Camera barrier -- form and content
February 13th 2012 08:26
In On Photography, one of Sontag's themes is the way the camera gets between you and the real, distances you. She approaches this idea from different angles -- for instance, the sheer fact that if you're taking a picture of an accident, you're not helping the victim; the equation that people (tourists in particular) are taught between having an experience and taking a photo of it; and the conflicting goals of beauty and truth-telling.
The last is of relevance to audience as well as photographer. On the audience's side, Sontag gives the example of photographs of Japanese fishermen dying of mercury poisoning. Yes, they're dying in pain, and the photographs do report a horrible fact about the world. But, at the same time, they're beautiful photographs of Agony. So, your aesthetic appreciation interferes with your moral responses.
In another example, Sontag mentions that, on looking at a photograph of a concentration camp, you can console yourself by saying, "It's just a photo." Sontag is a fan of the idea that bombardment with images can lead to desensitization, but I think part of the thought here is also that people feel images are surreal or unreal or can lie (the book references Plato's distinction between appearance and reality).
Anyway, the notion of aesthetic distance is something I'm rather intrigued by, so here's two thoughts on the topic.
1
You hopefully know of Leni Riefenstahl -- one of the most famous women in the history of movies, renowned for various technical innovations, and blackened by association with the Third Reich.
There was a documentary made about her, and I went to the very small Sydney screening, which included a Q&A with the filmmaker. I had to ask the obvious -- so, Riefenstahl, was she or wasn't she a Nazi?
His answer? He felt that she wasn't. He recalled an experience with her (this is probably also in the doco itself) where Riefenstahl was looking at a sequence from Triumph of the Will. Marching soldiers. She commented on the beauty of the image, the geometry, the complementary curves of the lines.
Entirely oblivious, so it seemed to the filmmaker, that these were Nazi boots.
2
When I'm operating a camera, I'm usually indifferent to the content. I'm looking at movement, composition; I'm constantly worried I've got the focus and exposure right.
I find it difficult to direct actors at the same time as shoot. I'm cold and Riefenstahl-distant.
But, at its highest, camera operation involves right and left brain.
Consider something like the documentary cameraman (let's assume it's a man) who zooms in to the subject at a telling or intense moment. The interviewee says something revealing, and the cameraman goes in close just before they speak. Well, if it's completely unscripted, how did he know to zoom in at just that moment? He had to be at least a little in touch with the image's content as well as its formal qualities.
If, in other contexts, you have free rein over how to move the camera, and it isn't storyboarded, how do you know whether to move slow or fast, and how do you know what to look at? -- Your choices aren't random, or shouldn't ordinarily be.
Mia Farrow (I think) tells a story of Sven Nykvist (legendary cinematographer; shot a lot of films with Woody Allen and Ingmar Bergman). During one scene, Mia looked at him, and noticed he was crying from one eye only. The other eye was locked to the viewfinder, calm, professional, focused on the job.
The last is of relevance to audience as well as photographer. On the audience's side, Sontag gives the example of photographs of Japanese fishermen dying of mercury poisoning. Yes, they're dying in pain, and the photographs do report a horrible fact about the world. But, at the same time, they're beautiful photographs of Agony. So, your aesthetic appreciation interferes with your moral responses.
In another example, Sontag mentions that, on looking at a photograph of a concentration camp, you can console yourself by saying, "It's just a photo." Sontag is a fan of the idea that bombardment with images can lead to desensitization, but I think part of the thought here is also that people feel images are surreal or unreal or can lie (the book references Plato's distinction between appearance and reality).
Anyway, the notion of aesthetic distance is something I'm rather intrigued by, so here's two thoughts on the topic.
***
1
You hopefully know of Leni Riefenstahl -- one of the most famous women in the history of movies, renowned for various technical innovations, and blackened by association with the Third Reich.
There was a documentary made about her, and I went to the very small Sydney screening, which included a Q&A with the filmmaker. I had to ask the obvious -- so, Riefenstahl, was she or wasn't she a Nazi?
His answer? He felt that she wasn't. He recalled an experience with her (this is probably also in the doco itself) where Riefenstahl was looking at a sequence from Triumph of the Will. Marching soldiers. She commented on the beauty of the image, the geometry, the complementary curves of the lines.
Entirely oblivious, so it seemed to the filmmaker, that these were Nazi boots.
***
2
When I'm operating a camera, I'm usually indifferent to the content. I'm looking at movement, composition; I'm constantly worried I've got the focus and exposure right.
I find it difficult to direct actors at the same time as shoot. I'm cold and Riefenstahl-distant.
But, at its highest, camera operation involves right and left brain.
Consider something like the documentary cameraman (let's assume it's a man) who zooms in to the subject at a telling or intense moment. The interviewee says something revealing, and the cameraman goes in close just before they speak. Well, if it's completely unscripted, how did he know to zoom in at just that moment? He had to be at least a little in touch with the image's content as well as its formal qualities.
If, in other contexts, you have free rein over how to move the camera, and it isn't storyboarded, how do you know whether to move slow or fast, and how do you know what to look at? -- Your choices aren't random, or shouldn't ordinarily be.
Mia Farrow (I think) tells a story of Sven Nykvist (legendary cinematographer; shot a lot of films with Woody Allen and Ingmar Bergman). During one scene, Mia looked at him, and noticed he was crying from one eye only. The other eye was locked to the viewfinder, calm, professional, focused on the job.
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