I wrote 3 papers for my Philosophy and the Arts class. The references for all three of them can be found in the reader we used, Aesthetics: A Critical Anthology. Here they are: --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nathan Bush PAPER 1 The Theories of Arthur Danto and Clive Bell Compared Danto The way to appreciate art is not to look closer at its form, but to see it on its theoretical terms, including its historical context and its ideological content relative to this context. “To see something as art requires something the eye cannot descry -- an atmosphere of artistic theory, a knowledge of the history of art: the artworld.” (177) Is Danto an essentialist? By claiming that his theory is meant to cover all art throughout history, I believe Danto is arguing for an essential quality of art, that all art objects share the property that the status of art is conferred on them by society and they become transfigured in this process to something new. This transformed state, or theory-endowed enfranchisement, is the common property common to art throughout its evolutionary history. Something is implied here though that Danto does not deal with. Talking of changing art theories he writes: “Suppose...tests reveal that these hypotheses fail to hold, that the theory, now beyond repair, must be replaced.” Comparing the history of art with the history of science he speaks of revolutions in art history to those in science, “where a conceptual revolution is being effected and where refusal to countenance certain facts, while in part due to prejudice, inertia, and self-interest, is due also to the fact that a well-established, or at least widely credited theory is being threatened in such a way that all coherence goes.” (172) Danto’s theory seems easily digestible to modern readers because his theory is in many ways descriptive of the art screening process we encounter today. This screening process is exactly also what makes Danto’s institutional theory able to be seen as at once essentialist and anti-essentialist. It implies that art theory is always being redefined and because of this their is no essential properties common to all art works except the property of common enfranchisement by consensus. Does this mean that mainstream Hollywood cinema directors could be considered artists at some future time, much the way Shakespeare’s plays, a popular form of his day, are now elevated to the status ‘art’ by consensus? Yes. Does this mean that they are art today? According to Danto, no, because no consensus supports such a claim. Photography is a good example of the constantly expanding categorical limits of ‘art.’ When Danto was writing, photography was only then beginning to gain acceptance among critics as art. The camera is a mechanical recording device and has designed to imitate reality. Garry Winogrand’s photographs of New York City street scenes in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s were similar to those of Atget working in Paris at the end of the 19th century through the late 1920s. Atget, ironically, sold his images as models for artists while Winogrand’s images hung in galleries. What changed? The theoretical boundary had been forged as to the acceptable categorization of photography. By the act of hanging it on wall Winogrand’s images became “transfigured” into art. BELL Seeking a useful essentialist definition of art, Clive Bell writes that art objects are those that provoke an emotion in the viewer that is unique to that object. The “aesthetic emotion,” despite its uniqueness is nevertheless common to all works of art in that it cannot be found in the physical experience. The emotion is the indicator, which signals that an object is a work of art but this emotion is not, however, the essential quality common to all objects that invoke it. This quality, without which an object is not worthy the classification ‘art’ is, according to Bell, “Significant Form,” in which the lines and colors combine in such a way that the viewer’s aesthetic emotions are moved. Bell’s explanation of taste and defense of his theory in light of it is problematic. He says that everyone feels aesthetic emotions and that the common element is an emotional reaction to significant form. He says that within this, taste can vary and that anyone who has a reaction to anything that is man made that has visual elements interacting can be classified art. He writes, "though A, B, C, D are the works that move me, and A, D, E, F the works that move you, it may well be that x is the only quality believed by either of us to be common to all the works works in his list. We may all agree about aesthetics, and yet differ about particular works of art." If one person feels an emotional reaction to a particular garbage can design and yet cannot convince any other human to feel this emotion about it, still it would classified “art” as a logical extension of Bell’s argument. The definition can still apply, yet it means nothing because it includes everything. While the examples Bell himself employs ignore the logical conclusion of his own theoretical tenets, this conclusion nevertheless remains one in which all objects could be defined as art. He contradicts himself again when writing about the way we can, even by glancing at an object, intellectually recognize the “rightness” of the combinations of its forms and colors without yet emotionally experiencing its aesthetic emotions. To assume ‘rightness’ about an artwork when he has just expounded on the subjectivity of this process again allows the definition to remain too broad. Based on my own experience (and Bell encourages us to first look to this), form may in fact be the only purveyor of aesthetic emotion. Many of the artworks that move me do so without reference to their content or despite their content. For example, in the Leos Carax film POLA X, I found myself moved in the indescribable aesthetic way of which Bell speaks, and yet, I did not understand the plot of the film (it being French). For example, the still below from the film took my breath away in a non content-related way, just in itself, as a formal arrangement of line and color. Thus, it is hard to find counterexamples to Bell’s definition when it is used as he describes it, simply because there are no counterexamples, every man made object can be included in it. My personal experience is an example of the danger of this outcome. Last year after my during my first photography class I learned to see the world and receive aesthetic emotion through the endless formal combinations of man-made objects interacting as I walked down the street or drove in my car. I am sure that the way I see things and the emotion that I receive from this constant juxtaposition of line and color is unique to me but it points to the same problem with Bell’s definition, everything can move people in the way Bell describes, even Thomas Kinkade (below), the most popular American painter, could theoretically evoke an aesthetic emotion in the, to me self-evidently terrible work, Chicago, Winter at the Water Tower. Bell ignores theater, literature and other forms whose purpose is fundamentally narrative. Drawn to its logical conclusion his theory indeed implies their absence among art objects, but to the extent that they had emotion-evoking formal arrangement and combinations according to his definition of significant form, to that extent set and costume design, for example, could be included. Drama is about empathy, making one feel real world emotions. Their absence in his theory would not seem awkward were it not that Bell never even addresses them specifically. Since he does not I will conjecture in his absence as to how he might explain them. He would, I believe, include them in the category “Descriptive Painting” (77) because “They leave untouched our aesthetic emotions because it is not their forms but the ideas or information suggested or conveyed by their forms that affect us.” (77) The dramatic form, tragedy, Bell would say lacks the essential aesthetic emotion because the unfolding dramatic narrative communicates emotion of the kind that can be found in the world. Only when formal elements (Shakespeare’s use of rhythm) evoke an aesthetic emotion is the work capable of the classification ‘art.’ DIFFERENCES AND COMMONALITIES According to Danto, the history of art and its implied continuation itself suggests an ever-expanding, consensually decided, definition of art. Controversial work thus can be seen as an attempt by an artist to pull the boundaries of the definition to include his or her work. The history of western theory, then, can be seen as society appropriating multiple essentialist definitions (though theoretically only one can be right, if there were indeed one quality common to all art). This can be seen in light of Bell’s theory. Bell’s legacy was to expand the definition of art in the broadest possible sense, because, while adding significantly to the commonly accepted criteria, both paving the way for abstract art and opening the back door to ‘primitive’ art for inclusion in the category ‘artwork’ he did little to persuade people to exclude, for example, Frith or Futurism (examples of the IT or the ideological schools of art in history) from art museums and galleries. In fact, there has been a recent resurgence in realist and ideological artwork, with a renewed emphasis on both of these aspects in art schools. Danto was perhaps right when he wrote in 1964: “mimetic features have been relegated to the periphery of critical concern, so much so that some works survive in spite of possessing those virtues, excellence in which was once celebrated as the essence of art, narrowly escaping demotion to mere illustrations” (171). Yet today we see the realist and ideological theories and the works to which they apply have been revived, as it were, as once again ‘art.’ Both Danto and Bell look positively on good art criticism. Bell sees the critic’s role first as the identification of a work of art and then persuasion and education, helping others to react emotionally to it through a rehearsal of its virtues. Criticism to Danto, I believe would be justified because it is a medium by which theories of art are disseminated to cultured readers as to the currently accepted predicates of art. Danto could, like Bell, be in danger of a definition that is too broad because his theory, taken to its logical conclusion, merely describes the way art has been historically defined, as an object with society-endowed status, and this, while making it preeminently functional and applicable, also makes it useless. If the art can lead theory and instead of theory leading art, theory can only hope to function as a description of the present definition of accepted art whatever that may be, and perhaps convince the artworld to expand its definition, as Clive Bell did. If the definition of art can change with the theory surrounding it, then anything (or every thing) could at one time or another, with theoretical backing surrounding it, be art or not be art and thus the theory means nothing because it includes everything. In the way they say that art has meaning, Bell and Danto are diametrically opposite. Bell views historical context as useless. If a work is to be classed ‘work of art,’ form and its resultant emotional evocation alone must be consulted, completely without reference to its historical context or ideological content. Danto on the other hand points to these rejected qualities, especially context, exclusively as the purveyors of meaning and the necessary conditions which together are sufficient to classify something ‘work of art.’
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nathan Bush PAPER 2 Understanding Walton’s “Categories”: An Endorsement for Postmodern Relativism In my first paper I argued that Danto’s thesis was actually actually an essentialist definition of art. I see Walton’s essay as an extension of this and it succeeds for the same reason. Both theories are so useful because they both describe how artworks actually function for us rather than impose a rigid definition and this will ensure their future utility. Their theories are flexible because subjectivity of knowledge is the central tenant behind their assumptions. For example, many of Walton’s statements hinge on the phrase “to us.” Who is this us? This goes beyond even the specificity of Dante’s “artworld.” I think this us can be collapsed to you and me. In a truly postmodern flourish, Walton respects only the ultimate of subjectivity, wherein the individual experience is the final arbiter of value. That aesthetic taste can be reduced to individual perception is apparent in Walton’s language: “If a work differs too significantly from the norms of a certain category we do not perceive it in that category and hence the difference is not contra-standard for us.” (405) The key phrase here is: “too significantly...for us,” emphasizing again individual perception as penultimate. A very simple principle bolsters Walton’s argument: there is no description without relationship. A formalist cannot describe a work as tall, because all adjectives describe relationships. Tall in relation to what? No one can be declared merciful unless seen in an act of mercy toward someone else. We all use the exact relational method Walton is articulating without thinking about it. The way human beings establish meaning in their lives is by relationships. The woman who birthed me is no different in relation to me than the woman down the street, were it not for contextual data. One’s past experience and understanding of the world inescapably defines each new thing they encounter. Take the recent Kill Bill films from Quentin Tarantino. These films were not created in a vacuum, quite the opposite in fact, they consist of reference after reference to American “Blaxploitation” films of the 1970s, Hong Kong action films, martial arts films, and even the occasional nod to classic Hollywood cinema. The Kill Bill series exists because of the earlier films, not in addition to them or apart from them. It was inconceivable without these earlier films. Let us assume that, were it possible, that we could erase all knowledge of art history and the specifics of art categories and approach these films only attending to the formal interaction of light and color. Would the film carry meaning? The first film opens with a climactic moment shot on black and white film. The image rests on the main character of the film, a young blonde woman, who is sobbing and bloody. A man offscreen talks sadistically to her. Finally, he shoots her in the head and the screen suddenly goes black. What is the purely formal significance of this scene? It has little. It’s meaning is derived from a variety of sources. Each adjective in the preceding description, with its visual parallel on the film image, is only understood by the audience (even if only subconsciously), as a relational description. For example, the audience members are aware that in a sixty million dollar action film in 2004, the use of black and white film stock is highly unusual and that sadism of this nature is rare in big-budget films. Bell might insist then that this opening scene fails as art to the extent that it is not formally interesting, but even this would be flawed logic and begs the question, interesting in relation to what? Even the very term, artwork, is relational, and can only carry meaning in contrast to non-artwork. One potential problem lies in the broadness of Walton’s theory. This is a critique I have leveled before at Arthur Danto on similar grounds. I wrote, "Danto could...be in danger of a definition that is too broad because his theory, taken to its logical conclusion, merely describes the way art has been historically defined, as an object with society-endowed status, and this, while making it preeminently functional and applicable, also makes it useless." This criticism is surprisingly applicable to Walton when he writes: “If we are exposed frequently to works containing a certain kind of feature which is contra-standard for us, we ordinarily adjust our categories to accommodate it.” We react by seeing works with this contra-standard as "(a) a new category...in which case the offending feature has become standard rather than contra-standard for us, or (b) an expanded category which includes paintings both with and without attached objects, in which case that feature is variable for us." (405) Thus, according to Walton, categories of art are completely malleable, as is the case with Danto. Because of the relativist nature of Walton’s argument, a further complication arises when one attempts to define boundaries for what can and what cannot be a category of art. Everything, according to Walton’s logical worldview, is relative, including art, but then, if relativity defines categories of art, what is this “including?” Where do things that are relative stop being art? To answer this question for Walton, I point to the Danto as the seemingly obvious inspiration (whether Walton had even read Danto I have no idea). As I see it, Walton is writing one layer below essentialist theories of art. (As I contend Danto argued for, even though he was situated under the “anti-essentialist” umbrella), constructing a theory of categories of art such as painting, sculpture, film. To illustrate my point, imagine a hierarchy with definitional boundaries for each subcategory with “objects” alone atop the highest tier. Among the swath that qualify sits “art objects” with Danto’s (here grossly paraphrased) definition: artworks are those objects enfranchised by the atmosphere of theory surrounding them. Under this group are categories of art (painting, sculpture, film) defined (according to Walton) as those art objects that have enough standard features of a particular category, as warrants inclusion in that category. The line of reasoning of both Danto and Walton have the same fundamental flaw that carries from one to the other: in their logical extensions both definitions mean nothing because they could potentially include everything. Why withhold, for example, a grocery list from categorical status? There are standard, variable, and contra-standard features for such an object. The one plausible solution to this problem, never proposed by Walton, but which I will offer, is to consider the practical utility of the object in question. Reasoning in a very basic way as Walton and Danto do, asking only, “how do people actually define art in their lives?” The answer in this case must be: an artwork must have no useful value (excluding intangibles such as “happiness”) to the viewer. One way to view the dichotomy between the formalist and relational arguments is as a parallel to the “nature versus nurture” debate in developmental studies. Formalists contend for the essentialist position, arguing that artworks have eternal, intrinsic selves that are not disturbed by other artwork ontologies. The relational position of Walton asserts that without other ontologies, an artwork has no self. Its meaning only derives from its relationship to other works. Formalism can be traced to a desire for simplification, to make an artwork take on an essential meaning that does not change according to changing context in which it is viewed. Unfortunately, the formalist ideal is an impossible dream. Relativism is analogous to a realist position, in which works have no essence except for that meaning we construct for them in relation to other works. This is less idealistic, but to me, nearer right. The history of art is one of constant definitional change (expansion). The history of aesthetic theory is one of trying to define art as it is at that time. These theories inevitably become archaic. Is it possible that Danto and Walton’s complementary theories are so flexible as to shirk this trend and facilitate the ever-expanding quality indefinitely? It seems to be the case. The fact that postmodern relativism underlies Walton’s argument serves as an endorsement for postmodern reasoning. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nathan Bush Final Paper A Modern Aristotelian Film: In the Bedroom as Endorsement of Aristotle’s Philosophy Eva Schaper has it right when she says, “[t]o deal with the Poetics as if it were contemporary thought might appear gravely anachronistic.” (48) However, she follows that we cannot read Aristotle as commenting on our own problems, but we can use his theory in light of our problems nonetheless. Since the ideas he presents “are principles…of art as a productive capacity” because he assessed “the principles of the art of his day in the light of his own philosophy.” (49) So we too should reason from the philosophical base of his argument. I will use this line of reasoning to analyze the film, In the Bedroom. When the film opened in selected theaters in cities across America in December of 2001, it was hailed by many of the nations foremost critics as the best movie of the year. Stephen Holden of the New York Times called it “a shimmering piece of art… a perfectly observed...portrait.” This is loaded language; more telling than may at first be realized. When I walked out of a theater in Philadelphia with two friends shortly after its release we walked around the city for hours just talking, analyzing each scene excitedly, trying to decipher its dramatic power, where, specifically, it lay. What exactly were we doing in this process? What, first, had caused such an invigorated, emotional reaction? One central theme reiterated itself over and over, embedded in the vocabulary itself with which we spoke, not dissimilar, in fact, to the language of the critic just cited. This was the film’s realism that promoted in us an empathy that somehow had evoked a dramatic power. The basis of our conversation had actually been elucidated well over two millennia before. Though none of us had read Aristotle’s Poetics at the time, the fundamental tenets of this philosopher were implicit in our conceptions of what art is or indeed can be. Even the idea that we can criticize and evaluate art by some set of criteria would not have been possible without Aristotle. Because we had just experienced something fundamentally modern, something inconceivable to these ancients, and yet totally inconceivable without them, I can now say with Eva Schaper, “That the scheme has proved valuable through the ages in its application to fields so much wider than those of Greek literature testifies to Aristotle’s greatness.” (54) In this paper I will analyze this film especially in regards to the philosophy of Aristotle, though with some emphasis on the points of contention with Plato’s philosophy. I will introduce the film as quickly as possible. Matt and Ruth Fowler live in a small town in Maine. They are a middle class couple with a son, Frank, studying architecture and with a bright future. Frank is home for the summer. One gets the feeling when watching this that these people have worked hard for a specific kind of life and have reached a point of sustained comfort. Frank has fallen in love with an older woman, Natalie, who has two young sons, and is recently seperated from her abusive husband, Richard. Ruth is overly protective of Frank, while Matt is vicariously enjoying his son’s relationship ship with this older woman. After a series of small skirmishes between Frank and Richard, the unthinkable happens. Richard shoots Frank to death. As the court date approaches, it becomes clear that Richard will probably get off with only a few years. The middle section of the movie follows Matt and Ruth coping with this sudden loss of their only and beloved son. We follow them, seemingly in real time, as they try to recover some semblance of normalcy. The final third of the film is a painstaking detail of one night. Matt shows up at the bar where Richard works after Richard gets off. Matt pulls a gun on him. Matt forces him to drive to a cabin deep in the woods owned by a friend of Matt’s. Matt, at an inconvenient moment, but unable to control himself, uncerimoniously shoots Richard to death. Matt and his friend bury the body and drive home as dawn arrives. This treatment is not fair in that it doesn’t communicate what is special about this film. The film is a perfect narrative, with description. Mimetic Content Both Plato and Aristotle dealt with issues of art in relation to its structure and the nature of its impact on the person experiencing it. Aristotle was in fact addressing the issues Plato set forth and, despite points of agreement, often with strikingly different conclusions. For example, the two philosophers agree that art is mimetic, but they have different interpretations of the relevance between life and art. Plato views art works as merely imitating what we already have, as essentially “making replicas.” (Schaper 51) Aristotle sees the imitative element as a completely positive, viewing imitation in a decidedly non-Platonic sense. He insists that the creation of artworks is a constructive process. Artists make art not to merely repeat what they see, an imperfect copy of an imperfect copy, thus useless, but to create something new that resembles reality. To convince the audience by an internal coherence of the events that unfold in the fictional world; this is the art of art. The arts succeed when they present something as if it were real. Plato’s view of art as fundamentally imitative framed the way western art has been viewed and created for two millennia. This film is symptomatic of the negative elements he ascribes the arts, namely the aim of imitation, and the emotional effectiveness it strives for which he viewed as a destabilizing element for a society. For these reasons the film overwhelmingly succeeds according to Plato’s student, Aristotle, who wrote another seminal text of western art in his Poetics. To help us understand the different perspectives of the two philosophers regarding mimesis, the examples they use should be considered. As Schaper points out, Plato has a visual orientation in his choice of examples of art. Visual representations are more susceptible to Plato’s criticism than the examples that Aristotle uses. Aristotle cites music as a highly mimetic art form. To analogize Plato’s sense of representation, the ultimate of music would be the recreation of sounds of nature. Yet, even in his day, music played no such role. This points to the underlying difference in definitions of “representation.” What, for each philosopher, is being represented? Not literal physical representation, but emotional representation, is at the core of Aristotle’s definition. Most revealing of this fundamental difference is Aristotle’s opinion of painting as the least mimetic of the arts. Since “[t]he entire notion of imitation is tied to action in Aristotle’s scheme,” (Schaper 53) drama is one of the highest embodiments of this less physical medium’s of representation. Considering the film in this light, in what esteem would Plato and Aristotle hold it, according to their respective philosophies? If Aristotle considered the extreme of visual representation, embodied contemporaneously for in painting, as the least mimetic form of art, then the medium of the film itself could be problematic for him. And if Plato thought absolute fidelity to physical reality was the highest aim an artist could aspire to, then how would an awareness of the photographic medium affect his philosophy? Film represents a form of visual mimesis far beyond what Plato or Aristotle could have conceived of, so how would they react to it? In the case of Plato, film would do little to sway him from his fundamental criticism of art, that it is probably harmful and at least a worthless distraction from the real activity we should all be engaged in: contemplating the abstract Forms. Even if we could perfectly recreate physical experience, no real knowledge would be gained and we would still be looking at the world of illusion. Aristotle early repudiates his teacher’s position that knowledge could not be gained from the experience of art. (34) One shocking and revolutionary idea in light of Plato is Aristotle’s insistence that drama can lead to an acquisition of knowledge. He writes that “poetry is something more philosophic and of greater import than history, since its statements are of the nature rather of universals, whereas those of history are singulars.” (38) In theater, there is little physical mimetic description besides basic considerations of stage design, which is often an afterthought. In the case of conventional feature films, which, based on historical circumstances, owe much to theater, and often emphasize the dramatic elements, the camera is a tool for the telling of the fiction. Contrast this with painting, where accurate representation is an end in itself. The camera unthinkingly records, and almost as precisely as the human eye, which alleviates a conscious attention to the representational aspects of the image. The image, the filmmaker trusts, is by-and-large truthful, and to paraphrase a commonly cited sentiment in Hollywood “It doesn’t matter how it looks if the story is no good.” This crudely indicates the relative indifference toward the medium, short of it’s potential as a storytelling device, within the film industry at large. Thus, like stage design to theater, the fact of photographic realism is largely an afterthought in creative endeavors in this area. The narrative film can be seen as an extension of theater, with photographic technology more an evidence of an interconnected world’s ability to communicate to ever-wider audiences than a real break from the traditions of the dramatic art form.By taking for granted the film medium’s inherent mimetic superiority, we can by this logic guardedly grant it a reprieve for Aristotle vicariously. Therefore, I will now treat the film’s dramatic construction, which embodies Aristotle’s ideas of representation. Formal Construction Aristotle has a sophisticated awareness of the constant flux of art forms and genres and formulated his system to be dexterous, ensuring its continuance. We see this can be seen in his expositions on the historical development of poetic form and its breaking into genres. Though it was understandably impossible for his theory to account for the radical changes of modern and postmodern art, his philosophy is so remarkably, expansive as to include most narrative films. Aristotle’s detailing of the “proper construction of the…Plot” as “the most important thing of Tragedy” is a proto-categorization of the narrative conventions we take for granted and we can see where each applies to the film of interest. He emphasizes dramatic artworks as self-contained, a “whole” with “beginning, middle, and end.” (37) This seems to be a simple distinction until one realizes that this may perhaps be the first such written formulation of this idea, so pervasive is it in practically every narrative work since. Only when narrative filmmakers began to be influenced by other convention-defying art movements did such a basic principle even begin to be questioned. In fact, a major talking point upon the release of Pulp Fiction (with its C-A-B structure) and Memento (Occurring backwards from end to beginning), two relatively recent films, was their self-conscious break with this convention. Critics and audiences found these inversions shocking. Todd Field, the writer and director, in a bid for realism, has chosen no such experimentation. He instead opts for a forward moving structure and one gets the distinct feeling while watching it of time marching on, unrestrained, from beginning to conclusion. His continuation of the formal criteria for a great dramatic work similarly invokes shape impressions to describe a correct construction, tailored to the human being. He speaks proportionally, saying that the human cognition can only synthesize a certain scope of length. While not defining a specific length as correct he defines the criteria by which one can judge a dramatic narrative that satisfies the requirements of length. He thinks that “The longer the story, consistently with its being comprehensible as a whole, the finer it is by reason of its magnitude. As a rough general formula, ‘a length which allows the hero passing by a series of probably or necessary stages from misfortune to happiness, or from happiness or misfortune.’” While commerce has established a standard length for “feature” films, generally between one-and-a-half and two hours, In the Bedroom runs for 130 minutes. This puts it immediately in the category of dramatically ambitious projects, because a film’s intended dramatic impact is often analogous to its running time. In this film the “magnitude of the story” satisfies the long running time. Next, Aristotle describes the ideal scope of interrelated events within the dramatic structure. He notes that “the story, as an imitation of action, must represent one action,” with no single element able to be removed without the dislocation of the whole, but also without extraneous elements tacked on, “[f]or that which makes no perceptible difference by its presence or absence is no real part of the whole.” (38) Here we confront a problem of foresight. Aristotle was considering epic poetry in this example and could not have foreseen the introduction of a different scale of fiction we experience now with its more subtle details. The modern short story was essentially introduced in style by Chekhov and seems reasonably equivalent in length and tone to this film. The film actually based on the short story “Killings” by Andre Dubus. Though the film struggles with traditionally tragic themes as murder and revenge, it observes these subtly with quiet attention to small moments not to be found in Aristotle’s catalogue of drama. Nevertheless, it qualifies according to Aristotle’s criterion as each scene contributes to the overall dramatic impact of the film and none are at all extraneous. Aristotle follows this point about excess or lack with a commentary on simple Plots and actions, of which he cites episodic, which he defines as neither probable nor necessary episodes within the diagetic world of the film, as the worst extreme of this. (39) In the Bedroom stands free of this charge, as each sequence follows logically from the last, both in probability and necessity based on the psychology of the characters. If one were to represent visually on a graph the difference between the majority, episodic fare, it would look something like a roller coaster, with various discontinuous spikes. In contrast, to chart the action of In the Bedroom visually would require long, sweeping gestures that build and subside with one central logic. The next point of Aristotle that I will apply to this film is his treatment of pity and fear as the key to tragedy’s effectiveness. He says that though pity and fear can be induced by the “Spectacle,” they can also result from the structure of the play itself and to evoke pity and fear this way is the more difficult task and “shows the better poet.” This is how the action unfolds in Oedipus Rex, with the violence, the Spectacle, occurring offstage. In the Bedroom also directly repudiates the all-too-central role the Spectacle plays in most Hollywood movies and even many independent films, not even close to the harbingers of an alternate vision that they should be. The first killing in the film skillfully occurs without our presence. We are following Natalie as she takes the children upstairs when we hear the gunshot. This precisely confirms Aristotle’s assertion that, “[t]he Plot in fact should be so framed that, even without seeing the things take place, he who simply hears the account of them shall be filled with horror and pity at the incidents.” (41) And though we watch it, the revenge murder is decidedly unspectacular in its cold realism with Matt shooting Richard in the back. Aristotle cites three lines of unfolding action that are to be avoided towards the end of fostering fear and pity in the viewer. (40) First, good characters should not begin the drama happy and end miserable, because this does not elicit either fear or pity, but disgust. Second, a bad person should not gain happiness as the work progresses for largely the same reason. Third, a horrible person should not go from happiness to suffering because we will not be moved to pity, since the suffering is deserved or fear, because we can’t identify with the character. The middle way Aristotle recommends is a person of average moral character, whose plight is a result of error of judgment rather of moral corruption. An obvious example of this is Oedipus Rex, a flawed, though not evil man, who is nonetheless the ultimate victim of circumstance and misjudgment, which eventually proves his downfalls. While there are few examples of films that break with this convention, while still bidding for critical praise in an attempt to repudiate Aristotle’s hegemony on criticism (A Real Young Girl and Rosetta, featuring heroines truly impossible to feel human emotion for, come to mind) and succeed wildly according to their ambitions but fail according to Aristotle’s definition for precisely the reasons he cites. They are good films, perhaps more realistic films, but they cannot make us feel. In the Bedroom wisely sticks to Aristotle’s criteria, and this is what makes it such an emotionally profound experience. Each character is certainly flawed, and only one character can be considered “evil” in the most banal sense. Yet the sufferings of each character take on the tragic element because they could have been avoided, with different actions, making them fundamentally “errors of judgment.” We wince at Frank’s hesitant posturing, and refusal to be intimidated by Richard, but we can understand exactly why he does it. This makes his murder epically tragic. The film takes on as a major theme the issue of blame and ill judgment. As the Fowler’s silently mourn their son in the weeks following his murder, their emotions are suddenly set off one day in a torrent of blame. They both make heated, and convincing arguments assigning the murder to one another, as though each of their actions had indirectly contributed to the eventual death. The maddeningly ironic aspect, and the one that absolutely confirms Aristotle’s point about human mistakes making tragedy tragic, is that they are both responsible. Everyone involved contributed in varying degrees to the problem. At the end of the film, when Matt pulls off the perfect revenge murder, there is no satisfaction for him or us. Justice had been done and yet the all-too-human mistakes could not be undone. In the New York Times review cited earlier, Holden reveals just how Aristotelian he is in his criticism, “Its portrait of grief, rage, jealousy, flawed justice and revenge in a Maine lobstering town zeroes in on its characters' tragic flaws, yet refuses to condemn them.” Aristotle, in bolstering his claim, reveals that he views artworks much the way we do, with a guarded Laissez Faire-style screening process weeding out the weaker fare over time. He, like us, distrusts drama for the masses, but also believes that time would eventually produce a consensus of the best dramas, the “classics.” He writes that [f]act…confirms our theory. Though the poets began by accepting any tragic story that came to hand, in these days the finest tragedies are always on the story of some few houses, on that of Alemeon, Oedipus, Orestes, Meleager, Thyestes, Telephus, or anyh others that may have been involved, as either agents or sufferers, in some deed of horror. A cursory glance at the critically established “classics” of our time similarly confirms his criteria for sympathetic, tragically flawed characters. Citizen Kane and Vertigo wrestle for (the ridiculously simplistic) “best ever” status and a strong explanation for why these films are held in such high regard is an examination of the central characters in each. The New York Times review cited earlier ends with this passage: "In the Bedroom" belongs to a handful of small, hardy North American films, among them "The Sweet Hereafter," "Affliction" and "You Can Count on Me," whose flinty-eyed realism cuts against prevailing Hollywood froth. As small as their audiences may be, these are the films that stand the best chance of one day being regarded as classics. "In the Bedroom" is as good as any of them. Better then any of those mentioned, I would interject. Having worked at a video store roughly four years of my life, which entitled me to free rentals, I have seen a lot of great films, including the ones just mentioned. But this is the best movie I have ever seen. I think this movie is a classic and will be thus regarded in the future. The film, In the Bedroom, is unique in its portrayal of tragedy of the classic form set against the backdrop of a small New England town. The film is so powerful and so successful in its implementation of Aristotle’s philosophy that it serves as a modern day endorsement of it. I would even posit that the director was highly aware of the specifics of Aristotle’s philosophy and the Greek tragedy it takes as its basis. This would make sense, as this was actually his feature film directorial debut (amazing in itself) and his background is acting. Without the alien Greek names to distract us, we are reminded how similarly realistic the ancient tragedies in fact are and how closely reach flawed humanities essence. This leads me to believe that Aristotle discovered universals of human emotion in his Poetics, rather than merely set the framework for the western world’s ideas of art. The former, rather than the latter explanation explains the relevance of his philosophy to us today. references: Holden, Stephen. “ When Grief Becomes A Member of the Family.” The New York Times. Section E; Part 1; Column 1; Movies, Performing Arts/Weekend Desk; Pg. 25. November 23, 2001.

I wrote 3 papers for my Philosophy and the Arts class. The references for all three of them can be found in the reader we used, Aesthetics: A Critical Anthology. Here they are:

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Nathan Bush

PAPER 1

The Theories of Arthur Danto and Clive Bell Compared

Danto

The way to appreciate art is not to look closer at its form, but to see it on its theoretical terms, including its historical context and its ideological content relative to this context. “To see something as art requires something the eye cannot descry -- an atmosphere of artistic theory, a knowledge of the history of art: the artworld.” (177)

Is Danto an essentialist? By claiming that his theory is meant to cover all art throughout history, I believe Danto is arguing for an essential quality of art, that all art objects share the property that the status of art is conferred on them by society and they become transfigured in this process to something new. This transformed state, or theory-endowed enfranchisement, is the common property common to art throughout its evolutionary history. Something is implied here though that Danto does not deal with. Talking of changing art theories he writes: “Suppose...tests reveal that these hypotheses fail to hold, that the theory, now beyond repair, must be replaced.” Comparing the history of art with the history of science he speaks of revolutions in art history to those in science, “where a conceptual revolution is being effected and where refusal to countenance certain facts, while in part due to prejudice, inertia, and self-interest, is due also to the fact that a well-established, or at least widely credited theory is being threatened in such a way that all coherence goes.” (172)

Danto’s theory seems easily digestible to modern readers because his theory is in many ways descriptive of the art screening process we encounter today. This screening process is exactly also what makes Danto’s institutional theory able to be seen as at once essentialist and anti-essentialist. It implies that art theory is always being redefined and because of this their is no essential properties common to all art works except the property of common enfranchisement by consensus. Does this mean that mainstream Hollywood cinema directors could be considered artists at some future time, much the way Shakespeare’s plays, a popular form of his day, are now elevated to the status ‘art’ by consensus? Yes. Does this mean that they are art today? According to Danto, no, because no consensus supports such a claim.

Photography is a good example of the constantly expanding categorical limits of ‘art.’ When Danto was writing, photography was only then beginning to gain acceptance among critics as art. The camera is a mechanical recording device and has designed to imitate reality. Garry Winogrand’s photographs of New York City street scenes in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s were similar to those of Atget working in Paris at the end of the 19th century through the late 1920s. Atget, ironically, sold his images as models for artists while Winogrand’s images hung in galleries. What changed? The theoretical boundary had been forged as to the acceptable categorization of photography. By the act of hanging it on wall Winogrand’s images became “transfigured” into art.

BELL

Seeking a useful essentialist definition of art, Clive Bell writes that art objects are those that provoke an emotion in the viewer that is unique to that object. The “aesthetic emotion,” despite its uniqueness is nevertheless common to all works of art in that it cannot be found in the physical experience. The emotion is the indicator, which signals that an object is a work of art but this emotion is not, however, the essential quality common to all objects that invoke it. This quality, without which an object is not worthy the classification ‘art’ is, according to Bell, “Significant Form,” in which the lines and colors combine in such a way that the viewer’s aesthetic emotions are moved.

Bell’s explanation of taste and defense of his theory in light of it is problematic. He says that everyone feels aesthetic emotions and that the common element is an emotional reaction to significant form. He says that within this, taste can vary and that anyone who has a reaction to anything that is man made that has visual elements interacting can be classified art. He writes, "though A, B, C, D are the works that move me, and A, D, E, F the works that move you, it may well be that x is the only quality believed by either of us to be common to all the works works in his list. We may all agree about aesthetics, and yet differ about particular works of art."

If one person feels an emotional reaction to a particular garbage can design and yet cannot convince any other human to feel this emotion about it, still it would classified “art” as a logical extension of Bell’s argument. The definition can still apply, yet it means nothing because it includes everything. While the examples Bell himself employs ignore the logical conclusion of his own theoretical tenets, this conclusion nevertheless remains one in which all objects could be defined as art. He contradicts himself again when writing about the way we can, even by glancing at an object, intellectually recognize the “rightness” of the combinations of its forms and colors without yet emotionally experiencing its aesthetic emotions. To assume ‘rightness’ about an artwork when he has just expounded on the subjectivity of this process again allows the definition to remain too broad.

Based on my own experience (and Bell encourages us to first look to this), form may in fact be the only purveyor of aesthetic emotion. Many of the artworks that move me do so without reference to their content or despite their content. For example, in the Leos Carax film POLA X, I found myself moved in the indescribable aesthetic way of which Bell speaks, and yet, I did not understand the plot of the film (it being French). For example, the still below from the film took my breath away in a non content-related way, just in itself, as a formal arrangement of line and color.

Thus, it is hard to find counterexamples to Bell’s definition when it is used as he describes it, simply because there are no counterexamples, every man made object can be included in it. My personal experience is an example of the danger of this outcome. Last year after my during my first photography class I learned to see the world and receive aesthetic emotion through the endless formal combinations of man-made objects interacting as I walked down the street or drove in my car. I am sure that the way I see things and the emotion that I receive from this constant juxtaposition of line and color is unique to me but it points to the same problem with Bell’s definition, everything can move people in the way Bell describes, even Thomas Kinkade (below), the most popular American painter, could theoretically evoke an aesthetic emotion in the, to me self-evidently terrible work, Chicago, Winter at the Water Tower.

Bell ignores theater, literature and other forms whose purpose is fundamentally narrative. Drawn to its logical conclusion his theory indeed implies their absence among art objects, but to the extent that they had emotion-evoking formal arrangement and combinations according to his definition of significant form, to that extent set and costume design, for example, could be included. Drama is about empathy, making one feel real world emotions. Their absence in his theory would not seem awkward were it not that Bell never even addresses them specifically. Since he does not I will conjecture in his absence as to how he might explain them. He would, I believe, include them in the category “Descriptive Painting” (77) because “They leave untouched our aesthetic emotions because it is not their forms but the ideas or information suggested or conveyed by their forms that affect us.” (77) The dramatic form, tragedy, Bell would say lacks the essential aesthetic emotion because the unfolding dramatic narrative communicates emotion of the kind that can be found in the world. Only when formal elements (Shakespeare’s use of rhythm) evoke an aesthetic emotion is the work capable of the classification ‘art.’

DIFFERENCES AND COMMONALITIES

According to Danto, the history of art and its implied continuation itself suggests an ever-expanding, consensually decided, definition of art. Controversial work thus can be seen as an attempt by an artist to pull the boundaries of the definition to include his or her work. The history of western theory, then, can be seen as society appropriating multiple essentialist definitions (though theoretically only one can be right, if there were indeed one quality common to all art). This can be seen in light of Bell’s theory. Bell’s legacy was to expand the definition of art in the broadest possible sense, because, while adding significantly to the commonly accepted criteria, both paving the way for abstract art and opening the back door to ‘primitive’ art for inclusion in the category ‘artwork’ he did little to persuade people to exclude, for example, Frith or Futurism (examples of the IT or the ideological schools of art in history) from art museums and galleries. In fact, there has been a recent resurgence in realist and ideological artwork, with a renewed emphasis on both of these aspects in art schools. Danto was perhaps right when he wrote in 1964: “mimetic features have been relegated to the periphery of critical concern, so much so that some works survive in spite of possessing those virtues, excellence in which was once celebrated as the essence of art, narrowly escaping demotion to mere illustrations” (171). Yet today we see the realist and ideological theories and the works to which they apply have been revived, as it were, as once again ‘art.’

Both Danto and Bell look positively on good art criticism. Bell sees the critic’s role first as the identification of a work of art and then persuasion and education, helping others to react emotionally to it through a rehearsal of its virtues. Criticism to Danto, I believe would be justified because it is a medium by which theories of art are disseminated to cultured readers as to the currently accepted predicates of art.

Danto could, like Bell, be in danger of a definition that is too broad because his theory, taken to its logical conclusion, merely describes the way art has been historically defined, as an object with society-endowed status, and this, while making it preeminently functional and applicable, also makes it useless. If the art can lead theory and instead of theory leading art, theory can only hope to function as a description of the present definition of accepted art whatever that may be, and perhaps convince the artworld to expand its definition, as Clive Bell did. If the definition of art can change with the theory surrounding it, then anything (or every thing) could at one time or another, with theoretical backing surrounding it, be art or not be art and thus the theory means nothing because it includes everything.

In the way they say that art has meaning, Bell and Danto are diametrically opposite. Bell views historical context as useless. If a work is to be classed ‘work of art,’ form and its resultant emotional evocation alone must be consulted, completely without reference to its historical context or ideological content. Danto on the other hand points to these rejected qualities, especially context, exclusively as the purveyors of meaning and the necessary conditions which together are sufficient to classify something ‘work of art.’

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Nathan Bush

PAPER 2

Understanding Walton’s “Categories”: An Endorsement for Postmodern Relativism

In my first paper I argued that Danto’s thesis was actually actually an essentialist definition of art. I see Walton’s essay as an extension of this and it succeeds for the same reason. Both theories are so useful because they both describe how artworks actually function for us rather than impose a rigid definition and this will ensure their future utility.

Their theories are flexible because subjectivity of knowledge is the central tenant behind their assumptions. For example, many of Walton’s statements hinge on the phrase “to us.” Who is this us? This goes beyond even the specificity of Dante’s “artworld.” I think this us can be collapsed to you and me. In a truly postmodern flourish, Walton respects only the ultimate of subjectivity, wherein the individual experience is the final arbiter of value. That aesthetic taste can be reduced to individual perception is apparent in Walton’s language: “If a work differs too significantly from the norms of a certain category we do not perceive it in that category and hence the difference is not contra-standard for us.” (405) The key phrase here is: “too significantly...for us,” emphasizing again individual perception as penultimate.

A very simple principle bolsters Walton’s argument: there is no description without relationship. A formalist cannot describe a work as tall, because all adjectives describe relationships. Tall in relation to what? No one can be declared merciful unless seen in an act of mercy toward someone else. We all use the exact relational method Walton is articulating without thinking about it. The way human beings establish meaning in their lives is by relationships. The woman who birthed me is no different in relation to me than the woman down the street, were it not for contextual data. One’s past experience and understanding of the world inescapably defines each new thing they encounter.

Take the recent Kill Bill films from Quentin Tarantino. These films were not created in a vacuum, quite the opposite in fact, they consist of reference after reference to American “Blaxploitation” films of the 1970s, Hong Kong action films, martial arts films, and even the occasional nod to classic Hollywood cinema. The Kill Bill series exists because of the earlier films, not in addition to them or apart from them. It was inconceivable without these earlier films. Let us assume that, were it possible, that we could erase all knowledge of art history and the specifics of art categories and approach these films only attending to the formal interaction of light and color. Would the film carry meaning?

The first film opens with a climactic moment shot on black and white film. The image rests on the main character of the film, a young blonde woman, who is sobbing and bloody. A man offscreen talks sadistically to her. Finally, he shoots her in the head and the screen suddenly goes black. What is the purely formal significance of this scene? It has little. It’s meaning is derived from a variety of sources. Each adjective in the preceding description, with its visual parallel on the film image, is only understood by the audience (even if only subconsciously), as a relational description. For example, the audience members are aware that in a sixty million dollar action film in 2004, the use of black and white film stock is highly unusual and that sadism of this nature is rare in big-budget films. Bell might insist then that this opening scene fails as art to the extent that it is not formally interesting, but even this would be flawed logic and begs the question, interesting in relation to what? Even the very term, artwork, is relational, and can only carry meaning in contrast to non-artwork.

One potential problem lies in the broadness of Walton’s theory. This is a critique I have leveled before at Arthur Danto on similar grounds. I wrote, "Danto could...be in danger of a definition that is too broad because his theory, taken to its logical conclusion, merely describes the way art has been historically defined, as an object with society-endowed status, and this, while making it preeminently functional and applicable, also makes it useless." This criticism is surprisingly applicable to Walton when he writes: “If we are exposed frequently to works containing a certain kind of feature which is contra-standard for us, we ordinarily adjust our categories to accommodate it.” We react by seeing works with this contra-standard as "(a) a new category...in which case the offending feature has become standard rather than contra-standard for us, or (b) an expanded category which includes paintings both with and without attached objects, in which case that feature is variable for us." (405) Thus, according to Walton, categories of art are completely malleable, as is the case with Danto.

Because of the relativist nature of Walton’s argument, a further complication arises when one attempts to define boundaries for what can and what cannot be a category of art. Everything, according to Walton’s logical worldview, is relative, including art, but then, if relativity defines categories of art, what is this “including?” Where do things that are relative stop being art? To answer this question for Walton, I point to the Danto as the seemingly obvious inspiration (whether Walton had even read Danto I have no idea). As I see it, Walton is writing one layer below essentialist theories of art. (As I contend Danto argued for, even though he was situated under the “anti-essentialist” umbrella), constructing a theory of categories of art such as painting, sculpture, film.

To illustrate my point, imagine a hierarchy with definitional boundaries for each subcategory with “objects” alone atop the highest tier. Among the swath that qualify sits “art objects” with Danto’s (here grossly paraphrased) definition: artworks are those objects enfranchised by the atmosphere of theory surrounding them. Under this group are categories of art (painting, sculpture, film) defined (according to Walton) as those art objects that have enough standard features of a particular category, as warrants inclusion in that category.

The line of reasoning of both Danto and Walton have the same fundamental flaw that carries from one to the other: in their logical extensions both definitions mean nothing because they could potentially include everything. Why withhold, for example, a grocery list from categorical status? There are standard, variable, and contra-standard features for such an object. The one plausible solution to this problem, never proposed by Walton, but which I will offer, is to consider the practical utility of the object in question. Reasoning in a very basic way as Walton and Danto do, asking only, “how do people actually define art in their lives?” The answer in this case must be: an artwork must have no useful value (excluding intangibles such as “happiness”) to the viewer.

One way to view the dichotomy between the formalist and relational arguments is as a parallel to the “nature versus nurture” debate in developmental studies. Formalists contend for the essentialist position, arguing that artworks have eternal, intrinsic selves that are not disturbed by other artwork ontologies. The relational position of Walton asserts that without other ontologies, an artwork has no self. Its meaning only derives from its relationship to other works. Formalism can be traced to a desire for simplification, to make an artwork take on an essential meaning that does not change according to changing context in which it is viewed. Unfortunately, the formalist ideal is an impossible dream. Relativism is analogous to a realist position, in which works have no essence except for that meaning we construct for them in relation to other works. This is less idealistic, but to me, nearer right.

The history of art is one of constant definitional change (expansion). The history of aesthetic theory is one of trying to define art as it is at that time. These theories inevitably become archaic. Is it possible that Danto and Walton’s complementary theories are so flexible as to shirk this trend and facilitate the ever-expanding quality indefinitely? It seems to be the case. The fact that postmodern relativism underlies Walton’s argument serves as an endorsement for postmodern reasoning.

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Nathan Bush

Final Paper

A Modern Aristotelian Film:

In the Bedroom as Endorsement of Aristotle’s Philosophy

Eva Schaper has it right when she says, “[t]o deal with the Poetics as if it were contemporary thought might appear gravely anachronistic.” (48)

However, she follows that we cannot read Aristotle as commenting on our own problems, but we can use his theory in light of our problems nonetheless. Since the ideas he presents “are principles…of art as a productive capacity” because he assessed “the principles of the art of his day in the light of his own philosophy.” (49) So we too should reason from the philosophical base of his argument. I will use this line of reasoning to analyze the film, In the Bedroom.

When the film opened in selected theaters in cities across America in December of 2001, it was hailed by many of the nations foremost critics as the best movie of the year. Stephen Holden of the New York Times called it “a shimmering piece of art… a perfectly observed...portrait.” This is loaded language; more telling than may at first be realized.

When I walked out of a theater in Philadelphia with two friends shortly after its release we walked around the city for hours just talking, analyzing each scene excitedly, trying to decipher its dramatic power, where, specifically, it lay. What exactly were we doing in this process? What, first, had caused such an invigorated, emotional reaction? One central theme reiterated itself over and over, embedded in the vocabulary itself with which we spoke, not dissimilar, in fact, to the language of the critic just cited. This was the film’s realism that promoted in us an empathy that somehow had evoked a dramatic power.

The basis of our conversation had actually been elucidated well over two millennia before. Though none of us had read Aristotle’s Poetics at the time, the fundamental tenets of this philosopher were implicit in our conceptions of what art is or indeed can be. Even the idea that we can criticize and evaluate art by some set of criteria would not have been possible without Aristotle.

Because we had just experienced something fundamentally modern, something inconceivable to these ancients, and yet totally inconceivable without them, I can now say with Eva Schaper, “That the scheme has proved valuable through the ages in its application to fields so much wider than those of Greek literature testifies to Aristotle’s greatness.” (54) In this paper I will analyze this film especially in regards to the philosophy of Aristotle, though with some emphasis on the points of contention with Plato’s philosophy.

I will introduce the film as quickly as possible. Matt and Ruth Fowler live in a small town in Maine. They are a middle class couple with a son, Frank, studying architecture and with a bright future. Frank is home for the summer. One gets the feeling when watching this that these people have worked hard for a specific kind of life and have reached a point of sustained comfort. Frank has fallen in love with an older woman, Natalie, who has two young sons, and is recently seperated from her abusive husband, Richard. Ruth is overly protective of Frank, while Matt is vicariously enjoying his son’s relationship ship with this older woman.

After a series of small skirmishes between Frank and Richard, the unthinkable happens. Richard shoots Frank to death. As the court date approaches, it becomes clear that Richard will probably get off with only a few years. The middle section of the movie follows Matt and Ruth coping with this sudden loss of their only and beloved son. We follow them, seemingly in real time, as they try to recover some semblance of normalcy. The final third of the film is a painstaking detail of one night. Matt shows up at the bar where Richard works after Richard gets off. Matt pulls a gun on him. Matt forces him to drive to a cabin deep in the woods owned by a friend of Matt’s. Matt, at an inconvenient moment, but unable to control himself, uncerimoniously shoots Richard to death. Matt and his friend bury the body and drive home as dawn arrives. This treatment is not fair in that it doesn’t communicate what is special about this film. The film is a perfect narrative, with description.

Mimetic Content

Both Plato and Aristotle dealt with issues of art in relation to its structure and the nature of its impact on the person experiencing it. Aristotle was in fact addressing the issues Plato set forth and, despite points of agreement, often with strikingly different conclusions.

For example, the two philosophers agree that art is mimetic, but they have different interpretations of the relevance between life and art. Plato views art works as merely imitating what we already have, as essentially “making replicas.” (Schaper 51) Aristotle sees the imitative element as a completely positive, viewing imitation in a decidedly non-Platonic sense. He insists that the creation of artworks is a constructive process. Artists make art not to merely repeat what they see, an imperfect copy of an imperfect copy, thus useless, but to create something new that resembles reality. To convince the audience by an internal coherence of the events that unfold in the fictional world; this is the art of art. The arts succeed when they present something as if it were real.

Plato’s view of art as fundamentally imitative framed the way western art has been viewed and created for two millennia. This film is symptomatic of the negative elements he ascribes the arts, namely the aim of imitation, and the emotional effectiveness it strives for which he viewed as a destabilizing element for a society. For these reasons the film overwhelmingly succeeds according to Plato’s student, Aristotle, who wrote another seminal text of western art in his Poetics.

To help us understand the different perspectives of the two philosophers regarding mimesis, the examples they use should be considered. As Schaper points out, Plato has a visual orientation in his choice of examples of art. Visual representations are more susceptible to Plato’s criticism than the examples that Aristotle uses. Aristotle cites music as a highly mimetic art form. To analogize Plato’s sense of representation, the ultimate of music would be the recreation of sounds of nature. Yet, even in his day, music played no such role. This points to the underlying difference in definitions of “representation.” What, for each philosopher, is being represented?

Not literal physical representation, but emotional representation, is at the core of Aristotle’s definition. Most revealing of this fundamental difference is Aristotle’s opinion of painting as the least mimetic of the arts. Since “[t]he entire notion of imitation is tied to action in Aristotle’s scheme,” (Schaper 53) drama is one of the highest embodiments of this less physical medium’s of representation.

Considering the film in this light, in what esteem would Plato and Aristotle hold it, according to their respective philosophies? If Aristotle considered the extreme of visual representation, embodied contemporaneously for in painting, as the least mimetic form of art, then the medium of the film itself could be problematic for him. And if Plato thought absolute fidelity to physical reality was the highest aim an artist could aspire to, then how would an awareness of the photographic medium affect his philosophy? Film represents a form of visual mimesis far beyond what Plato or Aristotle could have conceived of, so how would they react to it?

In the case of Plato, film would do little to sway him from his fundamental criticism of art, that it is probably harmful and at least a worthless distraction from the real activity we should all be engaged in: contemplating the abstract Forms. Even if we could perfectly recreate physical experience, no real knowledge would be gained and we would still be looking at the world of illusion. Aristotle early repudiates his teacher’s position that knowledge could not be gained from the experience of art. (34) One shocking and revolutionary idea in light of Plato is Aristotle’s insistence that drama can lead to an acquisition of knowledge. He writes that “poetry is something more philosophic and of greater import than history, since its statements are of the nature rather of universals, whereas those of history are singulars.” (38)

In theater, there is little physical mimetic description besides basic considerations of stage design, which is often an afterthought. In the case of conventional feature films, which, based on historical circumstances, owe much to theater, and often emphasize the dramatic elements, the camera is a tool for the telling of the fiction. Contrast this with painting, where accurate representation is an end in itself. The camera unthinkingly records, and almost as precisely as the human eye, which alleviates a conscious attention to the representational aspects of the image.

The image, the filmmaker trusts, is by-and-large truthful, and to paraphrase a commonly cited sentiment in Hollywood “It doesn’t matter how it looks if the story is no good.” This crudely indicates the relative indifference toward the medium, short of it’s potential as a storytelling device, within the film industry at large. Thus, like stage design to theater, the fact of photographic realism is largely an afterthought in creative endeavors in this area. The narrative film can be seen as an extension of theater, with photographic technology more an evidence of an interconnected world’s ability to communicate to ever-wider audiences than a real break from the traditions of the dramatic art form.By taking for granted the film medium’s inherent mimetic superiority, we can by this logic guardedly grant it a reprieve for Aristotle vicariously. Therefore, I will now treat the film’s dramatic construction, which embodies Aristotle’s ideas of representation.

Formal Construction

Aristotle has a sophisticated awareness of the constant flux of art forms and genres and formulated his system to be dexterous, ensuring its continuance. We see this can be seen in his expositions on the historical development of poetic form and its breaking into genres. Though it was understandably impossible for his theory to account for the radical changes of modern and postmodern art, his philosophy is so remarkably, expansive as to include most narrative films.

Aristotle’s detailing of the “proper construction of the…Plot” as “the most important thing of Tragedy” is a proto-categorization of the narrative conventions we take for granted and we can see where each applies to the film of interest. He emphasizes dramatic artworks as self-contained, a “whole” with “beginning, middle, and end.” (37)

This seems to be a simple distinction until one realizes that this may perhaps be the first such written formulation of this idea, so pervasive is it in practically every narrative work since. Only when narrative filmmakers began to be influenced by other convention-defying art movements did such a basic principle even begin to be questioned. In fact, a major talking point upon the release of Pulp Fiction (with its C-A-B structure) and Memento (Occurring backwards from end to beginning), two relatively recent films, was their self-conscious break with this convention. Critics and audiences found these inversions shocking. Todd Field, the writer and director, in a bid for realism, has chosen no such experimentation. He instead opts for a forward moving structure and one gets the distinct feeling while watching it of time marching on, unrestrained, from beginning to conclusion.

His continuation of the formal criteria for a great dramatic work similarly invokes shape impressions to describe a correct construction, tailored to the human being. He speaks proportionally, saying that the human cognition can only synthesize a certain scope of length. While not defining a specific length as correct he defines the criteria by which one can judge a dramatic narrative that satisfies the requirements of length. He thinks that “The longer the story, consistently with its being comprehensible as a whole, the finer it is by reason of its magnitude. As a rough general formula, ‘a length which allows the hero passing by a series of probably or necessary stages from misfortune to happiness, or from happiness or misfortune.’” While commerce has established a standard length for “feature” films, generally between one-and-a-half and two hours, In the Bedroom runs for 130 minutes. This puts it immediately in the category of dramatically ambitious projects, because a film’s intended dramatic impact is often analogous to its running time. In this film the “magnitude of the story” satisfies the long running time.

Next, Aristotle describes the ideal scope of interrelated events within the dramatic structure. He notes that “the story, as an imitation of action, must represent one action,” with no single element able to be removed without the dislocation of the whole, but also without extraneous elements tacked on, “[f]or that which makes no perceptible difference by its presence or absence is no real part of the whole.” (38) Here we confront a problem of foresight. Aristotle was considering epic poetry in this example and could not have foreseen the introduction of a different scale of fiction we experience now with its more subtle details. The modern short story was essentially introduced in style by Chekhov and seems reasonably equivalent in length and tone to this film. The film actually based on the short story “Killings” by Andre Dubus. Though the film struggles with traditionally tragic themes as murder and revenge, it observes these subtly with quiet attention to small moments not to be found in Aristotle’s catalogue of drama. Nevertheless, it qualifies according to Aristotle’s criterion as each scene contributes to the overall dramatic impact of the film and none are at all extraneous.

Aristotle follows this point about excess or lack with a commentary on simple Plots and actions, of which he cites episodic, which he defines as neither probable nor necessary episodes within the diagetic world of the film, as the worst extreme of this. (39) In the Bedroom stands free of this charge, as each sequence follows logically from the last, both in probability and necessity based on the psychology of the characters. If one were to represent visually on a graph the difference between the majority, episodic fare, it would look something like a roller coaster, with various discontinuous spikes. In contrast, to chart the action of In the Bedroom visually would require long, sweeping gestures that build and subside with one central logic.

The next point of Aristotle that I will apply to this film is his treatment of pity and fear as the key to tragedy’s effectiveness. He says that though pity and fear can be induced by the “Spectacle,” they can also result from the structure of the play itself and to evoke pity and fear this way is the more difficult task and “shows the better poet.” This is how the action unfolds in Oedipus Rex, with the violence, the Spectacle, occurring offstage. In the Bedroom also directly repudiates the all-too-central role the Spectacle plays in most Hollywood movies and even many independent films, not even close to the harbingers of an alternate vision that they should be. The first killing in the film skillfully occurs without our presence. We are following Natalie as she takes the children upstairs when we hear the gunshot. This precisely confirms Aristotle’s assertion that, “[t]he Plot in fact should be so framed that, even without seeing the things take place, he who simply hears the account of them shall be filled with horror and pity at the incidents.” (41) And though we watch it, the revenge murder is decidedly unspectacular in its cold realism with Matt shooting Richard in the back.

Aristotle cites three lines of unfolding action that are to be avoided towards the end of fostering fear and pity in the viewer. (40) First, good characters should not begin the drama happy and end miserable, because this does not elicit either fear or pity, but disgust. Second, a bad person should not gain happiness as the work progresses for largely the same reason. Third, a horrible person should not go from happiness to suffering because we will not be moved to pity, since the suffering is deserved or fear, because we can’t identify with the character. The middle way Aristotle recommends is a person of average moral character, whose plight is a result of error of judgment rather of moral corruption. An obvious example of this is Oedipus Rex, a flawed, though not evil man, who is nonetheless the ultimate victim of circumstance and misjudgment, which eventually proves his downfalls.

While there are few examples of films that break with this convention, while still bidding for critical praise in an attempt to repudiate Aristotle’s hegemony on criticism (A Real Young Girl and Rosetta, featuring heroines truly impossible to feel human emotion for, come to mind) and succeed wildly according to their ambitions but fail according to Aristotle’s definition for precisely the reasons he cites. They are good films, perhaps more realistic films, but they cannot make us feel.

In the Bedroom wisely sticks to Aristotle’s criteria, and this is what makes it such an emotionally profound experience. Each character is certainly flawed, and only one character can be considered “evil” in the most banal sense. Yet the sufferings of each character take on the tragic element because they could have been avoided, with different actions, making them fundamentally “errors of judgment.” We wince at Frank’s hesitant posturing, and refusal to be intimidated by Richard, but we can understand exactly why he does it. This makes his murder epically tragic. The film takes on as a major theme the issue of blame and ill judgment. As the Fowler’s silently mourn their son in the weeks following his murder, their emotions are suddenly set off one day in a torrent of blame. They both make heated, and convincing arguments assigning the murder to one another, as though each of their actions had indirectly contributed to the eventual death. The maddeningly ironic aspect, and the one that absolutely confirms Aristotle’s point about human mistakes making tragedy tragic, is that they are both responsible. Everyone involved contributed in varying degrees to the problem. At the end of the film, when Matt pulls off the perfect revenge murder, there is no satisfaction for him or us. Justice had been done and yet the all-too-human mistakes could not be undone. In the New York Times review cited earlier, Holden reveals just how Aristotelian he is in his criticism, “Its portrait of grief, rage, jealousy, flawed justice and revenge in a Maine lobstering town zeroes in on its characters' tragic flaws, yet refuses to condemn them.”

Aristotle, in bolstering his claim, reveals that he views artworks much the way we do, with a guarded Laissez Faire-style screening process weeding out the weaker fare over time. He, like us, distrusts drama for the masses, but also believes that time would eventually produce a consensus of the best dramas, the “classics.” He writes that

[f]act…confirms our theory. Though the poets began by accepting any tragic story that came to hand, in these days the finest tragedies are always on the story of some few houses, on that of Alemeon, Oedipus, Orestes, Meleager, Thyestes, Telephus, or anyh others that may have been involved, as either agents or sufferers, in some deed of horror.

A cursory glance at the critically established “classics” of our time similarly confirms his criteria for sympathetic, tragically flawed characters. Citizen Kane and Vertigo wrestle for (the ridiculously simplistic) “best ever” status and a strong explanation for why these films are held in such high regard is an examination of the central characters in each. The New York Times review cited earlier ends with this passage:

"In the Bedroom" belongs to a handful of small, hardy North American films, among them "The Sweet Hereafter," "Affliction" and "You Can Count on Me," whose flinty-eyed realism cuts against prevailing Hollywood froth. As small as their audiences may be, these are the films that stand the best chance of one day being regarded as classics. "In the Bedroom" is as good as any of them.

Better then any of those mentioned, I would interject. Having worked at a video store roughly four years of my life, which entitled me to free rentals, I have seen a lot of great films, including the ones just mentioned. But this is the best movie I have ever seen. I think this movie is a classic and will be thus regarded in the future.

The film, In the Bedroom, is unique in its portrayal of tragedy of the classic form set against the backdrop of a small New England town. The film is so powerful and so successful in its implementation of Aristotle’s philosophy that it serves as a modern day endorsement of it. I would even posit that the director was highly aware of the specifics of Aristotle’s philosophy and the Greek tragedy it takes as its basis. This would make sense, as this was actually his feature film directorial debut (amazing in itself) and his background is acting. Without the alien Greek names to distract us, we are reminded how similarly realistic the ancient tragedies in fact are and how closely reach flawed humanities essence. This leads me to believe that Aristotle discovered universals of human emotion in his Poetics, rather than merely set the framework for the western world’s ideas of art. The former, rather than the latter explanation explains the relevance of his philosophy to us today.

references:

Holden, Stephen. “ When Grief Becomes A Member of the Family.” The New York Times. Section E; Part 1; Column 1; Movies, Performing Arts/Weekend Desk; Pg. 25. November 23, 2001.