Friday, May 19, 2017

Objectivity and Subjectivity: How Triumph of the Will Reopens Discussion

          Leni Riefenstahl’s Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will, 1935), documenting the 1934 Nuremberg Rally, is often seen as the quintessential documentary film. Along with the notoriety attached to Triumph of the Will for its propaganda material relating to Adolf Hitler and the Nazi party, Riefenstahl is noted for crafting an early nonfiction film that presented many innovations in cinematography and editing. Additionally, there is much controversy as to whether this film can be understood as an objective recording of events, or if the film is profoundly illusory due to the presentation of propaganda material as seen through the filmmaker’s subjective lens. As I began to read about this film, the idea of subjectivity and objectivity really started to interest me. As a film major, I have studied different ideas about how film itself relates to objectivity and subjectivity, especially with nonfiction films. One thing that seems to be missing in these arguments, however, is the possibility of a film being both. I shall argue that while Triumph of the Will is subjective in its execution, it may be objective in its ability to act as a visual documentation of the rally’s horrifying events. Furthermore, by focusing on a few specific scenes in Triumph of the Will, we will be able to understand the film as both a piece of subjective propaganda and as an objective visual document, in order to think about subjectivity and objectivity in film more broadly.
First, it is important to provide an overview of Triumph of the Will and how it came to be. The film documents the Nazi Party Congress of 1934 in Nuremberg, an event that had been taking place there since 1927. The film was commissioned by Adolf Hitler, who provided the funding for the project and even chose the title. This project was unprecedented in its funding situation, as an enormous amount of money was given to Riefenstahl and put into this film. Hitler and Riefenstahl came to meet shortly after he came to power, and embarked on what was noted as “a productive relationship.”[1] Adolf Hitler came to recognize Riefenstahl’s work as an artist after he had seen her film Das blaue Licht (The Blue Light, 1932), a mountain film that also starred Riefenstahl. Riefenstahl was also seemingly fond of Hitler, as she had been to Nazi party rallies and was impressed enough to reach out by letter for a chance to meet the Führer in person.
Triumph of the Will, however, was not the first film that Riefenstahl made documenting Hitler and the Nazi party. Sieg des Glaubens (Victory of Faith) chronicles the Nazi party rally in Nuremberg, which was held from August 31 to September 3, 1933. The film, released later that same year, was an early example of Riefenstahl attempting to craft a nonfiction film. In Victory of Faith, there are countless scenes of Ernst Röhm, the head of the Nazi’s parliamentary wing the SA (Sturmabteilung), marching together with Adolf Hitler seemingly on behalf of the same objective. However, Ernst Röhm was murdered per Hitler’s orders, along with hundreds of other SA leaders, after this film had been released. Adolf Hitler essentially wanted to present a new film to the masses that highlighted his rise to power, while also presenting the party without the likes of Röhm and the other purged members. By commissioning Riefenstahl to document these events as she did the year before, Hitler was working to erase Röhm from the Nazi party, as well as show that he was in complete control of a party that was very unorganized behind the scenes. Of course, Triumph of the Will does not show any of this disarray, but there was much confusion inside the party as to what direction it was heading towards.  Furthermore, the death of President Hindenburg in 1934 allowed for Adolf Hitler to merge the positions of Chancellor and President, therefore giving him complete control of the state. Thus, Triumph of the Will came to fruition, as an attempt to show the Nazi party in a different light, with Hitler strong as ever at the helm. Furthermore, the planning and funding of the film marked a grave difference from the previous Riefenstahl-Hitler collaboration, which had been much more informal. Additionally, it has been reported that Riefenstahl had a staff of up to 170 people, with over a dozen people specifically operating cameras.[2]
The understanding of objectivity and subjectivity is often talked about and argued over in a way where film as a medium is considered, which is definitely necessary for proposing overarching theoretical constructs. However, it may be that certain films cannot conform to one specific theoretical approach regarding objectivity and subjectivity. Therefore, it is important to look at a films specific techniques and historical background, in order to interpret the relationship it may have with objectivity and subjectivity. By first understanding how film as a medium relates to Triumph of the Will specifically, we can then move forward and see how it may be significant in some historical sense.
As a medium, it may not be possible to ever achieve objectivity in a film. For instance, the simple act of a filmmaker editing different clips of footage together is subjective. That is, filmmakers have to make decisions on what to show and what not to show, so that the film takes shape through their decisions. Furthermore, clips juxtaposed together work to create some form of meaning that is not there before an edit. Andre Bazin notes that editing and montage works to “create meaning which is not objectively contained in the images and which derives solely from placing themes and images in relation to one another.”[3] An example of this form of subjective editing can be seen in Triumph of the Will around the 43-minute mark. In this instance, Hitler enters a rally event and the film cuts between shots of Hitler acknowledging the huge crowd and young men in a marching band. Furthermore, there are shots of young members of the audience juxtaposed with Hitler waving, as if he were specifically acknowledging the young members of the crowd. This type of editing is similar to the Kuleshov-effect, where one can simply place two images together to create some form of meaning that was once unrelated. While these young men may have been at this same rally and really participating, the fact that they are in some way related to or empowered by Hitler is implied only through the use of editing.
Additionally, in film, the camera has to be set up in a way that is partial to the filmmaker. Unless a camera is dropped into the middle of a scene and left untouched, the framing and location have to be decided by the filmmaker. In Triumph of the Will, there are many examples of the camera being placed in a way that seems to be set up and subjective. Often times, Riefenstahl uses low angle shots, which portray Hitler and other Nazi leaders in a powerful and influential way. For instance, there is a specific scene towards the end of the film where Hitler is introduced to give a speech. As he walks on stage and begins to talk, Riefenstahl has the camera lower than his body, to give the impression of him looking down on or being above the crowd. Riefenstahl then cuts to shots of the crowd, and this time the camera is placed high above everyone else as if it were looking down from the ceiling. These two camera angles work to create an impression that Hitler is above everyone else, as well as having control over the crowd of people who are before him. This goes hand in hand with the intentions of Riefenstahl and Hitler himself, as the objective for this film was to portray Hitler as being in charge and commanding of the Nazi regime. Riefenstahl claims to have crafted a cinema vérité style film, by simply observing and documenting history.[4] Ultimately, the scenes where low angle shots are used make this a false claim, since there is a clear intention in trying to present Hitler in a specific way.
For these reasons, I argue that as a medium, film could only be objective if it were to take on the role of some kind of live-streaming camera that was not to be moved, that is, a long take of images that are not cut to create some form of montage. As Bazin said, “The automatic way in which photographs are produced has radically transformed the psychology of the image. Photography’s objectivity confers upon it a degree of credibility absent from any painting.”[5]  When this objective reproduction is tampered with, we begin to see the effects of the filmmaker’s own ideology transformed onto the screen.
Film as a medium is susceptible to subjective influence since a filmmaker has autonomous control on what images are shown and how they are juxtaposed. This idea of what a documentary film even is comes into question, as the word itself implies the survey of a real event. As Brockman notes, “However, Triumph des Willens also illustrates how difficult it can be to define terms like ‘propaganda’ and ‘documentary.’”[6] This idea of what a documentary film is becomes blurry once the influence of a filmmaker is recognized. In conclusion, objectivity seems to be hard to achieve in film due to the filmmaker’s control and influence on an image. In Triumph of the Will, the editing and camera angles show the film’s ideological purpose, thus, it is important to note that this film is subjective in its execution.
On an individual level, however, Triumph of the Will may be able to serve as an important historical document, which we can classify as objective. Of course, it is the case that the film was made with subjective filmic techniques, but that should not stop us from viewing it as a representation of Nazi propaganda itself. Those who argue that Triumph of the Will should ultimately be dismissed as providing any true account of the Nazi rally because it is subjective and set up are failing to recognize that this film serves as a purpose in providing evidence of Nazi history.  Siegfried Kracuer argues that Triumph of the Will is not credible due to its staged material. He says, “From the real life of the people was built up a faked reality that was passed off as a genuine one.”[7] Ultimately, it is this exact faked reality that we should be studying and trying to understand. Triumph of the Will as a piece of propaganda is important to understanding how regimes and filmmakers use visual media to skew the truth. Rather than try and separate these two arguments of subjectivity and objectivity, we should work in a way to acknowledge the de facto status of both.
 As I considered this film, I could not help but think about our own political situation in the United States, and what would happen if our President suddenly announced the plan to commission a film of an upcoming rally. The purpose of this speculation is not to spark a political debate, as that would be redundant given today’s tense landscape. Rather, I thought about Triumph of the Will and how this is an example of horrifyingly effective propaganda. By studying the techniques that Riefenstahl uses, such as camera angles and editing, we have an example as to what propaganda material may look like, and we are able to point back to this film as an example of Nazi obfuscation.
Brockmann argues that Triumph of the Will should be looked at as a historical document that chronicles the Nuremberg rally.[8] While he does a good job at presenting the case for Riefenstahl’s film as both objective and subjective, he ultimately settles on one specific side, that of it simply being a historical document. By contrast, my goal is to introduce the idea that something can be both. That is, a film can serve as both subjective and objective, by doing different things. As a document, Triumph of the Will serves as a valuable record of what Nazi propaganda looked liked. Additionally, it is important to take into account that while some of the scenes including crowds of people were ultimately set up and reshot, these people are still supporters of Hitler and the Nazi party and gathered in Nuremberg to show this. I feel that Triumph of the Will may serve as an important survey on the level of support for the Nazis coming from seemingly young and mainstream citizens. It is important to note that if you are to view this as an objective piece, you should do so in a way so as not to ignore the clearly propagated and staged material. For instance, David Bathrick argues that this is exactly what is happening when filmmakers use clips of Triumph of the Will in their own films, as a way to present “the facts” about Hitler and the Nazi party. When discussing the implications of using these clips, he writes that filmmakers “quoted verbatim from Triumph’s celebration of party sound bites as the self-evident truth of Nazi reality.”[9] This idea that Triumph of the Will is being used in contemporary film to misrepresent true Nazism is why it is also important to classify Triumph as subjective on a broader level. Then, as you are able to navigate through what may be shown through the filmmaker’s ideological lens, the film may be seen as a historical document that helps us to conceive of what Nazi propaganda looked like.
In conclusion, instead of separating the idea of objectivity and subjectivity in film, I feel that it is necessary to embrace both. Triumph of the Will is a clear illustration of film being able to achieve both objectivity and subjectivity. While the filmic techniques used by Riefenstahl are clearly subjective and match the Nazi ideology, the film ultimately acts as an objective document, being an example of visual propaganda and Nazi ideology. As the argument over objectivity and subjectivity in film will surely continue, I hope that the conversation shifts towards trying to understand films’ specific implications. By doing so, we will be able to consider the significance of a film that may have once been understood in relation to a single theoretical concept.





[1] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 153.
[2] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 153.
[3] André Bazin, et al, What Is Cinema?: Volume II,1st ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 89.
[4] David Thompson, The new biographical dictionary of film, 5th ed. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2014), 822.
[5] Andre Bazin and Hugh Gray, The Ontology of the Photographic Image, (Film Quarterly: vol. 13, no. 4, 1960), 4–9.
[6] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 161.
[7] Siegfried Kracauer and Leonardo Quaresima, From Caligari to Hitler: A Psychological History of the German Film (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2004).
[8] Stephen Brockmann, A Critical History of German Film (Rochester, NY: Camden House, 2010), 151-66.
[9] David Bathrick, The Afterlife of Triumph of the Will: The First Twenty-five Years (2008.), 74.

Submitted by Gannon Dodson

Friday, May 12, 2017

Rashomon Film Essay

This is a short film essay I compiled for my Sound Era class, mostly with clips from Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon. I added historical context regarding post-World War II Japanese economy, and put it all in conversation with film theorist Stephen Prince's essay "The Rashomon Effect" in order to communicate the revolutionary narrative and visual style Kurosawa brought to cinema.


Submitted by Sheila Tilert.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Wealth and Frailty, Episode Three: Das Staatliche Bauhaus and the Crisis Year

     In May of 2016, I completed a three episode documentary film on the history of the early Weimar Republic, i.e. 1920's Germany. This was done as my capstone or "Keystone" project for the Honors Humanities program at the University of Maryland. The documentary, entitled Wealth and Frailty, seeks to understand the relationship between the economic and political instability of the early Weimar Republic and the cultural vibrancy that simultaneously emerged. Each one-hour episode relates a different portion of the Weimar Republic's history to an artistic product of the time. The time frame covered is roughly 1918-1924.

     This film concludes the documentary by providing a parallel history of the Republic and the Bauhaus art school, focusing on the crisis year 1923.



Submitted by William Whitmore.

Friday, March 24, 2017

Wealth and Frailty, Episode Two: Die Nibelungen and German Pride

     In May of 2016, I completed a three episode documentary film on the history of the early Weimar Republic, i.e. 1920's Germany. This was done as my capstone or "Keystone" project for the Honors Humanities program at the University of Maryland. The documentary, entitled Wealth and Frailty, seeks to understand the relationship between the economic and political instability of the early Weimar Republic and the cultural vibrancy that simultaneously emerged. Each one-hour episode relates a different portion of the Weimar Republic's history to an artistic product of the time. The time frame covered is roughly 1918-1924.

     This film examines the reemergence of nationalism following the Republic's founding, and points out parallels between that development and the plot of the 1924 film, Die Nibelungen.

Submitted by William Whitmore.

Friday, March 17, 2017

Wealth and Frailty, Episode One: Caligari and the Founding

     In May of 2016, I completed a three episode documentary film on the history of the early Weimar Republic, i.e. 1920's Germany. This was done as my capstone or "Keystone" project for the Honors Humanities program at the University of Maryland. The documentary, entitled Wealth and Frailty, seeks to understand the relationship between the economic and political instability of the early Weimar Republic and the cultural vibrancy that simultaneously emerged. Each one-hour episode relates a different portion of the Weimar Republic's history to an artistic product of the time. The time frame covered is roughly 1918-1924.

     This episode chronicles the founding of the Republic, and places the silent film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, within the context of those events.


Submitted by William Whitmore

Friday, March 3, 2017

Film Blog Essay: Film as a Mirror: Our Anxieties on Screen

"This is an election they'll be studying for ages."  Anyone with the boldness to discuss politics with family and friends over the past few months has heard some variation of this thought uttered.  The economists, the politicians, the journalists, the psychologists, the philosophers, and the researchers are all trying to have the foresight - or perhaps the clairvoyance - to see not only how the future will unfold, but how the history books of the next generation will interpret today's events.  Consequently, I can't resist the urge to practice the same anticipation of tomorrow’s textbooks in my own field of interest – cinema.  As a film studies major, I must wonder: how will the current time period in American cinema be remembered?  It would seem that there is already a very common answer to this question  (and it’s the other quote I’ve heard about a thousand times over the past few months) – "Everything is a sequel or a remake now."  We must recognize, however, that this is not true, and perhaps more importantly, this is probably not the main focus of the "2010s" chapter of 2050's film textbooks.
I should be perfectly clear that this is not intended to undercut the significance of the Reboot Movement.  The past few years have most definitely demonstrated a cultural desire to reflect on everything that our culture’s media has given us thus far, revisiting the stories, themes, characters, genres, and franchises that have shaped the way we think about the world.  Just within the past year, audiences have seen the unexplored nooks and crannies of the Death Star, the American side of the Wizarding World, and a universe in which the Ghostbusters are women, not to mention a reworking of the mid-century musical with La La Land and multiple retellings of classic Disney stories.  As nice as it is to think of this as a time when Western culture simply feels like reflecting on its accomplishments, this is clearly the desire of the film industry’s bigwigs more than it is what the audiences are demanding.  Sequels have always worked at bringing in crowds with reliability because people have a strong impulse to return to the familiar and to check up on the people (even fictional people) who matter to them.  It should not be surprising that Hollywood has only gotten better at using these urges to entice us, and it should be expected that Hollywood will continue to stick to what is safe, reliable, and faithful for as long as possible.
What should interest us, then, is the group of original films on which Hollywood is willing to take a chance.  If producing a sequel or a remake is always Hollywood’s safest bet, there must be something about the other films they produce that offers a sense of security for them.  (I am specifically focusing on films made for adults, if only because children’s films rely more on the name of the studio [Dreamworks, Pixar, etc.] to do the selling, so they probably deserve an entirely separate analysis.)  Apart from reboots, the most recent films that are designed for mass audiences seem to be mostly based on popular pre-existing properties from non-cinematic media, giving the studios the sense that they only need to sell a story that has already sold well in another form.  Some upcoming examples of this include Ghost in the Shell, The Circle, Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets, Before I Fall, and The Dark Tower.  That being said, since analyzing these stories would be an analysis of novels rather than the film industry, I think it would be best to focus specifically on the films that seem designed to attract a very large crowd – the “blockbusters” – and find some common themes that run throughout.
I am focusing on themes and motifs because I suspect that future film critics and historians will see this time period’s cinema as trying to address some of our culture’s fears, and my first theme that evidences this is Hollywood’s obsession with big governments and giant corporations.  Obviously, the absurdly wealthy businessman has been the villain in a great many movies going back to Classical Hollywood, but at present, it is the corporations and governments with a very friendly face – or no known face at all – that scare us the most, because they seem more godlike (and yet somehow more realistic) than a “Tex Richman” type.  One family of contemporary dystopian science fiction has been designed by writers who all seem to share the same goal: to come up with the worst ideas for structuring governments as possible.  The Hunger Games, Divergent, The Giver, and arguably Maze Runner are all novel adaptations that exemplify this family, and I think they may be cousins to the films about enormous, omnipotent, and omniscient businesses.  Because we live in a time when Facebook, Google, and other similar services are collecting a frightening amount of information about each and every person who regularly uses the Internet, it is only natural that stories about gigantic technology companies intrigue us.  Consider the upcoming thriller The Circle, which is playing with the idea of an untrustworthy Steve Jobs-type figure, and has a weirdly anxiety-inducing trailer in spite of the fact that it tells us so little about what to expect from the movie.  2016’s Nerve seems to be in a similar vein, with a mysterious game developer collecting all of the protagonist’s data and, in a sense, controlling everything she does.
This theme of the all-powerful technology corporation is closely related to, or perhaps a part of, the theme of technological advancements.  Consider all of the recent and upcoming dramas about surviving in outer space (The Martian, Passengers, Life, Europa Report, Interstellar, Gravity, etc.).  I try to keep up with the news about human activity in outer space and, when last I checked, we haven’t been to outer space in a long time now, and I don’t think all of these films have simply been inspired by the debate about whether or not we should go to Mars.  There is definitely a concern in our culture about whether or not we’re ready for the technology that lies just around the bend, and be it with serious dramas like Arrival or “popcorn flicks” like Independence Day: Resurgence, we moviegoers are showing that human interaction with higher intelligence is one can of worms (or can of Borg?) we’d rather not open.  (I am also considering the idea that films about aliens in the vein of Independence Day or The Fifth Wave could be related to fears in both the U.S. and the U.K. of immigration, but I am skeptical.)
The most interesting form of our fears of progressing technology is almost certainly the return of HAL 9000 anxieties – the fear of artificial intelligence.  Among philosophers and social analysts, and (more recently) a few prominent computer scientists, a fear has been rising over the past few years about the difficulties our species may face should it create a more advanced species with higher intelligence.  Some of these stories make the A.I. into a classical villain, such as the Transformers films and Avengers: Age of Ultron, whereas others explore more personal relationships and make dramas that rest on sci-fi premises rather than sci-fi movies with some added drama.  Spike Jonze’ Her (2013) is perhaps an earlier example of this, and 2015’s Ex Machina is probably the most prominent example.  While I’ve tried to stay away from noting our recent reboots, it must be recognized that one of the determining factors in which franchises from decades ago are getting a resurgence seems to be a relationship to this theme of A.I. – I’m thinking particularly of Blade Runner, The Terminator, and Robocop.  I know it may seem like I’m being too selective or narrow-minded with my focus in order to make my argument, but if even the obscure 1973 cult film Westworld has become a hit TV series on HBO, surely it is this theme of A.I. itself, not just how well these properties are remembered, that grabs us.
Of course, all of this conjecture is rooted in the theory that a period’s cinema reflects its culture’s timely fears, changing with the politics and current events of the time, and I am very open to skepticism of this reading of history.  I would not want to go so far as to say that the current flood of superhero films is rooted in the same anxious desperation for a rule-breaking anti-hero who’ll fix all of our problems that led to the rise of Donald Trump.  Obviously the Marvel/D.C. obsession is worthy of serious analysis, but the Caligari to Hitler method of studying this subject is too simplistic.  What we can say safely, however, is that it is convenient and popular for academics to view the American Western movie and the film noir as responses to post-war anxiety, and I expect the same kind of reading will be applied to the films that come out this year.  This means that now is the time to either appreciate the catharsis that Hollywood is offering us to manage our current worries, or get our counter-arguments ready immediately to preempt any myopic readings that the film scholars of 2040 attempt to apply to 2017.

Or we might all be dead from climate change by 2040, but I’ll worry about that problem when all of 2025’s movies address it.

Submitted by J.D. Hansel.

Friday, February 24, 2017

Montage

Sergei Eisenstein
Image against an image
Meaning together

Submitted by Michael Levy