Be Kind, Rewind and Cultural Studies

It’s interesting to think of our world, our culture, as changeable, or even erasable.  We create artifacts like notations in a small book, paintings, even films to preserve some aspect of our lives, some record that we were here, or the stories we care about happened or could happen.  But notebook pages get discarded or fade, paintings (like the one on the alleyway across the street from the shop) can be graffitied or distorted and films can be erased.  In introspection of those artifacts, we can see the role of Selective Tradition; that which survives to pass along.  Even when all that’s left is the iconic matter (like cardboard cars, trains and fans), the realization must be made that icons can also be manipulated, films can be recorded over, and the tradition of historical criticism can be questioned.  Only a decoding of the differing cultures existing in the same space and examination of the power struggle incorporated can aid in making sense of the dialectic. 

Be Kind, Rewind, hits on the ever fading way of life of a deteriorating slum in Passaic, New Jersey.  A condemned corner building in danger of being bulldozed to make way for corporate industry, like condos, is at the epicenter of our story.  The interplay of cultures establishes themselves from the very beginning shots of the film.  In the distance there is the glowing metropolis of New York City, with its skyline and dominate hegemony.  And in the forefront, a trailer parked next to a power plant and a decrepit VHS rental store that sells outdated artifacts to people who are equally outdated.  The owner of the store, Elroy Fletcher, is assured that his moving to the projects and the remodeling of the neighborhood will “improve the lives of the people in the city.”  In these oppressive power relations, we see big business, the middle man, and the individual “negotiating their collective existence” (Clarke, 104).  Mr. Fletcher’s approach is a negotiated one.  He attempts to conform to the supposed needs of the changing culture.  Deciding to upgrade to DVD’s, he fails to recognize that his clientele can’t afford the equipment with which to play them.  Mike and Jerry, on the other hand decode this relationship oppositionally.  They recognize the power of the local government, but they resist it, doing everything possible to save the store. 

Before we read too much into the content of this film, we should do as Hall encourages and examine some external factor as well.  First, we must also note that this piece, written and directed by Michel Gondry, is heavy on selective tradition in its own realm.  He chose to represent only one side of a story.  Granted, his side might be the one with which the audience will ultimately agree, but his community approach to the situation, the transparency of the dominate culture forcing their ideals on the working-class parent culture, and the necessity for the subculture to rebel is telling in its own right.  Look, for instance, at the ease and complete lack of budget with which the protagonists recreate the blockbuster titles, emphasizing only the memorable parts of each story.   In juxtaposing this film with a commentary on the current social structure of Hollywood, one can see the ridiculousness of the studios (the dominate culture) asking for $3.15 billion in fines or 63,000 years in prison for copyright infringement.  The film, though riddled with clever and hilarious moments, is clearly a statement on class power struggles, all the while using popular actors to tell his story.

As cultural studies deals specifically with the interplay of associations in the power struggle, an examination of its complex relationships is essential.  This film seems to purport an obvious hegemony: the corporations that want to buy that last corner building in the neighborhood.  Not only do they create, but they also work within inserting themselves into the ideology of the subordinate class (Clarke, 102).  A clear filmic example would be the notion of financial success can only be found in one format: DVD’s at the chain stores comprised of a high quantity of few titles, in only two genres.  The local government and developers function as the working class parent culture (complete with their desperation to maintain the parental identification that supports them in this “theatre of struggle” (Clarke, 103)).  For a time, Mr. Fletcher conforms into this category as well.  Lastly, the subculture presents itself, bringing with them their own generational experience in attempting to cope and to solve problems in an almost imaginary way.  Just as Mike is allowed space to manage living in a slum by believing that Fats Waller lived in the building; “a bedtime story to make this place bearable,” the subculture “wins space” by simply recording their own version of history (films “stolen” from the big film industry).  

In Be Kind, Rewind, the “sweeded” creations are considered more creative and more desirable than the originals they are parodying.  Indeed, even the word “sweeded” is a rebellion against the hegemonic authority of language.  They invent a word to establish their own belonging within this new record of their culture.  And the attempt is communal.  Soon the entire neighborhood becomes “stockholders of their own happiness.”  They cluster around the store, begging for the product of this subculture and even gaining full investment by helping to create the “sweeded” films and the artifacts necessary for producing them.  When the hegemony threatens to overtake them, this subculture joins together to create their own record of their believed culture; stating simply that “The past belongs to us, and we can change it if we want.”  This community creates a new history, a social memory, experienced and told by all.  It no longer matters what has been erased, only what has been experienced and created.

Son of Rambow

Son of Rambow and Media Effects One has to wonder about the influence that media has on society and specifically on children; especially media created for the specific purpose of entertainment. Whether expressly created to sell something; a business model centered on mass communication, as Gerber observed, or a violent 1980s film, there is certainly an impact on the audience. In examining a film, Like Son of Rambow, it is imperative to note the symbolic or illusionary environment created through film and television and the role of censorship in that communication model – what content is allowed in and what is forced out.

 In this film, we encounter a young boy, William, an imaginative kid, who fills his bible with creative drawings, notebooks and walls with comic strips and the beginnings of story boards. Even sounds hold a special significance and he uses a variety of objects, like the pine cone, to create an auditory experience, much like the work of a Foley artist. Clearly, this boy is teetering between the real world and an imaginary one to which he escapes to deal with the death of his father or ostracizing from teachers and classmates because of his religion. The effect of media, when it finally enters his life is significant. Empowered with that one thing he had been lacking, a visual image of a brave father worth fighting for, Will experiences the imagination and messages that comes with film viewing and later with filmmaking.

 Gerbner discusses the conception of symbolic social reality and notes that “divergences between symbolic reality and independently observable (objective) reality provide convenient tests of the extent to which television’s versions of the facts are incorporated or absorbed…” (184) Will hasn’t had, for the most part, a lot of exposure to media and certainly not to violence. His first encounter with media of that sort is with Rambo, First Blood, an extremely violent piece were he can focus on a war hero that has trained himself not to feel pain or fear; one who can singlehandedly take down “two-hundred men.” After this initial encounter with a pseudo-reality, his truth is altered and his violent streak comes out. Indeed, also a repressed imagination manifests itself, encouraging him to chase after a scarecrow, compete against his own drawings paired with clips from the film, and (at least in his dream world) find his dad.

 Gerbner further surmises that television (and in the case of Son of Rambow, I believe we can talk about any media that can be viewed in a familiar space like a home or school) is the “primary common source of socialization and everyday information.” It pervades the symbolic environment, affecting the viewer’s relationship with the world around them and their vision of it. The piece of media can effectively “transport [them] in their homes.” (177) Although Will’s initial exposure took place in a strange environment, he acquires a new identity, first of a friend, then of a rebel, then of a filmmaker through the ongoing flow of messages. Likewise Lee Carter’s image is constructed largely due to the violent films he watches as he desperately clings onto anything familiar and safe in his shifting reality. He clearly suffers from the effects of a “mean world syndrome” and believes that others are only out to destroy and ridicule him and his family.

 Likewise, it is important to notice the role of censorship and contact with media messages in the film. William and his family belong to the Plymouth Brethren, a religious community that distrusts and forbids connection to film and television. From the first moments, they are protesting the influence of media on the community. They rid themselves of their watches as they meet, perhaps so as to not identify themselves with any man-made construct. They also propel a fear of progressive society. In the piece, one little boy comments to Will that: “My father won’t send us to your school. He said the peoples are a bad influence. Is it true brother William?” To which William replies: “I suppose so.” Lasswell speaks of the central channels of communication taking place in the home and in the neighborhood. Clearly this is the case with our young hero. As the story progresses, Will finds himself in three worlds that are having a hard time crossing over: Lee Carter’s world of film, imagination, and violence, his church’s view of the danger of associating with those outside of your approved circle and “protecting their way of life”, and the new world with Didier, who wants to exist solely within film and stereotype to avoid living in the real world. As Will is taking part in each of these worlds, there is a significant power struggle taking place as well. As there is a weakening internal power position at home, which is his ruling class, he becomes disaffected with it.

 Lasswell further notes that “no one is entirely out of this world.” (40) No matter how hard you try, you are still connected to the world. Will could still hear what the films were saying as he doodled outside of the classroom door. He could still see how other students quoted films, and as much as his religious community attempted to shield him from media’s messages, it was impossible. Perhaps, as Charters notes, the focus should instead be on showing correct information and realize the helpful and harmful aspects both. It is impossible to teach kids to discriminate between good and bad films if they have nothing to compare it to.

 As Laswell discusses, it is imperative for those analyzing the role and effect of media to understand the flow of communication. Though there be power players in every single case, the community certainly affects a child’s view of the world and the construction of their identity. As they can’t be out of the world truly, no matter the amount of censorship placed upon them, they have to learn to distinguish between reality and symbolic environments, between repeated messages and truth.

The Maltese Falcon

Smoke –filled rooms, lighting reminiscent of night, vertical lines shrouding a woman and foretelling her eventual imprisonment; everything seems slightly off, slightly hazy, and not to be trusted. John Huston’s masterpiece, The Maltese Falcon comes equipped with all the devices. The semantic codes that set for the mood and style of this film noir piece are incredibly telling. Roles like the tough private eye, the sidekick, the femme fatal or the lackey delightfully play on this urban setting, complete with darkened living rooms and offices, cliff-sides and oh, so many windows. This dark and foreboding feeling is furthered in the films themes of treachery and deceit; even within the object central to the plot, the falcon itself, which, once finally seen by the audience is equally black and sinister. Shadows permeate the space, making a nice playing ground for the syntactic components like the relationship of detective vs. criminal, dark vs. light, and man vs. woman.

And perhaps we should start our examination there. Wood discusses that in Film Noir, there is a break from classic Hollywood cinema structure. What was once valued, like the belief in American capitalism and the notions of ownership and work ethic, marriage and family are all tossed aside in pursuit of darker ambitions The ideal male and female in this case are seemingly abandoned and replaced with their shadows. Just how these shadows are constructed is of particular interest. The “settled man” in The Maltese Falcon is most certainly Sam. He is an embittered and hardened private eye, set in his ways and in his pessimistic view of the world and the individuals who people it. Disillusioned himself, his dynamic with the female characters in his life furthers the notion of the femme fatal, the sexualized woman who clearly can’t be trusted. From the first moments of the film, Sam has labels for the women in his sphere, calling them a myriad of terms from sweetheart to darling, from knock-out, to angel, to my own true love. Sam refers to his secretary (the solid sidekick), his partner’s wife (the weepy, obsessive matron), and to Mrs. O’Shaughnessy (the conniving femme) as a school-girl, precious, and possessing a sweet neck, that sadly will hang. Women in this piece are one dimensional, sexual objects who are asked…“what else can I buy you with?”

Schrader talks about the aspects on film noir in his writing and emphasizes the identifiable by tone and mood found in this specific period. He notes that it is an incredibly thematic approach to storytelling, emphasizing the pessimistic future and loss of nostalgia, and lack of priorities of the characters on the screen. Their despair adds to the ambience of the piece, and that of the audience. The Maltese Falcon is filled with crime and corruption. Even the stalwart detective, the person who by ideological expectation should be the “good guy,” is corruptible. He is having an affair with his partner’s wife, the partner for whom he is trying to attain vengeance, who was equally willing to step out on his wife. We can’t even look back at the dead through rose colored glasses, because there is no rose available, it is all shrouded in shadow and darkness.

 In keeping with the features that stylistically mark a Film Noir, Hudson’s directing – his debut piece – creates a feeling of moral ambiguity; of the audience and the characters being caught somewhere between the dark and the light. Heavy on shadows and tension (there is more dialogue in the piece than action), his shots felt like they were often being filmed from the perspective of Bogart’s character and in fact, he seems to be present in each scene. We are the little angel on Humphrey Bogart’s shoulder, from time to time, we see what he sees, from his perspective. Further, it appears that Hudson was playing with physical levels in his shots. Those in the power position were often shot looking down on the characters who were shot looking up. As the film progressed, it appeared that those with the knowledge at the moment, which is to say, the power, had the camera’s omnipotent perspective. To further enhance this, Bogart’s character stands each time he is about to reveal withheld information. When Sam is thrown to the floor and kicked, it not only strips him of power, but also of his perspective. Additionally, the presence of windows in almost every scene, allows for almost a sense of voyeurism. Each shot gave a sense of being followed – a formidable end from which there was no escape. Shadows on the wall appear more menacing, bigger than real life. Even the outdoor scenes had windows from which spectators were following their every move. The police followed the characters, they followed each other, and they greatest peeping-tom of all – the audience – was in on the whole plot, though unable or unwilling to make a difference in the outcome of the piece.