Letting go in order to get involved?

Alfonso Caurón’s Gravity mirrors the purpose of Sunshine’s thinking machine, again grappling with the concept of life as absurd.  Whereas Sunshine focuses the message through a macro-lens that aims to demonstrate the necessity to perpetuate life in terms of humanity as a whole, Gravity focuses the message through a micro-lens that aims to demonstrate the necessity to perpetuate life in terms of the individual.

Mainstreaming and narrowing the message is accomplished with disorienting effect.  For one, while the film constructs a protagonist that demands empathy, her situation is the furthest thing from relatable.  To put in Momma Schaef’s terms: “I could handle all that flipping around in space…but not the water on Earth.”  Additionally, there is a selfish and simplified shift in attitude when compared to Sunshine: participating in the agonizing absurdity of life is justified because we should simply “enjoy the ride,” because either way we are going to meet our imminent demise.  The conceited meaning of life develops inevitably because the collection of data for the argument is conceited.  Only the life of Dr. Ryan Jones hangs in the balance from the film’s narrative perspective, which is strange considering the global implications of the tragedy that is depicted.

To communicate this concept, Caurón accesses his infatuation with the potent symbolism that pregnancy harbors within its metaphorical (and literal) womb.  Within this film in particular, he manipulates multiple dimensions of the film to create a sense that the protagonist is in the womb and crippled by the anxiety of leaving the womb and being born.  In addition to the reoccurring motif of umbilical cords that keep her connected to the ship, there is one shot in particular that depicts her in fetal position after she safely returns to the ship’s interior: it may as well have been a three-dimensional sonogram.  Safe within the ship’s interior, sounds of the outside world are often distorted and stifled as if the ship was immersed in water. 

The womb, within and without the film, is a cage.  The womb is a medium that simultaneously protects and isolates from the outside world and the womb is a medium that makes one susceptible to internal dangers (in terms of the film: oneself).  What is beyond the womb is foreign and terrifying.  The ships that Jones occupies are all foreign: whenever she establishes communication with “Mother Earth,” it is rendered benign as language barriers arise.  The ships, like life, are dangerously intertwined and complicated: whenever the ship is struck by debris, it sparks a tense chain of events that sends all of the components of the ship spinning due to tangled wires and ropes.

As effective and moving as the film was during my first (and only) viewing, it again had a very disorienting and paradoxical effect.  For the film to work, we must put stake in the character: we must sympathize with the character.  The character denies any responsibility to interact with the world, but we the audience [the world?] are forced to interact with the character and want the character to have the crystalizing moment where she realizes she should interact with us [spoiler alert (because this is the first spoiler?): she has this moment].  In terms of Icarus' tragedy, Dr. Ryan Jones recognizes George Clooney as flying too close to the Sun (metaphorically, not a major spoiler) and sacrificing his life for hers.  She actually mimics his "why not?" approach to life, and he is largely her inspiration to stay alive. 

The operation of the film is an appropriate cadence to this course.  Perhaps not for the whole of the class, but for me anyway.  All things considered, this post would wrap up nicely with a conceited conclusion.  Like I was saying, the reason why this film left something to be desired was because film, like life, cannot be enjoyed simply for the ride itself.  While certainly the aesthetic pleasure of the ride factors itself into the equation when applying the film as a mechanism for thought, the ride itself can’t exist in a vacuum: like the ship, it is dangerously intertwined with the four kinds of meaning.  And sure, ignorance may be bliss, however not only is the unexamined life a life not worth living, but it is conceited and even unethical.

*Cheese alert*

On that note, if I took away one thing from this class, it would be that the unexamined film is a film not worth viewing.

*Drops mic*

Hating to Love Our Monsters

"A construct and a projection, the monster exists only to be read: the monstrum is etymologically ‘that which reveals,’ ‘that which warns’…”

            -Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, Monster Culture (Seven Theses)

Understanding that monsters are meant to reveal something inherently human whilst inhabiting an inhuman form makes Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) a particularly disturbing film.  Monsters are no exception to the IA Richard’s manifesto: the alien demands to be utilized as a machine to think and demands to be extended beyond the screen.  Consider Thesis VI of monster theory:

            “Thesis VI: Fear of the Monster is Really a Kind of Desire:

The monster is continually linked to forbidden practices, in order to normalize and to enforce.  The monster also attracts.  The same creatures who terrify and interdict can evoke potent escapist fantasies; the linking of monstrosity with the forbidden makes the monster all the more appealing as a temporary egress from constraint…we distrust and loathe the monster at the same time we envy its freedom, and perhaps its sublime despair.”

This reading is simultaneously terrifying and satisfying considering the overtones of eroticism.  Reading the film in the context of the social-cultural atmosphere of its release, there is something to be said about the time’s fear of sexuality and STDs.  Perhaps more so than that, Alien reflects our desires as our culture to push the frontiers of science.  Consider the “dying” words of the mission’s android and science officer Ash, who represents the ideologies of an entire corporation from afar.  In describing the alien aboard the ship, he admires the alien while the others are utterly horrified, professing eerily:

“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with, do you?  Perfect organism.  Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility…I admire its purity.  A survivor, unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality.”

Ash, through the directives of Mother, wishes to aspire to the unrestricted scientific exploration that the alien embodies.  The implantation of Special Order 937 by Ash via Mother’s orders states that the number one priority is containing the alien, and that everything else is secondary.  In particular, it explicitly expresses that the “crew is expendable.”  This idea horrifies the human passengers of the Nostromo, but it encapsulates a mindset that perhaps could have saved their lives.  Rippley in particular is clouded by these delusions of morality: immediately after Ash shares his sentiments, she strays from her primary objective of preparing to blow up the ship and attempts to save Jones, the cat.

Similarly, modern science is encumbered by ethical standards.  Both human and animal participants are handled with delicacy in experiments, and often must sign lengthy legal contracts in order to take part (interesting how the crew is forced into exploring the transmission due to a contractual obligation).  These ethical standards, however, don’t translate to alien life.  Ridley Scott constructs an alien that is an erotic parasite that aligns with a science fiction trope: when alien life comes in contact with human life, they themselves dissect and probe human beings to learn of their “alien” nature as human begins would dissect and probe them in the name of science.  In Alien, it was the humans that were first strangers on an alien ship, and it is the ship’s prime directive to contain the alien in order to further the human race through science.  The alien invades the human body as a medium for asexual reproduction to further its own race. 

Alien blending into the Narcissus

The idea of the alien blending with the crux of scientific exploration can be readily understood through the alien’s ability to maneuver throughout the ship by blending in with the Nostromo’s environment.  In all of its intermediate and mature forms, the organism hides in vents, nooks, and crannies throughout the Nostromo and even hides aboard the escape shuttle, the Narcissus.  The organism’s ability to camouflage with the ship not only strengthens his representation of the aspirations of Mother and Ash, but underline the key difference between the humans and the alien: humans change their environment to suit their needs, while the alien adapts to the environment to suit its needs.

Another strong indication of the desire of science to detach from delusions of morality is Rippley’s escape.  She destroys the Nostromo, which is Italian meaning “shipmate,” and escapes aboard the Narcissus, which alludes to the Greek mythological character and the origins of narcissism: the pursuit of gratification via vanity.

The Fall and Rise of Icarus

Sunshine poses an interesting discussion of the human inclination to put faith in the mirage of information provided by hubris.  This historically persistent issue of inflated perception is presented immediately as we learn that the ship’s eponym alludes to the figure of Greek mythology, Icarus.  This tale of an attempt to pioneer the sky gone awry has been an inspiration for dozens of artistic works across a vast spectrum of mediums, including a poem by William Carlos Williams that is particularly relevant to a reading of the film: "Landscape With The Fall of Icarus".

The motif of eyes and perception throughout the film pushes this reading.  Along with an emphasis on character’s eyes and further eye symbolism scattered throughout the film’s mis-en-scenes, the representation of the Sun and Icarus as eyes and their relationship to one another translates to humanity’s inadequate dependency on perception.  After gazing at the Sun at 3.1% of its brightness, the mission’s psychologist describes the experience:

           

            “It’s invigorating.  It’s like taking a shower in light.  You lose yourself in it…the point

about darkness is you float in it.  You and the darkness are distinct from each other

because darkness is an absence of something.  But total light envelopes you.  It becomes you.”

What is fascinating is that even the man whose duty is to understand the working of the human mind is intoxicated with hubris.  While it is true that darkness is indeed the absence of light, he fails to acknowledge that at 3.1 percent brightness, an overwhelming 96.9 percent of light is still absent.  The process of decision making throughout the film is plagued by the crew’s inability to recognize the whole of the situation.  With each decision, the crew celebrates the perceived success but then feels the repercussions soon, if not immediately, after.  For example:

-The discovery that it is plausible to adjust the path of Icarus II and visit the Icarus I is soon soiled by the negligence of certain data in the recalculations and the ship is damaged.

-They decide that, in order to perform maintenance on the ship the angle will be realigned, believing that Communication Towers 3 and 4 are a necessary sacrifice (ironically…think about it…).  When they are destroyed as expected and the panels are repaired, the Communication Towers end up igniting the oxygen supply unexpectedly.

While this appears to be a scathing diatribe of the human condition, it also speaks to the sacrifice of life for the sake of life itself in a dynastic cycle and prescribes action.  As stated by Albert Camus, it is inefficient to simply recognize these deficiencies, but rather it is a necessary first step forward:

“Accepting the absurdity of everything around us is one step, a necessary experience: it should not become a dead end.  It arouses a revolt that can become fruitful.”

The character that embodies this mindset in the film is the mission physicist Robert Capa.  He acknowledges that it is beyond the capacity of the human mind to take into account the overwhelming amount of variables.  He states that he may as well be flipping a coin and guessing heads or tails, but proceeds to attempt to make the most informed decision as possible.  He also recognizes the sacrifice that is necessary in order to perpetuate life in the face of uncertainty.  In addition to the symbolism of eyes, there is a heavy symbolism of rotating circles that seem to conjure the idea of cyclical motion (for instance, the Communication Towers on the Icarus and in the oxygen room).  The dynastic cycle rotates around the idea of the Mandate of Heaven, of rulers acquiring and losing the Mandate.  Evidently, a similar situation arises in Sunshine, and problems arise because Pinbacker refuses to give up the Mandate after recognizing that humanity and life are as meaningless as dust.  Capa is the antithesis, relinquishing the Mandate, recognizing his humanity, and being determined to sacrifice it for the next generation of life.  The dynasty concept also seems to account for the drastic change in the film’s overall tone as the cycle progresses forward and the volatile, violent stages begin to manifest and become explicit.

Bringing it back to the poem “Landscape With The Fall of Icarus,” the sacrifice of the lives of those aboard of the Icarus are insignificant and unrecognized if we succumb and balk at the idea that life is absurd.  But rather, “According to Brueghel / when Icarus fell it was spring.”  The fall of Icarus due to his pioneering attempts in the face of human inadequacy brought the regeneration and the rebirth of life for future generations in conjunction with his own demise.  It is unfortunate that, within the absurdities of life, Icarus’ sacrifice is “a splash quite unnoticed.”  Thinking back to the symbolism of the Sun and the Icarus as eyes, it makes sense that when the payload is deployed, the curve of the solar panels on the fleeing empty ship inverts and faces away from the sun.

It’s also appropriate that in Sunshine, life is preserved for the moment because of Icarus II.  We must continue to push forward into a future of uncertainty, where the only certainty is our mortality.  Aboard the Icarus and throughout life, we cannot choose whether or not we die, but we can choose whether or not to perpetuate the cycle of life and death, death and life.  It is when we attempt to break the life cycle (here’s looking at you Pinbacker) that life becomes an obsolete straight line.

Sunshine observes that the system is absurd and that we must participate.  Keeping the in mind the image of Mace’s death after he gets caught in the mainframe and playing off the famous speech by Mario Savio, it is not a matter of throwing oneself upon the wheels and levers of life in order to make it stop, but it is a matter of throwing oneself upon the wheels and levers of life in order to make it continue. 

            

Data Prevents the Conquest of Paradise

            …in what they dimly realized was the land of Paradise…but all they ever found was half

a world of nature’s treasures and nature’s people that could be taken, and they took

them, never knowing, never learning the true regenerative power there, and that opportunity was lost.  Theirs was indeed a conquest of Paradise, but as is inevitable with any war against the world of nature, those who win will have lost – once again lost, and this time perhaps forever.

- Kirkpatrick Sale, The Conquest of Paradise

This passage, as fitting as it may seem, doesn’t record the tragic events hanging in the balance of Jonathon Frake’s Star Trek: Insurrection.  Rather, this passage records the events of Christopher Columbus’ voyage to the new world and the atrocities committed upon his arrival.  The settlement of the peaceful Ba’ku, a paradise by most standards, is threatened by the Son’a: former members of the Ba’ku colony who are in cahoots with the Federation.  Sale, and many scholars, assess that one of humanity’s main attributes that harbors the capacity for evil is obedience.  In Insurrection, Frake rewrites history and the powers that be in his film are challenged (as the title appropriately suggests).  What makes this film compelling is not simply that an insurrection occurs, but that a human insurrection is incited by a single android.  Picard’s crew on the Enterprise shed their human skin of obedience and fight to preserve paradise due to the rebelliousness of Data. 

The base of Data’s character draws from Isaac Asimov’s depiction of robots.  Not only does he possess a “positronic net” based on Aismov’s “positronic” brains, but Data is instilled with the Three Laws of Robots:

I.               A robot may not injure a human being by action or inaction.

II.             A robot must obey human orders, except when they harm.

III.           A robot must protect its existence, while maintaining the above.

0.              (Sublaw) A robot may not harm humanity by action or inaction.

Data, as we learn after he undergoes diagnostics, was not malfunctioning at the beginning of the film.  After discovering the holodeck and being shot, he resorted back to his purely moral functioning.  As a result, he fought the Son’a and the Federation, revealing their presence to the Ba’ku and to those aboard the Enterprise. 

What is fascinating about this film’s dealing with androids is that it negates the premise of most films we’ve observed thus far.  While the action of the film is often incited by androids breaching the laws unknowingly or by breaching them due to the ambiguity of robotkind and humankind, the action is incited in Insurrection due to the android’s strict adherence to the laws and their apt application. 

What is troubling about the film is that even in the distant future, amidst exponential technological advances and an exponentially greater understanding of the universe, humanity maintains its humanity.  Humanity remains imperfect, and it is perplexing and paradoxical that consistently imperfect beings can craft beings that surpass them in many human aspects.  Yet it also seems to make sense that through their consistent imperfection they strive to achieve something greater, as we see on the harmonious utopian society established by the Ba’ku.