SENTIMENTAL THOUGHTS ON CINEMA AND CRYING

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What is it that enables the human being to cry? Beauty? Love? Poison? It is often an emotional response to another human being who has either shown us great love or great upset and abandonment. Or it can be our own independent state of deeply entrenched melancholy. Whatever the sense is that is caught and causes us to weep, it is wholeheartedly profound and intrinsically connected to what makes us human.

You know when you haven’t shed a tear for a while? It doesn’t feel right, does it? You almost begin to feel guilty of something, as if your soul has turned stale, into a machine or extra-terrestrial being. And then you fall in love again and remember what it is to cry. You feel awoken and inspired to live and make an effort at it. You may be distraught and bedridden, but you are alive because you are experiencing a revelatory depth of emotion. The human being who cries, is, at that moment of shedding a tear, indisputably human, which is a beautiful thing. It is therefore a very special event to cry. It of course occurs in some of us more than others. But it will eventually occur in all of us, one way or another.

Cinema has the power to ignite tears. In the cinema we can cry. And we cry freely in this safe place. Nobody else has to know what we are feeling. The cinema belongs to us. Others may feel different feelings from the same film, but whatever it is that we are feeling, if we are crying, then we are alive and experiencing something magical, together. This can be interpreted as an expression and symptom of love and beauty. And it is love and beauty as experienced via the medium of cinema. Therefore, cinema is undeniably a very serious and profound art form.

Painting and music make us cry, absolutely. But nothing makes us cry like watching a spectacle full of emotional characters fighting a good fight. Nothing makes us cry like a series of images that speak of unspeakable beauty when set in cinematic motion. Nothing makes us cry like the cinema.

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CINEMA METAPHYSICS: ALIVE AND DECEASED

Astoria auditorium, Mr Parker the projectionist arranged the coloured stage lighting, pink on the right and green on the left

Despite the morbid approach to the title of this short rumination, we will discover that the deceased can offer plenty of inspiration in thinking about cinema. Physically, cinema allows thousands of great lives to be relived onscreen, but looking at the metaphysics of it all, cinema is somehow able to share a literal time and space with those who have passed. Cinema exists but only in so far as the dead exist in the present. Cinema itself is not spiritual, it does not exist without our viewing, but once it is viewed, cinema is able to life a life hidden in the depths of our very own subconscious. However, the characters that we experience and that feel so real to us will be dead; they cease to exist from the moment they are conceptualised and put into a medium of fiction. But more importantly, the moving-image cannot breath, i.e. once an image is captured, the actual subject is no longer alive or present. This is what can be frustrating for audiences of the cinema: we are witnessing a theoretical death, as it pretends to be very much alive.

Another way to reach this conclusion is by basing one’s ideas on memories. We witness and remember a film much like we do our own memories. Firstly, the material of a film can be transcribed as the physical rendering of memories. The memories of the writer, director, or whoever one wishes to favour as auteur in the filmmaking process. Memories belong to the imaginary and cinema is one great big orgasm of imagination. Secondly, when reflecting on a film, we process it as a lived experience, in a similar way that we may re-process an important meeting that took place last week, or a date who never turned up. The parallels are so acute that our minds are fooled into thinking of the cinematic event as a real event. This is otherwise known more simply as one’s suspension of disbelief. But I am arguing beyond this, I argue that cinema becomes a construct of real memory, inseparable from the chaos of our own lives. You can think of it like this: if the cinema makes feel or act, then you are alive and the effect is real.

How is this connected to a notion of the deceased? One might argue that the deceased actually did live once upon a time, and so how come cinema can exist on equal terms of time and space? This is very true, but there is still something missing. The cinema has lived, but only its existence was shorter and confined to the present moment of occupying the cinema’s auditorium. It is a scattered life and not directly compatible with the timeline of a human life. Therefore, cinema is only able to exist in conjunction with our own existence for the duration of the film, unless we are to witness multiple viewings.

We are talking about the time and space occupied after the spectacle, the space occupied by our mind re-processing the cinematic event. The cinema deceased will live on in our memories can be remembered as we remember those we have known and perhaps loved. Even if we live within the cinema, it will remain mortal after every event. However, it is a great fortune, as we can revisit the deceased and dip back into the dark for another ninety minutes or so. It will always be our friend, even though it never did exist in the first place, it tricked you into thinking it did. It is like having a dream of your once beloved, only to wake up the next morning to a shattering reality that they are no longer there.

Note: I frequently use cinema to refer to film processes as well as the auditorium. This is because cinema can refer to the entire medium of film rather than be cut short by perspectives of a particular film. Cinema is the ontology of the movies. And any theory of spectatorship should be based on the place where that medium is best experienced: in the CINEMA!

For good measure, you can find this daring documentary of Michael Haneke’s work on YouTube: