Source: Utopian Studies, Vol. 7, No. 2 (1996), pp. 139-152 Published by: Penn State University Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20719514 . Accessed: 15/12/2013 07:02 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . Penn State University Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Utopian Studies. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Tracing Utopia: Film, Spectatorship and Desire PETER RUPPERT In Utopian Studies 4, No. 2, Peter Fitting proposes a number of perspectives and categories for studying Utopian film.1 Using a wide angle approach, his "introductory taxonomy" ranges from mainstream Hollywood film to Third World cinema, encompassing such diverse genres as dystopias, ethnographic films, political documentaries, pornotopias, TV sitcoms, and fascist films among others. As his survey makes clear, the primary difficulty facing any inquiry into Utopian film is its amorphous nature. Simply stated, Utopian film confounds easy classification because it exceeds the normal bounds of genre description. The varied settings, plots, narrative and visual styles that may be identified as Utopian straddle just about every existing genre and draw on a variety of con ventions and expectations. Genre studies, as Fitting concedes, generally set out to identify levels of coherence and stability in an already accepted body of texts. In the absence of such a body of texts, Fitting sets out to map this terra incognita with Sargent's definition of the literary utopia as a "non-exist ent society described in considerable detail." This approach, he says, "seems the most fruitful for an investigation of the possibilities of Utopian film" (1). But this definition suggests that there might be no Utopian films at all. Movies, after all, are not known for projecting visions of imaginary commu nities, much less anticipatory ones, and certainly not "in considerable detail." Nor are they easily associated with the Utopian functioning of criti cizing the status quo, at least not in the overt way literary utopias often are. As products of the entertainment industry, movies are preoccupied with images and sounds; they have to do with sensations, moments of intensity and sensuality, with emotions and visual pleasure. More often than not, they set out to thrill or move or amaze us with breathtaking and sometimes terri fying simulations. And unlike literary utopias, movies are not the product of a single individual's vision; they are a collective enterprise, involving a variety of professionals and embodying diverse interests. Designed for mass consumption, movies are also a service industry, a matter of financing, residuals, spin-offs, promotional campaigns, and box-office receipts. They cannot therefore be expected to be overtly critical of the industrial and ideo logical apparatus on which their existence depends. Nor can they be expected to promote the overthrow of existing social relations. It is not surprising that Fitting can find no examples of screen adaptations of classic Utopian novels.2 The kind of radical social changes advocated in More's Utopia, Morris's This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 140 UTOPIAN STUDIES News From Nowhere, or Huxley's Pala would not only undermine the basis of an industry deeply implicated and determined by capitalist production practices, but their sanguine visions of social harmony would make for mea ger and static movies indeed, especially for audiences conditioned by crash and-collision films like Speed and ultra-violent thrillers like Pulp Fiction and Natural Born Killers. Still, I agree with Fitting that Utopian scholars have generally over looked the benefits of studying film for its Utopian meanings. I also think that the scarcity of Utopian films and the difficulties of defining a Utopian film genre should not deter us from interrogating the cinema from a Utopian perspective.3 A powerful myth-making machine, the cinema provides a par ticularly dense system of meaning, one that borrows from different discourses ?narrative, politics, fashion, advertising?and articulates our social expe rience in various ways. Not just forms of entertainment, films also convey myths and values; not just products of mass culture, they also project funda mental needs, beliefs, and desires, including Utopian desires. Their carefully orchestrated sounds and images are culturally charged and produce various effects?physiological, emotional, psychological, intellectual. Few people would argue with the premise that the cinema as an institution permeates our dreams and fantasies. The question is: how does it put Utopian desire into play and produce Utopian meanings? In what follows I shall explore what I consider the most productive way to negotiate films for their Utopian meanings and to foreground the role that viewers and audiences play in determining those meanings. Unlike literary utopias, films do not set out to represent detailed alternatives as "realized" visions of ideal social arrangements. Utopian film, I will argue here, cannot be defined by conventions of setting, plot, iconography, codes, or structural features. Nor can it be identified as a specific style?like film noir or expres sionism?by techniques in lighting, camera work, or editing. Rather, Utopian film is better understood in terms of the social attitudes and assumptions that operate in various film genres and in various film styles; it is better gauged in terms of what a film does: its functions and effects on the audi ence. Seen this way, the Utopian potential of film emerges in indirect ways ?in fleeting moments of hope, a yearning for something better, a desire for other possibilities. More absent than present in the film itself, utopia is more like a shadow that haunts our social and personal psyches. This is because the idea of utopia?the good place that is also no place?cannot be con veyed with precision, in fact, cannot be represented at all; it can only be evoked or suggested. Utopia in film, as Caryl Flinn argues, works through processes of "displacement and disguise," and its "effects" need to be uncovered and activated through critical analysis.4 II A fruitful method for extracting Utopian meanings from Hollywood films is exemplified by Richard Dyer's essay "Entertainment and Utopia," This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Tracing Utopia 141 which Fitting discusses in detail and which I think offers certain advantages over the other possibilities he explores. First, Dyer accounts for how Utopian ideas are actually engendered in the fleeting sensations and sounds we experience in watching a film. Second, his analysis shows how main stream Hollywood films?still the dominant model of filmmaking articulat ing our culture's powerful voice?are not irredeemably complicit with capitalist ideology, but offer kernels of resistance in the form of Utopian fantasies. This retains the important notion that Utopian ideas are pervasive, present in many cultural forms, and cannot therefore be easily dismissed for political reasons. Thirdly, Dyer argues that Utopian values arise from and respond to the perceived lacks and deficiencies of a certain culture, a dialec tical relationship that implies the important role of viewers in shaping Utopian meanings. Dyer begins by distinguishing between literary and filmic utopias, observing that "entertainment does not present models of Utopian worlds, as in the classic utopias of Sir Thomas More, William Morris, et al. Rather the utopianism is contained in the feelings it embodies. It presents, head on as it were, what utopia would feel like rather than how it would be organized. It thus works on the level of sensibility..." (3). A crucial factor in Dyer's approach is his notion of the "non-representational sign." Such signs?he cites rhythm, texture, color, movement, melody, camerawork?do not have clear referents or the denotative power to represent utopia in detail. They do however have a strong connotative power, producing resonances that exceed the sum of the film's denotations, go beyond its diegesis. Charged with cultural meanings, these signs work indirectly and obliquely, permit ting a greater play of signification and a greater play of emotional meaning. Focusing on movie musicals, Dyer shows how they articulate both the actual and the potential social relations of a specific culture, taking up "real needs" and generating Utopian solutions to those needs. Dyer sets up five "categories of Utopian sensibility?energy, abundance, intensity, trans parency and community" (4-5). These traditional Utopian values redress the inadequacies perceived in society, inadequacies like alienated labor, scarcity, debilitating monotony, manipulation and fragmentation. Utopia, in the sense of a detailed alternative to existing society, is never represented at all. What we get instead are evocations of social harmony, glimpses and impressions of Utopian possibilities that do not promote a full-fledged utopia, but hints or suggestions of one. Dyer acknowledges that the "enter tainment industry" may actually constrain utopia since the sounds- and images of something better do not necessarily challenge the status quo, and may even end up reinforcing its basic values. In fact, the inadequacies are usually defined in such a way that they can be fully satisfied within prevail ing social forms. Thus the possibilities of Utopian resistance in movies are limited?displacing political or social analysis with vague Utopian yearn ings?even though the needs they display and redress are real enough. What we finally end up with, according to Dyer, is a sense of what utopia might be, a sense that alternatives are possible. This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 142 UTOPIAN STUDIES To illustrate his propositions Dyer examines three different kinds of musicals: those that separate the musical numbers from the narrative, usu ally in films about the staging of a musical; those that try to integrate them in various ways; and those that attempt to "dissolve the distinction between narrative and numbers, thus implying that the world of the narrative is also [already] Utopian" (8). Analyzing the film version of the Broadway show On the Town, Dyer shows how, unlike the "integrated musical" which moves events back in time [e.g. the turn-of-the-century setting of Meet Me in St. Louis], On the Town is set in a New York in the present. Whereas "in most musicals, the narrative represents things as they are, to be escaped from ... the narrative of On the Town is about the transformation of New York into utopia ... it shows people making utopia rather than just show ing them from time to time finding themselves in it" (12). One of the advantages of Dyer's approach, as I've indicated, is that it allows us to identify Utopian moments in a variety of cultural forms and makes it more difficult simply to dismiss Hollywood films as numbing nar cotics that manipulate viewers and coopt their Utopian desire. This enables us to identify Utopian values even in the most alienated and degraded aes thetic forms. Fredric Jameson, who is cited by Dyer, has also argued that works of mass culture?SF, thrillers, melodrama?function to stimulate and awaken repressed hopes (and fears) before they neutralize them with sanguine solutions. In this process, Jameson claims, our hopes and fears must first be evoked, articulated, and made palpable before they can be "managed" or "neutralized" or otherwise diverted to serve existing social forms. Thus, films (Hollywood or otherwise), no matter how ideological a function they seem to serve in justifying the status quo, can also be seen to contain a Utopian desire to counter it. As Jameson puts it: "Works of mass culture cannot be ideological without at one and the same time being implicitly or explicitly Utopian as well: they cannot manipulate unless they offer some genuine shred of content as a fantasy bribe to the public about to be manipulated" ("Reification," 144). Thus, for Jameson, as for Dyer, the cinema articulates both the actual and the potential forms of social relations, both the way things are and the way they might be or should be. Ideology and utopia, in other words, exist side by side, co-mingling in the same film, putting Utopian values on display before constraining them with solutions that reinforce the status quo. Jameson's approach repudiates the concept of the closed utopia?the womb-like retreat into regions of timeless peace and perfect harmony. In working with the fleeting sounds and images of film it seems more appro priate to adopt the concept of utopia in its strictest sense: an impossible, unrepresentable social form that cannot be imagined, much less realized in practice. As Jameson writes in Marxism and Form: "The Utopian moment is indeed in one sense quite impossible to imagine, except as the unimagin able; thus a kind of allegorical structure is built in the very forward move ment of the Utopian impulse itself, which always points to something other, which can never reveal itself directly but must always speak in figures, This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Tracing Utopia 143 which always calls out structurally for completion and exegesis" (142). In his review of Louis Marin's Utopiques, Jameson proposes that all Utopian discourse may be grasped as a process, a creative act rather than a created object: "To understand Utopian discourse in terms of neutralization," he writes, "is indeed precisely to propose to grasp it as a process, as energeia, enunciation, productivity, and implicitly or explicitly to repudiate that more traditional and conventional view of Utopia as sheer representation, as the 'realized' vision of this or that ideal society or social ideal" ("Of Islands and Trenches," 80-81). Whereas the notion of utopia as a mental process or activity may be difficult to apply to literary utopias?seemingly so intent on establishing their "existence" within firm boundaries?it seems entirely appropriate with the fluctuating flow of sounds and images of film. Readers of Utopian Studies will recognize that Jameson's and Dyer's methods for identifying Utopian meanings has a critical precedent in the work of Ernst Bloch. (See the Bloch issue of Utopian Studies 1, No. 2 [1990].) For Bloch, the idea that future "traces" [Spuren] are latent in cul tural forms of the past and present has a pivotal place in his theory of Ungleichzeitigkeit, nonsynchronous or uneven development. This idea chal lenges the conventional Marxist notion that all superstructural phenomena are determined by the economic base, and allows Bloch to explain how art forms endure beyond their socio-historical and aesthetic contexts. For Bloch then, as for Jameson and Dyer, art is both ideological and Utopian: it emerges from the historical base, but also exceeds it, and in exceeding it, it has an anticipatcfiy or Utopian potential. This allows art to be ahead of its time, to anticipate that which is "not-yet-conscious." Traces of Utopian longing, according to Bloch, are latent and can be detected in the incom pleteness of the past and in the social forms of the present. Bloch's residual Utopian traces are similar to Dyer's non-representational signs: they work obliquely, in disguised form, providing us with glimpses of Utopian possi bilities. These glimpses can then act as a stimulus for future change. These methods may also be compared with the strategy of "reading against the grain." The goal of this approach, used since the late 70s by fem inists and culture critics, is to interrogate cinema's modes of address and to uncover potentially progressive and subversive elements in films and genres that appear to be within the conf?nes of mainstream ideologies. As Janet Berg strom and Mary Ann Doane explain: "Reading against the grain as a feminist, one could salvage texts previously thought to be entirely complicit.... It is perceived by many as a way to reappropriate texts and pleasures renounced by a more pessimistic analysis of patriarchy's success. Reading against the grain is seen as profoundly enabling" (20). This approach results in sympto matic readings that are attentive not only to dominant structures in the text, but also to what is omitted, repressed, or otherwise marginalized. Working from Althusser's explanation of how ideological structures represent "the imaginary relationship of individuals to their real conditions of existence" (53), these critics look at films as articulations of our culture's powerful voice, as it tries to reconcile our real situation with the "imaginary" conditions of This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 144 UTOPIAN STUDIES existence in society. This approach tries to reveal those contradictions that ideology normally conceals, at the same time that it harnesses a film's unde niable pleasure. In this fashion film critics have uncovered subversive ele ments in film noir, musicals, melodrama, SF, horror and other genres.5 In considering these strategies we should keep in mind that Utopian thinking is diverse and that Utopian traces are not necessarily progressive. Hollywood movies, as I've already noted, are not known for their anticipa tory visions, unless of course they are the bleak and despairing ones we asso ciate with dystopias. The great majority of movies today?even SF movies whose special domain, as Vivian Sobchack has noted, is supposed to be the future?look backward. Nostalgia is pervasive in the current cinema, appar ent not only in the urge to endlessly recycle earlier successful films, but also in the pastiche styles of Brazil (1985), Blade Runner (1982), Johnny Mnemonic (1995), Strange Days (1995) and others. But even here, the nos talgia in these films for a lost golden age can be read differently. We might see the conflation of time and of genres as a weakening of our sense of his tory and argue that a utopia based on the past is a false or regressive utopia, feeding on stagnant models that preclude future change. Or, we might read the urge to pin our Utopian hopes onto earlier moments as evidence that there is still something found lacking in the present, pleasures and satisfac tions not available in the culture at hand. My point is that different viewers will see it differently. We select and emphasize those moments of a film that relate to our concerns?moments that we may deem Utopian or not. Utopias, in short, are not so much created on the screen, as they are in the imaginations of viewers. Ill If Utopias are not represented in the film as such, or even in the trace, then they must emerge in the interplay between screen and audience. Nei ther Fitting nor Dyer addresses the issue of agency in the production of Utopian values. But this issue needs to be addressed since an image, a sign, or a trace is Utopian only to some viewers and not to others. In Strains of Utopia: Gender, Nostalgia and the Hollywood Musical Caryl Flinn argues that Utopian meanings are not somehow immanent, already in the text, but produced in subjective conditions of reception: "Since interpretation involves a context, one with historical, discursive, and subjective dimensions, ana lyzing a text for Utopian meanings is not a 'subject-less' act any more than it can be neutral or self-effacing" (103). Flinn suggests that films prompt Utopian readings because certain kinds of viewers project Utopian functions onto them. She also raises questions of class, gender, ethnicity, sexual dif ference as important contextual factors in the production and consumption of Utopian ideas. Since the 70s film theory has energetically debated the issues of specta torship and identification: how viewers are addressed and subjectivities formed, the pleasures and satisfactions we derive from this experience, why This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Tracing Utopia 145 we go to the movies in the first place. As Judith Mayne points out in Cin ema and Spectatorship, this focus on audience-effects and on the processes of identification parallels the shift toward readers in literary theory and toward the subject in philosophy (6). It is based on some of the earliest insights of film theory established by Eisenstein, Munsterberg and others: images do not have a life of their own, some automatic imprinting effect. Rather, their impact depends to a large extent on what we bring to them, our values, our experience, our moral sense, our sense of limits. Viewers, in other words, act upon films, just as films act upon viewers, and neither is a fixed entity; we shape and are shaped by the cinematic experience. And if perception is never simply the passive registering of stimuli, but the activity of a perceiving subject, then the identification of Utopian sensibilities is never entirely predictable. I want to emphasize the importance of spectatorship, not just for Utopian film, but for Utopian studies generally. Whether we like it or not, our society is saturated with signs and messages that form (some would say deform) our consciousness, both individual and collective. Deeply immersed in the consumption and replication of images, we are not immune to their effects: they inevitably leave behind residual traces and associations that shape our fears and fantasies. Focusing on spectatorship can help us to see more readily how media culture forms our fantasies, manages and cons trains our Utopian hopes, shapes our sense of community. If Metz, Baudry, Mulvey and other theorists are right, then effects of spec tatorship in the cinema are intimately connected with the visual and aural pleasures it organizes and to which it binds the audience. The object of these pleasures is not the film itself, but the "cinematic apparatus," which is bound up with signification, representation, perception, and memory. Broadly speak ing, cinematic apparatus refers to a number of interlocking operations of production and consumption that constitute the viewing situation: the conditions of projection, the technical base, the film-text, the activity of the viewer. For these theorists the cinema functions as a condensed instance of unconscious desires and fantasies. Accompanied by a sense of release and separation from routine concerns, going to the movies is basically a form of "escapism": we sit in a dark theater with others not easily visible; we are immobilized in comfortable seats as we watch images vastly oversized and hear sounds intensely exaggerated. Our attention is riveted on the screen. The fact that the film we are watching is a representation rather than an unmediated per ception is deliberately disguised by the mechanism of the medium. In repli cating our perception of actual sensation, the experience seems "real." The deliberate blurring of the boundaries between the imaginary and the real is, for this model of spectatorship, at the heart of the cinema experi ence. Representation appears as perception; we feel that we are dreaming the images and situations on the screen. The filmed image is, in Metz's terms, an "imaginary signifier," calling up a reality that is absent, or "pres ent" only in our imagination. Hence the similarities between viewing a film and dreaming. Dreams don't actually happen either, but we experience them This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 146 UTOPIAN STUDIES as if they did. Like films, dreams express thoughts through images and nar rative structures. Often they too seem more than real. The darkness of the theater, the viewer's passive state, the hypnotic effect of light and shadows and sounds, in the view of these theorists, reproduce an artificially regres sive state that calls up unconscious processes of the mind. The film experi ence takes us back to a childish, immature version of ourselves, where our wants and desires dominate over ethical, social, contextual considerations. In accounting for how we identify with the filmed image, Jean-Louis Baudry has emphasized the importance of the "look," the gaze of the audi ence. He argues that our fascination with film is not so much with charac ters or plots but with the image itself, based on an earlier "mirror stage" in our psychic development when the boundaries between ourselves and the world were confused. This image of ourselves is illusory, based on reflec tions rather than reality, and so the pleasures we experience are narcissistic, voyeuristic, and fetishistic. This model of spectatorship springs from psychoanalysis and its classic conception of identification as narcissistic regression. It assumes that the film viewer is reducible to the psychoanalytical "subject" and that the activ ity of film viewing is analogous with the mirror stage. Central to this model is the cinema's capacity to recreate the dream-state, thus making the uncon scious the primary factor in shaping desire. This model can be useful in helping us to see how film works to replicate structures of desire and pleas ure, how it induces Utopian fantasies. But, as a number of critics have rightly observed, there are obvious limitations to this model. For one thing, it explores our involvement with the image in unconscious and presocial ways, whereas film is also cultural experience that is conscious and social. For another, it makes viewers into passive voyeurs, positioned entirely by the film into a state of regressive withdrawal, simply absorbing the film's messages. Even the word "apparatus" suggests a kind of overbearing machine that totally dominates our responses. The almost exclusive focus on the psychic and sexual, furthermore, ignores such factors as class, race, gender, nationality and others. Not only does this model suspend our capac ity for critical intervention, it is also unhistorical, reducing viewers to mono lithic "subjects" constructed by the various interconnecting institutions of the dominant cinema, not flesh-and-blood people who go to movies for vari ous reasons and respond to them in various ways. In short, this model leaves undisturbed the view of film as an instrument of ideology that works through illusionism and the kind of uncritical identification that Brecht railed against in the theater. Everyday spectatorship is of course far more complex and contradictory than this model allows. A film is not the same thing as a dream and cine matic desire is not just psychic and sexual: it is also social and ideological. And the "subject-effects" of the cinema, even of the dominant cinema, are not automatic and irresistible, as anyone knows who has ever witnessed a surly audience that turned on a film with hisses and boos. Viewers have various reasons for going to the movies, including social reasons like contact with This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Tracing Utopia 147 others, communication, shared experience, and so on. In fact, going to the movies is for most people a group activity, and as such is not irrelevant to Utopian scholars. A model of spectatorship based on Utopian desire, I think, can offer a more comprehensive account of media spectatorship than uncon scious dream-states. Utopian desire, first of all, is conscious and social?a daydream rather than a nightdream?and therefore more open to contradic tions, multiple effects, diverse possibilities. Secondly, Utopian desire rejects all forms of apparatus-like domination: it implies emancipatory ways of being rather than regressive ones. Third, Utopian desire projects human needs that can be linked more directly to specific social groups and historical commu nities?working class, blacks, women, gays and lesbians?incorporating the contradictions and discrepancies that identify these groups. By Utopian desire I mean the impulse to "read against the grain," the recurring human desire to project alternatives. This desire, whatever form it may take?possible or impossible, concrete or abstract, technological or agrarian?is always based on the interplay between fantasy and reality, between the imaginary and the "real." In the classic utopias of More, Mor ris, and Bellamy, this interplay is prompted by the two separate and distinct communities juxtaposed to reveal opposing views on social life and social values. In More's Utopia, for example, we find a description of an imaginary community, delineated in Book II as "the best state of the commonwealth," and a description of a real or historical community, dystopian England of 1516, critically exposed in Book I as "the worst state of a commonwealth." If Jameson is right about the coexistence of ideology and utopia in every artwork, then we should find similar structures operating in a great variety of texts, including anti-utopias. In Zamyatin's We and Huxley's Brave New World, for example, we also find dialectically opposed communities sepa rated by a boundary/barrier: on one side there is extreme uniformity, conform ity, alienation (a corrupted utopia); on the other side there is extreme freedom, non-conformity, wild profusion. Thus, utopias and dystopias, however incom patible they may be in terms of their underlying ideologies, achieve their effect by drawing attention to the gaps and discrepancies between what exists and what is possible in human relations, and thereby prompt Utopian desire. But, since readers and spectators are diverse and see films from differ ent dialogical angles, Utopian readings are not automatic. If the twin poles of ideology and utopia are in fact simultaneous and profoundly interdepend ent, as Jameson claims, then there is no simple polarity between Utopian films and those that are complicit with the status quo, just as there is no simple polar ity between resistant (utopian) spectators and cultural dupes. Even complicit films are complex, contradictory, or, in Bloch's terms, "unevenly developed." Utopian desire in the cinema, then, depends on a lot of things and can not be limited to the kind of film we are looking at. The same images and sounds evoke different meanings and associations for different viewers. Thus, analysis of Utopian moments in film is always, to some extent, analysis of our own fascination and passions. Spectatorship in the cinema is relational and perception is embedded in history: we can decode a film for its Utopian This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 148 UTOPIAN STUDIES meanings only to the extent that our experience and environment provides us with a Utopian framework for understanding. As an academic and film teacher I am supposedly an informed and crit ical viewer. But this does not diminish my pleasure in watching The Lion King with my eight year old daughter. The story deals with a young male lion who is reluctant to assume his rightful position of power and leader ship. Eventually, of course, he does. In watching the film I am aware, in the most commonplace way, that the film is a paean to patriarchy. I am dis turbed by the sexist and racial stereotypes: the lionesses are portrayed as helpless victims whose only hope is to find a male to save them; the villain is an effeminate lion who speaks in gay clich?s; the jive-talking hyenas evoke stereotypes of urban blacks and ethnics. Equally disturbing are the sequences that recall fascist rallies in Triumph of the Will style. I see how the film perpetuates male privilege and power, how it advocates restoration of the patriarchal order, rather than reform or social change. At the same time, however, I am aware of how the film evokes Utopian fantasies. For the film also affirms the importance of collective solidarity, the need for social integration and relatedness. At one point it even suggests that the young lion's sense of freedom is illusory because it is not grounded in bonds of community. Ideologically, the film mobilizes our desire for community and alliance, it holds out a Utopian hope that attracts us, at the same time that it "manages" our potentially more disruptive Utopian desires. In Jameson's terms, the film both contains and constrains the Utopian impulse. To explain the appeal of the film, then, we must look not only at how the film manipu lates us into complicity with existing social forms, but also at the traces of Utopian fantasy that point beyond these forms, a more genuine sense of com munity not based on male privilege and power. Glancing at my daughter, I am aware of the contradictory nature of pleasure at the cinema: like Bloch's "uneven development," I find myself constantly sliding between fascination and awareness, seduced at times by the power of the apparatus?the charm of the story, the performance, the musical numbers?while at other times I am politically distanced, critical, resistant. We all exist inside ideology, and so even the critical analyst can slide easily into the cultural dupe. Spectators come to the cinema psychically disposed and historically conditioned. They may not work out Utopian readings even when prompted to do so. After seeing John Singleton's Poetic Justice with my wife, a pro fessional writer and novelist, she complains about its pandering script and muddled narrative. An inner-city romance and road movie set among urban blacks who live in a terminally selfish dystopia, the film is especially inter ested in showing how the code of male machismo has led to a total breakdown of communication: there is constant verbal abuse and relentless squabbling between black men and black women. This situation is then dramatically contrasted with a remarkable Utopian moment about halfway through the film that shows a festive family picnic. In sharp contrast to the single parent family we see earlier in the film, this is a very large extended family?the Johnson family?whose members are seen cooperating, sharing, and com This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Tracing Utopia 149 municating freely. We also hear Maya Angelou's poetry, read as voice-over by the heroine, as a kind of Utopian counterpoint that underscores the need for change in sexual roles and interpersonal behavior. My wife agrees that the picnic is one of the better sequences in the film, but insists that the poetry doesn't work and that overall the film is still a dawdling mishmash. Most of the reviews I read agreed with her. They focused on narrative plotting and the psychological complexity of the characters, not on its potential Utopian meanings. Contrasting existing human relations with momentary glimpses of Utopian harmony does not make this a Utopian film. And the fact that the film announces itself as a Utopian fantasy: "Once upon a time in South-Cen tral LA," does not guarantee that it will be read this way. I realize that my emphasis on the Utopian moments in the film is part of my own fascination and passion, not shared by my wife. It would be ludicrous of me to insist that she share my view. Viewers come to the cinema with different priorities and different expectations. The way they "see" films depends on the cultural and political preparation that "primes" them to look for certain things and not others. The effects that a film has cannot be separated from the experi ences of historically situated viewers, constituted outside the text by class, race, gender, sexuality, nationality and so on. Utopian desire is not the same for the wealthy White investor, the Latina maid, the unemployed Black male, the Bosnian refugee. Even the same ethnic community may reflect diverse Utopian desires. This does not mean of course that spectatorship is sociologi cally or racially compartmentalized. Cross-racial, cross-ethnic, and cross gender identification is always possible. Dyer's "imagined community" of the classical musical is obviously limited to dominant White spectators. But this does not exclude members from other racial and ethnic communities from sharing in a deeply embedded desire for a more meaningful "elsewhere." For years we thought that spectatorship was something the film and the filmmaker did, that meaning was a function of the film-text and presumably would be identified in the same way regardless of the class, gender, race, sexual orientation, and nationality of the viewer. But there is no such appa ratus-like control, no simple polarity between complicit and subversive films, and no simple division between compliant and resistant viewers. Cinema, including Godard's, Singleton's, Disney's, and Spielberg's, is saturated with ideology and possibility of Utopian opposition. Domination and liberation, as Jameson points out, are two sides of the same cultural text and analysis requires both a negative and a positive hermeneutic. Even the most fragmented and alienated aesthetic forms can yield constructs of hope that raise the pos sibility of change. Finally and ultimately it is not only filmmakers, textual signs, and the institutional apparatus that constitute the meanings of films, but also we, the audience, who create Utopian meanings in the act of viewing. Conclusion Deciphering Utopian moments in film seems to me a worthwhile activ ity. We need to keep in mind however that audiences are not locked into a This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 150 UTOPIAN STUDIES programme of representation: they don't just recognize meanings already there, they make films mean. Theoretically this suggests that a great variety of readings are possible, but in practice we find them limited. Current inter est in audience research?reception theory, ethnography, audience surveys? sometimes tries to discredit textual analysis, claiming to approximate more closely how movies are actually watched by real flesh-and-blood audiences. But I'm not convinced that audience surveys and analysis of film reviews provide us direct access to the real conditions of spectatorship. I am not in favor of discarding textual analyses so that we can focus exclusively on socially formed practices and reading formations. However, I am in favor of textual analysis expanding its horizons beyond the individual film-text and being more attentive to the contradictory ways films function across differ ent cultural registers. Foregrounding moments of Utopian subversion in a film may require a more active viewer, one who links textual contradictions to larger socio-historical contradictions. But texts still cue viewers to certain kinds of responses and not others. Audience-oriented theories, according to Janet Staiger, may be divided into those that focus on ideal or implied viewers, those that emphasize real or empirical audiences, and those that focus on contextual or historical fea tures of the interpretive experience (34-48). For the first group the empha sis is on the power of the film. For the second group the emphasis is on the power of the individual to resist or to surrender to the power of the film. Context-oriented theories look at the social, political, and economic condi tions of the film experience; their emphasis is on history. Whether based on studies of perception and understanding or on empirical observation of how individuals actually respond to the cinema, I think these approaches are all potentially useful in analyzing the range of Utopian meanings in film. Since the 1980s, for example, British "cultural studies" has generated a prolifera tion of work that digs out moments of subversion in mass-media texts. In his influential essay "Encoding/Decoding" Stuart Hall develops a theory of preferred readings. Hall sees texts (in this case television texts) as suscep tible to a variety of readings based on ideological contradictions, and posits three reading strategies in relation to the dominant ideology: 1) the "domi nant reading" produced by viewers who acquiesce to the subjectivity it pro duces; 2) the "negotiated reading" produced by viewers who acquiesce to the dominant ideology to some extent, but whose situation provokes specific "local" critical inflections; and 3) the "resistant reading" produced by those whose social situations place them in opposition to the dominant ideology. These strategies of reading make visible what is transformed, displaced, or otherwise disguised by ideology. This approach, it seems to me, undermines the supposed passivity of the viewer, and suggests a potentially productive practice for uncovering Utopian meanings in film. Before we set out to claim turf for a Utopian film genre then, a some what arbitrary undertaking anyway, we should take into account the role that viewers play in the production of Utopian readings. Utopian film oper ates within a network of meanings?and hopefully actions?which extends This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Tracing Utopia 151 beyond the films themselves. Not only representations, films produce and enact ideologies; they have real effects, evoke emotional and behavioral responses, shape identities. This raises important questions about how audi ences are addressed, subjectivities formed, and meanings produced. It also suggests that we move toward a more interactive model of genre, one that takes into account the reception and uses of film. Finally, we need to remember that digging out Utopian meanings in film implies a Utopian framework of understanding. Our challenge as Utopian scholars is to develop a practice that will allow us to identify those moments in film that nourish Utopian hopes and reinforce the desire for alternatives. How does a film generate dissatisfaction with everyday life? How does it mobilize our desire for community and move us toward a more egalitarian society? Is it feasible to identify a certain mode of spectatorship as Utopian? In trying to answer these questions we should avoid abstract claims about how all art provides us with glimpses of genuinely integrated social rela tions and pious generalizations about the human subject under capitalism and patriarchy. These terms are reductive and undynamic. Nor does the term "socialism" automatically mean progressive social change. Our focus should be on specific, local studies, exploring the kinetic sensations of utopia and the competing claims of Utopian desire, rather than on large theories and totalizing genres that try to account for everything. Our goal should be a her meneutics of film that both heightens our awareness of the muffled "strains" of utopia in mass media and makes apparent the obstacles that suppress and contain them. The question of whether there is a Utopian film genre, in other words, is less important than the question of how to mobilize the critical potential of Utopian desire in empowering directions. Bloch's "traces," Dyer's "non-representational signs," and reading "against the grain" demon strate the precariousness of narrative and of ideological hierarchies. They also demonstrate the considerable benefits of directing our attention to the way the cinema stimulates and "manages" our Utopian desire. In identifying the often distorted Utopian sights and sounds, we not only expose and deconstruct the manipulations of ideology, we also propose and construct Utopian alternatives. The use value of Utopian analysis of film seems obvi ous to me: for if the function of cinema is to mediate between our personal fantasies and the public sphere, then the critical potential of Utopian desire is crucial. Without it, our isolation and fragmentation may go unnoticed as we sit in enthralled fascination watching ever more awesome and ever more terrifying simulations. NOTES 1. Fitting's essay is one of four featured articles on Utopian film. Other essays are by Robert Shelton, "The Utopian Film Genre: Putting Shadows on the Silver Screen" (18-25), John Erickson, "The Ghost in the Machine: Gilliam's Postmodern Response in Brazil to the Orwellian Dystopia of Nineteen Eighty-Four" (26-34), and R?gine-Mihal Friedman, "' Capi tals of Sorrow': From Metropolis to Brazil" (35-43). This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 152 UTOPIAN STUDIES 2. Fitting does not mention Andrei Tarkovsky's Stalker (1979), an adaptation of the Strugat sky novel Roadside Picnic. His failure to include this adaptation may be due to Tarkovsky's reduction of this incomparable novel to a rather solemn religious fable. 3. For discussions of how SF film can be negotiated for Utopian meanings, see Ruppert, "Blade Runner. " 4. Flinn proposes the term "partial utopias" to describe Hollywood films since they do not offer "a full escape so much as the promise or suggestion of one (101)." 5. For discussion of how film noir (Detour) and melodrama (Penny Serenade) illuminate the connections between utopia and film music, see Flinn (118-150). REFERENCES Althusser, Louis. Lenin and Philosophy and Other Essays. Trans. Ben Brewster. London: New Left Books, 1971. Baudry, Jean-Louis. "Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus." Narra tive, Apparatus, Ideology. Ed. Philip Rosen (NY: Columbia UP, 1986), 268-98. Bergstrom, Janet and Mary Anne Doane. "The Female Spectator: Contexts and Directions." Camera Obscura 20-21 (1989), 5-27. [Special Issue on The Spectatrix] Dyer, Richard. "Entertainment and Utopia." Movie 24 (Spring 1977): 2-13. Fitting, Peter. "What Is Utopian Film? An Introductory Taxonomy." Utopian Studies 4, No. 2 (1993): 1-17. Flinn, Caryl. Strains of Utopia: Gender, Nostalgia, and Hollywood Film Music. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1992. Hall, Stuart. "Encoding/Decoding." Culture, Media, Language. Ed. Stuart Hall, D. Hobson, A. Lowe and P. Willis (London: Hutchinson, 1980), 128-38. Jameson, Fredric. "Of Island and Trenches: Neutralization and the Production of Utopian Discourse." Reprinted in Jameson, The Ideologies of Theory. 2 vols. (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1988), 2:75-102. _. Marxism and Form. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1971. _. "Reification and Utopia in Mass Culture." Social Text, 1, No. 1 (1979): 130-148. Mayne, Judith. Cinema and Spectatorship. London: Routledge, 1993. Metz, Christian. The Imaginary Signifier: Psychoanalysis and the Cinema. Trans. Celia Brit ton, Annwyl Williams, Ben Brewster, and Alfred Guzzetti. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1982. Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." Film Theory and Criticism. 4th ed. Ed. Gerald Mast, Marshall Cohen, Leo Brady (New York: Oxford UP, 1992), 746-57. Ruppert, Peter. uBlade Runner: The Utopian Dialectics of Science Fiction Films." Cin?aste 17 (1989): 8-14. Sobchack, Vivian. Screening Space: The American Science Fiction Film. NY: Ungar, 1987. Staiger, Janet. Interpreting Films: Studies in the Historical Reception of American Cinema. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1992. This content downloaded from 147.91.1.45 on Sun, 15 Dec 2013 07:02:50 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions