Intro still isn't quite right, and haven't fully written a concluding couple of paragraphs yet, but below is pretty much my finished MA dissertation. PLEASE let me know any bits you think don't work or any sloppy typos you see.
THANK YOU!
Introduction: Film festivals as an alternative
method of distribution
A dichotomy between art and commerce exists in most mediums, no less the
medium of cinema. But this dichotomy is actually much more like a symbiosis,
where commercially driven motivations negotiate with a love for cinema and the
belief that it can push boundaries, impart ideas, challenge dominant world
views and articulate the lives of under-represented cultures. This love of
cinema is commonly referred to as cinephilia.
The dominant rhetoric of ever-increasing box office records and markers
placed in line with the opening weekend takings of films across the globe would
lead one to believe that it is this side of the symbiosis that shapes taste in
the global distribution and production of cinema. The linear, profit-driven
approach that embraces and reinforces this language-game is typified by the synergy
and corporate ownership Hollywood. Yet, although this discourse
dominates the popular press, profiteering is far from the guiding principle of
a vast amount of film production and distribution. The above profit-driven language
game fails to acknowledge the fundamental role that cinephilia has played, and
continues to play, in the production and distribution of global cinema. This
cinephilia guides the non – or more specifically less - linear approach of the complex relationships found in the
international film festival network. This essay is interested in this system, a
system that produces films that don’t come under Hollywood’s corporate system
and don’t reflect the same aesthetic tastes, generic tropes and compliance with
easily saleable dominant ideologies. These films often find their way through the
various levels of the film festival network to arrive at ‘art-house’ cinemas across
the world.
It is the intention of this essay to examine exactly why, in the face of
increasing Hollywood synergy and box office control, are film festivals not
only still in existence, but also constantly growing in number. Far from there
being two mutually exclusive systems, there exists a constantly shifting
symbiosis of dominant and counter approaches to film distribution. Cinephilia will
be underpinned as the driving force behind finding and presenting films ‘other’
to the dominant model, by constantly reinventing itself to ensure that cinema
remains fresh, injects its contemporary landscape with a love of moving images
and challenges any attempts to push corporate agendas over the artistic merit
of film. This cinephilia will be shown to manifest itself in the specially
curated programmes found at film festivals or in film societies, such as Amos
Vogel’s Cinema 16. This network of cinephile-driven curation and programming,
rather than simply creating an unrelated counter-system to the dominant
Hollywood mode, enters into a neo-Gramscian system of counter-hegemony whereby
it can influence other forms of more populist film production and distribution,
which ensures that the cinematic landscape remains innovative, yet avoids becoming
trapped in cultural ghettos. This process will be set against the changing
socio-cultural values at several key points during the history of the film
festival. Within these changes, the rise of postmodernism will be foregrounded,
and specific use of Jean-Francois Lyotard’s (1979) declaration that emerging
non-linear ‘little narratives’ are gaining increasing influence over cultural
production compared to established, fixed and linear ‘grand narratives’ will
frame the increasing significance of cinephile programmers. The dynamism of
cinephilia, which constantly interjects and guides this development based on
the ‘needs’ of film lovers will be compared to the invisible hand of free
market capitalism, but its assumed preoccupation with short-term profits will
be discredited in light of the longing for long-term sustainability.
Film Festivals: An under-exposed field of
study
Considering how long film festivals have been in operation as reoccurring
events, widely held as the inception of the Venice International Film Festival
(Venice Biennale) in 1932, there has been very little
serious academia applied to the phenomenon. This lack of attention has been
recognised by a certain set of academics, predominantly based around the
University of St Andrews in Scotland and Amsterdam University in the
Netherlands. The clearest marker of its under-exposure as a discipline can be
seen in Marijke de Valck and Skadi Loist’s 2009 essay,
‘Film Festival
Studies: An Overview of a Burgeoning Field’, which serves as a call to arms, as well as an extended
bibliography and overview of the research already undertaken. The fact that all
this information can fit into one chapter written in 2009 attests to how
under-studied the field is. So young in fact is the field, that when de Valck (2007) highlights
the existence and significance of film festivals as a network, she states that 'this research takes
the first step towards understanding
the festival circuit as a network' (de Valck 2007: 17 – italics added). The assertion
of this being a ‘first step’, and is over half a century of a network having
existed, really shows the infancy of the field. This is
not to say that it was the first time festivals had been examined at all, just
that de Valck believes it is only recently that there has been any consensus on
the significance of their operation as a network. De Valck is a pioneering
figure in this field and as will be evident throughout this essay, she is
integral to current movements, but there were instances prior to her assertion
of a ‘first step’ that investigated this network. Premiere amongst them is Thomas Elsaesser (2005), who focuses on how the specifically
European functions of the film festival network operate in opposition to the
dominance of Hollywood:
With respect to Europe,
the festival circuit, I want to claim, has become the key force and power grid
in the film business, with wide-reaching consequences for the respective
functioning of the other elements (authorship, production, exhibition, cultural
prestige and recognition) pertaining to the cinema and to film culture.
(Elsaesser 2005a: 83)
It is
important to remember, throughout this essay, what Elsaesser alludes to here;
that a distribution network has ramifications for other factors within a film’s
cycle of existence, and thus the distribution
system has a direct influence on the type of films produced across the world. He goes on to explain how this circuit
is integral to challenging Hollywood’s hegemonic grip on global film culture: ‘the festival circuits hold the keys to all forms of
cinema not bound into the global Hollywood network’ (Elsaesser 2005a: 88).
He specifies the interconnected nature of the festival circuit as integral to
its functioning. The festival network, far from the top down approach typified
by Hollywood, ensures that the balance of power is spread throughout the nodes
of the network, and individual decision makers are involved at every step. These
individuals programme their festivals in a personal manner - albeit with
varying degrees of autonomy - which encapsulates their personal tastes and, to
their discretion, can be topical and enter into other socio-political discourses,
or set cinematic agendas. He summarises:
Film festivals thus
have in effect created one of the most interesting public spheres available in
the cultural field today... The fact that festivals are programmed events,
rather than fixed rituals, together with their annual, recurring nature means
that they can be responsive and quick in picking up topical issues, and put
together a special thematic focus with half a dozen film titles, which may
include putting together a retrospective.
(Elsaesser
2005a: 101)
This ‘public sphere’, comprising of these ‘programmed events’,
goes on to have a wide influence on global cinema, as they determine what films
play in the art-house cinemas throughout the world. Although this identifies
the influence and therefore power of the circuit, Elsaesser accuses the uniform,
agenda-setting distribution resulting from such a system as acting in a similar
fashion to the homogenising Hollywood system: ‘just
as one finds the same Hollywood movies showing in cinemas all over the world,
chances are that the same five or six art cinema hits will also be featured
internationally... with merely the difference in scale and audience
distinguishing the blockbuster from the auteur film or “indie” movie’ (Elsaesser
2005a: 92). Due to the double edged sword of the film festival network’s
power and influence, alternative concepts must be sought to ensure the
progressive nature of cinema as an art form, and combat not only Hollywood, but
an increasingly predictable ‘alternative’ system, which could reduce world
cinema to a handful of marketable art-house hits. In order to maintain their
significance in this system, film festivals need to constantly reinvent
themselves as an alternative to the alternative. In the increasing number of smaller
B-list film festivals, a remedy can be found to the potential uniformity and
monotony of both Hollywood and art-house distribution dictated to by A-list
film festivals (see below for the significance of the split between A-list and
B-list), as these smaller festivals are set up by individuals with a view to
provide what is currently perceived to be lacking. De Valck points out that the
festival circuit exists because of, and creates a platform for, films that ‘do not (yet) have the commercial potential to be
distributed while they are of special interest to the niche community of film
lovers that visit festivals' (de Valck 2007: 104). Film Festivals are
able to achieve this, where other forms of distribution struggle, because of their
unique nature as events. She refers to the social theorists Jonathan Crary and
Walter Benjamin’s writings, on the ‘changing nature of subjectivity throughout
the 19th century’ and ‘the
work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction’ respectively. She argues
that they are useful when considering the spectacle of film festivals as events,
as it affords the festival its own unique zone, where it can increase the
relative significance of what it presents:
Crary
and Benjamin's work provide the necessary conceptual backdrop in this study of
linking the exhibition context of the cinema of attractions to the phenomenon
of film festivals. I will argue that “spectacle” is important in holding both
the audience’s and media’s attention. From the perspective of perception, the
growth of film festivals can be explained by referring to the increasing
importance of “experience” in contemporary culture.
(de
Valck 2007: 19)
This ‘cinema of attraction’, the drawing of attention onto
the film festival for audiences and the media is important throughout every
phase of the film festival for varying reasons. It was important to the
cinephile film programmers of the 1970s, raising awareness of the specific
programme of films they had curated. Similarly, it was important when towns and
cities in which film festivals increasingly populated during the 1980s and
1990s utilised film festivals’ level of spectacle to raise their profile as
culturally significant locations, leading to the situation where film
programmers could use this platform to bring their taste in world cinema to
wider and more varied audiences. Even from their inception, film festivals were
used as spectacular events, as nation-states and global ideologies used them to
flex their status in the world.
A significant rift within film festivals centres on the distinction
between A-list and B-list festivals.
Put simply,
the A-list festivals have been deemed by The International Federation of Film
Producers Association (FIAPF) as being more important than an exponentially increasing
amount of smaller festivals. The system was erected, in large part to counter
awards inflation and ensure that established pillars in the network maintained
their power and influence. Focusing only on ‘competitive feature film
festivals’, the first A-list festivals were the Cannes Film Festival (Cannes)
and the Venice Biennale, quickly followed by the Berlin International Film
Festival (Berlinale), with more added throughout the years, including
international film festivals in Karlovy Vary, Locarno, San Sebastian, Mar Del
Plata, Moscow, Cairo, Tokyo and Shanghai (de
Valck 2007: 41-42). This rift is relevant to the
role of film festivals in agenda-setting, as it is the films that play at the
A-list festivals - particularly if they play in competition - that are set to
dominate art-house cinema schedules. B-list festivals have little chance of
securing such films, as the films’ producers, sales agents and/or already
assigned distributors seek to secure the global exposure afforded by inclusion
in the A-lists. It will be postulated throughout this essay that B-list festivals
are just as important as those on the A-list. They don’t make the A-list
redundant, but there exists a constant state of counter-hegemonic renegotiation
and an ever-altering symbiosis where the large A-list festival, without the challenge
of the small B-list festivals, would not be pushed to achieve their cinephilic
goals and responsibilities. Further, the economic potential of the larger festival
films that dominate the A-lists generate interest from, and emulation by,
Hollywood, thus counter-hegemonically diversifying its output.
Useful Theoretical Frameworks: Postmodernism’s
little narratives and their role in neo-Gramscian counter-hegemony
Before going through some of the specific historic developments of the
film festival network, it is important to ground some of the theoretical
framework that has already been alluded to, and will help in reading the
significance of certain developments.
The concept
of postmodernism has been highly contested in its short history. It has been
used in a wide variety of contexts and situations. Due to this widespread use
and its infection into so many discourses, it has been difficult to ground,
which John Storey (1998) explains leads some to imply that it has no meaning. Inspired
by Dick Hebdige, Storey believes quite the contrary to this: ‘When a term has entered so many debates and discourses,
it must be articulating something fundamental’ (1998: 345). In order to
use such an elusive term with any degree of confidence and clarity in this
work, it is important to extract its fundamental values and define, without
descending into an examination of the wider issues surrounding the definition
of the term, how these values can be useful when studying developments in the
film festival network. The easiest way to achieve this is to focus on one
element, that of Jean-François Lyotard’s (1979)
examination of the emerging importance of ‘little narratives’. The postmodern
is essentially a break from the modern - the value systems and structures that
have guided society and culture since the enlightenment. Lyotard explains that
this era of modernity was dominated by imposing sets of values, which he
describes as grand narratives, or metanarratives. These grand narratives create
subjects out of individuals and force them to identify within their narrow
boundaries. He is explicit in his assertion that
postmodern theory represents the breakdown of these imposing sets of values: ‘I define postmodern
as incredulity toward metanarratives’ (1979: xxiv – italics in original).
Lyotard proposes that in place of these metanarratives are many little
narratives that compete in the creation of culture and meaning, leaving a
greater possibility for a more equal society.
Throughout
this essay, the grand narratives of modernity will be read as synonymous with
the entrenched structures in global film distribution, encapsulated by
Hollywood, as well as, but to a lesser extent, the large and imposing A-list
film festivals. In opposition to these grand narratives, the exponential
proliferation of specialist, niche interest, or smaller festivals in new
geographic locations will be read as little narratives that weave together to
co-create a narrative, influencing all throughout the system.
Rather than
an imagined complete shift from grand to little narratives, in practice this is
a continuing process. The power of grand narratives is not abolished, simply
eroded, and therefore further theoretical framework helps to see the process of
negotiation present in global film distribution. In a manner inspired by Douglass Kellner’s (1995) insistence on using
postmodern theory fused with established cultural studies in order to ground
the concept and understand its implications for society, a neo-Gramscian
position can explain how the many little narratives can influence the actions
of the more influential grand narratives, via a process of counter-hegemony.
Dominic Strinati sets Gramsci’s theory of hegemony apart from a traditional
Marxist model of society where classes are clearly defined, rigid and
non-negotiable: ‘[I]t is perhaps best to think of
hegemony as a contested and shifting set of ideas by means of which dominant
groups strive to secure the consent of subordinate groups to their leadership,
rather than as a consistent and functional ideology working in the interests of
a ruling class by indoctrinating subordinate groups’ (Strinati 1995: 170-171).
The neo-Gramscian model’s move to coercion and away from indoctrination by
grand narratives, whilst still appreciating the existence of political economy
and the presence of a ruling class, illustrates the convergence of modern and
postmodern theory proposed by Kellner. He highlights hegemony’s relevance to
this approach by stating that it ‘has no
guarantees, no teleologies, no grand narrative of emancipation, no totalizing
or reductive discourses of politics... no home or solid basis from which to
struggle, but still holds on to the hope that new solidarities, new forms of
struggles, will emerge’ (Kellner 1995: 45). These new solidarities and
struggles will emerge because hegemony is - as Strinati defined above - a
‘contested and shifting set of ideas’. A classic reading of hegemony would seek
to illustrate how the dominant narratives prominent in Hollywood movies, impart
their values through coercion across the globe in an act of cultural
imperialism. Whereas a notion of counter-hegemony, in the same context, seeks
to investigate how the reverse is true; how the proliferation of alternative
world-views permeates the establishment and encourages a more broad and varied
output of world-views from the mainstream.
Introducing Cinephilia: The significance of
cinephilic discovery
The emphasis that will be placed on reinvention and innovation in the film
festival network requires a specific examination of the way that cinephiles are
embedded in film festival activity. Any developments in the history of film
distribution that have challenged the status quo and exhibited forward-thinking,
have required cinephiles, spellbound by the magic of cinema, to make a
contribution. The influence of this spellbinding is evident even outside of the
direct running of festivals themselves. Cinephilia can be seen just as
prominently in areas such as academia, as is evident when using de Valck as an
example. On the subject of the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR) She explains that: '[m]y first memory of the
festival is the feeling of being pleasantly overwhelmed by the many unknown
cinematic forms, the intelligent, unconventional stories, and the exotic
cultures of which the films allowed us to glimpse' (de Valck 2007: 13).
This festival therefore inducted her into this state of near worship of the
cinema at a young age and she now stands at the forefront of the movement to
have this phenomenon treated in academia with the respect she deems
appropriate; thus, raising the film festival network’s significance and
maintaining its challenging nature.
Before examining
cinephilia’s impact on the development of the global film festival network, the
term itself must be defined. De Valck and Hagener
(2005) refer to the way cinephilia 'alludes to the universal phenomenon that the film experience evokes
particular sensations of intense pleasure resulting in strongly felt connection
with the cinema, often described as a relation of love. Cinephiles worldwide
continue to be captured and enraptured by the magic of moving images' (de Valck
and Hagener 2005: 11). This universality is integral to a global network
like that of film festivals. Cinephilia has been prevalent in film criticism and academia
for over half a century and played a major part in the developments surrounding
the influential French film journal Cahiers
du Cinema, and subsequent rise of the Nouvelle Vague. Cinephilia played a major role in
the global links established by these French critics. Elsaesser (2005b) explains the cinephilic joy in
discovery experienced by these critics, who closely examined filmmakers that
were either alien to them, or previously suppressed. He sees this as part of a
trans-Atlantic communication that took place over several decades beginning at
the end of the Second World War:
The initial spatial displacement
was the transatlantic passage of Hollywood films after World War II to a newly
liberated France, whose audiences avidly caught up with the movies the German
occupation had embargoed... In the early 1960s, the transatlantic passage went
in the opposite direction, when the discourse of auteurism travelled from Paris
to New York, followed by yet another change of direction, from New York back to
Europe in the 1970s.
(Elsaesser 2005b: 30)
Elsaesser expands on this
trans-Atlantic process, as the Nouvelle Vague critics like André Bazin, Jean-Luc
Godard and François Truffaut elevated the artistic status of films by American
filmmakers such as Orson Welles and John Ford. These American filmmakers had an
influence on the Nouvelle Vague as they turned to filmmaking themselves. This,
along with their writing, travelled back across the Atlantic to inspire a
generation of American cinephile filmmakers such as Martin Scorsese, Paul
Schrader, Woody Allen and Francis Ford Coppola, who raised the profile of
several European directors in America, only, Elsaesser continues, for them to
then be rediscovered in Europe. This
illustrates how discovery becomes an embedded system relying on cinephiles’ determination
to inspire others into a similar, yet still personally developed admiration for
cinema. This process of discovery, then presentation and introduction is central
to the act of film programming. For a study of this process, and to acknowledge
that it is not restricted to ‘festivals’, the legendary work undertaken by Amos
Vogel at Cinema 16 will be highlighted.
The case of
Amos Vogel continues the theme of transatlantic cultural influence, as Vogel,
having experienced the European ciné-clubs in his native Austria before his
family fled from the rise of the Nazi Party, recreated and surpassed what he
had experienced by forming the highly influential film society Cinema 16 in New
York, then going on to be integral in the establishment of the New York Film
Festival. It was not only the size and scale
of Cinema 16 - which at its height had around seven thousand members - but its
approach to programming and the philosophy with which Vogel presented films to
the audience, that make it such an important historical landmark. Not only did Cinema
16 specialise in showing avant-garde films, documentaries and other suppressed
or overlooked cinema, but all steps necessary were taken to ensure that these
films were shared with as wide an audience as possible. Writing comprehensively on the
development of Cinema 16, Scott MacDonald (1996) states
that it is ‘evident in the language of the
"Statement of Purposes" that Vogel did not see his project as
marginal in any way; his goal was to service a "vast potential
audience."' (MacDonald 1996: 5). Vogel was passionate about the
transformative and inspirational potential of film and believed that the system
of mainstream film distribution around him at the time was failing to supply
the populace with not only what he considered to be important, but evidenced by
the popularity of the society, what the audience wanted. Macdonald describes Vogel
as ‘above all, an
audience builder, a teacher, and a political motivator. For him, the challenge
was to use the widest articulation of film practice as a means of invigorating
viewers' interest in cinema and their willingness to use what they learned at
Cinema 16 in their everyday lives as citizens of the United States and the
world' (MacDonald 1996: 19). This is the
type of mentality that drives the network of film festival programmers,
determined to introduce others to the cinema that has moved them. Vogel,
determined to reach even more with his Cinema 16 selection, went on to develop
a distribution network. In 1951 Cinema 16 supplied twenty experimental films.
In 1963, the year that Cinema 16 ceased to operate, they had a catalogue of
forty seven pages, containing over two hundred films, including avant-garde,
animation, documentaries and feature films such as Robert Bresson’s Pickpocket (1959) and Charlie Chaplin’s Easy Street (1917) (Macdonald 1996: 16).
MacDonald
highlights what Vogel achieved by emphasising what Cinema 16 ‘was able to accomplish in the era before government
grants for film exhibition were even a fantasy' (MacDonald 1996: 1). By
raising this point, Macdonald is practicing the same cinephilic quality of
discovery, as he is showing a desire, in light of what he described at the time
of writing as increasing government austerity and declining arts funding, to
pass this discovery on and inspire others to effect further change. He declares: ‘My hope is that this volume will help stimulate in some of those who
read it, not merely an admiration of Cinema 16, but a desire to emulate it'
(MacDonald 1996: 29).
Macdonald concedes that
the media-world in which we currently exist is completely different to that
experienced by Cinema 16 audiences, who had severely limited exposure to the
material shown: 'While
we may never return to the situation Vogel found himself in during the late
1940s, where large numbers of people had almost no access to a wide range of
film forms and were hungry for exposure, there is no reason that the current situation
cannot improve substantially’ (MacDonald 1996: 29). The task, therefore, is to see what lessons
can be learned, but situate such lessons within the context of a different
media-landscape. One
fundamental lesson is that Vogel’s emphasis was always on the audience. In an
interview with Macdonald, he stresses: 'This idea
worked, not because of my excellence as a programmer or anything like that, but
because historical circumstances allowed Cinema 16 to fulfil a real social
need' (Vogel cited in MacDonald 1996: 41). This attention to the ‘needs’
of audiences is fundamental to examining cinephilia’s changing form.
Changing Cinephilia: Adapting to suit its
cultural surroundings
In a personal – which is an important factor when considering such a phenomenon
- overview of the changing face of cinephilia, Thomas Elsaesser (2005b) gives
an in-depth and reflexive account of what he terms ‘cinephilia take one’. He
uses this term to describe a period of time around the 1960s, when the Cahiers du Cinema critics had helped put
the term cinephilia in the public consciousness. Many followed the examples
they set, immersing themselves in ciné-clubs and hard to reach cinemas in some
of the larger European and North American cities. Elsaesser goes on to
unfavourably compare to this ‘cinephilia take one’, the current state of
cinephilia, which he terms ‘cinephilia take two’. He raises some of the most
prominent issues leading to this change, including the emergence of videotapes,
the internet, late night television and many other social and technological
developments, all of which result in decreasing scarcity, leading to an alleged
over-abundance of cinema. With reference to discovery - which has been
highlighted above as integral to cinephilia - he explains that in cinephilia
take one, different cinematic experiences were less accessible and therefore it
was a privilege to be subjected to them, and it was from here that excitement
was drawn. Explaining the current situation, he
notes that 'even harder is it to now locate what I
have called the semiotic gap that enables either unexpected discovery, the
shock of revelation, or the play of anticipation and disappointment’ (Elsaesser
2005b: 37). Yet, despite his disparaging tone,
this privileging of his own formative experiences is acknowledged as biased: ‘This may, however, be the
jaded view of a superannuated cinephile take one, unable to "master"
his disenchantment' (Elsaesser 2005b: 38). In
a further attempt to add nuance to his argument, and understand rather than dismiss
this cinephilia take two, he comes some way to looking more objectively at the
changes, and what differentiates, yet connects the two phases of cinephilia:
Against "trepidation in
anticipation" (take one), the agitation of cinephilia take two might best
be described by the terms "stressed/distressed," having to live in a
non-linear, non-directional "too much/all at once" state of permanent
tension, not so much about missing the unique moment, but almost its opposite,
namely about how to cope with a flow that knows no privileged points of capture
at all, and yet seeks that special sense of self-presence that love promises
and sometimes provides.
(Elsaesser 2005b: 39)
What this highlights, is
that although the overabundance of possibilities is something of a drastic
change to the landscape, the fundamental act of discovery is still pertinent.
The problem Elsaesser raises, of receiving ‘too much/all at once’, can be – and
is – remedied through curation. Cinephiles around the world are sifting through
this abundance of content, effectively acting as filters, creating their own
programmes, highlighting what has affected them and passing this on to those
next in the many chains and nodes of a global, interconnected film festival
network. Cinephilia take two, in this respect, embodies the idea that little
narratives, working together, negotiating with one another and crossing paths are
more prominent and therefore this more pluralist way of generating cultural
meaning is circumventing the access routes of the grand narratives. It must be
noted that the utopian rhetoric of this approach can be tempered by the fact
that there are individuals still in control of what is deemed appropriate,
effectively controlling taste. But the significance is that there is an increasing
amount of these little narratives and an increasing opportunity to become one
of them. On a micro-level there are individuals using their own passion and
human instincts, but then on a macro-level, because each decision is part of a
network, the complete construction of the network brings a more varied array of
taste that better reflects disparate views outside of accepted canon.
In addition to Elsaesser’s
seemingly reluctant acknowledgment of this second wave of cinephilia’s benefits,
others have paid further attention to some of the specific changes he
highlighted. Having more directly experienced ‘cinephilia take two’, de Valck and Hagener (2005) explain that the new technologies
and developments such as ‘film
festivals, late-night television, home entertainment centres, and Internet
groups' (de Valck and Hagener 2005: 20) have enabled a ‘more
active kind of reception in which cinephiles encounter and discuss films in new
settings’ (de Valck and Hagener 2005: 20). A similar, though opposite, favouring of one cinephilia over the
other appears evident, as they highlight the more utopian qualities of take two
cinephilia as preferable to the elitist snobbery that they imply the previous
era can readily be accused of. They refer to this new cinephilia’s ‘varied use of different
technologies, communication channels, and exhibition formats, the contemporary
way of remembering is far more accessible than the practice ever was in the
1960s when it was basically limited to a handful of western metropolises' (de
Valck and Hagener 2005: 22). This increased access and availability spans
social/class divides as well as geographic considerations, extending to towns,
cities and villages outside the established ‘metropolises’, as well as, in a
global context, connecting countries and their accompanying national film
aesthetics that were previously less well connected. It is significant that the
above list of ‘new’ developments includes film festivals; despite being present
in cinephilia take one, they are included because the global network of film
festivals has changed drastically in line with such changes in cinephilia, as
will be illustrated later.
Ben Slater (2007) in an article for Screen International similarly
defines cinephilia take two as more pluralist and accessible, enabling film to project
to, and be projected by, different societies, demographics and communities
around the world. In line with that which was raised earlier, regarding the
increasingly unchallenging nature of regular alternative distribution, in an
account of ‘new cinephiles’ he attacks the perceived hegemony of Hollywood, as
well as the increasingly less radical annual programmes of Western art-house
cinemas by implying that neglected cinematic regions can now better represent
themselves:
As a
reaction against both the Hollywood hegemony and the chauvinism of the classic
arthouse canon, young cinephiles who live in the cinematically less
well-travelled regions (south-east Asia, Eastern Europe, the Middle East) are
able to reconsider the films of their home countries in a level of depth and
detail that visiting programmers and critics can never muster.
(Slater 2007)
Returning to the cinephilic desire to
discover, and then pass on, the ability of such underrepresented communities to
raise the awareness of their stories and different cinematic aesthetics is
enhanced by the many access routes to the film festival network, where other
cinephiles can be inspired and then pass on their discoveries. The problem
here, with respect to Slater’s point, is that it then relies on ‘visiting
programmers’, which Slater sets against this process. But the fusing of the two
is what creates the most radical change. Just as Kellner fuses the modern with
the postmodern, the same theory can be applied here, allowing more disparate
voices access to what is already a healthy, established and influential system,
in the film festival network.
Considering
the potential impact it could have on the film festival network, the internet’s
affect on cinephilia should be given special mention. Melis
Behlil (2005) declares that ‘the new breed of cinephilia
feeds itself intellectually through the technology of the internet’ (Behlil
2005: 113). She focuses on the way
online communities broaden cinephilia’s reach to more than those based in large
cities, as was the case during cinephilia take one. She explains that ‘[v]arious sites on the net...
provide a space for cinephiles to get together and exchange ideas' (Behlil
2005: 113). She argues that this
ability to come together, discuss, argue, influence others and be influenced by
others, is comparable to the ciné-clubs that defined cinephilia take one, but
this new medium can entice a broader spectrum of influence. Slater expands on this, focusing on the influence these developments
have on the global discourse of film taste. He describes the internet as:
[A] place for communication and
discussion, and a platform to publish ideas and opinions via blogs, of which a
startling amount are devoted to film. The new cinephile no longer aspires to be
a critic at a major newspaper or magazine; if you have a distinctive set of
interests, a decent prose style, and are prepared to go online, then a
readership will surely follow; and no-one will judge you for your relative
inexperience. Meanwhile, cinephile journalists, frustrated with diminishing
space for film in print, are starting to blog independently. The boundaries
between the professional and amateur cinephile have begun to blur.
(Slater
2007)
This exodus of established journalists from the recognised, old media
pillars of newspapers - themselves an embodiment of modernity - to satisfy their
urge for increased freedom to express their own little narratives and exact a
more unbridled and personal cinephilia, free of editorial control, mirrors the
dissemination of film festivals throughout the world. To illustrate this point,
examples like the New York Times as a
publisher, or Cannes as a film festival still dominate the popular discourse,
but there is a growing resistance, not from any individual online publication
or specific smaller film festival, but from the cumulative influence of many
online sources, or the network of many smaller film festivals. Though not
supplanting these established forms, they are having a counter-hegemonic
influence on them as their growing numbers and influence forces the established
forms to emulate their successful practices.
Situating
these online developments within the context of the film festival network, Chris Anderson’s (2006) theories
of ‘the long tail’ become an appropriate consideration. Anderson explains that
developments in digital distribution have weakened the need to create ‘hits’,
as they were only initially created for large media corporations to reap as
much profit from the limited ‘shelf space’ available. He argues that online access to
media, without such physical constraints allows increasing access to niche
interest content. He emphasises the economic insinuations deriving from such a
situation as the small amount of profit from the many different niche titles
equates to the large amounts of individual profit from the fewer amount of
homogenous hits. This shift from the dominance of a few, to the collative power
of many competing items once again illustrates the move from grand narratives
to little narratives. And the economic justification forces the
counter-hegemonic influence on the large media owners who now recognise that
niche interests, and the accompanying variety of world-views, are profitable.
Shifting
the emphasis towards digital retail and away from the constraints of the
physical might be considered detrimental to the definitively physical space of
the film festival, but it can also be read to the contrary. Anderson explains: 'As demand shifts toward niches,
the economics of providing them improve further, and so on, creating a positive
feedback loop that will transform entire industries - and the culture - for
decades to come' (Anderson 2006: 26).
The rising interest in, and demand for, niche titles, for which film festivals
have increasingly become the chief exhibitor of, will lead people to seek them
out at these recognisable, specialised events. De Valck recognises the significance of this
development, conceding that ‘digital distribution
and ‘The Long Tail’ model offer commercial opportunities that festivals simply
cannot match’ (de Valck 2008: 22). Yet de Valck goes on to add that, as
this essay will suggest is one of the film festival’s greatest features, it is
a curated event. She states: ‘With ‘difficult’ products – which counts for many films
screened at film festivals – people are not very likely to go and look for
these films without prior knowledge or intermediary advice. It is wishful
thinking of a culturally educated and intellectual elite that when quality
films are more readily available the tastes of people will change accordingly’
(de Valck 2008: 19). This is where the layers of cinephilia active in
the film festival network become so important. Festivals seek out the content
that is hidden from the general populace, and although it is accessible
somewhere, people will neither know where to look, nor that they even want to
look for it. De Valck goes further, explaining that far from being a threat,
this development could in fact work in conjunction with film festival distribution.
Festival-goers, having been introduced to new cinematic experiences, will seek
more of the same: ‘Digital distribution might prove to be the perfect
companion to actual festival events, creating opportunities for further
expansion and consolidation of the circulation of niche films among worldwide
audiences’ (de Valck 2008: 22).
Having
outlined some of the fundamental principles of the film festival network, and
some of the key theoretical frameworks that can help us ascertain their
significance, these developments will be placed into context throughout the
history of film festivals. This will focus specifically on three stages: the ‘geopolitical
origins’ in the 1930s, the ‘age of the programmer’ following 1968 and the ‘professional
age’, running from the 1980s to the present. Each phase will be contextualised
within the socio-political landscape at that time and how this landscape was
reflected in the changing forms of cinephilia.
Early Developments: The geopolitical origins
of the network
Before
illustrating how geopolitical considerations dominated the early developments
of the major film festivals, it is important not to lose sight of their origins
in cinephile practice. De Valck highlights the influence that European film
societies and ciné-clubs had on these early developments: 'The national and transnational networks of the pre-Second
World War cinema avant-garde contributed to the emergence of the phenomenon of
film festivals. The film clubs and societies… offered non-commercial exhibition
opportunities for all kinds of "artistic" films from roughly 1919
onwards’ (de Valck 2007: 25).
What is also important to remember is that such networks had an influence on
Amos Vogel and therefore subsequent developments of Cinema 16 and the New York
Film Festival, introducing already the non-linear chains of influence beginning
to develop in global film distribution.
The first film festivals were
set up as an exhibition and distribution alternative to the increasingly
dominant Hollywood. Already powerful in global cinema, Hollywood’s ability to
set the global cinematic agenda was strengthened by America’s relative shelter
- in comparison to Europe - from the devastation of the First and the Second
World Wars. De Valck and Loist highlight this emphasis on the festival
network’s opposition to Hollywood dominance, whilst simultaneously introducing
the links between them, stating that ‘early European festivals emerged as solution to and in cooperation with
hegemonic Hollywood' (de Valck and Loist 2009: 214). In this respect, although they were to raise the
agenda of other types of particularly European film, the reliance on stars,
spectacle, gossip and other personifications of Hollywood excess were emulated.
The fact that these issues continue to dominate the A-list festivals today
illustrates how this balance between being part of, yet against a dominant
ideology has been a constant throughout the development of the film festival
network.
As noted earlier, it is widely acknowledged
that the very beginning of what would become the reoccurring film festival was
the Venice Biennale, setting the agenda, and setting the template for those
that followed. It is also widely acknowledged that the Venice Biennale began,
not simply to showcase cinematic talent, but to showcase the might of Fascism
in Mussolini’s Italy. De Valck explains that ‘Mussolini believed that the film festival would give him a powerful
international instrument for the legitimization of the national identity of
Fascism’ (de Valck 2007: 47). Further
revealing the close relationship between the cultural agenda of film exhibition
and the complex twentieth century relationships of nation-states, the Cannes Film
Festival (Cannes) was set up by nations that would go on to become the brunt of
the allied forces that combated fascism during the Second World War. De Valck
explicitly states that Cannes originated in opposition to the dominance of
Fascism at the Venice Biennale, after explaining the apparent bias of
competition winners at the festival: ‘This display of prejudice towards Hitler’s Germany and Mussolini’s
Italy pushed the dissatisfaction of other participating countries to a climax
and led the French, British, and Americans to join forces and found a
counter-festival in Cannes’ (de Valck 2007: 48).
Although Cannes was set up prior to the Second World War, its first instalment
was in fact stopped short due to the outbreak of the war. When it was to
reconvene in 1947, it lost none of its geopolitical significance as a beacon of
resistance to Fascism. This led to de Valck’s speculation that during this time, film festivals were entangled
in an attempt to use culture to remedy Europe’s psychological scars left from World
War Two: ‘The traumatized
European nations were eager to develop initiatives that would help them regain
their proud national identities’ (de Valck 2007: 56). This is also applicable to the significance
that this era would place on national identity in the competing films, a point
that will be returned to later.
The Venice Biennale and Cannes were not the only
festivals contributing to this renegotiation of national identities, or not the
only ones that were formed with such steeply political motivations. What would
become yet another A-list festival, the Berlin International Film Festival (Berlinale)
was also founded serving a geopolitical agenda, as a product of the Cold War.
Elsaesser explains that it ‘was a creation of the Cold War, and planned
as a deliberate showcase for Hollywood glamour and Western show business, meant
to provoke East Berlin and to needle the Soviet Union’ (Elsaesser 2005a: 84).
This reifies what de Valck states above regarding the blurred lines between
opposition and cooperation between Hollywood values and the film festival
network.
This national
showcasing not only encompassed the way the festivals represent the nations
within which they are based, but was also evident in the films that were
entered into competition, which were explicitly selected by national bodies as representatives of that particular
nation. As de Valck notes: 'the post-war European
nations began to organize film festivals as events where films were exhibited
as an expression of national identity and culture. Here economic considerations
did not rule the programming' (de Valck 2007: 92). This disregard for economic considerations was a major differentiation
from Hollywood, favouring instead, the need for nations to find themselves
through the cultural artefacts of film.
Post 1968: The age of the programmer
Just as with the geopolitical origins of the film festival network, the
next phase of its development follows socio-cultural shifts seemingly unrelated
to cinema. The geopolitical era’s focus on the nation-state was to be
drastically diminished towards the end of the 1960s and entering the 1970s.
This period in history is notorious for the rise of post-structuralism, leading
to ideas such as Lyotard’s abovementioned postmodern little narratives challenging
the dominance of modernity’s grand narratives. This appropriately translates to
the diminishing influence that nation-states - themselves an embodiment of
modernity’s grand narratives – had on the organizing and programming of film
festivals, as they were increasingly replaced by the little narratives of individual
programmers, autonomous from the state and allowed to implant their own
identity onto their festivals.
Matthew Lloyd (2011), in his book
dedicated to the Edinburgh International Film Festival (EIFF) during this
period, proclaims that the FIAPF A-list film festivals were exposed
as 'antiquated, out-of-touch and artistically compromised’
(Lloyd 2011: 35). Lloyd uses this revelation
as a backdrop to the changes that occurred at the EIFF, but places these
changes within a frame of wider structural transformations in the film festival
network. Peter Stanfield (2008), also writing about the EIFF, explains that during
the 1970s, in line with external developments in the film festival network, it redefined
its own destiny: ‘Against the grain, the Festival
gave a platform to film theory, experimental film, new European and world
cinema, maverick film-makers and American exploitation movies’ (Stanfield 2008:
63). Some of these changes came at the behest of the cinephile
programmers that seized control. This will be returned to after predicating
these developments with factors external to the film festival network.
A
culmination of emerging social changes throughout the 1960s came in May 1968,
particularly, though not exclusively, in Paris and throughout France. The
filmmakers of the Nouvelle Vague, referred to above with respect to their
influence on cinephilia, had become integral, not only to French cinema, but to
the redefinition of cinema itself. They brought the events of May 1968 to the film
festival agenda. During Cannes that year, they vehemently believed that the
festival should share the struggle faced by the workers and students throughout
France. Thus, Lloyd explains that ‘[i]n May 1968, a
group of young filmmakers led by the Nouvelle Vague directors Jean-Luc Godard
and Francois Truffaut brought the Cannes Film Festival to a premature halt’
(Lloyd 2011: 11). This halt seemed to act as a line drawn in the sand.
Not only was it halting that particular festival at that specific time, but it
was marking an end to an ‘antiquated’ way of running festivals. Elsaesser credits
the changes of this historical period for ensuring that film festivals became
the boundary-pushing entity that their potential could allow: ‘The boom in new film festivals, lest we forget, started
in the 1970s. Many of the creative as well as critical impulses that drove
festivals to devote themselves to non-commercial films, to the avant-garde and
to independent filmmaking are owed to the post-’68 counter-culture of political
protest and militant activism’ (Elsaesser 2005a: 100).
Lloyd and
Stanfield both complement their account of the EIFF‘s rise with this post-68
period. They both explain that the festival had become a mediocre, unspectacular
affair; a far cry from the innovative days of its inception in 1947. Stanfield
remarks: ‘By the mid to late 1960s the Festival had
become a dull affair’ (Stanfield 2008: 64). He explains that this
fundamentally changed in that titular year of 1968, with the appointment of a
new director, Murray Grigor, who ‘helped to
instigate a more proactive programming policy, with the Festival organizers now
selecting the films’ (Stanfield 2008: 64). This appointment quickly
brought with it a shift of focus, as the festival’s unspectacular existence made
way for a younger and fresher approach. Grigor’s appointment at this tumultuous
time was made all the more clear by his immediate attempts to change the tone
of the festival, explains Stanfield:
The ‘young idea’ was
driven by Grigor’s recruitment of two cinephiles and Edinburgh University
undergraduates Lynda Myles and David Will. They were responsible for running
the university’s film society and had come to Grigor’s attention when they
wrote an angry letter to the Scotsman denouncing the Festival’s conservative
programming.
(Stanfield 2008: 64)
The fact that the
university’s film society allowed these cinephiles a route into the
interconnected global film festival network shows once again that film
societies are an integral part of this network of cinephiles. This new creative
force didn’t only make minor amendments to the festival, but completely
redefined it, in tandem with the period's newly burgeoning cinephilia. An
explicit example of this was the retrospective given to Sam Fuller, a filmmaker
synonymous with American B-Movies and disdained by the conservative
predecessors of this new programming team. Stanfield explains how ‘[t]he organizers were putting on a show of bravado, the unequivocal
claim that Fuller was an important film director and his films were obligatory
viewing was made in the face of what they knew would be disbelief on the part of the old guard of
festival patrons and cynical film fans’ (Stanfield 2008: 65). This notion of
sheer defiance was very much part of this period and was reflected in many
films released at the time, typified by the British film If (Lindsay Anderson), itself released
in 1968 and having its relevance recognized by going on to win the top prize -
the Palm d’Or - at the newly reinvigorated Cannes of 1969 (the significance of
this reinvigoration is covered below). This new phase of film festival custodians were following
the Cahiers critics in raising the status of hitherto considered
inartistic filmmakers, in the process embodying the cinephile preoccupation with
discovering and sharing, whilst simultaneously attacking the ‘old guard’. By
attacking the established notion of film appreciation at the time, this example
is comparable with the shift from ‘take one' to ‘take two' cinephilia
underlined by Elsaesser. Except this era's cinephilia is the one that Elsaesser
termed ‘take one’. This illustrates the way that cinephilia repeatedly
redefines itself, staying fresh and applicable to its contemporary social
structure, whilst always having the challenging potential of cinema as its main
concern. In a direct connection to the Paris-based scene of cinephiles, and
further evidence of the networked cultural connections of this generation, this
team of EIFF programmers were guided by the French figure of Henri Langlois (Stanfield 2008:
66). So prominent was cinephilia in this whole movement that one of EIFF’s appointed directors, Lynda Moyles viewed
this love for cinema as indistinguishable from living: ‘The
1960s cinephilia was not just a passing affair; it was, Myles was later to
reflect, ‘as important as breathing’’ (Stanfield 2008: 66).
During
this era, new festivals appeared, like the International Film Festival
Rotterdam IFFR, and festivals reinvented
themselves, like the EIFF, but there were also direct attacks on the A-list
festivals in this post-68 context. Kenneth Turan (2008) points to the
significance of the creation in 1969 - immediately following Cannes’ 1968
shutdown - of the independently ran sidebar event Quinzaine des Réalisateurs (or
Directors’ Fortnight), describing it as a ‘tangible result of this upheaval’ (Turan 2002:
19). Turan adds that this sidebar event ‘continues to compete
with the official festival for films and has consistently shown edgier fare’
(Turan 2002: 19). Further, de Valck describes
a similar situation at Berlinale. In 1971, in line with other developments
mentioned above, the dubious geopolitical situation of a film festival serving
as a ‘Western cultural showcase for the
East’ (de Valck 2007: 52) was seriously
challenged. One of the developments was the ‘establishment of a parallel festival, to be called Das Internationales Forum des jungen Films,
[or, The Forum] where progressive cinema and young experimental directors could
find a platform’ (de Valck 2007: 65). De Valck
explains that this development meant that the ‘initial
festival function of supporting the sovereignty of nation-states disappeared
completely in this new type of festival... Instead, the festival director
assumed a central role’ (65-66). Both these
examples show how cinephiles, unsatisfied with the systems that face them, will
take powers into their own hands to push the boundaries of cinema and ensure
that it remains fresh and innovative. Although there were oppositional
operations prior to 1968, such as International Critics’ Week that ran parallel
to Cannes from 1962, it was after 1968 that the paradigm had been irreversibly
shifted away from nation-states to cinephiles. Lloyd highlights the cohesion of
this development when referring to the formation of the Fédération
Internationale des Festivals Independents (FIFI), which ‘consisted of the new sidebar festivals created at Cannes
and Berlin... alongside Edinburgh, Rotterdam and other festivals’ (Lloyd 2011:
45-46).
The
emergence of these new, innovative film festivals formed a counter-hegemonic
influence on the established festival world by forcing the large, A-list
entities of Cannes and Berlin to be more daring in their approach to
programming. Turan arrives at this conclusion when explaining that the
influence that the Directors’ Fortnight had on Cannes: ‘The Quinzaine became
such a threat to the festival that one of the first things Gilles Jacob did
when he took over in 1978 was to start his own edgier, noncompetitive sidebar
event called “Un Certain Regard”’ (Turan 2002: 20).
With the increasing proliferation of these smaller festivals
in new territories, there is a further counter-hegemony broadening global film distribution. Cinephile programmers uncover the
underexposed in their own regions or other regions previously
under-represented, and bring these films to a wider audience, thus allowing
more aesthetic styles, more world-views and more character types to be part of
the global cinema discourse. This is what Elsaesser claims could happen during
this period: ‘smaller
countries were able to come to international attention via the promotion of new
waves (with auteurs now representing
the nation, instead of the officials who selected the national entry)’ (Elsaesser
2005a: 90-91). This
proliferation of world views embodies Lyotard’s notion of the emerging little
narratives.
During this period, in
addition to these instances of counter-hegemony reinvigorating the film
festival network’s challenging credentials, the festival network as a whole
became larger, stronger and more influential, thus in a better position to
enact a further counter-hegemonic influence on its opposition form of
distribution, Hollywood. De Valck, in her chapter dedicated to the IFFR, one of
the largest successes of the era describes this growing influence: ‘The success of festival
programming strengthened the influence of film festivals as an alternative
model for commercial theatrical exploitation of films in which the principle of
the box office was substituted for cultural value' (de Valck 2007: 167). With this increasing influence
then, and the multiple levels of counter-hegemony described above, it is
evident that the cinephile contribution at the smallest nodes in the network
can have an influence right throughout the entire system.
Cinephilia at Film Festivals: Curation as the
remedy to abundance
Bill Nichols’ (1994) account of the Toronto
International Film Festival (TIFF) will help to frame the impact of the ‘age of
the programmer’, as well as transition into the ‘professional era’, illustrating
the prevalence of cinephilia in film festival attendance.
Returning to Slater and his understanding of ‘new cinephiles’, it is
evident that festivals, during an era characterised by abundance, are an
important exhibition and scouting arena for cinephiles hungry for new cinematic
experiences: ‘Here there is still the possibility for accidental
discovery and revelation, and new cinephiles will be recruited into the fold
(Slater 2007). This sense of discovery is the emphasis of Nichols’ seminal essay,
highlighting the significance of film festivals over ten years before de
Valck’s ‘first steps’ to understanding the film festival as a network. It has
taken some time for the discipline to gain the momentum it currently possesses,
but the fact that somebody as influential in film academia as Nichols wrote
such a comprehensive, but personal account of the film festival experience
aided its establishment. Nichols uses his influence to shed light on festivals,
which he sees as imperative for accessing global cinema, but it seems as though
the initial aim of his essay was more concerned with investigating trends in ‘New
Iranian Cinema’. In the process of paying tribute to the efforts of the
programmers at TIFF for putting such a retrospective programme together and ‘framing’
the view of New Iranian Cinema, he illustrates the importance of film festivals
and their curation.
There are multiple levels of cinephilia at play here. There are those
that have presented these Iranian films to the TIFF programmers, be it formally,
informally, intentionally or accidentally. Then there are the TIFF programmers
packaging what they have seen and using their festival to showcase this package,
bound together in the specific context of ‘New Iranian Cinema’. Having had such
a tightly curated programme presented to him, Nichols was then enthused to
relay his experience to the kinds of film lovers that would read Film Quarterly. All throughout this process
there is evidence of the discovery and sharing that is integral to cinephilia. Nichlols
defines what he believes is significant about film festivals, and why they
satisfy these distinct needs of cinephiles:
The hunger for the new,
fuelled by those events and institutions that provide the commodities that
imperfectly and temporarily satisfy it, also produces a distinct type of
consumer and a historically specific sense of self. We seek out that which
might transform us, often within an arena devoted to perpetuating this very
search indefinitely.
(Nichols 1994: 20)
This hunger for experiencing something new is what has been presented
above as a dominant theme that defines cinephilia. In this statement Nichols
also highlights the temporally specific sense of place at festivals - like
Valck’s emphasis on the festival as event. This is significant because part of
the excitement of discovery is the finite nature of experience. For those that
experienced ‘cinephilia take one’, the nostalgic longing for a return to the
scarcity that produced it illustrates this quite well. Nichols stresses that part of the
thrill of the festival-goer is uncovering the unknown, like a tourist: ’As tourists, or film
festival-goers, we, too, seek to understand what others have made and to fathom
the meaning it has for those who made it’ (Nichols 1994: 19). What could
be extended upon from this point, is to not only think about the meaning it has
for ‘those who made it’, but also for those who have chosen to highlight it; to
take it from its locality and place it in an international context. Going
further, Nichols compares this act to a form of anthropology, to a more immediate
sense of experiencing a different and exciting new culture. He underpins this by
identifying the two distinct, but interrelated approaches to such anthropology
within film studies: ‘Recovering the strange as
familiar takes two forms: first, acknowledgement of an international film style...
[and] the retrieval of insights or lessons about a different culture
(Nichols
1994: 18). He abbreviates this to
‘discovering
form, inferring meaning’ (Nichols 1994: 18). These definitions will be returned to later with
respect to the Bradford International Film Festival’s Uncharted States of
America strand.
Nichols’
experience focuses attention onto something that is pivotal to this
investigation of the film festival phenomenon in an era dominated by the ‘too
much/all at once’ of Elsaesser’s ‘cinephilia take two’. This is the importance
of curatorship. In this age of abundance, with films from all around the world widely
accessible on home video and to watch instantly on the internet, often for free
(legally or illegally), one of the key strengths of the programmed event is the
curated compilation of films in a retrospective, thematic assortment or with a
definitive aesthetic style. This point is highlighted by de
Valck, who suggests that this is a remedy to the state of ‘too much/all at
once’: 'as the supply of images, words and sounds becomes too
overwhelming in our contemporary media societies, the mediation of information
flows becomes more and more important' (de Valck 2007: 196).
Film festivals are in a prime position to take on such a task of mediation, and have the
cinephiles willing and able to make it occur.
It was such
a focus on Innovative and eclectic curation that made Cinema 16 the success that
it was. On this
point, Macdonald goes into some detail about the growing animosity between
Vogel’s Cinema 16 and a group of New York based avant-garde filmmakers, The Film-Makers’
Cooperative, headed by Jonas Mekas. The conclusion reached by Macdonald,
evidenced in both his own writing and as drawn from his interview with Vogel,
is that Cinema 16’s system of appropriately selecting, filtering, framing and
curating the films they played, had a greater impact than the approach taken by
Mekas, who believed that every filmmaker should have the same opportunity to be
seen. As admirable a notion as this is, it epitomizes the problem of abundance,
and was described by Vogel as ‘self defeating’. He is
cited as explaining:
It may be essential to
show every single film to filmmakers at internal, workshop screenings so that they
can see each other’s work; it is suicidal if this is done with general
audiences... Unable to judge the works in advance or to rely on somebody else’s
judgement (since no selection takes place), they ultimately decide to stay away.
(Vogel cited in MacDonald
1996: 19)
Vogel
explains that this approach privileges the filmmaker over the audiences,
whereas it was identified above that Vogel puts the audience above all.
One potential pitfall of such an emphasis on curation with
respect to cinephilia must be highlighted. De Valck concedes that when
retrospectives are curated and presented by one cinephile’s taste, it can be suggested
that '[w]hat is left for the spectator, in this perspective, is
a mere second-order cinephilia, presented on a plate, ready for consumption: a
commodified mass cinephilia instead of privileged revelation' (de Valck 2007:
186). In addition to most of the research presented
here showing the benefits of curation, it is difficult to conceive of some form
of discovery that hasn’t been influenced by one individual or another, so it is
difficult to define when ‘privileged revelation’ becomes ‘second-order
cinephilia’.
Film Festival Professionalization: Expanding
cinephilia’s reach, whilst avoiding the ‘terror of Neoliberalism’
Following the impact that film programming cinephiles had on the shape of
the global film festival network, counter-hegemonically diffusing its reliance
on nation-state decision making, the film festivals of the ‘professional era’ during
the 1980s, 1990s and up to the present, continued this trajectory, yet
adapted the way in which they were managed, seeking economically sustainable
models in an increasingly expanding population of festivals. Julian Stringer (2001) wrote about the role of
‘the city’ in the proliferation of film festivals during this period. Alluding
to their abundance, he states that 'a quick scan of
the hundreds of events with their own web pages on the internet testifies to
the ubiquity of the boom in local film festivals today’ (Stringer 2001: 142).
To add to this, de Valck, in 2007 puts an estimate at between 1200 and 1900
film festivals worldwide (de Valck 2007: 68). This
proliferation has led some to mirror Elsaesser’s criticism of cinephilia take
two, stating that with such rapid expansion, the film festival’s ‘aura of exclusivity evaporated’ (Stringer 2001: 137).
The rebuke to such a statement would be, as with the split between cinephilias,
that this exclusivity is remedied through curation. The increasing number of festivals is ensuring that ever-more
cinephiles are able to present their curated programmes to a wider public.
It is vital
that the era in which this professional phase of film festivals fell, from the
1980s onwards, is viewed against the backdrop of its socio-political landscape.
The free market developments that are mentioned below, with respect to the film
festival’s professionalization cannot be referenced without mention of the
paradigm-shifting emergence of neoliberalism, a mutation of free market
thinking that dominated the discourse of capitalism from the late 1970s. The
influence of Lyotard’s little narratives on the film festival’s development is
comparable to neoliberal rhetoric: Freedom from the state, increasing autonomy
for individuals and the belief that left to their own devices, the market will
solve problems based on supply and demand logic. Contrary to this persona that
neoliberalism paints for itself, it is far from an embodiment of autonomous
little narratives. Alfred Saad-Filho and Deborah
Johnston (2005) describe it as ‘part of a
hegemonic project concentrating power and wealth in elite groups around the
world' (Saad-Filho and Johnston 2005: 1). Although
entrenched in the economic Right, and infused with the principles of
entrepreneurialism and ‘free’ markets, Saad-Filho and Johnston insist on its
hypocrisies with respect to how ‘free’ it really is. When referencing its
global aspirations, they state: 'Neoliberal
globalism is not at all a model of 'economic deregulation', and it does not
promote ‘private initiative’ in general. Under the ideological veil of
non-intervention, neoliberalism involves extensive and invasive interventions
in every area of social life' (Saad-Filho and Johnston 2005: 4). Through
this hypocrisy it is evident that far from enabling little narratives to
co-create meaning, neoliberalism acted as yet another grand narrative.
Saad-Filho and Johnston underpin the movement’s failure when explaining that ‘neoliberalism also destroys its own conditions of
existence. Its persistent failure to deliver sustained economic growth and
rising living standards exhausts the tolerance of the majority and lays bare
the web of spin in which neoliberalism
clouds the debate and legitimates its destructive outcomes' (Saad-Filho
and Johnston 2005: 5). Unlike neoliberalism’s inability to ‘deliver
sustained economic growth’, film festivals have formed a sustainable and
successful network. This network has utilised some free
market principles, whilst having a much wider remit than short-term
profiteering and shareholder wealth maximisation, and therefore is far closer
to a ‘free’ market than any defined under neoliberalism.
De Valck uses this dichotomy to explain how the
film festival network, the alternative form of film distribution not tied to
neoliberalism’s agenda, differs from Hollywood, the dominant system that
embodies neoliberalism’s form of corporate governance: ‘Hollywood's
response to market developments, technological innovations, and changes in
consumer behaviour is in the service of economic expansion and profit. The
functional economic system of the (multi) media conglomerates subordinates all
translations to this objective’ (de Valck 2007: 101-102). Such
(multi) media ‘conglomerates’ are precisely the kind of anti-free market,
anti-little narrative entities that Saad-Filho and Johnston accuse
neoliberalism of fostering. In contrast, de Valck explains that the ‘translations occurring in film festivals, on the other
hand, are more diverse, because there is not one dominant principle governing
the festival circuit (de Valck 2007: 102). Having not
one governing principle places film festivals much more in line with Lyotard’s
little narratives and a more sincere invisible hand of need-satisfying
capitalism, than the unresponsive, short-term profit obsessed conglomerates
that populate Hollywood. Michael Porter, six-time McKinsey Award winner and one
of the most notorious figures in Business Management academia, co-authored an article with Mark Kramer in the Harvard
Business Review publically attacking the previously
dominant paradigm of ‘shareholder wealth maximisation’. They state that ‘[t]he moment for a new conception of capitalism is now’
(Porter and Kramer 2011: 64) and explain that companies ‘continue to view value creation narrowly, optimizing
short-term financial performance in a bubble while missing the most important
customer needs and ignoring the broader influences that determine their
longer-term success’ (Porter and Kramer 2011: 64). They urge companies
to consider the long term view of ‘shared value creation’, which ‘involves creating
economic value in a way that also
creates value for society’ (Porter and Kramer 2011: 64 – italics in original).
This paper is significant due to Porter’s status in management academia, and
that he and Kramer write this paper using language recognised by big business,
in that it openly explicates their long term success, rather than advocating
philanthropic or charitable acts. The film
festival network has managed to become such a successful entity because it has taken this broad and
long-term focused
approach to conducting business and has remained predominantly uncontaminated by
the neoliberal agenda. Porter and Kramer insist, just as it will be postulated
with respect to the film festival network below, that this notion is grounded
in the essentials of free market capitalism, but in a more broad sense than the
profit-oriented, narrow view in which it has been practiced for the past thirty
years. They state that ‘[c]reating shared value
represents a broader conception of Adam Smith’s invisible hand’ (Porter and
Kramer 2011: 77). This broader conception, as applied to this phase of
the film festival network, is that rather than the invisible hand being guided
by the presumption that profit/money is the most important factor in decision making, the needs of film festivals and their audiences, are
grounded in cinephilia. It is under
this measure that they have succeeded.
This professional form of the film festival, as it
began in the 1980s, not only preceded the suggestions of Porter and Kramer, but
preceded a late 1990s development that Philip
Arestis and Malcolm Sawyer (2005) refer to as ‘The Third Way’, which
they explain was typified by the elections of New Labour under Tony Blair in
the UK and the Democratic Party under Bill Clinton in the US. It has been
described as 'neoliberalism
with a human face... It shares with neoliberalism the acceptance of the
dominance of the market in economic life... But the Third Way does acknowledge
a role for government in the correction of 'market failure'' (Arestis and
Sawyer 2005: 177). This
hybrid of previously considered diametric Left and Right wing principles is
further evidence of the diminishing ‘grand narratives’ of postmodernity, as
previously fixed lines begin to blur. Such government intervention is
fundamental to the development of film festivals during this time, with very
few festivals existing without local and/or national public subsidy. Arestis
and Sawyer explain that 'government seeks to
correct externalities through appropriate taxation, subsidy and regulation and
makes provision for 'public goods’’ (Arestis and Sawyer 2005: 179). In
this respect, the film festival network, due to its cultural significance,
succeeded in convincing that it is a ‘public good’ even prior to such a ‘Third
Way’ system of governance becoming the dominant one. This was achieved through
the guise of city marketing, which will be examined below.
Neoliberalism and its associated exacerbation of globalisation are
prominent in a complex set of socio-cultural developments that conspired to
diminish manufacturing in cities throughout the established Western world,
leaving them needing to redefine themselves. De Valck levels this city-redefinition
as integral to such film festival proliferation: 'city
marketing is an excellent concept for explaining the contemporary popularity of
festivals with local authorities and it may even be part of the reason why the
phenomenon spread so quickly in the 1980s and 1990s' (de Valck 2007: 75). Along with the establishment, or
continuing rise, of the already mentioned festivals in Rotterdam and Toronto,
the professional era saw festivals appearing in cities not previously thought
likely to hold international film festivals, like the West Yorkshire cities of
Leeds and Bradford, currently coming up to their 26th and 19th
international film festivals respectively. Further, expansion into previously
under-exposed countries, presenting similarly under-exposed world views, leads Stringer
to claim that these ‘events open up new and counter
public spheres within a circuit of globalized media distribution' (Stringer
2001: 142-143). This point ratifies the arguments
above regarding the fact that having many disseminated points in global discussion
(little narratives) is preferable to a few, larger sites (grand narratives)
having all the influence.
Montserrat
Crespi-Valbona and Greg Richards’ (2007) assessment of the increasing popularity, and social
significance of ‘cultural festivals’ in redefining, or reinstating, Catalan
identity following the fall of the Franco dictatorship in 1975 has influenced
much film festival academia relating to a similar period. They explain that cultural
festivals ‘are increasingly becoming arenas of
discourse enabling people to express their views on wider cultural, social and
political issues’ (Crespi-Valbona and Richards 2007: 103). They explain
that large cultural events bring communities together and can help to redefine
or create cultural identities related to geographical spaces. This is
significant with respect to the increasing film festivals in cities such as
Bradford that have suffered at the hands of the swift industrial changes
throughout the late 1970s and 1980s (see below for more on Bradford). This
process of redefinition was recognised by Elsaesser, who gives special mention
to film festivals as particularly able to aid this redefinition:
Among different kinds
of temporary events and festivals, a special role accrues to the international
film festival, at once relatively cost effective, attracting both the local
population and visitors from outside, and helping develop an infrastructure of
sociability as well as facilities appreciated by the so-called “creative class”
that function all the year round. Small wonder then, that the number of festivals
has exponentially increased in recent years.
(Elsaesser 2005a: 86)
Elsaesser
explains that these former industrial cities, that have lost their cultural
identity, seek to attract this ‘creative class’ to satisfy the growing
‘knowledge’ industries.
Not
following the invisible hand of consumer (cinephile) demand, which is
what Vogel insisted
he did with the
successful expansion of Cinema 16, results in an accusation that there are
perhaps too many film festivals. Sergi Mesonero
Burgos (2008), investigating the film festival ‘epidemic’ in Spain, cites independent distributor Pedro
Zaratiegui: ‘We are experiencing a scandalously
overwhelming and stupid emergence of festivals throughout the entire country’
(Zaratiegui cited in Burgos 2008: 9). It cannot be understated that public subsidy throughout the film festival
network keeps it operating, but
the success of such
subsidy derives from supporting festivals that have recognised a need, which is
why it can still be considered a part of the ‘invisible hand’ rhetoric of
capitalism, bolstered by government subsidy in a ‘Third Way’ approach. A
problem occurs, when this system of supply and demand isn’t correctly managed and factors
distort the market by not obeying needs. This is what Burgos implies is occurring
in Spain:
[I]n 2007, the local
Institute of Culture subsidized 25 festivals; in comparison only three projects
were denied their help. Such misunderstood magnanimity has meant that some
festivals started because they were possible, not because they were necessary,
although ‘possible’ does not mean that they are much above the line of
subsistence.
(Burgos 2009: 12)
This really
illustrates how free markets, as opposed to central organisation, are both
present, and beneficial for the film festival network.
This subsidy seems
increasingly sensible when considering more than the narrow view of short-term wealth maximisation stressed by
neoliberalism and looks at more broad benefits to all stakeholders. This point is made by de Valck with
respect to the city of Rotterdam, when stating that even with the incoming
right-wing government, unfriendly to the arts, the funding for the
IFFR was upheld because
it had an economic benefit: ‘The new municipal
government might not have been convinced of the festival’s cultural project,
but at least it recognised its economic relevance to the city’ (de Valck 2007:
200). This economic relevance was identified by de Valck as ‘generating
revenues for the city that is estimated to be triple of what is spent on the
festival’ (de Valck 2007: 199). The city benefited because of the
cultural prestige that came with one of the Netherlands’ most attended public
events and the number of people that this brings to spend money in the city’s
hotels, restaurants and other leisure activities. The idea
is that these organisations will then be more successful and not only better
able to service the public, but will return more money to the city’s
municipalities in the form of business rates.
The film festival
network had to adhere to this dominant rhetoric of ‘professionalization’ in
order to attract the large audiences needed to continue their cinephilic
ambitions. It is in this respect that festivals can be accused of compromising
their artistic integrity. This becomes a greater issue as the
same – or declining – amount of public subsidy cannot support the exponentially
rising number of festivals. Crespi-Valbona and Richards refer to Stanley Waterman, who they explain ‘argues
that arts festivals have been driven by declining public subsidy into competing
for business sponsorship’ (Crespi-Valbona and Richards 2007: 106). They cite
him directly, postulating that in this strive for business sponsorship ‘the festival becomes a medium for business image making, as
well as an arena characterised by less adventurous and less expensive
programming’ (Waterman cited in Crespi-Valbona and Richards 2007: 106).
This point is made in a film festival context by Ruby Cheung
when investigating the corporatisation of the Hong Kong International Film
Festival (HKIFF): 'My research on the festival programmes before and after the
HKIFF corporatisation clearly reveals that the premieres of mainstream
blockbusters have gradually pushed art-house films aside and become the
festival's main features. One might argue that attending the festival is no
longer an experience that is distinct from attending mainstream theatrical
screenings' (Cheung 2009: 111). Yet, within
this conflict lies another hegemonic battle. On the one hand, festival
programmers are having their cinephilia neutered. On the other, their curated
selections are able to reach out to audiences they would have otherwise never
come in contact with. De Valck (2005) raises
this point when referring to the IFFR as a ‘Multiplex of cinephilia’. She
insists that the increased popularity that comes as a result of such
professionalization works to the betterment of the cinephilic sense of
discovery: ‘The festival in Rotterdam is a joyful celebration of
cinema that, through its popular appeal, introduces a larger audience to the
cinephile experience and can potentially even persuade them to continue to
deepen this engagement' (de Valck 2005: 108). Just as de Valck is
persuasive in this argument, Cheung competently provides evidence of this not
being the case at the HKIFF. Yet, considering she is correct in her postulation
regarding diminishing experimentation and innovation at the HKIFF, Elsaesser
raises a point that illuminates one of the film festival network’s defining
characteristics as an organic and responsive network. He states that ‘for many Western
visitors, put off by the sheer size of the Hong Kong festival, Pusan also
became the portal for a first contact with the other “new” Asian cinemas in the
1990s’ (Elsaesser 2005a: 84-85). In a similar way to the impact of the Directors’ Fortnight
and The Forum introduced to compete with Cannes and Berlinale, this shows that
if something strays too far from what it had stood for, or too far from the need that created it in the first place,
something else will grow to satisfy that need. It is in this respect that the festival
network can readily draw some parallels with the invisible hand of free market
capitalism. This invisible hand analogy was already evident in Vogel’s
insistence on putting the needs of the audience first, but it was an invisible
hand relying on cinephiles existing to satisfy needs, rather than the ‘greed is
good’ maximisation of short term profits. The idea that film festivals have grown
in number throughout this period, in order to satisfy unmet needs, is recognised
by Turan, who accuses regular distribution – both
Hollywood and art-house – as failing to meet cinephile needs: 'while movie fans have
not lost their taste for the artistic and non-commercial, theatres are not
always willing to risk showing those films' (Turan 2002: 7-8). This is why cinephile programmers are
increasingly starting their own festivals or expanding into film festival
terrain. This abundance, according to Elsaesser, is also a good thing for the
global distribution of alternative film content. He states, in further free
market rhetoric, that in ever-increasing numbers, film festivals ‘complement each other along the same axes. Competition
raises standards, and adds value to the films presented’ (Elsaesser 2005a: 86).
This ‘value addition’ for films in the network is one of the greatest outcomes
of this professionalization, and will be covered below.
The film festival network can utilise its unique structure,
with its many nodes, to raise the prestige, visibility, saleability and influence
of niche films neglected by both a Hollywood system entrenched in modernity’s
linear short-sightedness, and a decreasingly innovative art-house circuit. De
Valck and Loist argue that ‘[w]ith
the increasing pressure on art-house exhibition and a simultaneous boom in
mid-size and smaller film festivals, the events themselves have become an
alternative distribution method' (de Valck and Loist 2009: 183). They go on
to add:
Smaller
films without theatrical release lined up can raise their cultural capital
through the value-adding process at festivals... a small film might be able to
cross over from the alternative (yet closed) distribution network that is the
festival circuit into (theatrical) distribution. If one festival is not enough,
a chain of screenings at festivals might be used to build up momentum slowly.
(de
Valck and Loist 2009:184)
This is the main strength of such a pluralist
approach, and shows that Lyotard’s little narratives are clearly abundant. Little
narratives have to negotiate with each other in such a network, ultimately
creating a selection that is more representative of the actual shape of society,
as opposed to privileged elites. Further, this makes film festival successes
more definitively part of a free
market. More so than a Hollywood produced and distributed film that has secured
its place in cinemas and on people’s DVD shelves with the assistance of
herculean marketing campaigns and the closed systems of synergy throughout the
distribution chain that were encouraged through the neoliberal boom. This
further illustrates how neoliberalism’s influence has far from strengthened
free markets and in fact had the opposite effect, unlike what is evident in the
film festival network.
Bradford’s Uncharted States of America: An
illustrative example of cinephiles utilising city marketing
Viewed in light of the points raised above, looking at the Bradford
International Film Festival (BIFF) can bring this investigation almost to the
present day. By looking at its geographic location and its thematically curated
strand, the Uncharted States of America (USoA), this example can illustrate how
cinephiles take advantage of city marketing in order to push the boundaries of
cinema.
Elsaesser specifically
refers to Bradford when explaining how the expansion of film festivals is no
longer limited to capital, and other major cities, stating that ‘refurbished industrial towns are in the running. Often medium-sized
cities, verging on the nondescript, decide to host a film festival in order to
boost their tourist attractions or stake a claim as a regional cultural hub
(e.g., Brunswick in Germany, Bradford in Britain)’ (Elsaesser 2005a: 86).
This cultural rebranding is precisely what Bradford has aimed to achieve by becoming,
in 2009, the world’s first UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and
Cultural Organization) City of Film. Roy Stafford
(2010), when writing about the development of Bradford’s Asian, African
and Caribbean focused Bite the Mango International Film Festival (Bite the
Mango), singles out the numerous film festivals held at the National Media
Museum as a major contributor to this designation: 'Much
of the evidence that the city's film community had presented to UNESCO's
committee for this award concerned the work of the museum, its four film
festivals and other specialized cinema events' (Stafford 2010: 107). These four film festivals are that which Stafford writes
about, Bite the Mango; the genre festival dedicated to horror, fantasy and
other ‘fantastic’ cinema, Fantastic Films Weekend; the UK’s largest and longest
running animation festival, the Bradford Animation Festival, and finally, the
Bradford International Film Festival. Specifically choosing film in order to
define the cultural value of a city is a strategic move similar to that taken
by Rotterdam, as noted by de Valck in her account of the IFFR. The
director of the Rotterdam Arts Foundation, Adriaan van der Staay, knowing that Rotterdam was unable to compete with
Amsterdam as a representative of the more established arts, decided
to concentrate on ‘new’ media, ‘which had not yet been
appropriated by other cities. He figured that this was how Rotterdam could
become a second (and not secondary) capital of culture because it did not have
to compete with Amsterdam on the exact same playing field’ (de Valck 2007: 172).
As noted above with respect to city marketing, de Valck focuses
attention on the municipal government’s support of the festival and the success
that the festival has brought the city.
It was the rapidly altering industrial landscape that forced Bradford to
seek a way to redefine itself. This is point is made by Stafford with respect
to Bite the Mango, referring
to the varied ethnicities that comprise Bradford and surrounding districts that
the festival aimed to represent and cater for, most of whom came during the
development of Bradford's textile industry. Stafford states that it 'was the decline of these same industries that encouraged
Bradford to seek to promote other activities, such as the cultural and creative
industries' (Stafford 2010: 106). Having established why such a city
would redefine itself through film, and dominate the cultural calendar with
four film festivals, we can see how cinephiles can take advantage of the
situation in order to present innovative cinema to the population of Bradford
and surrounding areas.
April 2012
saw the sixth edition of USoA as part of the eighteenth BIFF. It is described
in the official festival catalogue as ‘the best of genuinely independent, low- (or no-)
budget, risk-embracing American cinema’ (BIFF catalogue 2012 - italics added).
The emphasis added on the word ‘genuinely’ is to highlight the festival’s implication
that what is currently termed ‘American indie’ takes liberties with the concept
of independent. Elsaesser mentions this, when
defining festival films as frequently being more independent than those in
regular art-house distribution: ‘The category
“independent” cinema says little about how such films are produced and
financed, but acts as the ante-chamber of re-classification and exchange, as
well as the placeholder for filmmakers not yet confirmed as auteurs’ (Elsaesser 2005a: 92 – italics
in original). The genuine independence of the films featured in USoA illustrates
the cinephile ambition to discover; the very title ‘Uncharted’ States references
this quality. Such a cinephile quality is essential to BIFF differentiating
itself from the many other similar sized festivals. As Elsaesser explains, with
the increasing proliferation of smaller film festivals, they are ‘seeking to differentiate themselves in their external
self-presentation and the premium they place on their (themed) programming’ (Elsaesser
2005a: 86).
By placing
such an emphasis on a nation that is already well represented in global cinema,
from both Hollywood and a thriving pseudo-independent sector, BIFF is sending
out a firm statement on the creation of cultural assumptions. The audience is
forced to re-evaluate what they consider to be American cinema; a reminder that
their potentially relatively fixed notion of what ‘America’ means is in fact
culturally conditioned. The strand also confronts a cultural assumption about
the role of film festivals, as typified by Nichols’ statement: ‘Films from nations not previously regarded as prominent
film-producing countries receive praise for their ability to transcend local
issues and provincial tastes while simultaneously providing a window onto a
different culture’ (Nichols 1994: 16). The USoA films satisfy this
assumption by ‘providing a window onto a different culture’, but flaunt it by
doing so through a ‘prominent film-producing country’. The films in the USoA could
be more alien than in programmes focusing on under-exposed regions less
associated with filmmaking, because homogenous images of American life and
culture dominate global cinema and television, creating a mythic image of what it
is to be American. In Nichols’ terms, the USoA ‘infers meaning’ by dealing with
characters and subject matter often avoided by mainstream American cinema, often
set in small towns far removed from the dominant vision of New York and
California prominent in most cinematic depictions of the country. And it
‘discovers form’ by exhibiting a range of cinematic techniques. One example
from 2010’s USoA saw China Town (Lucy
Raven 2009), a fifty minute documentary entirely comprised of a rapid
succession of over seven thousand still photographs.
More than
simply presenting an unknown or unrepresented culture, USoA films often more
abrasively present distinctly American themes and images, and then subvert them.
The Last Buffalo Hunt (Lee Lynch and
Lee Anne Schmidt 2011) from the 2012 edition of USoA ‘infers meaning’ by
documenting the act of Buffalo Hunting for leisure, Illustrating the
commodification of an act symbolically associated with the colonization of the
country - the hunting and slaughtering of its indigenous inhabitants. The film
shows how the privileged white middle classes pay to relive this sense of
mythic Americanness. There is one specific, notable instance of ‘discovering
form’ that actively rejects a mainstream approach of masking the real violence
in the depiction of killing. The shooting of a buffalo repeatedly until it
finally dies is presented unflinchingly in a number of extended shots,
including one almost static fifty second shot with the camera looking straight
into the prone buffalo’s eyes as it is shot four times and still doesn’t die. This
is followed by a close up, forcing the viewer to watch as the Buffalo’s blood
splutters out of its nose, presumably coming straight from its punctured brain,
until a final shot kills it. This doesn’t allow the viewer to avoid witnessing
the brutality that is usually masked and glossed over in spectacular American
myth-making.
Another
example can be seen in the flagship feature for the 2012 edition of the strand,
Sawdust City (David Nordstrom 2011) -
its status as ‘flagship feature’ will be discussed below. The film ‘discovers
form’ by taking the iconic American genre template of the road movie and
presenting it unspectacularly, in a way that is as clear as it is impressive
that a minimal budget has been used. This includes the ‘video’ quality of the
production, the use of naturalistic performances from the main characters -
including from the director himself, David Nordstrom, as well as The Last Buffalo Hunt co-director Lee
Lynch – and seemingly unprofessional actors populating the many bars that these
characters traverse. The simple and distinctively American plot follows two estranged
adult brothers roaming bar to bar seeking their father on Thanksgiving Day. Pete
(Carl Bird McLaughlin) is on leave from the Navy and Bob (David Nordstrom) has
remained in their hometown and settled down to a domestic, yet unemployed life.
Despite its simplicity, the film ‘infers meaning’ by showcasing the surrounding
town. This road movie actively and symbolically cuts short the use of vehicles,
trapping these characters, and the audience’s attention, firmly within this
small Wisconsin town, a microcosm of an under-represented America. The fact
that this town is like many other towns in America is alluded to in the
narrative, with Pete declaring that other towns have the “same book stores,
same electronic stores, same shit”, which further references that the
under-exposed nature of such a geographic locations is perplexing. Whilst never
patronizingly dehumanizing the inhabitants, who predominantly seem quite
content in their lives, the film postulates that, via Bob’s breakdown mid-way
through the film, that there lies a crisis of masculinity here in these
unrepresented towns. Issues such as the bursting of the property bubble
creating unemployment is raised as a factor, only to be discredited by Bob’s apparent
unwillingness to address his situation. This combines with other factors to comment
on a lost and confused American masculinity, along with a lost sense of place
and belonging within such communities.
In addition
to the actual events and screenings at a film festival, there is the ‘written
festival’; the way the festival is documented. This includes official
literature published by the festival, as well as the press that follows. Elsaesser
explains that ‘film festivals are defined not so
much by the films they show, but by the print they produce’ (Elsaesser 2005a:
95). In this respect, remaining with the abovementioned Sawdust City, looking through the
festival’s primary promotional material, its catalogue (BIFF 2012a), there is
an ‘exclusive interview with David Nordstrom –
writer, director, editor and co-star of Sawdust
City’ (BIFF 2012a: 77). The fact that there are no other interviews
in the catalogue instantly illustrates the emphasis is placed on this film,
which also acts as the flagship feature for the promotion of the strand. The
term ‘exclusive’ suggests a high profile interview with a major star, thus raising
the perceived status of the interview, the film and the entire strand. Also of
note, is that this introduction lists Nordstrom’s many credits in the film,
making explicit how much of a rising talent he is, and therefore what a discovery
the festival has made. Elsaesser suggests that this ‘long-term
commitment to building up a particular auteur is typical of smaller festivals’
(Elsaesser 2005a: 99). This sentiment is reified in the festival
catalogue, explaining that this year’s USoA ‘strikes
a happy balance between returning directors and ‘newbies’’ (BIFF 2012a: 76).
In an example of the time invested in one filmmaker, the catalogue states: ‘From that initial 2007 vintage. Mr Uncharted States
himself, James Benning returns with Small
Roads’ (BIFF 2012a: 76). The idea
that the festival could find the next big name also suggests to the reader that
they themselves could be part of such a cinephilic discovery. After a section
on the returning filmmakers, the catalogue goes on: ‘The
odds are, then, that future BIFFs will see the welcome return of 2012’s
‘freshman’ names’ (BIFF 2012a: 76).
A similar
push for the film and the strand it represents came at the official press
launch, where BIFF co-directors Tom Vincent and Neil Young named Nordstrom alongside
the star-guests that the festival would be hosting – including Barbara Windsor,
Ray Winstone, Olivier Assayas and Mark Kermode (Vincent and Young 2012). Further,
Sawdust City was one of only a
handful of trailers played at the launch. If these acts were not enough to
alert this film to the press as an essential feature to cover and bestow legitimacy
upon, so it can survive in the ‘written festival’, the film was also prominent
in press releases (BIFF 2012b). A photo call and interview opportunity with
David Nordstrom was listed just above the festival’s most anticipated event, celebrity
film critic Mark Kermode’s interview with the highly reputed actor Ray Winstone.
The listing on this press release is mirrored by the priority screening time
for the film, on the first Saturday of the festival at 17:45. This provides it with a prime time evening
slot, whilst ensuring that it doesn’t clash with the popular Ray Winstone
interview at 19:30.
Anyone visiting the festival, only for the Ray Winstone talk, may well consider
fitting this screening in before. This is a prime example of using a populist event
that garners wide press coverage and attracts many of the ‘cultural class’ identified
by Elsaesser, then forcing them to notice this undiscovered project of
cinephile attention.
One further
instance of how this subversive strand was given a chance to ingrain itself in
the consciousness of more casual festival-goers, is that preceding the Opening
Gala screening of Damsels in Distress
(2011), the full auditorium had the film introduced, via a pre-recorded video,
by the film’s director Whit Stillman. The American director singled out the
star of his film, Greta Gerwig, highlighting that she starred in the USoA film Yeast (Mary Bronstein 2008) in 2009. He
urged those in attendance, at this sold out opening event, to go see as much of
the strand as they could (Stillman
2012). Such a coup legitimates the programmer’s quest for spotting
emerging talent in niche interest films. Such achievements will enable them in
the future to justify to those more concerned with city marketing than
cinephile discovery that this process pays off with a long term view.
CONCLUSION – WRITE THIS TUESDAY
Langlois’ dismissal from the Cinémathèque Française
had a large part to play in those 1968 disruptions, enthusing students and
French film critics into support for the wider action throughout the country,
which resulted in the halting of Cannes that year.
These factors are essential considerations when considering
the current status of international film festivals, as Lloyd mentioned above,
going into such an era of austerity, the film festival network could do well to
recognise that not only has it been practicing a business model of ‘shared
value creation’, focusing on its entire industry and therefore taking a much
more collaborative and longevity-ensuring approach to the free market than has
the municipal Darwinism of neoliberalism, which encourages corporate
cannibalism, but the evidence that cinephiles have been present at every phase
of film festival development, and with the increasing possibility of cinephiles
having a chance to become what they are due to the emergence of new
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This is the term often used to refer to cinemas,
whether or not they are strictly ‘independent’, that predominantly devote their
programmes to showing ‘specialised’ films that are otherwise neglected in
mainstream commercial cinema exhibition. Such ‘specialised’ content is defined
by the British Film Institute (who have the greatest influence on these ‘independent’
exhibitors) as being quite broad, but containing the following: ‘a foreign language film with subtitles;
a documentary; a classic or archive film; hard to pigeonhole; a
film that tells a story in an unconventional, challenging way; a film that
is more experimental with cinematic techniques; a film that makes you
think, that isn’t purely for entertainment’ (BFI 2012). In addition, the larger multiplexes increasingly have at least one
screen committed to ‘specialised’ films.
The short-term thinking of this
era was underpinned throughout neoliberalism’s rule, as the cult of shareholder
wealth maximisation, where all other stakeholders, ethical and moral
issues, as well as considerations for long term sustainability were surrendered
in favour of short-term, quarterly profits. In one of many current efforts to rebuke such an approach, Roger
Martin (2010) explains that ‘shareholder
value capitalism, began in 1976. Its governing premise is that the purpose of
every corporation should be to maximize shareholders’ wealth. If firms pursue
this goal, the thinking goes, both shareholders and society will benefit. This
is a tragically flawed premise, and it is time we abandoned it’ (Martin 2010:
59).
It is noted by Geoff King (2009) that this is usually
referred to as ‘indiewood’, ‘an area in which
Hollywood and the independent sector merge or overlap’ (King 2009: 1). He
explains that this splits opinion, with some believing that, on the one hand ‘they offer an attractive blend of creativity and
commerce, a source of some of the more innovative and interesting work produced
in close proximity to the commercial mainstream’ (King 2009: 1) and on the other hand, the way the
BIFF catalogue implies, that ‘this is an area of
duplicity and compromise, in which the ‘true’ heritage of the independent
sector is sold out, betrayed and/or co-opted into an offshoot of Hollywood’
(King 2009: 1).
