Gunning & Me

In Tom Gunning’s article “…The (In)Credulous Spectator”, the author deconstructs the myth of the first cinema patrons as being victims of an uncontrollable and primal fear caused by the projection of certain moving images. Additionally, he illuminates upon the idea that these early, non-narrative (for the most part) one-shot films were accepted by audience members as being entertaining and exciting despite their lack of traditional narrative/dramatic elements associated with theater or literature.

Unlike many film theorists whose primary focus has been examining the impact of a film on an audience through a strictly narrative framework, Gunning suggests, by dissecting the writing of Gorky, a journalist of the time, that one of the primary pulls of cinema has always been its presentation of strange, visceral and whimsical spectacle that appeals to the curiosity of the bored rather than the lofty sensibilities of the erudite.

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In my own experience, I can relate to the sort of cinema that provokes feelings more akin to disbelief and fascination than intellectual detachment and contemplation. Films like the Faces of Death series and a multitude of videos found in inconspicuous ways via the Internet seem to serve this purpose; fulfilling a need for a perverse, but alluring curiosity.

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However, my understanding of this sort of film-watching experience doesn’t simply involve strictly videos of morbid and abject horror – it extends to my experience with some narrative films as well.

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In my earlier years as an adolescent, I was enraptured by films that were epic in scale, costing hundreds of millions of dollars to produce, yet which contained sequences and moments that seemed to depart from the established boundaries and conventions of its particular genre or style; creating a sense that the filmmakers involved were, in a strictly metaphorical capacity, conjuring an opulent, ornate palace surrounding an unusually base yet noble resident.

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A standout example of the sort of film which ignited this peculiar image is David Lean’s 1962 film Lawrence of Arabia. The film presents incredible vistas of the Levant along with incredible, extensively choreographed sequences containing thousands of extras. It’s a giant film. Super-human in its breadth. It took years to make. Yet, I get a particular thrill considering that the titular figure at the center of this immense film is at times one of the most safely demented, yet dangerously courageous personas I’ve ever seen portrayed in a movie. Although I am emphasizing the use of a protagonist in the effectiveness of this film, in contrast to Gunning’s ideas about cinema true strengths, it’s only because I see the character as a Chaplin or Keaton – divorced from the surrounding narrative; a spectacle embodied in a figure, seemingly existing in his own space.