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Film's Institutional Mode of Representation and the Soviet Response

Author(s): Nol Burch


Source: October, Vol. 11, Essays in Honor of Jay Leyda (Winter, 1979), pp. 77-96
Published by: The MIT Press
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/778236
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Film's InstitutionalMode of
Representationand the Soviet
Response

NOEL BURCH

It is temptingto regard the systemof representationat work in the vast


majorityof filmsproducedduringcinema's earliestperiod (which we may situate
between1892and 1906) as an authenticallyworking-classsystem,in opposition to
not only thebourgeoisnovel, theater,and paintingof thenineteenthcentury,but
also an institutionalmode of representation
as it was to develop after1906. In the
countrieswherethefilmindustryfirstdeveloped,notonly was theaudience of this
cinema largely proletarian,but in many respectsthe systemof representation
which we may identifyas specificallyof this period derives little'from the
characteristically
bourgeois art formsof the eighteenthand nineteenthcenturies
and almost everythingfrompopular art formsdescendentfromthe Middle Ages
and before.
However,much of the othernessof thefilmsof thisera is patentlyoverdetermined, oftendue to the contradictionbetween the aspirations-conscious and
unconscious-of middle-classinventorsand entrepreneurs
on the one hand and
the influenceof such plebeian or otherwise"alien" art formsas the circus, the
carnival sideshow, thepicturepostcard,or thelanternshow on theother.1In any
of theworking
case, one mustregardas highlyproblematicanydirectintervention
classes,whose tastecould have directlyaffected
only thesubstanceof thefilmsthey
saw (in France and England, especially); while the deepest aspirations of the
workingclass were sometimescateredto symbolically,thesefilmscertainlynever
reflected
revolutionaryideology.In Francethisprivilegedrelationshipbetweenan
essentiallypopulist cinema and the workingclasses lasted practicallyuntil the
introductionof sound. In the United States,however,whereeven in the era of a
wholly proletarianaudience the substanceof the filmsmostlyreflectedthe lives
and ideals of theirpetit-bourgeoismakers,the industryquickly came to see that
theconditionforitscommercialdevelopmentwas thecreationofa mass audience,
that is, one which also included the various strataof thebourgeoisie,less fragile
1.
Morerecentresearchhas shown thatothercontradictions,
economicand psychological,playeda
major role in this processof overdetermination.

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78

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economically and possessing more leisure time than the immigrantworking


classes.
It is importantto realize that the extraordinary
expansion of the American
cinema and its rise to world dominance afterWorld War I was a directconsequence of the creationof thataudience during theperiod 1905-15.In France,on
the other hand, the industryremained content to exploit the early mode of
representationfor nearly three decades, catering to a small domestic audience
which was almost exclusivelyworking class, and counting on the skills of its
thehuge international
cameramenand actorsto continueto captivateindefinitely
marketwhich it had conqueredearlyin thecentury.The corollaryof thissituation
was thatthe Frenchbourgeoisiewas not to come to thecinema in any appreciable
numbersuntil thescreenfinallyacquired a voice, thatcrucial elementof presence
which would at last place it on a par with the legitimate--whichis to say,
bourgeois--stage.
Earlycinema was marked,in theeyesof theinternationalbourgeoisie,by the
absence of the persona, of nearly all the signs of characterindividualization
capable of satisfyingexpectationscreatedby naturalistictheaterand novels,and
of theSubject.The voice
steepedin theprimacyof theindividual,in thecentrality
was indeed thebiggestlack, hence theconstantbut only veryrelativelysuccessful
effortsto invent a sync-soundsystem,from Edison's Kinetophonographto the
Gaumont Chronophone. However,thepersona was lackingon thevisual plane as
well.
One of the foundingvisual models forthe earlyperiod as a whole was the
shot
as exemplifiedin La Sortiedes Usines Lumiere and also in filmssuch as
long
L'Assassinat de Marat,which Hatot directedfortheLumiere Companyduringthe
early months of its production. Films like the latter-and therewere many of
them-illustrate in spectacular fashion the gap between early cinema and the
bourgeoistheater:thecoextensionof prosceniumarchand filmframeproducesan
effect
ofdistancethroughsmallnessand low definitionwhichis verydifferent
from
the effectof presenceindissociable fromthe bourgeoisstageand producedby the
and the eye's facultyof
"sync" voice, by "natural" color, three-dimensionality,
focusing in space, often with the aid of opera glasses. As the various sociothis
ideological pressuresto make thecinema "morerespectable"became stronger,
long shot came to be perceivedas an obstacle.
We may take as both metaphorand illustrationof this a filmproduced in
1903,Edwin S. Porter'sGreat Train Robbery.As in so manyfilmsof theperiod,it
would be impossible even to distinguishbetween,forexample, the outlaws and
the posse were it not forthe bandannas worn by the former,so wide are all the
shots of the action proper. For this film,however,Porter-who seems to have
experienced with unusual acuity the contradictionsof that transitionalerasupplied exhibitorswith a small, separateroll of filmconsistingof a single shot,
which theywere freeto splice onto the head or tail of the film,whicheverthey
chose. This mobilityitselfstressestheothernessof an era in which filmswerenot

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Film's InstitutionalMode of Representation

79

1903.
EdwinS. Porter.The GreatTrainRobbery.

yetclosed objects.As is well known,thisshot showeda close,head-onview ofone


of theoutlaws shootinginto thecamera,an image whichgivesclear,almostbrutal
expression to the need then being felt to reduce distance. . at all costs. This
"close-up," which seems to hover on the fringeof a diegesis which cannot
assimilateit,is indeedthesign ofsomethingalreadysensedas lackingat thattime.
is thatthelack was felt
But sensedbywhom?All thatwe can saywithanycertainty
by commentators,
producers,exhibitors,directors,cameramen;what the mass of
filmviewersmay have feltis an altogetherdifferent
matter,which forthemoment
can only be leftto conjecture.
who singlehandedlysolved the
Despite legend, it certainlywas not Griffith
of
facial
of
the
legibility,thatsine qua non forthe
interpolatedclose-up,
problem
institutionof the persona. In fact,while Griffith,
during his richlyinnovative
careerat Biograph,graduallymoved thecameracloserto all of his tableaux,true
close-ups pictureobjects farmore oftenthan theydo people. Moreover,Griffith
whichfor
was one of thelast directorsto relenton thematterof actors'anonymity,
a varietyof reasons had been a universallyrespectedrule duringtheearlyperiod.
This belated adhesion to the starsystem-thecounterpartof the close-up in the
constitutionof the filmicpersona-is undoubtedlyboth cause and effectof the
paucityof truefacialclose-upsin theBiographfilms,whichwerein otherrespects
so forward-looking.
Anotheraspect of earlycinema which did not fulfillexpectationscreatedby
modes of representationdominant at the turnof the centuryresultedfromthe
experiencedby early filmmakersin reproducing,under certain
great difficulty
circumstances(especially for indoor scenes), the depth cues long essential in

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GeorgesMblies.L'Hommeaila tatede caoutchouc.


1901.
Westernimagery,whetherin easel painting or on the prosceniumstage. A great
many filmsmade during this era are characterizedby the relativeperceptual
flatnessof their(interior)imagery.L'Assassinat de Marat and the other"theatrical" filmsproduced by the Lumiere brothersat the startof theirundertakingare
examples of this. More significantstill, perhaps, are the many remarkable
instancesfound in what I call the matureearlyera.
Consider The Life of Charles Peace, the narrativeof a celebratedVictorian
murdererfilmed by a remarkableartisan of working-classorigins, William
Haggar.2 Most of the filmconsistsof a seriesof single-shot,richlyorchestrated
tableaux,but it culminatesin a multishotchase sequence filmedon location. All
of the stylizedinteriorscenes are shot against two-dimensionalbackdropsfrom
which all illusion of haptic space seemsto have been cunninglyexcluded,and in
frontof which actorsplay according to a strictlylateral blocking scheme.This
traitis common to nearlyall scenesshotin thestudio until at least 1910 and was
brilliantlyillustratedby the greatMelies, forwhom the "essence" of cinema was
preciselyits capacityforrenderingthree-dimensional
space and movementin two

This filmis a fineexample of the populist traditionin the earlyBritishcinema,as referred


2.
to
above. Peace is treatedas a kind of folkhero.
3.
I should exclude the veryprecocious Danish cinema fromthis statement,however.

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Film's InstitutionalMode of Representation

81

dimensions (see in particular the trickeffectin L'Homme a la t2tede caoutchouc).4


and of most
This tendencycontinuedto make itselffeltin thefilmsof Griffith
of his contemporaries.This was due to the persistenceof two factorsthat had
determinedits presencefromthe start.One was filmingin daylight,in studios
withglass roofsor in theopen air, which gave an even,"flat"lightingthattended
on thesame plane. The otherwas thestationingof thecamera,
to place everything
stillresolutelyfrontal,withthelens axis rigorouslyparallel to thefloorand always
at the height of a standingman. Consequently,until about 1915 or even latera
characterwould occupy full screenheightonly if he or she were standingin the
foreground.When the actor was seated in a chair,crouchingon the ground,or
standingin thebackground,his head onlyreachedthemiddleof thescreen,which
familiarto graphicartists,in which thebackgroundeffect,
produceda flattening
set or landscape-seems to be looming overhead, ready to topple into the
foreground,as it were.
At the same time,however,otherfactorshad already been workingin the
opposite direction. The generalizationof electriclighting made it possible to
obtain more subtlemodelingand chiaroscuroeffects.
Color had long been used by
the French,including Mdlies himself,to counteracttheflatnessof certainimages
(with the introduction,in particular,of artificialeffectsof aerial perspective).
Around 1914 several directorsand technicians began to avoid placing their
cameras at a ninety-degree
angle to therearwall, as had been customary.Finally,
there was the introduction-possibly by DeMille in The Cheat (1915)-of a
systematic,slightlydownward tilt of the camera, which meant that characters
would occupy thewhole heightof thescreeneven when theywereat theback ofa
moderatelydeep set, and which furthermoreaccentuated the obliqueness of
horizontallines. Together,all of theseprocedureswere graduallyto bringabout
the creationof a full-blownhaptic pictorial space "in" which the diegeticeffect
would be able to reach full development.
However,thechiefproblemforthemajor pioneers,fromPorterand theearly
Britishfilmmakers(Smith,Williamson, Hepworth.. . ) to Barkerand Feuillade,
was, on the one hand, what I call the linearizationof the iconographic signifier
and, on theother,theconstructionof a linearizeddiegeticcontinuum.Let us now
brieflyexamine thesetwo closely linked issues.
The panoramic tableau of the mostcharacteristic
earlyfilmsofferstwo basic
traitswhich may also be seenas complementary-forwe mustnot lose sightof the
factthatall of these"inadequacies," as well as thestrategieswhich ultimatelyled
to theirreduction,interpenetrate
in complex fashion. First thereis the relative
4.
In thisfilma magician-scientist
pumps his head up to huge proportionswitha bellows. As is
shown in Franju's filmLe Grand Mlies, the effectwas obtained by pulling Melies up an inclined
plane on an invisible trolleytowardsthecamera. For Mlies, close-ups werealways "giant faces": the
screen,he felt,was the only plane a filmcould contain.

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82

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rarenessofany of theindexesof individualization-differentiation


alluded to above;
then thereis a tendencyto confrontthe spectator'sgaze with an entiresurfaceto
scan, at timesalong a relativelycontrolledtrajectory
(but which generallytookin
mostof thescreen'ssurface).At othertimesthegaze is undirected,consideringthe
absence of most of the ordering procedures-strategies of isolation or
signalization-which would graduallymake it possible to normalizethebehavior
of the spectator'seye. One verystrikingexample of thetypically"chaotic" tableau
is theopening shotof a Biograph filmof 1905, Tom Tom thePiper's Son, known
to us todaythroughKen Jacobs'senlighteningrehandlingof it. The shotshowsa
crowded marketplacedistractedlydominated by a woman tightropewalker in
white. But she has no role in the narrative(in fact,she is theonly characternever
to be seen again). On theotherhand, what is meant to be thecentralaction-the
preliminariesleading up to the theftof thepig, the theftitself,and thestartof the
chase as the thiefescapes-is nearly invisible for the modern spectatorat first
viewing. For he is accustomed to having each shot in a filmcarefullyorganized
around a single signifyingcenterand to the linearizationof all the iconographic
signifiersthroughcomposition,lighting,and/or editing.5And as we know, the
firststep in overcomingthis "handicap" was the dissectionof the tableau into
successivefragments(closer shots),each governedbya single signifier,
so thateach
frame would be immediatelydecipherable (at least in accordance with certain
normsof legibility)at firstviewing.
However, in orderthat thesesuccessiveimages not bringabout thedislocation of the"original" profilmicspace-the space of thesingletableau,thespace,if
one prefers,of theproscenium-a long evolutionwas necessary.Startingfromthe
firstpremisesof thealternatingshotsin theworkof Porterand theBritish,and the
earliest contiguitymatches (matches of direction and eyeline), this evolution,
through the increasing ubiquity of the camera, was ultimatelyto succeed in
establishing the conviction that all the successive separate shots on the screen
referredto the same diegetic continuum. In otherwords, the time spans representedwerelinked togetherby relationsof immediatesuccession,simultaneity,
or
a more distant anteriorityor posteriority;the spaces pictured communicated
directlyor at one or more removes;and above all the whole constituteda milieu
into which thespectatormightpenetrateas an invisible,immaterialobserver,yet
one who not only saw but also "experienced" all that transpiredthere. The
camera's ubiquity and the strategieswhich led to the spectator'sidentification
with thecamera's viewpoint,togetherwith thesystemof orientationalmatchesby

5.
It should be noted that as oftenas not a contemporarypresentationof this or any otherfilm
would have been accompanied by a "lecture,"the task of which was to centertheseacentricimages.
it is my
Independentlyof thealien natureof thistypicallyprimitivesplittingof thenarrativesignifier,
contentionthat an audience which had been watchingsuch filmsforas many as ten yearsmay well
have been sufficiently
"on its toes," even without the help of a lecturer,to conduct spontaneouslya
slightlymore topological reading than we are normallycapable of today.

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Film's InstitutionalMode of Representation

83

which the right/leftrelationships of the spectator's own body organized his


apprehension of all contiguous spatial relationshipson the screenfromshot to
shot, reinforcedthe sense of spatial integrity.These two acquisitions were
set-up,6destinedto
ultimatelyto convergein thefigureknownas thereverse-angle
become the keystoneof the entireedificeat the level of visual signification.
While the full head-on reverse-angledid not become generalized until the
and while of course thesyncvoice was nothearduntil theend of the
mid-twenties,
decade, the systemthusconstitutedas a visual entityhad become fullyoperational
in the United Statesbeforetheend of World War I and in WesternEurope by the
early 1920s. FritzLang's Mabuse diptych(1922) is an earlyexample of thesystem
masteredto a perfectionthat has perhaps never been surpassed. And it is not
without interestthat Eisensteinhad the opportunityof studyingclosely such a
supreme example of the systemwhose emergenceI have brieflysketchedhere,
having been involved-in whatcapacityhas not,I believe,been clearlyestablished
as yet-with the editingof the Soviet versionof Mabuse.
Several years before the firstprojections at the Grand Cafe, Edison was
already dreaming of filmingand recordingoperas, and in this his enterpriseis
antitheticalto that of Louis Lumiere. Not only did the team working under
Edison's auspices (W. K. L. Dickson and his associates) invent the first"sound
movies" with theirKinetophonograph,whose eyepieceand earphonesprefigure,
at thescale of theindividualspectator,thedark,womblikeisolation of themodern
movie palace, but theyalso shot some of theearliestclose-ups. And all of thiswas
done in theBlack Maria, thatprecursorof themodernsound stage.If thecompany
was soon forcedby thecompetitionfromLumiere to give up theattemptat sound
and to copy themoretypicalearlyEuropean models,theseearlyexperimentsattest
to the existenceof a need,ideologicallydeterminedin part,but only in part,that
would ultimatelygive rise to an institutionalmode of representation.
We also find,as early as the firstLumibre films,and throughoutthe early
periodof Frenchcinema up to themasterpiecesofJasset,Perret,Feuillade, and the
emigre Fasnier, firstin scenes shot on location, later in increasinglyelaborate
studio sets,a verythoroughexploitationof thepossibilitiesofdeep-focusmise-enscene. In fact,we are dealing here with an increasinglysharperprefiguration
of
that pseudomontage within a single take (except in the work of Feuillade,
intrasequentialeditingwas still rarein France beforeWorld War I) which would
ultimatelybe capable of reproducingthe structuresof classical montage. This
approach, which among French directorscontinued to serve as a vehicle for
strictlyprimitiveelements,such as theinsistentglancingat thecamerawhichone
still findsin Feuillade as late as 1916, would reappear twentyyears later in the
canned theaterof the earlysound years,when it was simultaneouslytheorized
by

6.

Also called shot-reverse-shot


or shot-countershot
in tributeto theFrenchchamp-contre-champ.

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84

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none other than Eisenstein (the paradox is only apparent) in his classes at the
Moscow Institute.7
The dominance of theWesternmode offilmicrepresentation
was determined
neitherby ideological factorsalone nor by sheereconomic opportunism.Rather,
it correspondsbroadlyto the mode of constitutionof the Subject in our culture,
and it developed into an ideological vehicle of unprecedentedpower. However
massive its political and social consequences, it was the resultof an overdetermined convergenceand not simplya class strategy.

At the timewhen thecivil war was recedingwithintheyoung Soviet Union


and the great period of artisticexperimentationwas beginning, the systemof
representation
developingin thefilmindustriesof thecapitalistworldwas notyet
consolidated.
We have already noted that syncsound constituteda serious
fully
lack which, it is clear today,the intertitlenevercompletelyfilled.To theveryend
of the silent era, it retained(and indeed still retains) a "distancing" potential
which directorslike Gance and L'Herbier had sought to exploit to aestheticends.
A filmindustryas culturallyimportantas thatof France remainedverystrongly
dominatedbyearlypractice,withfrontality
stilldominantas late as 1925,withthe
rules of orientationstill verypoorly assimilated.And in all countriesthevarious
"punctuating" opticals made possible by recenttechnologywere as yetscarcely
encodedand wereoftenused-and not only in avant-gardefilms-to contributeto
a freelydecorativestyle.This "unfinished"statein which thesystemfound itself,
especially in Europe, played a decisive role in the orientationsof the most
importantSoviet directorswho, with only one exception,were otherwisequite
preparedto accept the system'sclaim to a privilegedstatus.
It is no doubt this twofold circumstancewhich determinedthe earliest
options of Lev Kuleshov and his troupe. It was this which led themto the first
theorizationof the systemof orientationmatching.Their most famous experiment consistedof a seriesof montage fragmentslinked by actors' entrancesand
exits,so thatvarious partsof Petrogradwereseen as contiguous,whereasanyone
familiarwiththecityknewthattheyweremilesapart.This experimentwas in fact
nothing more than the rational formulationof the contiguitymatch long since
masteredat the practicallevel by D. W. Griffith.
In The Musketeersof Pig Alley
(1912), forexample, a whole "imaginary" neighborhoodis similarlyconstructed
by laying end-to-endfragmentsof settingswhich are broughttogetheronlyby the
successiveframeexits and entrancesof the actors.
Following these laboratoryexperiments,the films that came out of the
See VladimirNizhny,Lessons withEisenstein,trans.and ed. JayLeyda and Ivor Montagu,New
7.
York, Hill and Wang, 1962.

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Film's InstitutionalMode of Representation

85

Kuleshov workshopattestto anotherconcern,not unrelatedto thefirst:studying


and appropriatingthe codes governingthe major genres of the capitalist film
industry-the spy serial,as in The Death Ray (1925); thecomedy,The ExtraordinaryAdventuresofMr. Westzn theLand oftheBolsheviks(1924); the "Far North"
adventuredrama, By the Law (1926). The guiding principle behind all these
productions was that the institutionalmode of representation,the genres and
other coded systemsfounded upon it, offeredideal vehicles in the ideological
strugglebecause of the privilegedrelationshipswhich theyalreadyenjoyedwith
mass audiences.
Afterthe Kuleshov group disbanded in 1925, its ambitions were no doubt
best achieved in Miss Mend (1926), directedby an ex-discipleof Kuleshov, Boris
Barnett(in collaborationwithFyodorOtsep). In thisfilmtheprincipleof political
didacticismthroughpasticheis maintained,but withone fundamentaldifference:
this monumental "serial" (three parts, over four hours long) frequentlyshifts
abruptlyfromone popular genreto another.Spy thriller,sentimentalmelodrama,
romantic comedy, slapstick farce follow each other in quick succession. The
intention is clearly to undercut the escapist and alienating absorption of the
popular genres.
I have no wish to establish,in thecontextof thisinventory,
any hierarchical
order whatsoever.The wide range of Soviet attitudesand options, which runs
fromKuleshov's pastiche to Dziga Vertov's"deconstruction,"correspondedto a
theveryconcreteand
pluralism indispensableto thesocialistethic.It also reflected
needs of Sovietsociety,cominginto existenceundernotoriously
highlydiversified
conditions. Kuleshov's undertakingthus appears doubly
complex and difficult
justified.The urban masses werealreadyquite familiarwith thecurrentmode of
representationand formsof expression,and it was obvious that one important
way of reachingthemconsistedin acquiring the theoreticalmasteryof thatmode
and in appropriatingits formsof expression.Furthermore,
although thebulk of
thepeasantrydid not come to know thecinema until aftertherevolution,it takes
theoptimismofa Vertovto becomeconvincedthatlinearexpectationswithregard
to thecinema would only be producedbypreviousfilm-goingexperience,and that
thesepeasant masses were consequently"unspoiled."
V. I. Pudovkin also came out of the Kuleshov workshop.His approach was
not fundamentallydifferent
fromthatof his mentor,althoughhis methodologyand, of course, his stylistics,which are not the subject of this essay-is quite
different
and his ambition,in a sense,fargreater.Pudovkin was strivingprincipally to extend the possibilities of the existing system,while maintaining its
essential principles. This undertakinghas undeniably enriched our cultural
heritage,withsuch remarkablefilmsas The End ofSaint Petersburg(1927) or The
Deserter(1933), but it was certainlynot devoid of contradictions.Significantly
enough, theseactuallyrepeated,at a higherlevel ofelaboration,thecontradictions
experiencedby the pioneersof the earlyand formativeperiods.
Some yearsago, in a programmaticessay which has not surprisinglyfallen

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86

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into neglect,two Britishcritics,Michael Orromand RaymondWilliams,voiceda


number of criticismsconcerning the Pudovkin method in connection with a
sequence fromStorm Over Asia (1928).8They argued that the directordisrupted
too radically the cohesion of the spatiotemporal continuum, that essential
And
guaranteeof verisimilitude,in otherwords,of thefull-blowndiegeticeffect.
theywent on to compare this outmoded,disjunctivestyle,too analyticfortheir
taste, with the techniques of modern cinema, illustratedby a sequence from
George Stevens's Shane. Here, they demonstrate,continuityis ensured by the
presentto the scene,theirordering
juxtaposition in long shotsof all thesignifiers
of
theirbeing linked togetheronly
assured
instead
being
by picturecomposition
and
as
was
so oftenthe case in Pudovkin's
screen-direction
by eyeline
matching,
films. Despite the ingenuous character of their demonstration,these writers
pointed to a fundamentalcontradiction,one which is of considerableinterestto
basic researchin thisfield.
Pudovkin's writingsand his polemic with Eisensteinclearlybear out the
evidence of his films:his chiefconcern was to draw the ultimateconsequences
fromthathistoricalprocessof linearizationof theiconographicsignifiers
to which
I have already referred.Let us consider the sequence at the beginning of The
Motherin which thefather,tryingto takethehousehold clock down fromthewall
to exchange it forvodka, is confrontedbyhis son and wife.He accidentallybreaks
the clock and leaves the house carryingoffthe laundryiron which servedas the
clock's counterweight.This scene is a perfectillustrationof Pudovkin's method.
The scene is broken down into a series of key fragments,big close-ups whose
meaning is whollyunequivocal and which,while respectingand renderingquite
the continuityof the action, primarilyserveto spell out thataction
satisfactorily
in a seriesofelementary,
carefullydifferentiated
signs,in a simple,causal chain. A
face grows tense,an arm is raised,a wheel of theclockworkrolls across thefloor.
There is no room forthegaze to roam unguided (or evenguided) about theimage
forso much as an instant.The director'sconstantconcernis, on thecontrary,to
regulatethe "flowof signs" as closelyas possible. Moreover,in a sequence such as
this one-and it is here that Pudovkin adds a new dimension to an approach
which is otherwisefundamentallyGriffithian-acceleration
of tempo and strong
rhythmicpatternsin certaineditingfragments
generatethepathos of theclose-up,
to use an Eisensteinian term which seems perfectlyapt in this context. The
scansion of thesignifiers
no longerhas as its sole aim to conferorder
fragmentary
on denotative signs. It also serves to control the underlyingproduction of
meaning,theconnotativedimensionof thefilmicdiscourse-what has oftenbeen
called the "emotion" of thescene-by means of thedynamicsof the successionof
the montage fragments.Moreover,the connotativeproduction is also used by
Pudovkin in a reiterativemanner, in particular to suggest sound effects.One
8.

Raymond Williams and Michael Orrom,Prefaceto Film, London, Film Drama, 1954.

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Film's InstitutionalMode of Representation

87

VsevolodPudovkin.The Mother.1926.
thinks of the bar scene in The Mother, which immediatelyfollows the one
describedabove. The livelyatmosphere,the throbof the music are suggestedby
theverydynamicsof thesuccessionofdetails,no longersubjectto causal orderbut
ratherswirlingabout in an impressionistdescription,a verticalequivalentof the
horizontaltransparencyof Griffithian
linearization.
It is a fact, however, that in many passages, especially those involving
confrontationsbetweenmore than two characters-hereI have in mind a scene
involvingthe mother,the son, and thetsaristsoldiers,or anotherin which "The
Heir to Genghis Khan" confrontstheEnglish furtraders-Pudovkin'sanalytical
penchant, his concern to make each picture into a "brick" as elementaryas
whichhe can controlas closelyas possible,does
possible in a chain ofsignification
indeed lead him to weaken the verisimilitudeof the diegeticspatial continuum.
And yet this verisimilitudewas a foundinghistoricalcondition of the system
which subtendshis whole endeavor.Wishingto carryto itsextremeconsequences
the logic of linearizationthroughediting,Pudovkin comes up against the same
obstacle encounteredby the pioneerswhen theywerecastingabout formethods
capable of overcoming the unfortunate"dissociative" effectwhich the first
interpolatedclose-ups had upon the unityof filmsthat still depended almost
exclusivelyon the layout of the primitivetableau. In both cases, thisdisintegration, as it were,was the price thathad to be paid foran increasein "expressive-

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ness," in otherwords,a greatercontrolovertheproductionof meaning. Striving


to remain within the bounds of fundamentallinearityand to strengthenthat
of thesystemis
linearity,Pudovkin fails to see thattheenunciationcharacteristic
not simplya successionof signs,as decomposedas possible, but thatit is founded
on a dialectic between such "stripped-down" images and a more complex
spatialityofferingcomplementaryguarantees.
The close-up, as integratedinto filmicdiscourseby Griffith,
Barker,theInce
brothers,etc., drew an importantshare of its significationfromthe widershots
thatproceededand followedit and fromwhich it was in a sense excerpted.It was
through this alternation of long-shot and close-up that the stronglydiegetic
cinema was to attain maximum effect(and in this sense a filmlike Shane is
certainlyan example). Intoxicated,as it were,by the possibilitiesrevealedin the
new-foundmasteryof orientationalmatchingprocedures(and in particularthe
eyeline match), Pudovkin sought to reconstitutea given profilmicspace in its
entiretysolely throughthe successivepresentationof its details. He attemptedto
renderthe full presenceof characters,objects,and indeed thediegesis itselfsolely
throughthis "nearsighted"approach. Yet in so doing he sethis workat odds with
a whole dimension of the systemhe was seeking to improve, since in many
sequences of his silentfilmsdiegeticspace is reducedto such an abstractionthat
such as theillusion of thepresenceofcharactersto each otherare
importanteffects
weakened.
considerably
Paradoxically,one of thefinestmomentsin The Motheris thatin which the
method described above is abandoned completelyand Pudovkin returns,for
reasonsofstylisticand dramaticcontrast,to a space which is much closerto thatof
the filmsof Louis Lumiere. The firstpart of the admirable scene showing the
in the factory
confrontationbetween revolutionaryworkersand strikebreakers
remind
us
how
in
shots
suitedis the
is
filmed
which
fixed,
aptly
wide-angle
yard
primitivetableau to scenes of mass struggle.This demonstrationwill be confirmedagain and again throughoutthe Soviet cinema's silent period and well
beyondit.
It was Dreyer,in The Passion of Joan of Arc,who went on to derivefrom
what we might call the Pudovkin contradictiona coherent dialectic based
preciselyupon that diegeticdissolution, assumed as such, of profilmictopography. However,it was the Ukrainian masterAlexanderDovzhenko,in theopening
sequence of his greatestfilm,Earth (1930), who went furthestin putting that
contradictionto work, designatingit as such, showing how it was possible to
construct,withclassical spatiality,an ambiguous diegeticspace, in thesense that
it is essentiallyand disturbinglyuncertain.
This celebrated sequence deals with an old man dying and a dialogue
betweenhim and friendsand relativesstandingor sittingaround him. But is it so
certainthattheyare actuallyaround him?Some shots,especiallythoseof thebaby
playing, seem to involve a relationshipwhich has nothing to do with ordinary
contiguity; they seem more like elements of "attraction" in the manner of

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89

Eisenstein.The charactersare neverseen togetherin thesame shot;theyare linked


only by theireyelineexchanges.A close reading of this sequence shows a whole
seriesofdiscrepancieswhichactuallyrenderimpossiblea readingofdiegeticspace
in keeping with the traditionalsystemof orientation:"in the place where" the
orientationof a glance fromthe old man had enabled us to situatethisor that
character,we now encounteranother;in the course of anotherseriesof apparent
shots,we encounterstillanothercharacter"in thesame place," and
reverse-angle
yet,as far as we are able to judge, the hieraticstillnessof the scene has been
preservedthroughout.At othermomentsa shot of a fieldof wheat seems to be
located in an "impossible" space with respectto the eyelinedirectionsof those
who see it. And thisopening sceneoffersonly one of various strategiesemployed
by Dovzhenko: oftenan articulationbetweensequences will leave fundamental
doubts about the precise momentwhen the spatial or temporalhiatus actually
occurred.Along another axis certainshots, though more closely related to an
"emblematic" space/timethan to the diegetic space/timeproper,nevertheless
continue to entertainsubsidiarylinks with the latter(witnessthe seriesof shots
indicatingthe passing of the seasons, the quasisymbolicsequence of "the lovers'
night,"or theshotsofa youngwoman standingbya sunflower).Conversely,other
momentswhich are firmlyanchored in the primarydiegesis (such as Vassili's
famous dance-and-deathor his father'snight of mourning) seem to partakein
turnof thoseemblematicshots,tendingto suspend themovementof thediegesis.
It is throughsuch ambiguitiesas these,such derogationsfromtheseamlessnessof

AlexenderDovzhenko. Earth. 1930.

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therepresentationalfabric,such attackson themetonymicintegrity


of thediegesis
ofa metaphoricdiscourse,thatDovzhenkocomes
bytheintroductionof fragments
closestto an importantaspect of Eisenstein'sgreatadventure.But in factthistype
of constructionin one way or another was a major concern of nearly all the
important Soviet directors.Yet while it has often been identifiedwith them
exclusively,it should be pointedout thatthesetechniquesgrewout ofan objective
in Intolerance
encounterbetweencrosscuttingof the type perfectedby Griffith
in
of
which
are merely
and
the
turn
(1916)
metaphoriccutaway Gance, procedures
inserts
and
earliest
of
the
crosscutting.
extrapolations
The finalsequence of Eisenstein'sStrike(1925),consistingof an alternation
betweenshotsof butchersat workin a slaughterhouse(shotswhich absolutelydo
not belong to theprincipal diegeticspace/time)and images of thepersecutionof
the strikingworkersby mounted Cossacks, providesthe earliestexample of this
typeof figurein narrativeSoviet cinema. Here the relationshipbetweendiegetic
and metaphoric space/time (which in this instance involves its own strongly
diegetic effect)still derivesfroma linear concept which is perfectlycompatible
with the Griffith
approach. In fact,one mightcite severalmainstreamfilmsof the
sound era which have incorporatedthis technique of parallel and extended
metaphor(WalterGraumann's Lady in a Cage comes to mind ... but do not the
shots of buildings and citystreetsin Muriel functionin a similar way?). On the
otherhand, Eisenstein'sdevelopmentsof thisstrategyin The General Line (1929)
and above all in October(1928) may be said to be fundamentallyat odds withthis
linearity.
The mechanical peacock in October,which appears fragmentarily
within
the montagepiece associated with theopening of thedoor as Kerenskyentersthe
great room which is to shelterhis precarious power, is of course a symbol of
Kerensky'sfatuouscharacter.But it is so tightlymeshedinto themovementof the
door itselfthat it resistsany reductionto a single signifyingfunction.A naive
reading, predicatedon the inviolabilityof diegeticspace/time,might conclude
thatthis is an automaton set in motion by machinerywhich connectsit with the
door. This is but one (perfectly"legitimate") aspect of a complex productionof
meaning irreducibleto any linear model.
I cannot draw herea completepictureof Eisenstein'scontributionto thefarreaching investigationof the establishedrepresentationalmode, undertakenin
factby all the most advanced membersof the Soviet school. One would have to
discuss typage,thatimportantreconsiderationof the cinematicpersona, and the
complex relations which it entertainedwith the stereotypedcasting of the
capitalistcinema. One would have to discuss as well the concept of themass-ashero and therevaluingof the long-shotassociatedwithit, as well as themixtures
of styleand genrein Strike,October,and The General Line, and of course such
ambitiousattemptsto extendthedirector'srangeas "tonal montage"or "intellectual montage."
However, it seems to me that Eisenstein presents his most stimulating

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Film's InstitutionalMode of Representation

91

challenge when, firstin his films,later in his teaching,he strivesto found a


dialecticsof orientationalmatchingwhich, thoughhe saw it as a complementto
the systemthathad risenover theprevioustwentyyears,also tendsto undermine
the veryfoundationsof that system.
I have alreadysuggestedthatit was preciselybecause oftheunfinishedstatus
of the representationalsystemthat Eisensteinand his fellow filmmakersfound
themselvesin a relativelyprivilegedsituationfora rethinkingof filmpractice.At
that timein Europe, eyelineand directionmatching,forwant of any universally
acceptedcodification,forwantofa "continuitygirl,"was no more thana working
hypothesis,one which seemsto have enjoyedfavor,it is true,but whichremained
only one possible option among others(witnessall the mismatchedeyelinesin
Frenchand Germanfilmsof everycategoryas late as the mid-twenties).9
In this connection Strikecontains an extremelysignificantsequence. The
spyingforemanis knockedoffhis feetbya clout froma huge steelwheel swinging
on a crane driven by a group of mischievous revolutionaryworkers.In this
sequence, perhaps forthe firsttimein filmhistory,we see illustratedtheproposition that "correct"directionmatching,the logic of which correspondsto thatof
the right/left
orientationsof a real or imaginary"establishingshot," could very
well coexist withothersystems,and thatalthough thelattermightcontradictthe
logic of the former,togethertheycould constitutea single compositespace/time
characterizedby its unnaturalness(i.e., its rejectionof left/right
body logic). For
indeed, in the successive shots showing the foremanbeing knocked over, the
swinging wheel changes screen directionat each shot change, and yet all the
diegeticevidence(and our own common sense) tellsus thatin realitythedirection
of the wheel remainsconstant.
Of course the intentionhere and, at one level,theeffect
produced consistin
an exteriorization,throughthis "violation" of representation,
of the latentclass
violence behind this relativelyharmlessincident.In his account of Eisenstein's
teachings,Vladimir Nizhny tells how the mastertheorizedhis doctrineof the
"montage unit," which advocates dividing up a given sequence into subsequences definedby successivecrossingsof the 1800 line. These "bad" position/
directionmatchesare ofcoursemeantto emphasizeprivilegedmomentsof tension
in the narrativeflow.Indeed, wheneverEisenstein provided a rationale forhis
innovations-invariably after the fact-he invoked criteria derived from the
And thedramaturgyat workin thesequences thatare
ideology of representation.
most representativeof his dialectics of matching provides confirmationof this
"expressionist"outlook and of thecorrelationbetweensuch experimentsas these
and Eisenstein'squest forthe effectwhich he called pathos. However,it seems to
me no less truethatthereis a preciousparallel statementin thisstrategy,
foritalso

9.
In Lang's Metropolis,L'Herbier's L'Argent,Raymond Bernard'sLe Miracle des loups....
are clearlynot talkingabout the mistakesof amateurs.

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We

92

OCTOBER

involvesa jeopardizingofthesystem'sgreatest"secret":thefactthata filmis made


up of fragmentsof montage,thatit is not bynaturebutbyartificethattheclassical
d&coupageproduces an effectof continuity.
We find one particularlyvivid illustration of this in the Odessa steps
sequence in Potemkin(1925). Here the extremediscontinuityof the editinggoes
farbeyondmereimpressionisticsubjectivism,and theprincipleof montageunits
intervenesspectacularlyto organizetheclimax of theepisode. In thisinstancethe
expressiveintentionis accompanied by a programmaticstatementof no small
endowed withrelative
importance:thata secondaryorganizationof thesignifiers,
autonomy,can give filmicdiscourse an entirelynew dimension, irreducibleto
linear expressiveness.The sequence is constructedaround two broad montage
units,of which the second intervenesonly when the nursefirstappears with her
baby carriageand is thenassociated with the carriageas it rolls alone down the
are intercutwithshotsof the
steps.However,theimagesof thisdramatictrajectory
these
are
and
filmed
from
angles which belong to the first
continuing massacre,
theend of itsrun,to "fall back"
unit.
the
toward
carriageseems,
Finally,
montage
into thefirstunit (in otherwords,into theinitial right/left
relationship),and after
this "dissonant" period consistingof cuts back and forthbetweenthe two units,
the sequence ends entirelyin the first.It is throughsuch constructionsas thesewe mightalso cite thesecond sectionof Potemkin,"Drama on the Quarterdeck,"
thecream-separator
sequence in The General Line, or theraising of thebridgein
October-that Eisenstein became the firstto succeed in relativizing certain
fundamental norms of the institutional mode of representation.This mode
would, of course,reintegratetheminto a subsystemderivedfromit,but which at
the same time contained the premisesof a more fundamentalcontestation.We
natureof this
may, I believe,sum up both the progressiveand the contradictory
work with the following well-knownobservationtaken fromNotes of a Film
Director:
The strengthof montagelies in thefactthattheemotionsand mindsof
the spectatorsare included in the creativeprocess. The spectatornot
only sees those elementsof the work which are capable of being seen
but also experiencesthe dynamicprocessof theemergenceand formation of the image just as it was experienced by the author. This
probably is the highestpossible degree of approximation to visually
conveying the author's sensations and conception in the greatest
possible completeness,to conveyingthemwith "that almost physical
tangibility"withwhich theyarose beforetheauthorduringthecreative
process,at the momentsof his creativevision.10
Under close scrutiny,this text may be seen to reveal with great precision
10.

S. M. Eisenstein,Notes of a Film Director,New York, Dover Press, 1970,pp. 77-8.

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Eisenstein'scomplex attitude.On the one hand, he rejectseverythingin therepresentational system which causes the spectator to see only "those elements
This is thecredo,
capable of being seen," in otherwords,he rejectstransparency.
as it were,thatunderlieshis "dialecticization"of thematchingsystemand all the
other "illusionist" strategies;his goal is to make theworkof thesignifiervisible.
into a spectacleof theclassical type,
Yet at the same timethisworkis reintegrated
one which is certainlyon a "higher plane" than the other, but one which
neverthelessmustin the last analysis submitto thesame linear,we mightevensay
totalitarian,model: what the spectatoris supposed to grasp at the end of the
process, whateverwork he or she may have been called upon to perform,is
assumed to be what the authorput into it. We findourselvesface to facewith the
old illusion thatholds theworkofartto be a mediator,a means ofcommunication
between two sensibilities.This will perhaps also help us to understandwhy
Eisensteinneversought (not even in Strike,despiteall claims to thecontrary)to
oppose thesystemby thenestablishedwithany notion of a tabula rasa. In spiteof
theirdifferences,
in spite of theirdisputes,he sharedwithPudovkinand Kuleshov
thedeep convictionthatthe "language" with which thename of Griffith
was then
so closely associated was tantamountto a basic language whose fundamental
who proclaimedhis attachmentto
componentswereintangible.Even a filmmaker
dialectical and historical materialismand who felthis task was to enrich that
systemthroughcriticalreappraisal was bound to remain within the conceptual
frameworkwhich it defined.This is the nervecenterof his polemic with Vertov.
Needless to say, it would in my estimationbe foolish to reproachhim forthis.
Among the Soviet masters,Dziga Vertovalone advocatedan uncompromistabula
rasa. In the USSR of the 1920s, such a position also involved
ing
contradictionswhich are far fromnegligible. The fact remains, however,that
Vertovwas the firstfilmmakerand theoreticianto have produced-in ways that
were at timescrude, at othersdeceptivelypolemical-a critical definitionof the
nature of cinematic representation,and to have undertaken,in his masterwork
The Man with a Movie Camera, a practicalcritique of it.
Reading certainVertovtextsoverlyliterally,commentatorshave oftenmade
of him the irrepressiblechampion of documentaryagainst the fictionfilm.
However, what this readingof his careerfails to reveal is that the reason Vertov
seemed to be combatingfictionper se was thathe perceivedin the fictionfilmof
thatera thehegemonyofa deeplyalienatingsystemofrepresentation.
This was in
part because of the ideological substancewhich in capitalist countriesit almost
invariablypurveyed-explicitlyor implicitly-and in part because of thepassive
attitudethatit requiredof thespectator.And if he attackedEisenstein,seemingto
confuse him with the mastersof Hollywood, it was because he feltthat in the
revolutionarycontexta tabula rasa strategywas indispensableto clean theeyesof
themasses,as he mighthave put it. Reading his texts,seeinghis films,it is hard to
believe that he did not realize that The Man witha Movie Camera (or Kino-Glaz,
forthatmatter)was as much, or as little,a fictionas Potemkinor The Mother.

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We know that Vertov'sprojectdid not merelyconcern the perceptionand


reading of images. Vertovhad a deep political commitment,and he even had the
presentimentthatexercisesin the decoding of images could provide trainingfor
thedecoding of reality.This projectstillholds promisetoday,and we have had, in
In the Soviet Union of
the filmsof socialist Cuba, a glimmerof its fulfillment.
the 1920s, however,such amalgamations could easily lead to serious political
illusions. It is also truethatin Vertov'scase, it producedmasterpieces.Through
recentliteraturewe are beginningto have a betterappreciationof thetruebreadth
of this film,long regardedas a simple display of cinematic fireworks."This
classical response, so common among viewerseven today,is a symptomof the
almost totalillegibilityof thisfilmforseveraldecades,theveritablecrisiswhich it
causes within filmicrepresentationas a whole.., .and all the light which, at a
second level, it sheds upon it. I can only sketchthe broad outlines of the work
accomplished in this immensefilm,and I muststartwith theobservationthatits
chief target is the fundamentallinearityof filmic representation,a linearity
contestedin all its aspects,and no longer simplyin thatof syntax,as was chiefly
the case with Eisenstein.
This filmis not made to be viewedonly once. It is impossible foranyone to
assimilate its workin a single viewing.Far more than any filmbyEisenstein,The
Man with a Movie Camera demands that the spectatortake an active role as
deciphererof its images. To refusethatrole is to leave the theateror escape into
revery.For the relationships proposed between these images are seldom selfmovesbackwards,denyingour
evident;oftenthe logic of successivesignifications
usual senseof chronology,and evenmoreoftenit will takeus along an axis which
is no longer syntagmatic,but paradigmaticof the film'sveryproduction(frozen
frames,photograms,editingscenes,shooting scenes,screeningof the filmbefore
an audience). Here again, however,the trajectoryfollowedis not determinedby
any simple chronologyof productionbut is theresultof the multipleinteraction
of other structures-thecycle of the workingday, the cycleof life and death, a
reflectionon the new society,on the changing situationsof women withinit, on
the vestigesof bourgeois life, on povertyunder socialism, and so on. Further
associated with all this is a reflectionon filmic representationitself,on the
constitutionof haptic space, theillusion of movement,and so on. One maysafely
say that thereis not a single shot in this entirefilmwhose place in the editing
schemeis not overdetermined
chains ofsignification,
bya whole setofintertwined
and that it is impossible to decipher fully the film'sdiscourse until one has a
completelytopological grasp of the filmas a whole, in otherwords,afterseveral
viewings.12Resolutely reflexive,this filmwas the most radical gesturethat the
silent cinema had known-in the Soviet Union or elsewhere.
See forexample AnnetteMichelson, "'The Man with the Movie Camera': From Magician to
11.
vol. 10, no. 7 (March 1972) 60-72.
Epistemologist,"Artforum,
In my work the concept of the univocalityof theinstitutionalmode of representation
12.
refersof

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Film's InstitutionalMode of Representation

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iiOV?
4-1::::i:

.:::::i:-low

The Man witha MovieCamera.1929.


Dziga Vertov.
Vertovwas, however,a communist;as long as he was permittedto do so, he
stroveto involve his work in the concreteconstructionof socialism. At thesame
time,his analyses-writtenand filmic-were some thirtyor fortyyearsahead of
theirtime.Not until the 1950sdid theyoung Stan Brakhageproduce a critiqueas
penetrating,albeit writtenfromthe opposite ideological position; not until the
mid-1960sdid European Marxist criticsreintegrateVertovinto Left aesthetics.
Small wonder, then, that Vertov should have fallen prey to the pedagogical
illusion, that he should have imagined that filmswhich have probably only
become legible in thepast tenyearsor so (and even thenonly throughmuchhard
work), could spontaneously"educate the senses" of the illiteratepeasant masses
or, forthatmatter,of theurban masses,howeverhighlydeveloped theirpolitical
consciousness.For theirexpectationshad long since been programmedby their
experienceof dominantfilmpractice.
Nothing will ever excuse or justifythe persecutionsto which this great
master was subjected during the latter part of his life, when he was given
courseto a relationshipbetweenthefilmsand thespectators-mostspectators-who have been written
into theinstitutionby society.The others-a fewscholars,critics,filmmakers-willoftenperceivethe
veryreal polysemicdimensionofjust about any filmtext.However,thisreadingis not onlyconducted
fromoutside the institution(whose vocation,as ChristianMetz remindsus, is "to filltheaters,not to
emptythem"); it is ultimatelyirrelevantto our understandingof the institutionas a single text.

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OCTOBER

we mustmake no mistakeabout
practicallyno opportunityto work.Nevertheless,
it: if theworkof Vertovstill containsan immensetheoreticalpotential,ifit helps
us to understandthe systemwhich still governs 99% of the world's filmand
televisionproduction,if it helps us to reflecton the possibilitiesof eventually
developing-within a political and social contextcomparable,at theveryleast,to
Vertov's--methodsof audio-visual education and propaganda which might
fromthebasic normsof cinematicrepresentation,
he invented
departsignificantly
no magic recipes.In particular,it is clearlya delusion to imagine thatreflexiveness has automatic pedagogical value. The key to educating the senses of the
masses, an education that would enable themto read the filmicsystem-to read
themselvesinside it ratherthan simplybeingwritteninto it again and again-lies
in changes a good deal more far-reaching.Even at the strictly
audio-visual level,
the education of the senses must pass through the schools of Kuleshov and
Eisensteinbeforethatof Vertov,mustmove,in otherwords,in an ascendingorder
of contradiction.

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