Great Witty Title!

Hello everyone! Today we're going to discuss the concepts of Deleuze and Guattari's War Machines, the State, and its relationship and distinction from Nomads. All of this combined with the fantastic film "Children of Men" promises to be a fun and absolutely intellectually exhausting ride! Oh joy! Let's begin.

Objective Review

The scene we're going to be taking a look at today is from fairly early in the film. Our protagonist, Theo, is a disgruntled, cynical bureaucrat and he's just been kidnapped by an activist/terrorist organization known as "The Fishes". Now, at this point The Fishes have explained that they're not really into the business of bombing and killing and maiming anymore, but we don't completely believe them yet. After a quick chat with his estranged wife (who's supposed to be dead but that's completely beside the point) Theo is yet again whisked away with a shroud over his head. Here, we find our focus point for today. As he is about to be unceremoniously dropped off at the sidewalk, one of the men from The Fishes warns Theo against reported this incident to the police. Let's take a closer look at this, shall we?

Patric

This never fucking happened, so don't go telling tales 'cause we'll be watching you. At work, when you sleep, when you have a piss, we'll be watching. All the *fucking* time...

Theo

Geez your breath stinks...

Patric

No it doesn't...

Theo

Yes, it does.

This dialogue is particularly important because it represents much of The Fishes' mentality shown throughout the rest of the film. The importance of which I will explain shortly....

Reaction

I really like this movie! I watched it in theaters when it came out and I remember totally geeking out about the long, continuous, one take scenes. Aside from my subjective reaction, Children of Men is also an incredibly well crafted, intentional film with loads of material for analysis. Just today, we were talking about the Pink Floyd reference when Theo is visiting his cousin. Furthermore, Cuarón's attention to detail and valuable experience (not to mention its very sizable budget…) lends the film an impressive production quality.

Analysis

As I stated previously, today we’re going to be focusing on the Deleuzian ideas of the State, the Nomad and the War Machine. First, let’s get on the same page about the difference between a Nomad and the State.

The way I see it, the State has several key characteristics. First, the State’s main goal is to control the space within its reign (and sometimes of course, as we see in empires, expand that space). The state accomplishes this by working to striate that space; it takes smooth space over which an endless number of lines of flight and relay points are possible, and constructs a regimented system that allows lines of flight only in certain directions and ways. My favorite way to understand this concept is the one used by Deuchars: in chess, “Each piece can only move within the pre-ordained grid and there is no way to modify or escape the codes of chess” (2011). Not only is movement regulated throughout the chess board (striated space) but the pieces themselves are assigned roles and values. For example, a pawn can only move in such a way and is less valuable than a Queen, which can move in a variety of ways.

In the illustration of our film, the State is clearly represented by the government reigning over the UK. This State is constantly working to maintain its stratified space and constrain/ regulate the movement of the pieces within this space.

In contrast, we see the Nomad. Let me explain three key characteristics about the Nomad. The Nomad exists outside of the regimented world of the State’s striated space, but still operates within that same space. Following our chess example, let’s say that suddenly we find a checkers piece on the chessboard. This checkers piece is clearly not part of the State’s structured, striated space and even resists attempts to make it so. Which leads us to our first characteristic: the struggle of the Nomad is essentially a “war of becoming over being” (Deuchars, 2011). The Nomad resists any interpretation of itself and recognizes that its identity is an ever evolving one. Secondly, the Nomad is trying (or succeeding) to move through new lines of flights that are not dictated by the State. In other words, the Nomad does not color within the lines as dictated by the State. Finally, the Nomad lives to operate within this space. Like a cute little sea turtle that has just hatched, it can’t wait to jump into the ocean of smooth space before being snatched up by one of the gulls of the State. Deleuze and Guattari describe it like this: “A path is always between two points, but the in-between has taken on all the consistency and enjoys both an autonomy and a direction of its own. The life of the nomad is the intermezzo” (Treatise on Nomadology, 1987).

Now, here comes the analysis part. When one hears our description of the Nomad, one’s mind may initially go to The Fishes, our story’s “resistance fighters” who are trying to overthrow the oppressive state. I argue however that this is not the case. Rather, The Fishes are in fact another form of State attempting to replace the current strata with their own. Let me explain. The Nomad’s use of the War Machine is a “war of becoming over being” (Deuchars, 2011). The Nomad is focused on continuing to operate in those smooth spaces and not being controlled by the State. The utilization of the War Machine by the Nomad is a mechanism to avoid appropriation by the State. The Fishes however, are not simply being survivalists. Instead, The Fishes are appropriating the War Machine and using it to wage war. D&G tell us that this is a tactic that The State uses! “It is at the same time that the State apparatus appropriates the war machine, subordinates it to its "political" aims, and gives it war as its direct object” (A Thousand Plateaus, 1987). Following this line of logic, we realize that The Fishes are using the War Machine with the primary objective of causing war, not simply evading capture.

Our chosen scene also reflects another telling trait about The Fishes. The environment described in the little speech that Patric gives Theo is not conducive to The Nomad. Instead, it is indicative of a Society of Control. Let’s compare this speech with another very similar one from a different piece of art.

When I was watching this scene, I was immediately reminded of a famous speech that is given by another Nomad: the character Tom Joad from Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath. (In actuality this isn’t true at all. In reality, the moment instantly triggered The Ghost of Tom Joad song from Rage Against the Machine, which is actually a cover of a Bruce Springsteen song. Regardless, both songs feature lyrics focused on the words from Steinbeck’s original monologue).

“I’ll be all around in the dark – I’ll be everywhere. Wherever you can look – wherever there’s a fight, so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there. Wherever there’s a cop beatin’ up a guy, I’ll be there. I’ll be in the way guys yell when they’re mad. I’ll be in the way kids laugh when they’re hungry and they know supper’s ready, and when the people are eatin’ the stuff they raise and livin’ in the houses they build – I’ll be there, too.” John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath



Here we see a stark contrast. The “true” Nomad’s speech is focused on freedom of will, the encouragement of smooth space and the act of resisting the stratification of space by the State. The Fishes’ speech however, talks of setting up new stratified space, one in which Theo will not be able to do anything that The Fishes are not aware of. Theo must act according to their established rules; the epitome of a Deleuzian State.

So! What did you think? Were there areas that my understanding of the concepts clashes with yours? Have I perhaps missed something in my analysis? I can’t wait to hear about it!

Thanks for reading,

Nate

No Man is an Island: The Theory of Minor Literature in "Dead Man"

Hello everyone!

Today we’re going to be taking a look at Jim Jarmusch’s “psychedelic western”, Dead Man starring the interminable Jonny Depp. Let’s begin, shall we?

Objective Review

First, let’s take a look at what scene we’re going to be dealing with from the movie. Now, I do have to beg your pardon here because we are going to be dealing with themes that appear throughout the movie, as well as a few events that happen outside of this scene. I know normally we stick to one moment in the film, but I’m confident that stepping outside of these bounds will allow me to illustrate my point further. So, on to our scene.

Towards the end of the movie, we travel with our main character, William Blake (WB), and his First Nations companion, Nobody. At the juncture of our reunion, WB and Nobody are just entering a white man’s trading post. As WB enters, he is greeted warmly (although slightly facetiously) by the missionary inside. When Nobody enters however, the tone turns as the missionary refers to the newcomer as one of the “heathens and philistines”. No worries though- in my favorite line of the film Nobody shoots his hypocritical, condescending language right back at the missionary by quoting William Blake’s (the poet this time) The EverlastingGospel. As the scene continues, Nobody is refused tobacco (one of his greatest desires) because of his race and is even offered a disease ridden blanket instead. WB then proceeds to ask for tobacco, which he will surely give to his friend as WB doesn’t smoke. The missionary then recognizes WB and, under the ruse of asking for his autograph, pulls a gun on him. 

WB, in typical bad-@$$ fashion, then stabs a fountain pen into the missionary’s hand and then shoots him. Interestingly enough in the chest, which I imagine would be more painful, rather than the head, which would be pretty instantaneous.  WB and Nobody then leave, after shooting one more pesky loiterer.

Reaction

I actually really loved this film. I appreciated the skill it took to place WB’s actual poetry into the script and also appreciate the art and culture it brings to the table. The film is also absolutely hilarious. It seems to contain that dark humor that you know you possess, but don’t exactly want to bring up at a cocktail party as suddenly the whole room just goes silent but for the awkard sound of someone’s finger against their glass. You can almost hear everyone thinking, “Did he really just make a leper joke?”. Not that I have that humor…

The only thing that I think this film possibly lacked was a bit more “craft” in the production. I got the feeling that things were placed and structured very intentionally, but there was a certain production value that seemed lacking. I would have preferred more shots for each scene, less awkward fade in/outs, and honestly more color. I get that Jarmusch was probably trying to communicate something through the black and white, but honestly to me it just seems like a cheap film school trick to try and seem more artsy.

Analysis

Now let’s get to the meat of the matter. Normally, when we think of “minor literature” as described by Deleuze and Guattari, we think of art that is created by a minority in order to communicate some sort of marginalized agenda. However, I will now show that in the case of Dead Man, the “literature” is of a different sort.

Minor literature is a concept developed by Deleuze and Guattari to describe an attempt by a minor group (distinct from a numerical minority and rather something much more to do with lack of power) to deterritorialize common elements of the major (again, not a numerical group but essentially not the minority) in order to express the minority predicament. Typically, this minor literature is embodied in some sort of art form, although an argument can be made that action is in itself a form of minor literature. For this, we conjure up memories of Gandhi and his peaceful revolution.

In Dead Man, however, we discover something quite different- I argue that WB himself, and the character that is developed around him, is in fact a form of minor literature. To verify this, we need only to look at the three defining characteristics of minor literature. First, Deleuze and Guattari tell us that minor literature is a collective work. The reason for this necessity is that “talents do not abound in a minor literature, the conditions are not given for an individuated utterance which would be that of some "master" and could be separated from collective utterance” (1983). Essentially, there is no Beethoven to compose the master orchestra; in order to fully encapsulate the minor predicament the work itself must be a public work, open for interpretation and even alteration by everyone. We clearly see this characteristic evident in Dead Man. When tasked with the job of determining who exactly causes WB to metamorphosize into the dastardly outlaw he becomes, one is faced with a myriad of answers. It could be argued that Nobody (WB’s First Nation compadre, not the absence of any one person) directs WB along his path. At the same time, it can be equally well argued that WB’s pursuers (including Robert Mitchum’s character Dickinson) have forced Blake to transform. But then, we are turned 180 degrees again as we consider that perhaps Thel, the wonderful woman who had a significant part in setting this whole story in motion, is at the helm. So many options! This is indicative of a collective work – the meaning of the work is not encompassed entirely in one individual, but is understood and influenced rather by the larger group- a collective. If we were to attempt to trace these influences down to their individual sources we might suggest that:

• Charlie makes WB a dead man
•  Dickinson makes him a bad man
• Nobody makes him into a poetry man
• The relentless pursuit of others makes him into an outlaw manand finally…
• Nobody and the Pacific Northwest tribe make him into a spirit/legend man

An interesting facet to this idea of a collective work is the contributions that different groups make to the minor literature. In particular, Nobody seems intent on connecting WB to his poet namesake, whether through reincarnation, jokingly or simply through comparison or allusion. This is in line with an idea that scholar Shu Mei Shih uses to describe when a minor group incorporates their nostalgia for the past within a minor literature. Shih calls this "structuration of the collective memory of the past" (Shu-mei Shih, 2010). Shih uses this to describe the nostalgia felt by certain ethnic groups within China before the reigning dynasty assumed control, but the concept still stands in this context.

Next, we are told that minor literatures are inherently political. This is seen clearly in Dead Man through at least three different aspects. First, WB’s struggle is characterized by his desire to find justice for himself. As a character that committed manslaughter in self defense, his sentence (to be captured dead or alive) certainly does not fit his crime. He then acts this out by disposing of those who unlawfully pursue him. Secondly, WB fights for the equality of his companion, Nobody. This is shown through his interaction with the missionary at the trading post and his request to buy tobacco (clearly for his friend) since the missionary is bigoted and will not sell it directly to Nobody. Thirdly, we see WB attempting to show value to the prostitute Thel by helping her up in the street after she has been deemed unworthy by townsfolk.

Lastly, we know that minor literature seeks to deterritorialize themes of the major literature in order to explain the minor predicament. In Dead Man, we see this through the realignment of WB (and the struggle of Nobody and Thel) according to their definition as provided by the major society. In other words, we see that WB is working to show that Nobody is not a heathen and Philistine but, in actuality, worthy of being traded with and furthermore a valuable human being. Again, this is shown through WB’s interaction with the missionary.

Finally, Deleuze and Guattari clarify that “minor literature is not the literature of a minor language but the literature a minority makes in a major language” (1983). Sadly, in the world of Dead Man, the major language is that of violence. Therefore, WB must take up arms in order to express the minor situation through the language of the majority.

So, now you know a bit of how I saw the film! What do you think? Do you think I’m completely off base? Are there portions of my analysis that can be expounded on? I’m looking forward to hearing your opinions!*

*by all means, argue with me. Seriously. Let’s debate and challenge each others’ analyses – that’s how great work is developed!

Cheers,

Nate

Desert of the Real - Power/Knowledge Relationships in Gilliam's "Brazil"

Hello all! Welcome back to the Knowledge of Consequences, where this week we will be analyzing the film Brazil through the lens of Foucault’s power/knowledge relationship. Let’s begin.

Objective Review

Many of the themes and concepts that we will introduce today are recurrent throughout the film and, one might argue, they increase in intensity and apparentness as the film progresses. However, since looking at the entire film would take much more time than I am able to spare, and surely you are willing to give, we’re going to focus on the entrance of my favorite character, Archibald “Harry” Tuttle. Since I am so incredibly benevolent, I have included two clips of the scene here:

To get us up to speed, and since our film actually has an important, structured plot this time, I will summarize. Our main protagonist Sam Lowry is living in a dystopian society where his air conditioned has just badly malfunctioned. He has attempted to contact “Central Services”, a dystopian form of maintenance service run by the government.  I’m sure you can imagine how well this works out.

Sam is wallowing in the misery that is his now furnace-like apartment when he suddenly finds that an intruder is in his home, pointing a Walther P38 9mm handgun at him. Certainly not how he was hoping his night would go. Shortly though, our intruder jovially reveals himself to be “Harry Tuttle, heating engineer at your service”. Apparently in the future we have euphemisms for A/C repairmen. Tuttle proceeds to begin his work as Sam (remember, our slightly naïve, slightly pitiful protagonist) begins to ask him questions. Several very important elements are revealed during this conversation.

First of all, we’re just going to establish here and now that Terry Gilliam (the director) has a fetish for ducts. Big, small, corrugated grey ducts much like the kind used in HVAC systems or sewers or pneumatic canister message systems. These ducts are absolutely everywhere in this film and completely permeate (almost) every setting. This is absolutely ludicrous and surely can’t have anything to do with a deeper meaning. …..?

Now, we also learn in this scene that it is absolutely forbidden to touch, mess with, attempt to repair or think of interacting with these ducts. Sam asks, “Are you saying this is illegal?” To which Tuttle replies “Well, yes... and no. Officially, only Central Service operatives are supposed to touch this stuff...” The establishment doesn’t want anyone messing with their ductwork. Curious. Curiouser and curiouser…

We also discover that our pal Tuttle is not quite your average peach. Obviously, intruding into someone’s domicile in a ski mask and a Walther in your hand is not quite normative behavior. But, more than that, we see more clues that Tuttle is an outlier. For example, although it is highly illegal and no one else in this society (that we know of) dares, Tuttle has no qualms about fiddling with the ever prevalent duct work. Essentially, Tuttle has broken into someone’s home (an illegal act) in order to commit an even more heinous illegality! Clearly Tuttle doesn’t play by the rules.

Finally, after some fun conversation and a view of the absurdly designed ductwork (complete with creepy lung-like bladder), we are privileged to witness a major character change in Sam. Up to this point, Sam has been a placid non-achieving sheep that is fine just where he is, being led wherever and playing by whatever rules are set before him. But, there comes a time in every sheep’s life where they must decide whether to continue being unthinking automatons, or stand up to the wolf in defense of their own agency. (Not really, as a sheep would surely get swiftly devoured by any wolf that it stood up to, but for right now I’m using it as a colorful and amusing metaphor so we’ll just go with that for now) Suddenly, a knock comes at Sam’s door. Two Central Services repairmen arrive and suspiciously insist on gaining immediate entrance to Sam’s apartment in order to fix his air conditioning. Sam, however, knows that Harry Tuttle is in the next room and that the entrance of these newcomers will certainly end in disaster for all. So, Sam deviates from the rules given to him and lies to the repairmen, forcing them to leave and thereby protecting Tuttle from whatever unpleasantries may have ensued.

Reaction

I hate to be a downer again, but I don’t particularly like Terry Gilliam movies and this is no exception. While I admire them for their artfulness and their importance to a well-cultured mind, I rarely watch them over again just for fun. They make me feel a little like I did too much LSD in the 70’s and now I am increasingly worried that I am actually crazy, and therefore am expressing that worry through film. There are exceptions however, as 12 Monkeys is a pretty interesting sci-fi time travel drama and Monty Python and the Holy Grail is the epitome of everything that is sacred in the world of comedy. I can say that I enjoyed some of the absurdity of the film and the acting was pretty spot on. The art direction was also superb, but unfortunately personally made me feel… less than satisfied.

Analysis

Shoot. I’ve written too much again. Well, that’ll have to do because I have again included a lot of the beginning threads of analysis in the review. We will now follow these threads to their interesting and intellectual conclusions.

In the preface to The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (Les mots et les choses: Une archéologie des sciences humaines, 1966) Foucault introduces us to the concept of “orders”. In this context, we are not necessarily discussing order as in, the absence of anarchy or disorder. Rather, an “order” is a particular way of organizing and orienting elements in relation to one another. One visual representation of this is a grid, which might organize delectable coffee roasts into three categories: light/blonde, medium and dark roasts. This “order” informs the subject (ie. person looking into coffee) as to how to perceive and understand these different delicious coffees. Really though, the “order” itself is only represented in regards to how one element relates to one another. We can say that a blonde roast is lighter (and not nearly as delicious) as a dark roast, but we cannot actually observe the order itself. Foucault describes order as “the interstitial blanks separating all these entities from one another” (1966, pg 3). Another way to understand order (in a broader sense) is the system by which an individual views the world. We will dig deeper into the implications of this in a moment, but we should be able to immediately acknowledge that this “order” has amazing potential to influence.

This “order” is represented in Brazil through the ever present ducts that intercept and weave through every single scene. This characteristic shows that the “order” of the Ministry of Information (the governing body in Brazil) permeates through every level of society, and psyche. Through these ducts, the Ministry passes information (seen as papers in the film) and maintains its control of the populace.

In order to understand the implications of this “order”, we need to combine our concept of “order(s)” with what Foucault calls the “fundamental codes of a culture” (1996, pg 7). These fundamental codes serve to educate the uninitiated individual in the unspoken expectations of a culture. Basically, fundamental codes will communicate to an individual that using particular “orders” is expected, and therefore part of the culture of the whole. If we don’t understand why this is such a big deal, perhaps we need to be reminded of the words of Edgar Schein, who warned that “the forces that are created in social and organizational situations that derive from culture are powerful. If we don’t understand the operation of these forces we become victim of them.” (Schein, 2004).

This “order”, when integrated into a culture, creates the greatest superweapon in all of history. Not a weapon that is made to kill, per se, but a weapon to subdue the masses. When you determine how someone will view the world (and all of its inhabitants and their relationships) people will follow that “order” without need for prompting.

This blind obedience is seen often in Brazil. Even just within this scene, we know that Sam will not deviate from “normative” behavior by attempting to fix his air conditioning unit, although this creates great personal discomfort for him. We also know from other scenes that Sam is a “productive member of society” and goes to work every day without question, happily doling his life away as a cog in the machine. He does this because it is fundamental to the culture that has been created and the “order” he has been handed tells him that it is necessary.

Thankfully, we are not forever exiled to these established “orders”. Foucault describes the process of one ‘stepping over the threshold’. He says:

“It is here that a culture, imperceptibly deviating from the empirical orders prescribed for it by its primary codes, instituting an initial separation from them, causes them to lose their original transparency, relinquishes its immediate and invisible powers, frees itself sufficiently to discover that these orders are perhaps not the only possible ones or the best ones” (1966, pg7)

This is where we find our hero, Sam, at the end of the film. Prompted by his adoration for the woman of his dreams, Sam deviates from the established norm. He consistently breaks laws and, in doing so, steps outside of the order created by the Ministry of Information.

This is “The Real” that is described by French psychiatrist and philosopher Jacques Lacan. Whereas all other metaphysical spaces (The Imaginary and The Symbolic) are skewed, representative versions of reality, “The Real” is “"always in its place: it carries it glued to its heel, ignorant of what might exile it from there." (Lacan, 1981).

 Soothing music to help you step over that 'threshold'.

Post-Structurallism in Orson Welles' "The Trial"

This week we will be discussing post-structuralist and post-modern themes through an analysis of the 1962 film adaptation of Kafka’s “The Trial” directed by Orson Welles.

Objective Review

For this analysis we will be focusing on the opening scene of the film, mainly between the times of 04:00 and 11:15.

As our film in question opens past the title sequence, we see a young man asleep in his bed. This is Joseph K (played by Anthony Perkins, of PSYCHO fame), the protagonist in this story. Mr. K awakens to find the doorknob to his bedroom being turned. “Ms. Burstner?” Mr. K feebly asks, referring to one of his fellow housemates. Instead of Ms. Burstner, a man in dark clothes enters into the room. It is important to note here Orson Welles’ excellent use of cinematography and camera angle. 

The camera is set slightly lower, as to arrange the dark figure of the stranger above that of Mr. K, even though the latter is in the foreground. This tends to establish a feeling of dominance, or aggression. If the viewer looks closely enough, they can also note that the scene is filmed with a wide angle lens (as is typical of Welles’ films) that lends a very deep depth of focus to the scene. Perhaps we are being told that neither Mr. K or this dark stranger is more important than the other, they are both equal. More on that later. As the scene progresses, Mr. K begins to question the man, as is to be expected when one wakens to find a stranger in their room. However, as this dialogue continues, we become less and less sure of who is doing the questioning. For example, as Mr. K exclaims “Who…Who are you? What are you doing in here?!” the man in black immediately shoots back his own question. “Ms. Burstner frequently comes through that door?” Of course, this causes Mr. K to attempt to defend himself, albeit a little shakily and not without a good amount of stammering (well played Mr. Perkins). Clearly this exchange of words is not going to be the sort of linear, scripted conversations we are accustomed to. For the sake of brevity, we jump forward in the scene slightly, where we find this odd form of questioning continued. “Is she in some kind of trouble?” Mr. K asks, referring again to Ms. Burstner, whom he assumes the man in black has come to question. “What kind of trouble? Do you imagine we came here to see Ms. Burstner?” the stranger shoots back. Shortly, several more men enter the scene, also questioning Mr. K. Frustrated, Mr. K exclaims “You don’t deny or confirm anything!” Our protagonist’s aggravation increases when the men ask him about his phonograph, which Mr. K mistakenly refers to as his “pornograph”. Smooth move, sir. Furthermore, when the men lift up a rug covering the floor, they find an elliptical pattern left from previous furniture. To Mr. K’s dismay, the men fashion the fictitious word “ovular” to describe the shape. Despite Mr. K’s attempts to explain that “ovular” is not an actual word, the men simply reply “We can’t not write it down just because you say we shouldn’t!” To compound Mr. K’s predicament, the men seem to lose more and more faith in the validity of his statements (if that is even possible) and finally declare that “he (Mr. K) denies everything!” This should suffice for our analysis at the moment.

Reaction

Let me just get this out there right away: I can’t stand expressionism.

I particularly don’t enjoy German expressionistic cinema, which is why it was the bane of my existence in film school that films like Nosferatu, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Fritz Lang’s Metropolis are considered masterpieces of cinema. Unfortunately, this distaste carries over into Welles’ masterpiece as well. Personally, being raised on John Wayne movies, The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and others, I tend to feel like my emotions are being hijacked when I watch something like The Trial. I would prefer that my information be laid out in a very clear fashion (it doesn’t even have to be linear, as I LOVE Christopher Nolan movies) and then I will choose what emotions to have or not have. However, this unfortunately tends to make for a shallower movie.

Thankfully, I do love much of the visual style of this genre, which plays into my devotion to classical film noirs. Therefore, even though The Trial made me want to take a cheese grater to my face, I can certainly appreciate the technical prowess and intention that is displayed in the film. This certainly is one of Orson Welles’ (or cinema for that matter) great works of art. Particularly, every single shot seems to have been made with intention, and is quite beautiful from a composition, lighting and mise en scene standpoint.

Interpretation

Now, it is finally time for us to dive into the post-structuralistic metaphors and themes seen in this film. I hope you will forgive me, as I have already alluded to several themes and symbols in the Review section, thereby slightly blurring the lines between each section.

To start off with, it is probably necessary to discuss several of the roles of the characters in the film, and the metaphors that first Kafka, then Welles is using them for.

I believe that Mr. K represents the individual. It can also be argued that, as the protagonist, Mr. K also represents us, the audience. We see this play nicely into the idea of the collapse of the individual in post structuralism. At the beginning of the film, Mr. K is clearly an individual, distinct from even the rest of his fellow lodgers in the house. Throughout the movie, we see this clear sense of self starting to degrade. For example, we find that Mr. K is one cog (albeit apparently an important one) within his largely faceless organization. Furthermore, we find that Mr. K is one of many citizens that have been accused, for one crime or another.

Conversely, the nameless men that burst into Mr. K’s residence represent society. This role can also be extended to many other characters in the film, but for the time being we will limit our analysis to the scope of the scene previously discussed.

Now that we have that down, let’s progress to specific elements of post structuralism within the film.

Our first concept to be covered is that of the absence of absolute truth. Nietzsche once commented that “All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.” We find this reflected over and over again within The Trial. One of our first glimpses of this is when Mr. K remarks that the policemen who barge into his apartment “don’t deny or confirm anything!” This reflects the absence of an underlying truth that is true at all times, regardless of influences. Rather, we come to understand that truth is instead a relative idea, constantly affected by interactions. More on this later. We see another glimpse of this when the policemen declare of Mr. K, “He denies everything!” You don’t get much clearer than that.

Another important element is that of the continual mutual construction of society and the individual. This ties heavily into our idea of relative truth. We see that the policemen, whose job (one imagines) is to make objective, empirical observations of Mr. K in order to judge his guilt, are instead influenced by interactions with Mr. K. When Mr. K accidentally calls his phonograph a “pornograph”, the detectives jot this down in their notebooks, to be recalled later and used against him. Thus a simple misunderstanding, or interaction, comes to define the individual (or truth about said individual). We further see this in the issue of the use of the fictitious word “ovular”. Mr. K responds to the men’s creation of this word, which then gets caught in the cyclical pattern we see constantly repeated. At the culmination of this pattern, it is assumed that Mr. K has instead made up a ridiculous word, further defining him. Within our theory, we see this reflected by Sarup when it is remarked that there are “no stable truths or values”.

Finally, we arrive at the concept of historicism. Karl Popper defines historicism as:

“an approach to the social sciences which assumes that historical prediction is their principal aim…The belief… that it is the task of the social sciences to lay bare the law of evolution of society in order to foretell its future… might be described as the central Historicist doctrine.” (Popper, The Poverty of Historicism)

If this seems slightly confusing, let me assist. Historicism is basically the idea that, through the social sciences (sociology, psychology, anthropology, political science, etc) we can synthesize laws that should dictate the future. On one hand, this makes sense. After all, we understand from the physical sciences that if I get struck by a automobile, if that automobile has sufficient velocity and mass then I will go flying into the air. Biology further contains laws which explain that my landing will not be a pleasant one. Surely the social sciences can follow suit. Critiques of historicism however would argue that this is not possible. Popper explains this by explaining that history is not the event - result – event – result pattern that we think it is. Rather, “The evolution of life on earth, or of human society, is a unique historical process… Its description, however, is not a law, but only a singular historical statement.” (Popper, The Poverty of Historicism). So, we have established that history is not as linear and neat with a beginning and an end like we have previously thought. This is reflected brilliantly through The Trial. The beginning of our scene in question, which is basically the beginning of our film besides the prologue, is not really a beginning at all. A man is in a bed in a room, but we know practically nothing about the context. We have neither a back-story nor explanation. To further muddle the issues, we suddenly find more mysterious characters thrust into the story! Herein we find our post structuralistic metaphor of history, one event with neither a beginning or end.

To add even more depth to the metaphor, we find (or, at least I certainly did) the narrative of The Trial difficult to follow and absolutely impossible to predict. One minute we are listening to a grand speech, the next moment that speech is interrupted by a couple getting it on in the corner of the courtroom. Therefore, we see know observable laws by which to predict future events, or even to make much sense of previous ones. 

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this post, and I hope that you will argue vehemently with some of my ideas, or at least open up a conversation for us to discuss these ideas on a deeper level. Cheers!

p.s. Sorry it's so long. It won't happen again.