Three fairgrounds in three important films of the 20th century:
- Fernand Leger's erratic rides in his 1924 "Le Ballet Mecanique" where man and machine fuse as one, even during man's most abandoned and playful moments.
- The 1920 German Expressionist film "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" directed by Robert Wien, in which the protagonist, Dr. Caligari, uses a carnival to introduce his somnambulist Cesare.
- Alfred Hitchcock's 1951 "Strangers on a Train" has both a murder and the identification of a murderer occur at a fairground.
Leger uses fairgrounds to wax poetic about machines. Robert Wien makes the expressionist fairground into some kind of unearthly place full of macabre fantasies.
Hitchcock's carousel juxtaposes the horrors of the crime committed by the deranged criminal full of his internal fantasies, with the speed and distorted figures of the wooden horses, to finally evict the murderer through the centrifugal force of the mechanical carousel onto stable ground, where he can be identified and convicted.
Hitchcock took a little of each of the two previous films to make his approachable, human film where man is separated from machine and fantasy, and made to pay for his sins.
I'm always surprised at how moralistic Hitchcock is. After all, his films for the most part are about murder and crime. But, I think he really separates man from other things - nature, machine, psychosis (which is an inferior version of rational, sensible man.) Hitchcock has trust in man, despite his ambiguities and insecurities.
Unlike the other two filmmakers, whose protagonists are outside of the human (machine or fantasy), Hitchcock stays grounded in his portrayals of his fellow being.
Here's a revealing comment by Christopher Alexander:
[F]orms must arise that come from the technology and economics and social circumstances of that era. So that if one sets out a program where you're essentially sort of copying old forms in any version, you're liable to be in a hell of a lot of trouble...But [people] don't know what to do about it...And I think that it is necessary to spend time - I would say major amounts of time - thinking only about form and geometry. Thinking about the language of form that is appropriate now.
This puts a lot of things into perspective, which I had only subconsciously understood until now.
Almost all of my colleagues, professors and acquaintances in the art and design fields seem to be stuck on this search for "the language of form that is appropriate now."
Hence: - The name "experimental" for the avant-garde group of current filmmakers, of which I was a member for a few years. There was (is) great emphasis on finding new techniques, and even branching into non-film media such as digital and computerized manipulations. Thus calling themselves "experimental."
- A recent bizarre project by fellow board-member (at a post I had at Trinity Square Video), whom I posted about here, who uses jello to simulate water in a fountain. In trying to find a new way to design fountains, she tried to redesign the water instead!
- A textile "artist" who has been experimenting with the very ugly, thick - in all aspects - fiber felt to try and come up with sculptural elements. The problem is that felt is not solid, unless stuffed. Trying to find this intrinsic sculptural element in a non-sculptural material hinders the real emphasis. Which should be representing the object itself.
- Textile designer Looolo makes biodegradable, organic and toxin-free home accessories. The simple pillows range from a steep $100-$150. The price is for the dubious material. Design not included. Also, biodegradable fabric! Isn't the idea that it last as long as possible, and not get tossed in the green bin when a little worn? And aren't cotton, silk and wool naturally biodegradable?
What's going wrong here?
As film theorist Siegfried Kracauer quotes avant-garde filmmaker Jacques Brunius: "The cinema [of the avant-garde] is the least realistic of arts."
This holds true for the three examples I've given above. In the single-minded effort to find "the language of form that is appropriate now", these designers, artists and filmmakers have given up on reality!
It's as simple as that.
There is something noble in this experimental, almost scientific, attempt at finding the right form. But, I think where they are made their fundamental error is in their disengagement with reality. Form comes from the real world. Trying to find form without the real will only give us deflating sculptures and giant jello for water.
Left: Chung-Im Kim's undecipherable object (worm, horn, shell, ice cream cone?) made with sewn pieces of felt with a hollow inside. One clutch and the object is flattened
Right: Gwen Macgregor's "Pool." Water made from jello as part of an "installation" project with wading pools. Even the project is misdirected, looking at the pools instead of the structures. The kids don't look too much like they're enjoying themselves.
Looolo pillows: Left, "Fly" at $140; Center, "Janthur" at $190; Right, "Windows" at $140
The Fly and Janthur pillows defy leaning back on their irregular surface. Isn't that what pillows are for? And design is wanting in the Windows series.
Ten second preview of Bruce Elder's experimental film "The Young Prince"
The warning signs of Toronto's latest architectural addition
The new Royal Ontario Museum's (ROM) extension sits on the narrow curb of Bloor street as if ready to fall on the innocent pedestrians. Its architect, Daniel Libeskind, who also started the Twin Towers memorial, but later on had to cede the design to another architect for fear of an unstable structure, has been very buoyant during his interviews about his new Toronto structure.
The new Royal Ontario Museum exterior
The new Royal Ontario Museum interior
Interviewer: Your addition is radically different from the existing ROM building. Along with the praise, you’ve heard lots of criticism of it.
Daniel Libeskind: When the Eiffel Tower was built, it was condemned universally. But what would Paris be without the Eiffel Tower?
Libeskind hubristic response equating the Eiffel Tower with the new ROM extension is not even correct. The Eiffel Tower was built in the spirit of triumph, celebrating the one hundred years of the French Revolution and man's perceived victory against fate, at least the fate of ordained Kings and serfdoms, by lofty (if misguided) ideals of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity. It was also an ode to the science and technology, and the achievements of the industrial age.
What has Libeskind's convoluted structure to offer? Libeskind's consistent response is that his buildings are "different" and "progressive." That's it, according to him. That's their value.
But there is another undeclared layer that Libeskind is not articulating. Either he doesn't really know it, or is too clever to mention it. His buildings all convey destruction, the opposite of architecture. But why is that? I think primarily because of uncertainty. Libeskind has no principles to build on. Liberty, equality, science, centennials? None of these words figure in his interviews. Instead abstract and empty ones like "different" and "radical" describe much of his intentions.
Libeskind is essentially a nihilist. And since art is always the projector of its creator's thinkings, his buildings emerge as potentially (imminently) crumbling edifices. And his interiors are no different. There is a sense of claustrophobic despair inside his structures, as though the wall are about to fold in. In fact that was one of the strongest criticisms of the Jewish Museum in Berlin, another of his buildings on the verge of collapse.
Whenever architects and artists distort our structures to the point of collapse, I believe that danger is nearby. This was what happened just before the horror of the Nazis. German filmmakers were making their own nightmarish films, and claustrophobic buildings about to cave in figured prominently in their stage sets. But there was at least a sense of awareness of impending doom by the German filmmakers. They chose, unwisely, to deal with it in metaphorical terms. Libeskind, on the other hand, keeps cheerfully giving interviews about the renaissance of Toronto, with, of course, his exemplary contribution.
