Robyn’s Blog

A lot of thoughts were twirling around in my brain after watching the movie Vertigo. But the one that really wouldn’t leave my mind was the idea that the protagonist of the movie Johnny Ferguson is in love with a non-existent person. He is in love with an idea as opposed to a living, breathing human being. I’m going to use Andrew Bazin’s essays “The Ontology of the Photographic Image” and “The Myth of Total Cinema” to discuss Judy Barton’s representation of Madeline Elster, the woman with whom Johnny Ferguson falls in love, and to what extent Judy actually becomes the person, or idea, that she pretends to be.

Here we go.

In her attempt to represent Madeline Elster, Judy Barton transforms herself into an entirely new person with whom Johnny Ferguson falls in love. Johnny falls in love with a representation of Madeline Elster—not Madeline herself. He never actually knew Madeline. Johnny always loved Judy, but not Judy for herself. He loves Judy as she represents Madeline. Madeline never actually dies; at least not the Madeline that Johnny falls in love with. That Madeline—that construct—still exists.

Johnny fell in love with an idea. I feel like we all do that sometimes when we fall in love with someone without really knowing them very well. We fall in love with the idea of them. We fall in love with the person that we think they are. Everyone puts forth a representation of themselves that isn’t necessarily accurate. Or, we invent our own representations of people.

When people initially fall for someone, often they put forth their best side. Or worse, they put forward the side of themselves that they think the person they are falling for will be attracted to. It is very difficult for people to be confident enough with themselves to say, “Hey—this is me, take me for who I am…take me baby, or leave me.” (Rent—just go with it). That requires an absurd level of self-confidence. It’s not that people usually completely change their personality and appearance to get someone (though this is exactly what Judy does) but that people consciously or even subconsciously repress certain aspects of themselves that they perceive as unattractive (or think that the person they are pursuing will deem unattractive) and emphasize personality traits they like about themselves (or know that the other person will find endearing). In Vertigo, Judy eventually represents herself as another person in order to be loved. This post discusses how people sometimes change themselves in order to get someone to like them. I also really like Mary Caroline’s thoughts on Midge. I agree that Midge as well as Judy is willing to change herself in order to be loved. I just don’t think that she understands exactly how.

People naturally customize themselves when they want to be liked. People are very complicated! (duh, okay Robyn). They exist on so many different levels! There is so much to the personality of another person, and so many sides to discover. It is only natural bring out particular aspects of your personality when you want someone to like you. It’s easy to do, too, because unless you are actually living with the person you are dating, you can highlight portions of yourself because you have limited contact with that person. They don’t have access to all of you. And you don’t have to give it to them.

But this is a dangerous tactic, because eventually when two people get to know each other well enough, they will also know the parts of their personalities that aren’t so endearing. And they (hopefully) will love each other for their faults as well as their charms, and love the annoying things the other person does and the weird quirks they have.

Or they’re going to leave.

So what if someone decides to keep the image they’ve created for themselves. Maybe they pretend to be a pious, unrighteous person when they’re actually a big creep, in order to get the guy or girl. What happens if they just go on pretending? What does that mean? Are you who you pretend to be? Are you the person you represent? If you pretend to be a good, caring, selfless person long enough, you sort of become a good, caring, selfless person. Brad expands in his post on the idea that we might just all be the products of what we produce. Believing this makes every little action you do incredibly important, because what you do is what you are. People can decide who they want to be, you know. We can make those decisions. The mind is a really powerful thing (and the prize for Captain Obvious goes once again to Robyn!) But seriously. You’re all sitting at your computers right now reading this and thinking—no way. Each person has a specific, inherent (or influenced) nature that they will always come back to.

Maybe. Maybe. But I’m doubtful, I’ll be honest. I think people can make themselves whoever they want to be. You can make yourself think whatever you want to think. And you can convince yourself of who you are. You can essentially create yourself.

The human mind isn’t set in stone. It’s adaptable and moldable like playdoe. (Playdoe!) The mind is like the mantle of the Earth. It’s a plastic—it’s elastic. It stretches and bends. You can sculpt it however you want. Eventually, we become our representations. All we are is a representation. Figuring this out is terrifying, because all of a sudden you realize that your entire existence is just a representation, and you’re not pretending anymore. The representation of yourself is you. You are the person you represent.

We see an example of this sort of creating in Portrait of Jennie. Eben tries to create a representation of a person through art. We talked in class how upon the completion of the painting, Jennie asks Eben, “Is that really me?” He replies, “It is you.” His portrait is more than merely a representation of Jennie. The portrait is Jennie. It is Jennie as Eben is able to capture her on canvas. It is a reality in itself, not merely a copy. Art, even when it is representing life, is life itself.

In Vertigo, the stakes are much higher. Akin to Portrait of Jennie, in Vertigo a character tries to represent another character. Except instead of representing the character through the medium of art, a character is represented through the medium of another person. In Portrait of Jennie, Eben attempts to represent Jennie on a canvas. In Vertigo, Judy attempts to represent Madeline through herself. In the ultimate act of representation, Judy becomes Madeline.

Judy originally pretends to be Madeline Elster so that Mr. Elster can murder his wife and everyone will suspect that the murder is suicide. In order to make this work, Judy has to pretend to be inhabited by the ghost of Carlotta, so it appears perfectly reasonable when she jumps off a church tower. So, in a nutshell, Judy Barton is representing Madeline Elster who is representing Carlotta.

Phew.

Oh my gosh, before I continue can I just say that the actress Kim Norvak plays the role of Judy Barton who plays the role of Madeline Elster who is inhabited by the ghost of Carlotta.

Representation upon representation upon representation upon representation. Crazy.

Okay, anyway, back to what I’m trying to say. Johnny falls in love with Mr. Elster’s wife, Madeline. Except—and this is the kicker—Johnny never actually meets Elster’s wife Madeline. He falls in love with Judy Barton’s representation of Madeline! He never loves Madeline—he has always loved Judy! But that’s inaccurate, because he’s never met Judy either (until later in the movie). Johnny falls in love with a non-existent person. Tyler suggests in his blog the possibility that Judy doesn’t exist at all, and is a complete construct in Johnny’s head. I think Tyler meant that Judy might literally not exist, but I want to argue that even though Judy is alive as a human being—she ceases to exist when she gives up her identity, because we are all only concept. Madeline-as-represented-by-Judy isn’t real, she’s an idea that Judy and Mr. Elster created to fool Johnny. Johnny loves a complete construct. And not only a construct of Madeline—Johnny falls in love with Judy while she is pretending to be Madeline while pretending that Madeline is possessed by Carlotta.

Therefore, when Madeline dies, Johnny hasn’t actually lost the woman he loves to death. He lost the woman he loves when Judy stopped representing her. When Judy reverts back to being Judy instead of Madeline-inhabited-by-Carlotta, the woman that Johnny loves stops existing.

Until (duh duh duuuuh) he brings her back.

This is exactly like when people fall for movie stars because of the role that they play in a movie. Hell—I’m sure some people out there are in love with Kim Novak in the role she played as Judy/Madeline/Carlotta. But they don’t know Kim Novak! Have they talked to Kim Novak? Shared a cup of coffee? No! But people have these obsessions, and their love for the representation of someone is quite real. But the people they love don’t actually exist.

This reverts back to the same idea in Portrait of Jennie. Leighton comes to this “startling conclusion” in her commentary on Vertigo. She mentions that both Eben and Scottie manage to fall in love with non-existent people. Eben is in love with Jennie….but it isn’t certain whether or not Jennie is actually real. She is certainly elusive enough—she clearly doesn’t exist in the same time frame as Eben, her age constantly shifts, the facts don’t line up, and we never know exactly where she is. We can’t pin her down. “Where I come from, nobody knows….” Yet regardless of her reality, or rather lack thereof, Eben loves Jennie. His love is a certainty. It doesn’t matter if she’s an image, or a ghost, or a construct of his own mind. It simply doesn’t matter. He loves Jennie anyway. Carmen also talks in her blog about how both Eben and Scottie (am I the only one who thinks of him as Johnny?) “fall into the trap” of loving something that isn’t real. She reminds us that even though Eben and Scottie are fictional characters, we are all capable of falling in love with an idea.

Johnny similarly loves Madeline in Vertigo. So what if the Madeline that he loves isn’t really real? She is real for Johnny. But then this goes back to our good friend Stanley Fish. Is perception the only reality? What is going on here? In Judy’s representation of Madeline, “We no longer know the difference between subjective and objective, imaginary and real, physical and mental—not because we are connected, but because there is no longer a secure place from which to ask these questions” (“Film and Reality” 140).

What is death when Johnny isn’t in love with a living, breathing person? Madeline’s death matters not at all. As Midge so perceptively says to the Doctor when Johnny is in the mental hospital,

“He was in love with her…he still is.”

Just as Jennie’s death makes no difference to Eben in Portrait of Jennie, Madeline’s death is utterly irrelevant to Johnny. He doesn’t need a living Madeline to be in love. He just has to create her. Since Eben and Johnny are both obsessed with an idea, they try to represent their idea in a type of art. Johnny decides to recreate his conception of Madeline in Judy so that his love once again has a living, breathing shell. In this way, both Eben and Johnny are artists. They are both trying to represent a woman using different mediums.

Bazin says in his essay “The Ontology of the Photographic Image” that “the quarrel over realism in art stems from a misunderstanding, from a confusion between the aesthetic and the psychological, between true realism, the need that is to give significant expression to the world both concretely and is essence, and the pseudorealism of a deception aimed at fooling the eye or for that matter the mind); a pseudorealism content in other words with illusory appearances” (168). It doesn’t matter that Johnny’s construct of Madeline isn’t actually real, because he is content with the illusion of her reality. Bazin talks in his essay “What is Cinema” about the “preservation of life by a representation of life” (166). As rational thinkers, we know that we cannot bring anyone back from the dead. But “it is no longer a question of survival after death, but of a larger concept, the creation of an ideal world in the likeness of the real, with its own temporal destiny” (167). After Madeline’s death, Johnny attempts to create through the medium of Judy an ideal representation of the woman he once loved. He cannot bring Madeline back from the death, but he can make a new Madeline. He can make her so realistic that she might as well be Madeline. This is so ironic because Judy always was Madeline.

Now this is going to be a little confusing for a moment. (unless you are already confused, in which case this is going to be extremely confusing). Bazin talks a lot about photography as a representation of reality, saying that “the photographic image is the object itself, the object freed from the conditions of time and space that govern it. No matter how fuzzy, disoriented, or discolored, no matter how lacking in documentary value the image may be, it shares, by virtue of the very process of its becoming, the being of the model of which is the representation, it is the model” (169). Bazin explains that photography represents life in such a way that even though “the photograph and the object itself share a common being, after the fashion of a fingerprint…photography actually contributes something to the order of natural creation instead of providing a substitute for it.” Thus, “the logical distinction between what is imaginary and what is real tends to disappear. Every image is to be seen as an object and every object as an image” (170).

This blog also talks about the idea that you can have two different creations coming from the same source. The post comments that Madeline and Judy are “identical in appearance, yet different light bulbs, and still part of the same light fixture…” I want to argue that Judy’s representation of Madeline likewise adds to the order of natural creation. We have no idea of the personality of the real Madeline. And clearly Judy’s representation of Madeline wasn’t Judy. So in her creation of a representation of Madeline, Judy essentially creates an entirely new human identity. With whom, of course, Johnny falls in love.

I would like to compare Judy’s representation of Madeline to Bazin’s theory on art. He comments that, “the photograph allows us on the one hand to admire in reproduction something that our eyes alone could not have taught us to love, and on the other, to admire the painting as a thing in itself whose relation to something in nature has ceased to be the justification for its existence” (170). Judy’s representation of Madeline becomes a thing in itself outside of its ties to Madeline the human being. New life has been created.

We can only compare Judy’s representation of Madeline in Vertigo to Bazin’s interpretation of cinema as a whole. Bazin says that “an approximate and complicated visualization of an idea invariably precedes the industrial discovery which alone can open the way to its practical use” (171). Johnny has a visualization of Madeline in his head; the Madeline that he fell in love with. He just needs a shell to put her in. In reference to cinema, Bazin says that “cinema even at its most elementary stage needed a transparent, flexible, and resistant base and a dry, sensitive emulsion capable of receiving an image instantly…all the definite stages of the invention of the cinema had been reached before the requisite conditions had been fulfilled” (117). This is the same case for Johnny. He doesn’t have a living, breathing Madeline—but he has a conception of her, and that is good enough. All he has to do is find a way to represent his idea.

I would like to point out some examples in the movie Vertigo where Judy is portrayed as more of a conception than an actually living person. First, let’s go to the scene where Johnny takes Judy home after having dinner with her for the first time. When they get back to Judy’s apartment, Johnny tells Judy that he would like to see more of her, and wants to “take care of her.” After hearing this, Judy sits down by the window. As the audience, all that we are able to see is her black profile in contrast with the bright green backdrop of the curtains. We don’t see any actual features of Judy; only an outline of her body is visible as she questions Johnny, “Why—because I remind you of her? That’s not very complimentary…and nothing else?”

Johnny replies, honestly, “no.”

She counters with, “That’s not very complimentary either.”

In this scene, the character of Judy doesn’t matter at all. We are only able to see her black outline, without any physical characteristics or features. This is a reflection of the fact that the individual components that make up Judy are irrelevant to Johnny. He only requires Judy to be a profile, as she appears in this shot. He only needs a shell in which to put the characteristics of the woman he loves, Madeline.

In the next shot, we view Judy head-on. Yet half of her face is simply a dark shadow. This is the first evening thus far that she has spent with Johnny. At this point, she is still trying to remain herself, Judy, even though Johnny is only interested in her because she reminds him of Madeline. The shadow on half of her face appears to slowly erode Judy away, so it appears that soon she might lose herself entirely. The side of her face by the window, away from Johnny, is still illuminated in this shot. But the portion of her face closest to Johnny is only darkness. Johnny is slowly eliminating Judy and replacing her with his idea of Madeline.

The next scene I would like to analyze is after Judy and Johnny return from shopping for clothing. Judy pleads with Johnny “…couldn’t you like me, just me the way I am?…when we first started out, it was so good—we had fun! And then you started in on the clothes…well I’ll wear the darn clothes if you want me to if, if you’ll just, just like me.”

Heartbreaking.

As Judy begins her speech, the camera shoots Judy head on as she is hopeful that Johnny will accept her for who she is. Yet as she continues her monologue the camera angle slowly swirls around so that we are able to see less and less of Judy’s face as she loses hope that she will be able to retain her identity. In addition to the camera movement, during this scene the figure of Johnny casts a shadow on Judy, emphasizing the fact that Judy is losing herself to Johnny’s dark obsessions. While the physical body of Judy will still exist, the concept of what makes Judy Judy is being swallowed by the person Johnny wants her to be. The camera also moves upward as Judy is speaking, cutting off part of her head. This further emphasizes that Judy is not important in herself—only Johnny’s conception of Judy is relevant. Upon the completion of her speech, the camera has now completely spun so that the cut is from behind Judy. We aren’t able to see any of her face as she accepts the loss of her identity in order to be loved.

Only Johnny is visible, staring at Judy as he responds to her with, “the color of your hair.” Judy buries her head in her hands with a groan of defeat. She knows she can’t win—Johnny will never love her for herself. She goes up to Johnny and the following dialogue ensues;

-“If I let you change me, will that do it? If I do what you tell me, will you love me?”

-“Yes….yes.”

-“Fine, all right then, I’ll do it, I don’t care anymore about me.”

Johnny only loves Judy as Madeline. He doesn’t give a damn about Judy as Judy. In this moment, Judy accepts this fact, and completely renounces her own identity in order to be loved. She sacrifices herself for Johnny and accepts the death of Judy. For me at least, this is the most powerful moment in the entire movie.

I want to also take a look at the scene where Judy comes back to the apartment after being completely made over as Madeline, sans her hairstyle. While Johnny tells Judy to pin back her hair like Madeline’s, we get a camera shot of Judy standing in front of a mirror. As the audience, we only have access to a shot of Judy’s back. We view the front of Judy through a reflection in the mirror. This is because the Judy before us isn’t really a person, she is only a conception—a reflection of an idea that Johnny loves as materialized in Judy.

After Judy fixes her hair, she walks back into the apartment fully transformed into Madeline. As she walks into the room, a haze appears to surround her so that we are unable to see Judy clearly. This supports the idea that the person who walks into the room is not a real person. The figure entering is a conception.

When Johnny finally kisses Judy, his head and shoulders get in the way of the audience’s view of Judy’s face, so that she completely disappears from our line of sight. As the kiss continues, the camera is set on Johnny’s back. We are unable to see Judy at all, except for her hands. Johnny’s body is entirely blocking our view. This goes along with the fact that Johnny’s notion of Madeline has entirely consumed Judy so that she no longer exists as a human being even in the scene.

The setting around Johnny and Judy changes during their epic kiss. The two are momentarily transformed back into the past to emphasize the fact that Johnny is not kissing Judy, but a conception from his past. Throughout the entire kiss we still only see Johnny’s face until the very end, when we finally catch a glimpse of Judy/Madeline. Yet even this small glimpse is overcast by a shadow from Johnny. The kiss shared by Judy and Johnny serves to further confirm the fact that Judy has lost herself completely and become merely an extension of Johnny’s mind.

Everyone always talks about the big moment at the end of the movie where Judy dies. But if we look at this movie through the idea that Judy is just a representation, she has already been dead for a long time now; back when she decided to give up her identity for Johnny. Madeline Elster’s literal death likewise didn’t matter either—Madeline only dies when the idea of her is no longer being acted out. So I know you’re really sad that this blog too is about to come to an end. But the idea presented will hopefully remain in your head.

I just want to comment on Shayden’s post on Midge and Judy.  She says that Judy lied to Johnny and through her deception is responsible for his downfall.  I feel very strongly opposed to this idea.  I don’t think that you can “get” someone to fall in love with you.  They have to do that all by themselves.  AND they have to take responsibility for any consequences that ensue.  Shayden says that Johnny “wants eroticism and excitement, something unusual.”  Yes.  He wants this.  He wants to fall in love with Judy/Madeline.  Midge is therefore not the ideal girl, because she isn’t what Johnny really wants.

Okay, what Johnny wants happens to be a unhealthy and dangerous obsession.  But he makes that decision for himself.  And frankly, I’d rather have an unhealthy and dangerous obsession than settle for a Midge.  And probably so would you.  It doesn’t matter how good anyone looks on paper.  Anyone–bloggers–have you made pro/con lists about people you had crushes on back when you were in middle school?  Don’t lie.  The “nice guy/girl” who was such a “good friend” was never the one you fell for.   Nothing changes.

Johnny is seduced by Judy because he wants to be seduced.  In order to fall you have to be willing to let yourself go.  Only you can make that decision.  No one is capable of “seducing” someone else unless that person is willing to be seduced.  If Johnny–or anyone–is really that weak of a person then he clearly deserves his fate.  Judy and Johnny are both equally responsible for their respective downfalls.

Brad,

In response to your post, haha yes my head is spinning.  Yes–Eben’s masterpiece, his creation, is something itself. Eben is a something, Jennie is a something–anything they do because it’s own value and worth defined of itself. And everyone has this quality, in their own way.
So I guess creation doesn’t really exist–well no, I think maybe people create new somethings? And add to the overall makeup of the universe. I think we get caught up in defining people by what they do instead of their existence themselves. But are we only products of the products we create?
Am I just talking in circles?
But here’s what I want to know–and this is a little off the subject. What is it about Jennie, anyway? I don’t understand why Jennie in particular is so inspiring. I mean, I know we’re not supposed to understand love so forth, but come on. Jennie? What defining characteristics does she have besides the characteristic of being undefinable?

Brad,
Oh wow. Okay, what you are talking about is incredibly interesting. In a nutshell, do some people have more creativity, more originality to offer to this world. In essence, are some people “worth” (in the words of Dante) more than others? Or rather, worth remembering.
I like to think that everyone has something to offer, if you are looking hard enough. I feel like the more I get to really, really know people, the more you find out how cool they actually are. The more you make those connections and talk with people the more you discover what they bring to the table, in their own way.
However, I don’t think that people just stumble upon an original “something” someday. I mean–I think sometimes people do, but I don’t think that’s an inherent trend in a person’s life, to discover their “something.” I don’t think everyone has an original “something” at all. People are people. It’s people who are the something, not an idea that they might have.
I think some people are more natural creators, based largely on their upbringing or maybe even genes you have the sort of mind to create, to learn, to invent–to stand out. That doesn’t make them more worth it, exactly…it just makes them that kind of person, for whatever reason. And maybe after months and years someone who really just floated along finds something to make them stand out do something spectacular. Or maybe they won’t. That doesn’t mean they don’t have something to contribute–just not the kind of original creativity I think you are talking about.
I just put a lot of thought into that, but I am in no way convinced with my argument–the above paragraph is more of a hypothesis–I wouldn’t even call it a theory. That’s a tough question.
Robyn

Before I get into the title of this blog, I want to just say that I do own one Thomas Kinkade painting that I received for my conformation, and I thought it was rather uncanny that Dr. Campbell mentioned that even Kinkade’s paintings express a certain “yearning;” because the quote below the painting that I have in my room at home says;

“As the deer yearns for the river, so yearns my soul for thee, oh Lord.”

Anyway.  What we talked about in class today about Jennie being one and the same as the portrait of her and the fuzzy line between the representation of Jennie and the actual Jennie reminded me distinctly of The Oval Portrait by Poe.  As an artist paints a young woman in this story, the clearer the painting gets, the less alive the girl appears, until when the artist finally produces the perfect painting representation of the girl–she is dead.  Jennie is certainly hazy enough to begin with–and after the painting of her is complete she basically vanishes from Eben’s life.  Her existence as a painting is more important to Eben then her existence as a person.

Does Eben love Jennie as a person, or as a subject for his painting?  At first glace, one might think that Eben loves Jennie herself.  However, all Eben ever thinks about is Jennie in relation  to art.  The first thing Eben does after meeting Jennie is to sketch her.  Then he waits around for her to come back so he can do a portrait of her.  When she arrives in his apartment, he cuts the small talk to an absolute minimum, saying, “well–I’ve been waiting for you.  We’d better begin” (61).  Jennie is excited and bouncing around and having a grand old time and Eben doesn’t care at all.  When she is trying to talk to him during their lunch break, he gets grumpy at her and says, “But we’ve got work to do, and if you’ve finished with that last bit of milk, we might begin” (64).  He hurts her feelings and cuts her down to the point where she just concludes, “I won’t talk any more” (65).  Eben was “too busy to try to explain; and besides, it did the picture good” (65).

When Eben is finished with the painting, Jennie does not respond to him and seems to be asleep.  Instead of being concerned, Eben goes down the hall to “freshen up.”  When he returns, of course Jennie is gone.

And who can blame her?  Is that the treatment one is supposed to expect from a “soul mate” that everyone seems so convinced that they are?  It sounds horrible to me.  Eben cares about his art–not Jennie.  Jennie is a tool, an inspiration for his own artwork.  He uses her and then he’s finished with her.  He is left to worship a painting, a mere representation of Jennie.  Or maybe the painting is Jennie, maybe that’s all Jennie ever was.  I hope for Jennie’s sake that she is a mere creation of Eben’s imagination, because if she’s really his soul mate, it would really suck to have such a self-absorbed cold indifferent soul mate like Eben.

I agree with a lot of what Serena is saying in her post about how it is possible that Jennie and Eben are in love with the idea of love, and all the other various insignificant reasons to love someone that Serena lists in her blog.  However, I don’t think you need a good reason to love someone.  Maybe you are lonely, or afraid, or young, or naive, or stupid–but just because you don’t have a legitimate reason to be in love doesn’t discount being in love.  For whatever reason, Jennie and Eben love each other. 

Serena comments that Jennie’s love for Eben is “something to make her feel less lost.”  Well yes, exactly.  That’s a good enough reason for to try and comprehend why human beings look for someone to love–another human connection, another person out there to make you feel less lost yourself, make you feel less like you are spiraling off into oblivion in this random existence.  Love gives comfort and security–love, in any form, gives you an excuse to get up in the morning–just knowing there’s someone out there you want to share the day with.  Serena says that, “they’re both so afraid that it leads them to believe they need–love–each other.”  I think being afraid is as good a reason as any to be in love, and having weak, human reasons for loving someone doesn’t in any way discredit the emotion.

This is actually a post in response to Dr. C’s comment on my previous post about belonging to someone and “intense, romantic love.”  But that’s not really what I mean when I talk about belonging to someone, and I’m not sure if that’s what Robert Nathan means either.  I think that intense, romantic love can sometimes go hand in hand with belonging to someone.  You can maybe be romantically involved with a soul mate, but you don’t have to be.  I think you can be soul mates without it being romantic at all.  Actually, I think this is a real problem–because when you realize that someone is your soul mate, how do we know how to deal with that knowledge except to try and be with them romantically?  If you know you belong with someone you want to completely belong to them.  But that can’t always work.   In Portrait of Jennie, Eben eventually is able to be romantically involved with Jennie, because she is moving at a different time as him, and is able to grow up quickly enough to find him and be with him (however shortly).  But when she was a little girl, and Eben was an adult, they still knew that they belonged together.  It was just that when they were with one another, they knew that that was where they were supposed to be.  That’s why this is so troubling–it’s because it’s not the romantic love that is important, really.  Hopefully that works out too, but the concept that I think this book shows so beautifully and hauntingly is that two souls can simply be a part of one another, with no other explanation except that they are, regardless of circumstance.

When talking about Robert Nathan in the introduction, Peter Beagle comments that there is a “muted sense of loss, of something just recently out of reach, that haunts most of his characters…”  That’s basically exactly how I’ve been feeling all day after finishing Portrait of Jennie.  I feel like as I’m reading the book,it’s not the words, or the plot, or the situation exactly that matters; it’s this feeling the book creates for me that I can’t quite grasp but it reminds me of a million things I can’t remember and I’ve been frustrated all day about it.   There’s something really important in my mind about this book that I can’t get yet to.  I feel like this book itself isn’t important; it’s these ideas that the book presents that repeat themselves in a lot of literature and movies but come through in Portrait of Jennieas particularly troubling.

I’m hoping for a breakthrough but in case it never comes (I’ll spend forever waiting just like Eben, terrific) I’ll try and explain a little bit.  Whatever it is that is driving me crazy has to do with belonging to someone  you can’t get to.  I came up with about a million examples of books and movies that this reminded me of but not the one I really mean, yet.  Jennie and Eben don’t really know much about the world, but they do know that they belong to each other.  Eben says that “perhaps there was something strange about it; but just the same, it felt altogether right, as though we belonged just there, where we were, together.”  They are two lost characters, but they hold on to one thing–that they belong with each other.

And that’s a really great thing to hold on to, except they can’t get to one another.  They can’t be together.  So they are holding onto an idea that doesn’t really mean anything.  And Eben spends his life waiting for her, waiting to catch a glimpse or a day or a sign of her–and all he can do is wait.  He can’t track her down, he can’t rely on her to be there.  He spends his life waiting because he knows that he belongs with her.  I’m just so bothered by this.  I’m really, really bothered and when I come up with what I’m really trying to say I’ll post again. 

In his own way, Errol Morris is attempting in his films to bridge the gap between ourselves and “the other.”  In the above quote, the German philosopher Hegel is saying that once we understand that we are separate beings from everyone else, we try to resolve the alienation we feel by various types of synthesis.  Eye contact is one way which human beings are able to connect in spite of the physical space between two people.  As we talked about in class, when you make eye contact with someone, you are literally seeing yourself in their eyes.  Figuratively, eye contact allows you to get a glimpse of another persons inner thoughts and feelings as they simultaneously catch a glimpse of yours.  Perhaps you see in them a reflection of what you are feeling, a reflection of yourself.

Errol Morris uses to Interrotron as one method of fording the separation between people.  He provides a more direct connection to the person that is being interviewed.  He creates a synthesis between himself, who his is interviewing, and his audience. But the interrotron is not the only method that Errol Morris uses to try to eliminate the other.  His whole movie making process seems to revolve around making connections–showing that we can find ourselves in everyone else, and in everythingelse.  In Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control, Morris connects four completely unique people and ideas.  In his seemingly random images and pieces of the movie, Morris somehow ties it all together.  I think that he wants us to see that it doesn’t matter who we are–we can discover all we ever need to know about ourselves in everything else, all the otherness around us.  Or at least, I think he tries.  But the interrotron isn’t a perfect way to connect, just like all the random things in his movie don’t perfectly match.  But I guess the important thing is that he is trying, just like everyone else.

 I might read this post later and disagree with everything I just said, because I do that sometimes–but there, that’s what’s in my head right now.

I compare the movie Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control to a patchwork-quilt.  There are all these seemingly random peices, but as you continue to weave, something really spectacular comes together.  After seeing Morris’ other films, I admit that I sort of was expecting that to happen, which probably took away slightly from the shock value of the movie that would be relevant to those watching the film who are not already familiar with Errol Morris.  But I loved the collage-like technique of the movie.  Actually, this collageness is my favorite type of book as well.  I think it takes real talent to be able to take a lot of different pieces and manage to put them together in a way that somehow makes sense, and not only makes sense, but brings out something bigger. 
I found myself wondering as I watched the movie whether each little element, each individual shot, or music change or particular angle really did mean something to Errol Morris.  I conclue now that it probably didn’t.  I felt like sometimes Morris just threw something in his patchwork movie for kicks, but it turned out okay anyway.  It just worked. 

I think we could talk potentially forever about the various themes and ideas that were going on during Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control.  The biggest one that stood out for me was the circular pattern of everything.  I began by wondering why each of these ridiculous people was so obsessed with something so random, and then at one point it clicked that whatever it was that they were obsessing about didn’t matter.  It was all the same anyway.  The mole rats, the lions, hedge-cutting, robots. English, Chemistry, Theater, Historic Preservation.  Whatever person, whatever career, whatever we do with our lives.  It all comes back to the same thing.  We can find ourselves, and anything we’d ever want to know, in the simplest of creatures, in the most mundane idea.

I’ll stop there because, as the robot guys wisely says, “If you analyze it too much it becomes meaningless.”

Unless that ship has already sailed.