to our knowledge. Thus, the schema is a transcendental time-determinate mechanism that mediates between appearances and the categories and thus, employs the form of judgments. 

Desire, Coca-Cola, Zizek and Cinema

Following up on my last post on the gaze, I thought it would be important to explain a little bit of Lacan's concept of desire. 

Desire is the desire to desire. What does this mean? For Lacan, the logic of desire operates on lack, not fullness. Think of your favorite song that you listen to over and over, or watching a movie such as Star Wars or The Lord of the Rings repetitively. 

For Lacan, these "empirical" objects stand in for what he terms the object cause of desire, or sometimes referred to as the "lost object." As long as the lost object remains lost, desire sustains its force. Listening to a favorite song or watching a movie repeatedly - both objects stand in for the lost object, but can never be the "thing" itself. And because this empirical object (song, movie, book, coffee, etc.) can not fill the shoes of the psychical lost object, desire continues to desire. 

Slavoj Žižek offers a great example of the lost object using Coca-Cola's old slogan: "Coke is It." Žižek asks: What is this "it"? Why do we keep drinking coke if "it" is indeed "it"? There is a failure in drinking Coca-Cola that keeps us drinking more. Why? Because Coke is not it. This is the logic of desire.  As long as we keep "missing" the lost object, desire continues to desire.

 
Desire also has a temporal component which can be found in classical Hollywood narrative.  Classical narrative films exemplify the notion of desire because they demonstrate that the story's solution resides in the future. Die Hard (1987) is a great example of the logic of desire and classical narrative form. 

John McClane (Bruce Willis) finds himself alone in the Nakatomi building where Hans Gruber (Alan Rickman) and his group of thieves seize the tower and hold a group of employees hostage, including John's estranged wife, Holly (Bonnie Beldelia). John's goal is to outsmart Hans. John is constantly backed into a corner as we wonder how he will survive. The goal is for John to win - to reach his goal - to defeat Gruber. 

It is no surprise that this winning aspect of desire has a strong correlation to the logic of capitalism as explored in Todd McGowan's outstanding book, Capitalism and Desire.

Lastly,  although desire operates on lack, it paradoxically provides the subject pleasure. This is why Lacan argues that the lack of lack (to be lacking lack) equals anxiety. We enjoy our desire. For example, I love to collect DVDs. I think the worse thing that can happen to me is to lose my desire for buying DVDs.

The Lacanian Gaze and Psycho

The Lacanian gaze is one of the hardest concepts I teach for my Film Theory course. The way we commonly think of the gaze (to look) is not what Jacques Lacan argues. Rather, he argues that when we encounter the gaze, we encounter an impasse, a blind spot within the field of vision. But more importantly, in order to encounter the gaze, you must be invested in the film. When we encounter the gaze in cinema it demonstrates the activity of our unconscious desire. So what does that mean? And why is the gaze is not defined as the look?

One of the best examples of the gaze (from Slavoj Zizek and Todd McGowan) can be found in Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960). After Marion (Janet Leigh) has been murdered by "mother" in the shower, Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) cleans up the mess. Notice how long it takes for Norman to clean the bathroom. This is important because Hitchcock is a laying a trap for our encounter with the gaze.

After Norman cleans the bathroom, he place Marion's body in the trunk of her car and drives out to the swamp near his motel. Norman pushes Marion's car into the swamp. Norman anxiously watches the car as it begins to sink. Suddenly, for a brief moment the car stop sinking. I always ask my students what their reaction was when the car stops sinking. Their response: they want the car to sink. How does this happen? Why are we suddenly complicit in Norman's cover up of the murder?

This is the moment when we encounter the gaze. The gaze demonstrates your unconscious desire at work in the film. This is why film form is so important to understand in studying the gaze in cinema. In my book Cinema of Confinement, I explain how directors set up these types of cinematic moments such as the swamp scene in Psycho. They are designed so that we encounter the shocking impact of the gaze.

An example I use is the final sequence in Alien (1979) when Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) learns that the alien sneaked aboard the escape shuttle. The way in which director Ridley Scott films this scene sets up the viewer for an encounter with the gaze--namely, when Ripley shockingly discovers the alien. We think Ripley has defeated the alien, which is emphasized when she says: "I got you, you son of a bitch." Even the soothing musical score suggests that Ripley is safe. But as we know, she is far from safe. Alien's final scene is so scary because of the way Scott lays a trap for us to encounter the gaze. This is why it is important that Hitchcock show us all the details of Norman cleaning up the murder in Psycho. He is a laying a trap for the gaze: when the car stops sinking in the swamp. That's when we all go "Oh shit!" You're now siding with Norman's cover up of Marion's death.

 

What does the gaze tells about how we watch movies? First, it demonstrates how our unconscious desire is at work when we watch a movie. And we can locate the activity of desire through cinematic form. Second, you must be invested to look in the movie, otherwise you are less likely to encounter the emotional impact of the gaze. Lacan's example of Hans Holbein's painting The Ambassadors explains this point.

As you observed the painting, you see the riches that surround the men. But when looking  toward the bottom of the painting, there is a stain. When looking awry, you see that the stain is a skull that looks back at you.

 

The skull embodies the gaze. But you have to be invested in looking at the painting in order to discover the skull. When we encounter the skull, it takes our desire into consideration. Likewise, when Marion's car stops sinking in the swamp in Psycho, we have a visceral reaction, demonstrating that we are complicit in Norman covering up the murder. It illustrates how our desire is at work in the film.  

The gaze is the moment when our seeing falls apart. Yet it is these moments in cinema, such as Ripley seeing the alien aboard the ship and Marion's car that temporarily stop sinking in the swamp, that draws us to the movies.

Some Excellent Books on Jacques Lacan

Over the winter I read a number of great academic books on Jacques Lacan. If you are interested in reading about the intersection of Lacanian thought and cinema, check out Matthew Flisfeder's book The Symbolic, The Sublime, and Slavoj Zizek's Theory of Film. Flisfeder's book offers an excellent introduction to a number of key Lacanian terms and concepts and how they are employed in a number of Zizek's writings on cinema. 

 

Todd McGowan's Capitalism and Desire is also worth checking out. McGowan examines the intimate relationship between the logic of desire and the logic of capitalism. Also, see my post on desire for introduction on this concept.

Another book worth checking out is Traumatic Encounters in Italian Film by Fabio Vighi.  This book examines the unconscious in relation to film language in Italian cinema. Vighi considers a variety of Italian films from filmmakers such as Pasolini, Bertolucci, and Rossellini. Vighi's reading of Michelangelo Antonioni's L'Avventura is indeed one of the film's many highlights.