On exiting the screening of The Last Man in San Francisco my brother and I had hugely different reactions. He was hugely emotionally moved while I, after enjoying much of the film, was quite emotionally indifferent to what we had seen. Of course, it’s a rarity to unanimously agree upon any film, or anything, experienced in a group, inciting the wonderfully diverse range of opinions to flow out. However in this instance we agreed on most elements, the style, the performances and plot, and the overall themes being personally resonant, but still our reactions were decidedly different. We eventually settled on the difference being down to our frames of mind that day, outside of the film, resulting in our mood (not the text itself) being the cause for differing reactions.
But is this just an excuse? After all, each viewer is going to assemble in the cinema not only with vastly different worldly experiences (history, preferences, knowledge), but with hugely different moods. These depend on countless factors, from the mundane needs of hunger and thirst to the complicated emotional trajectories which span days, months or years. Here we see it is simple to reduce someone’s experience of a film down to their personal connection to it, either due resonance to their previous experience or emotional moment. This results in the arguments that X film resonated with me because of Y, or didn’t because of Z. Along these lines we concluded that I didn’t enjoy Last Black Man because I wasn’t feeling particularly emotionally open that day, especially not in a sentimental way. But my being pushed away by my own mood, completely irrelevant to the film, brings another question to mind. Is it our responsibility to feel ready or open to a particular film or idea, before it starts, or is it the responsibility of the film, and filmmaker, to push us in that direction—ultimately ensuring that wherever the viewer has come from, in knowledge, experience and mood, they arrive at the intended destination allowing the film to resonate with them.
Such a concept is perfectly illustrated by my recent experience of the Andrei Tarkovsky exhibition at the Eye film museum in Amsterdam. On this day I was against the idea of engaging with an exhibition, and continually said to myself that I wouldn’t go as I wasn’t in the mood… As such, I ended up buying a ticket for the exhibition, mainly as I knew this would be my last chance to see it. Walking in I could feel myself not fully engaging with the materials, somewhat speeding through the first sections, then I was confronted with a huge 3-channel display showing excepts from Stalker (1979). I sat here for a while and was quickly lowered into the quietly reflective mood synonymous with Tarkovsky. As I stood up I found myself hugely engaged with all the text, engaging with all the resources right up to the end of the exhibition, when I quickly did a 180 and returned to the start for a second look.
Here my interaction with the film, even through only a few excerpts, perfectly shifted my mood towards its intended point of reflexivity, permitting me to not only enjoy the film but the exhibition as a whole. This seems to be the ideal, the object moves the viewer towards its intended goal rather than the viewer being required to already align with those ends. In short; the film should be able to pull the viewer, irrespective of their knowledge/mood, into its frame of mind.
This is, almost undoubtedly, one of the fundamental masteries of most legendary filmmakers, and can be used in countless ways. In Tarkovsky’s case it puts us into the frame of mind to ponder upon the big questions juggling both our emotional and intellectual reaction to them. But, conversely, with filmmakers like George Lucas or Peter Jackson this is the element which connects us to weird and wonderful fantasy worlds and invest, emotionally, in their temporary and inconsequential outcomes. Francis Ford Coppola pulls us into the realm of contemplative madness throughout Apocalypse Now, and Gaspar Noé takes us into a state of distress and panic. Further still, Zhao Liang, among many others, uses it in documentary to pull us into an emotional proximity with his subjects, while retaining the air of voyeuristic contemplation. Although it is incredibly hard to pin down the methods behind shifting the viewer towards a certain state of mind, especially as each case is radically different, this quality is clear within the films; and within our lasting memories of them.
For clarity, this ability to shift frame of mind goes far beyond immediate affect. It is not about us viewers being immediately shocked, teary or inquisitive, but about these elements extending beyond the cinema. Be it into the fabric of mood immediately after the film, or deeper into the way we react to the world on a long-term basis.
With this in mind, I must acknowledge it would be slightly short-sighted to argue that this factor constitutes a good film, or that it’s lack denoted a poorly crafted one. Such an element, although often indicative of quality, is not a substitute for personal resonances with a certain film. There will, of course, always be instances where a specific film will resonate with an individual’s experiences (i.e. recent difficulties) or mood (satiating a want to be scared, uplifted, or entertained). However in these instances the films act more functionally, to help one think about their current situation or to simply satiate a desire. Whereas when a film actively shifts an individual’s frame of mind, often far beyond their current experience and mood, it opens them up to new ideas and ways of thinking. I find that these moments of radical shift are far more rewarding and formative, even in illuminating the many problems, both emotionally and intellectually, which plague me as I enter the screening.
It has just occurred to me I have been speaking for 1000 words about a concept I am yet to give a name… but nothing immediately jumps to the fore. Extra-cinematic-mood-shift sounds a little too functional, long and without flavour. Let me know if you think of any alternatives.
Ultimately, I do feel like my experience of The Last Black Man in San Francisco was dampened by my mood that day, but the film failed to pull me into it’s aura. Through its huge technical competency it lacked some kind of flair only found in those works which provide a strong extra-cinematic-mood-shift, causing me to remain somewhat distant. But maybe this whole argument revolves back to the question of pushing away from what we think we do or don’t desire. Perhaps my experience of the Tarkovsky exhibition was so thought provoking because it was what exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do at the time. Come to think of it, many of the most enjoyable, exciting and formative experiences I have these days go against my wants at that given moment.
Although the concept of extra-cinematic-mood-shift is still vague, and an absolute mouth-full or jargon, I feel this concept sits at the heart of a lot of cinematic experiences reaching their full potential. In search of a more tangible answer to how this concept manifests, I will re-watch Jia Zhangke’s Ash is the Purest White tonight and hopefully re-emerge with some answers.
~Leo
The Last Black Man in San Francisco (2019)
2/3/1
6/13
If you ever want to hear my take on a specific film or idea just drop me a line and I’d love to take up the challenge!
