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.

The Conversation - Sound and Surveillance

I often teach Francis Ford Coppola's The Conversation (1974) for my Introduction to Film and Film Theory courses.

 
The Conversation exemplifies the art and theory of sound in cinema, especially the opening long take zoom shot in Union Square in San Francisco.

 

A topic we often discuss is the film's exploration of surveillance. Harry Caul (Gene Hackman) is the best of the best when it comes to secretly recording or "bugging" conversations. During a small party in Harry's studio, we learn from his friend, Bernie (Allen Garfield), that Harry is known in New York for the "welfare fund 68" job, where he secretly recorded a conversation having to do with a bogus fund run by the teamster's president. Bernie asks Harry how he secretly tapped the teamster's president and his accountant--a conversation that occurred on a boat. Of course, Harry does not share his technique. But we do learn that three people were killed because of the conversation Harry had recorded.

Little does Harry know that Bernie has planted a pen mike and transmitter on him.

When Bernie reveals that he had been recording Harry during the party, he becomes enraged and kicks Bernie and his friends out of his studio. As we learn, Harry is a lonely and private person. Harry's motto is that he does not emotionally get involved with the subjects he records. Harry is not curious about what's being said. Rather, it is about getting the best sound that matters to Harry.

A question I asked my students: does Bernie's pen mike speak more to our current times in terms of big data and surveillance? Here, it is worth noting Mark Andrejevic's article, "The Twenty-First Century Telescreen." The telescreen is from George Orwell's novel Nineteen Eighty-Four. The telescreen is a television that watches you. 

One of the concerns with digital televisions, especially internet ready digital televisions, is surveillance. Could these screens watch us? Andrejevic claims that it is a misnomer that digital television is a telescreen. Andrejevic argues that digital television is surveillance with a commercial fare. Whereas the telescreen makes one aware that they are being watched, Andrejevic suggests that the future of digital television is collecting data on our viewing behaviors which can impact how content is curated to us. 

Although Bernie's pen mike and transmitter is not a screen, it does demonstrate how a pervasive object such as a pen can potentially be used to monitor us (not unlike how companies can track our purchasing behaviors online). This is a different type of surveillance - an apparatus that does not make one aware that they are constantly being watched, which brings me to the film's shocking twist at the end.

At the end of the film, we learn that Harry misunderstood his recording of Mark (Frederic Forrest) and Ann's (Cindy Williams) conversation, specifically when Mark says: "He'd kill if he got the chance." Harry believes that Ann and Mark were in danger, but in fact they were planning to kill Ann's husband (the Director played Robert Duvall), the man who hired Harry to bug Ann and Mark.

The film's final scene shows Harry playing his saxophone in his apartment. He receives a call from the Director's assistant, Martin (Harrison Ford), who tells Harry that: "we'll be listening." Martin plays back a recording of Harry playing his saxophone. Of course, Harry is shocked to learn that he has been secretly bugged (again). Harry rips his apartment apart looking for the bug, which he never finds.

The question I asked my students: Is Harry upset because his privacy is now under threat? Or, is Harry upset because he has been out-bugged?

Subway - Homicide: Life on the Street

A few weeks ago, I taught the episode "Subway" from the 1990s police procedural show Homicide: Life on the Street for my TV theory course. "Subway" is an amazing and dark episode, and extremely well-acted by Andre Braugher and Vincent D'Onofrio. It was written by James Yoshimura.

"Subway" is about John Lange (D'Onofiro) who gets pinned between a subway car and the train's boarding platform. The episode's mystery (in a Rashomon manner) is whether or not Lange was pushed by a man named Biedron.

 

Det. Pembleton (in a priest-like role) must console Lange as the city workers prepare to free him from the subway car. It is obvious that Lange's chances of survival are slim. But it is not only Lange who is confronted with the presence of death; Pembleton, too, is reminded of his own mortality, for he recently survived a stroke.

"Subway" is a great example of what I call confinement cinema, a topic that I fully explore in my forthcoming book Cinema of Confinement. One of my claims of confinement cinema is the impact of excess both physically (within the confined space) and psychically (both characters and our engagement with the confinement setting). I argue that excess is what sustains our engagement in the narrative over a long period of time within a confined setting. Some notable films are Misery (1990), 10 Cloverfield Lane (2016) and Phone Booth (2002)

In my book, I not only unpack how movies are able to keep us involved in the narrative over a long period of time within a confined setting, but also the theoretical, social, and political insights confinement cinema offers. 

One topic I explored specifically with my class is "Subway's" existential qualities and large questions about religion, pain, and happiness. Pembleton says to Frank that pain is what universally binds us together, which certainly falls in line with Sartre's notion of anguish; namely, that we are constantly faced with freedom and choices (consciousness of consciousness). For Sartre, existence lies in our everyday actions and choices. The subway setting also has a sense of hell as existing below as both men wrestle with their mortality. Perhaps one of the best lines of the episode is when Lange says to Pembleton: "God invents pain; man invents booze."

Once Lange is finally freed from the subway, he immediately dies. Pembleton seems to be severely affected by Lange's death. Right before he ascends upwards on the escalator, he looks up (symbolically) for a moment. He then meets with his partner Det. Bayliss (Kyle Secor) as they walk to their vehicle. Ending the episode on ambiguous note, Pembleton says to Bayliss: "The guy said, I'm okay." I asked my students is: who is okay? Is it Frank or Lange that is okay? 

After Pembleton and Bayliss drive off, Sarah (Lange's girlfriend) jogs past the subway terminal, not knowing that her boyfriend was just killed as the episode fades to black. Indeed, life keeps moving forward.... 

I hope more people discover Homicide: Life on the Street.

The Pointillism of Walter White and Frankenstein

Spoiler warning!

I realized I had written this short piece, but never posted it back in 2013! It was strange to read what I had written, now knowing how Breaking Bad ended. But here is what I wrote while watching the last season of the show. Of course, I had to update a few things...

The final season of Breaking Bad is getting closer to its finale. Two more episodes until we learn why Walt purchased guns at Denny's, his intentions with the ricin, and what became of his abandoned house.  

 

As we approach the series' finale, Vince Gilligan and his writers continue to spawn twists and unexpected events that keep us on the edge of our seats. Gilligan has called Breaking Bad a hyper-serialized show which is evident in the precision and ordering of narrative information. This is most notable in Breaking Bad's use of restricted and unrestricted information for both viewers and characters alike. White's concealment of secrets primarily drives the show's tension. Of course, Hank's discovery of "W.W." at the end of season 5.A was one of the show's biggest twists.

What is also interesting to note about Gilligan's use of restricted information is how strongly it engages us with the narrative. I particularly found the precise unfolding of the show's narrative information oddly similar to the art form of pointillism: dots applied on the canvas to form an image. Pontillism was created by Georges Seurat, most notable in his famous painting A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte.

Indeed, as we approach closer to Breaking Bad's finale, the parceling of narrative information (all the dots) that have unfolded over the past 5 years that form an image (and transformation) of White/Heisenberg are beginning to show us the totality of the show--the painting of Breaking Bad, so to speak.

Lastly, after watching the last episode of Hank's death and Walter departure in "Ozymandias," I kept thinking about the man in the row boat painting that showed up a few times throughout the series.  

This image reminded me of the tragedy of Frankenstein, who could not fit into the world, left to die alone. Indeed, Walter was certainly the "danger" as he famously expressed. But has he transformed into a monster? Or is this alluding to what we are about to encounter in the final episode?

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

I frequently screen Michel Gondry's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) for my film courses. The topic we often discuss is the film's relationship between new media and memory. Although the film came out in 2004, I think it still offers some insights into concerns of privacy and big data. 

A topic that I brought up with my students this past semester is the character of Patrick played Elijah Wood. To be short, the film is a science fiction love story that entails a recently separated couple Joel (Jim Carrey) and his ex-girlfriend Clementine (Kate Winslet) who erase their memories of each other by a company called Lacuna.  

Patrick works for Lacuna. While Patrick assisted Stan (Mark Ruffalo) with Clementine's procedure, he became attracted to her.  As a way to court Clementine, Patrick steals Joel's memory objects from Lacuna's office. 

Patrick stealing Joel's memory objects certainly addresses concerns of database breach. But Patrick's mining of Joel's memories is also similar to how digital algorithms can map and predict our shopping behaviors. In one scene, Patrick gives Clementine a gift which he stole from Joel's bag of memory objects of Clementine. Of course, Clementine is taken aback by the gift. Patrick seems to know exactly what she likes, even though they have only been seeing each other for a very short period of time.

Perhaps the most significant scene is when Patrick and Clementine are on the frozen lake. He recites some of Joel's memories about her.  Like the binary code of digital, Patrick is too perfect. And it is exactly this moment that Clementine loses her desire for Patrick.

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.

The Bells - Now Available

My second novel The Bells is now available on Amazon. For three years (on and off) I've worked on this novel. It is my second book, which focuses on the Hudson Valley, the same setting of my first novel The Postcard. I am planning to write a third book that will also involve characters from The Postcard and The Bells. I never set out to make a trilogy, but I guess I'm heading in that direction.

The last time teenager Mark smoked marijuana, he heard the chime of bells ringing in his head. He promised himself to never smoke again. Tonight, he will break his vow so he can impress his best friend's sister, whom he wants to court. Gabby makes local commercials to fund her documentaries. She's trying to end her affair with Anthony, who's on the verge of a nervous breakdown from running an eco-friendly car wash. But to do it, she must confess the affair to her husband, who's an out of work professor of Chaucer studies.The three are part of a host of characters whose paths mysteriously and ludicrously intersect during Halloween in 2008 in New York's Hudson Valley as they search for meaning and connection.  

Update: August 2019. I am currently writing the third book on the Hudson Valley called The Mansion. I hope to have the book available in 2020.