Aside from Johnathan Rosenbaum, the only other film critics that i really have time (or patience) for are Glenn Kenny and A. O Scott. Well, recently there has been a bit of a s#!@ storm in the critics realm over a very annoying article by Dan Kois at the New York Times Magazine about slow cinema and 'eating your cultural vegitables', so to speak.
A. O. Scott attempted a direct response by offering a defence of the (so called) 'slow and boring'.
Glenn Kenny, however, offered a more limited but spot on retort about Kois (and inadvertently Scott's) misapprehending Tarkovsky. In it Kenny points out,
"I believe that Tarkovsky would object to the idea that his films were "deliberately" boring. Although Tarkovsky made intensely personal films that hewed uncompromisingly to his own vision, he was very invested in engaging his audience and extremely proud when his 1975 film The Mirror, considered here in the West to be one of his most obscure, even gnomic movies, was something of a popular hit in Russia. His definition of film, as given in the title of his book of strung-together essays on the art of filmmaking, was "sculpting in time," and thus pacing was extremely important to him."
Kenny was brief and focused in his response. Not only was an issue like pacing "extremely important" to Tarkovsky, it was the scaffolding of a larger philosophical and theological project. But why can't we see that? I think the larger point in contention --the issue of boredom versus entertainment, versus delight, versus so called taste-- could stand for a little more unpacking.
the Economy of Boredom:
First off, when we use the word "boring" we are entering into a very particular economy of economics and communication. Basically, when we appeal to that word, either in the case of Kois or Scott, we bring along a ton of baggage and meaning. It is interesting to learn that the origin of our use of "Boring" is contemporary with the locomotive and the cult of speed that emerges in the late 19th century America. This is the world that Henry Adams lamented was changing into an unrecognizable form in service of the machine. Before then we might have used the word ennui which implies 'displeasure' to describe our state. Let me say this clearly now, to be bored is not to have displeasure.
The economy of boredom is a middle class materialist belief that time equals money and therefore the consumption of entertainment must be worth the value of the time spent. It is a simple, and fair, but life negating equation that has no relationship to concerns for delight, leisure, or taste. Delight referes to an existential state of pleasure (with deeper spiritual implications), and leisure is an activity caught up in the highest aspirations of humanity. Boredom, however, far from being the opposite of delight or leisure, is a state caught up in the dromological cult of speed and the perverse scopophilic desire to consume and devour what we gaze upon.
Taste is another matter that is even more convoluted since it often uses boredom as an indicator.
Indeed, I would venture to say --within the confines of the blog format-- that our conceptions and enactments of delight, leisure, and taste have now been thoroughly colonized by the very same economy of economics and communication that dictates the definition of boredom now put forward.
This is particularly the case with the moving pictures.
Back to Cinema:
So, to say that there is a usefulness to boredom or to say that boredom is a sign of a cultural belief in what 'real' art should do is to miss the point entirely. The very acceptance of the term itself is suspect. And this is what Glenn Kenny is trying to point out when he says that Andrei Tarkovsky isn't trying to make a 'boring' movie; Tarkovsky is searching for new modes of meaning. Tarkovsky's belief in the redemptive qualities of duration rupture, effract, and move beyond that economy of economics and communication that privileges an appeal to the boring. Tarkovsky forces us to either turn our backs or renegotiate our relationship to this new (and theologically informed, i might add) economy.
What seems to be in question then, is not simply the obvious lack of cinematic education for the general population, nor our own realization of being corporate chattle, but a battle for the fundamental uses of the medium. It amazes me that friends here in Austin, who spend years trying to understand an album, and will painstaikingly fawn over complex chrod changes and the layering of unique sounds to create a particular mood, immediately cry "Art for Art's Sake!", "pretention!", "cultural elitism!", when discussing films like L'Avventurra, Last Year at Marienbad or more recently The Tree of Life. As one friend boldly told me, "I go to the movies for a roller-coaster ride."
And yet this was the awesome power and danger that Henri Bergson identified at the turn of the last century. Cinema has the potential, if not uniquely then certainly more efficiently than any artform before it, to reveal or mask human being in the world. But because the birth of the artfrom coincided with a particular economy of economics (e.g. making movies = making money) with its own set of ethical assumptions about the accessibility of a commodity, the struggle has always been to explore the possibilities of a lasting work of cinematic art. This exploration of possibilities is not a matter of 'taste' or style. If you read Paul Virilio you begin to quickly understand that there is a very fine line between the fascism of Leni Riefenstahl and Michael Bay.
In the latest post in the slow movie debate Manhola Dargis, who writes with A. O. Scot finally brings Gilles Deleuze into the mix and his distinguishing features between classical and modern cinema. Indeed, whilst some people make slow cinema because they think long and slow means something in and of itself (this is an utter lack of understanding as to how the form works), there is a tremendous point to be made in the long deep focus takes, editing techniques, and meandering 'narratives' of modern cinema. Dargis concludes, "Sometimes a slow movie is just a slow movie, but sometimes it’s also a window onto the world."
