Disclaimer: Credit where it’s due. An inspiration for some reflections stem from a piece by my friend, Goh Cheng Hao, on the film The 4 PLY Clandestine System and the ethics of documentary-making. There may be similar concepts tackled in both essays because that’s how inspirations work.
—
I can’t say I’m too satisfied with the way schools teach us how to make documentaries.
After having gone beyond the surface of filmmaking, past ‘how’ to the ‘why’s and its deeper implications, I find myself fearful of the act. As many aspirant theorists may tell you, the camera reduces the human soul to flashing pictures and strobing sounds, and the filmic form is an essentialization – a compression of the human experience to, in my case, twelve minutes and twenty-one seconds. A camera is a political tool, and one must know how to aim it and who at. I was aware that my thesis film was not going to simulate life like Ozu or De Sica could, but I could at least pride myself on knowing some stuff. Regardless, the form of the documentary – the student documentary – comes packaged with uncomfortable realities.
The relationship that most student filmmakers have with their profiles (again, read Cheng Hao’s article) is one of the filmmaker-subject and profile-object; we use their stories and lives as material to be shot, graded, and forgotten. We may soothe ourselves with our justifications of obeyed protocol and thoughtful considerations, but how many student filmmakers follow up with their profiles half a year after completion? A year? Filmmaking is inherently extractive but consider who we are – people privileged enough to have the time and access to make films – and who we make films of – subjects of “human interest” (again, who decides that? The dominant taste and ideology of the times are always those that benefit the ruling class, to paraphrase Marx and Engels) – and I came to the uncomfortable conclusion that the uncritical student film is another dash of grease in the imperialist machine.
I was already waking up to the mechanisms of political antagonisms in my second year in university (thanks Gil), but the book that I had made the keystone of my theoretical approach came to me in the 2nd week of my final year. In documentary production class, I was introduced to Jill Godmilow, and her concept of the postrealist film – an “anti-realist” film that sought to educate the viewer to the reality of the world, and to never allow an emotional outlet, a release of guilt, for the viewer – typically a privileged audience member. In her book, Kill the Documentary, Godmilow sums up her conceit with a few core questions: “what relationship do we construct between the viewer and the material; how does documentary film address and construct the viewer? How does the film satisfy the viewer? Should it satisfy, or should it do something else?” Godmilow posits that the liberal documentary – using the truth-claim inherent in its format – says that “only real visual and auditory facts have been assembled into [the] film text.” Seeing becomes believing. The film assuages the viewer: here’s a look into the subject of the documentary. Look at how interesting their lives are and thank God that’s not us.
The postrealist film is a conscious rejection of the comfort and catharsis of the prototypical film. In its most aspirational form, the postrealist film “[refuses] to use cinema to manage the world for the middle class”. In my words, to provide an absolution of guilt after crying for the subjects and moving on with your life. An ideal film would open up new lines of flight, for the imperialist Singaporean to understand their role as arbitrators of pain for the exploited just by their existence. A whole lot to work for.
With reference to Godmilow’s take on postreality, the film had to “[refuse] documentary transparency, evidentiary arguments, classic narrative structure, psychological explanations, and the sympathetic identifications that posit us/them symmetries.” Looking back at my thesis film, I can see that I’ve succeeded in some areas, even if a little, and abjectly failed for some others. Though I know never to dogmatize any one person’s interpretation, Godmilow’s theses provided a goal for shoot for. I fell short of my aspirations, as I realistically would. Aspects of the final product provided that damnable release of emotion for the audience. To cry for the migrant worker for those twelve minutes, and head home afterwards, knowing that attention and empathy (and not much else) was given to their pitiable plights.
There is a resignation within me knowing that, despite my intentions and theoretical armaments, this was all that was possible within the system. Still, it’s too early to throw in the towel. This was my first firsthand experience of creating a product of the cultural industry, as Adorno would call it. I now know how hard it is to struggle against the tide of slop. The fight continues. I don’t want film – or any art form – to be a sin-eater for the pain that we are collectively guilty for. We should all reckon with our place in the world – in the imperial core, mind you – and how we must live. It’s not just about individual kindness, but a deeper rot within the structure where our rise comes at the cost of another’s fall, halfway around the globe or right beneath our feet at home. What is to be done? Let’s start with seeing; let’s start by knowing who we are, what we create, and refusing to accept the status quo. Start there, and do it together.
I am now adhering to postrealism by ruining my own ending. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna providing catharsis with an emotionally satisfying ending. Fuck you.
Incredibly well put xx