Benedict Anderson in Imagined Communities defined a nation as “an imagined political community-and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign” (6). They are ‘imagined’ as members will not know everyone in the community but perceive an image of intimate togetherness. ‘Limited’ as all imagined nations have borders since “no nation imagines itself coterminous with mankind” (7). Thirdly, ‘sovereign’ as nations want to be free and lastly, a ‘community’ as contrary to the inequality and exploitation in each nation, there is a deep sense of comradeship.

What I want to focus on in particular is the ‘limited’ quality of each imagined nation. As this opposition between nations works well to explain the context of Stephen Crofts’ article, Reconceptualizing National Cinema(s). Croft defines national cinema production as usually against Hollywood, particularly in the West. As Hollywood movies have become the standard form of cinema, being that the films were successfully exported and naturalized. In response, Croft identifies seven traits of national cinema going against Hollywood. However, he also clarifies that these borders are pliable, meaning national cinemas can fit into multiple categories as listed below:

1. Cinema that differs from Hollywood but does not compete directly as it goes for a different market. This is mostly seen as art cinema. Croft gives the example of France, which was considered the “most successfully nationalist of national cinemas” (855). In French cinema, like other nations, foreign movies were tariffed and taxed in order to promote and fund national productions. If we relate this to class, you might think of counter-Hollywood films like Jean-Luc Godard’s The Weekend as an example of national art cinema of France.
2. Cinema that is different from Hollywood but does not directly compete with it. However, it does directly critique Hollywood. As Croft explains: “Third Cinema 1960s–1970s opposed the United States and Europe in its antiimperialist insistence on national liberation, and in its insistence on the development of aesthetic models distinct from those of Hollywood and European art cinema” (856). However, later the definition of Third World cinema expanded as it now can be used to dismantle First World notions of national cinema. For example, the inability for British film culture to recognize the “plethora of ethnic, gender, class, and regional differences” in its own film industry (857). As another example, this could apply to African American cinema in the United States. Inherently putting down the notion of national cultural sovereignty. Or put in another way, rejecting the theory that nations endorse the many ways of life within a nation. Which brings us to the last point of Third World cinema, where “the easy Western assumption of the coincidence of ethnic background and home” is refuted (858).
3. European and Third World cinema that struggles against Hollywood with little to no success. European and Third World films struggle to get the global appeal compared to Hollywood films. Croft also puts European commercial cinema here.
4. Cinema that ignores Hollywood (this is accomplished by few). These nations have large domestic markets and/or effective trade barriers, i.e. India and Hong Kong.
5. English-speaking cinemas that try to beat Hollywood at its own game and have failed. Croft also mentions Hollywood’s tendency to steal foreign talent as well, ranging from directors, scriptwriters, to actors. In our case you might want to think about Alfred Hitchcock or the director of Y Tu Mamá También, Alfonso Cuaron, who goes back and forth from American to Mexican productions.
6. Cinemas that works within state-controlled and state-subsidized industries. This revolves around cinema that is used to convince the audience of the virtues of the political order. Examples range from “Fascist Germany and Italy, Chinese cinema between 1949 and the mid-1980s” and in my case of study, North Korea (861).
7. “Regional or national cinemas whose culture and/or language take their distance from the nation-states which enclose them” (854). This section looks at the forced homogenization of the nation-state cinema. In particular how “ethnic and linguistic minorities have generally lacked the funds and infrastructure to support regional cinemas or national cinemas distinct from the nation-states that enclose them” (861). We might be able to connect the regionalism and the political situation that is presented in Y Tu Mamá También. Emily Hind’s Provincia in Recent Mexican Cinema, 1989-2004 examines some of this discourse Croft briefly describes, bringing to the forefront the issues of how Provincia is viewed in Mexican cinema.

Questions:

• How can Deadwood, Episode 9 fit into this conversation? Would you consider the town to be an individual nation or an imagined community (especially when it comes to the events of this episode)?
• What about other films we have watched so far? Do you think that they fit into any of these categories?
• I mostly talked about Y Tu Mamá También as fitting mostly in the last category of national cinema. Do you think the film could fit in a different category?

References:

Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London, Verso, 1991.

Croft, Stephen. “Reconceptualizing National Cinema(s).” Film Theory and Criticism, edited by Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen, Oxford University Press, pp. 853-864.

Hind, Emily. “‘Provincia’ in Recent Mexican Cinema, 1989-2004.” Discourse, vol. 26, no. 1-2, 2005, pp. 26–45.

The first scene I would like to examine comes at, 10:30-12:08, right after the murder of Elsie, a man reads-aloud a newspaper article about the serial murders.

In the scene, we are first shown spectators trying to read a billboard with the news on display, but just as we think this conversation is happening in the current scene, we are transported to the next. To realize this was a separate conversation happening between men in a small room, not a crowd outside. What is interesting about this sequence is how sound works as a transition point.

In this moment, it seems that sound is put over the image. Mary Ann Doane’s article, “The Voice in the Cinema: The Articulation of Body and Space” talks explicitly about the relation between sound, image, and the space they both occupy in film. In her section about ‘voice-off’ she defines the term as: “the voice of a character who is not visible within the frame”, and that in order to promote the homogeneity and unity of the space, the voice is shown “by means of previous shots or other contextual determinants” (321) to be in the space. Showing the reliance on the visual image to provide information to the scene.

In this scene for M, there is a compelling displacement of this theory. Instead of the visible image transitioning the scene, we are first cued by the sound or dialogue we are hearing. At first, it appears the dialogue is coming from the present scene, but with a quick transition we, as the audience, are allowed to know that this (table with the men) is the proper time and place the audio is taking place. Throughout M, I find that sound encourages the stream of narrative being given to the audience verses the use of the image.

Question: Are there other instances in the movie that you find sound taking precedent over image?

The second scene comes from: 1:35:00-1:36:35, where the child murderer has been caught and brought to the council of citizens.

What is profound about this scene is the exclusion of sound (which is an occurrence that happens multiple times in the film), that is suddenly broken with the scream of Peter Lorre. Just like how the previous example establishes space using sound, so does this scene. Using Lorre’s voice, you can hear how it is vibrating through the huge room, even before you get to see the space through the camera.

But why was silence needed? As seen in Jean-Pierre Geuens’s piece in the book, Film Production Theory, without music “one pays much more attention to what we see on the screen, to the sounds we hear, and to the relation between the two tracks. One is also more aware of the shots, of the cuts, of the actors” (210). When there is no background noise in M, we are more intent at looking at the screen in anticipation of what is next. Using the ambient noise to gain the audience’s attention to the image he wants to show. As an example from the scene, witnessing the eerie silence of the council as they all stare the murderer down.

Question: Are there instances in M or other movies (or Deadwood) we have seen that the absence of sound (dialogue, sound effects, or music) is present? What impact does it have on the storytelling or images beings shown?

References:

Mary Ann Doane, “The Voice in the Cinema: The Articulation of Body and Space”

Jean-Pierre Geuens, from Film Production Theory