Through his unpredictable use of establishing shots, his ruptures of spatial and temporal unity and his wilful optical tricks that can momentarily disorientate the viewer, Ozu moves his cinema away from the Western model and into the realm of what we may call cinematic empathy. For Ozu, the presentation of space from a single privileged viewpoint, or the idea of “optical reality”, is of little interest and of little cultural or artistic importance. Indeed, according to the Zen and Buddhist artistic traditions, such an approach would be of little worth. Rather than capture the superficial “physical reality” of the objects and spaces he films, Ozu deliberately attempts to veil and invite intuitive readings. He investigates “empathy” and, in doing so, underlines the difference between his work and that of the Western film director’s concern with continuity or, as in Renoir’s case, realism.
In a crucial moment for modern architecture and its approach to spatial organisation, these two directors redirected our view backwards to two conflicting artistic and spatial traditions. They may both have had very different views of artistic representation and thus used their medium in very different ways, but they also shared a number of traits. They used their medium in complex, controlled and deliberate ways; they revealed a subtle narrative sensibility and, in addition, they did not see the medium of film as a threat to their traditions. On the contrary, they saw it as a tool for maintaining and developing those traditions. In the work of Ozu and Renoir film becomes a medium capable of preserving traditions in a time of change. It is a medium that reworks not only the conventional techniques of artistic and spatial representation but its underlying philosophical basis. Both the medium and its representation of space become cultural phenomena that have to be understood historically.
Notes
1Edgerton, Samuel. The Renaissance Discovery of Linear Perspective, Harper and Row Publishers, New York, 1975. p. 3.
2Damisch, Hubert. The Origin of Perspective, MIT Press, Massachusetts, 1994. p. 61–66.
3Kubovy, Michael. The Psychology of Perspective and Renaissance Art, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1986. p. 17.
4Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Signs, Northwestern University Press, Evanston, 1964. p. 50.
5For a detailed overview of this idea and the various arguments regarding the technical origins of perspective, see: Damisch, Hubert. The Origin of Perspective, Ibid. p. 58–87. See also: Edgerton, Samuel. The Renaissance Discovery of Linear Perspective, Ibid. p. 124–152.
6Panofsky, Erwin. Perspective as Symbolic Form, Zone Books, New York, 1991. p. 17.
7Giedion, Sigfreid. Space, Time and Architecture, Harvard University Press, New York, 1954. p. 437.
8Zevi, Bruno. Architecture as Space, Da Capo Press, New York, 1957. p. 22.
9Tempel, Egon. New Japanese Architecture, Thames and Hudson, London, 1969. p. 8.
10See: Okawa, Naomi. Edo Architecture: Katsura and Nikko, Weatherhill, New York, 1975. p. 9–16.
11Sesonske, Alexander. Jean Renoir, the French Films 1924–1939, Harvard University Press, New York, 1980. p. 288.
12Bertin, Célia. Jean Renoir – A Life in Pictures, The John Hopkins University Press, London, 1991. p. 35.
13These poems are documented in: Ward, Candace (ed.). World War One British Poets: Brooke, Owen, Sassoon, Rosenberg and Others, Dover Publications Inc., New York, 1997; For analysis see: Lane, Arthur. An Adequate Response: The War Poetry of Wilfred Owen and Sigfreid Sassoon, Wayne State University Press, Michigan, 1972.
14Dudley Andrew, J. The Major Film Theories, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1976. p. 147.
15Ibid. p. 137.
16Bazin, André. What Is Cinema? University of California Press, Los Angeles, 2004. p. 38.
17Bazin, André. Jean Renoir, Da Capo Press, New York, 1973. p. 64.
18This basic characteristic of Renaissance perspective is described in numerous introductory texts. Typical is E. H. Gombrich’s classic text originally published in 1950. See: Gombrich, E. H. The Story of Art, Phaidon Press Ltd, London, 1995. p. 248–264.
19Kubovy, Michael. The Psychology of Perspective and Renaissance Art, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1986. p. 1–3.
20A description of some of the characteristics drawn out here are found in: Ames-Lewis, Francis. The Intellectual Life of the Early Renaissance Artist, Yale University Press, New Haven, 2000. p. 245–248.
21The manner in which architectural features were used to create the illusion of perspective in the early renaissance is dealt with by Damisch. See: Damisch, Hubert. The Origin of Perspective, Ibid. p. 72–83.
22The ancient Greek poet Pindar (c. 522–443 BC) is generally considered to have one of the most complex and difficult styles of the ancient Greek canon, making his selection in this context by Renoir a doubly layered reference. For information on Pindar and his poetry, see: Instone, Stephen (ed.). Pindar: The Complete Odes, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2008; Hornblower, Simon. Thucydides and Pindar: Historical Narrative and the World of Epinikian Poetry, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2006.
23For an overview of Messina, see: Barbara, Gioacchino. Antonello Da Messina: Sicily’s Renaissance Master, Metropolitan Museum of Art Publications, New York, 2006.
24Renoir, Jean. My Life and My Films, Collins, London, 1974. p. 160
25The use of these subtle references in the characterisation of Renoir’s protagonists is covered by Sesonske. See: Sesonske, Alexander. Jean Renoir, the French Films 1924–1939, Ibid. p. 298–312.
26Sesonske, Alexander. Ibid. p. 282.
27This phenomenon and the sensation of discomfort attributed to it in the arts is covered in general overview terms by Hughes. See: Hughes, Robert. The Shock of the New – Art and the Century of Change, Thames and Hudson, London, 1980.
28Cubism was by no means the only influence in this regard. However, it was widely pushed across Europe at the time and thus became the principal influence on early twentieth century developments in the arts. One example of this is the art critic and promoter David Burliuk who was central to promoting Cubism in Russia in the years prior to the revolution. See: Railing, Patricia. From Science to Systems of Art: On Russian Abstract Art and Language 1910/1920, Artists Bookworks, East Sussex, 1989. p. 27.
29For an overview of montage “style” and the debates around its emergence, see: Petrić, Vlada. Consructivism in Film: The Man with a Movie Camera – A Cinematic Analysis, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1987; Michelson, A. (ed). Kino-Eye; the Writings of Dziga Vertov, Pluto Press, London, 1984.
30McDonald, Keiko I. Reading a Japanese Film, University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu, 2006. p. 93.
31Phillips, Alastair. “Pictures of the Past in the Present: Modernity, Femininity and Stardom in the Post War Films of Yasujiro Ozu”. In: Catherine Grant and Annette Kuhn (eds), Screening World Cinema, Routledge, London, 2006. p. 86.
32Anderson, J. and Richie, D. The Japanese Film; Art and Industry, Princeton University Press, New York, 1982. p. 51.
33Phillips, Alastair. “The Salaryman’s Panic Time”. In: A. Phillips and J. Stringer (eds), Japanese Cinema; Texts and Context, Routledge, London, 2007. p. 25.
34Deleuze, Gilles. Cinema 2: The Time-Image, The Athlone Press, London, 1989. p. 34.
35Yoshida, Tetsuro. The Japanese House and Garden, The Architectural Press, London, 1955. p. 66.
36Richie, Donald. Ozu, University of California Press, 1974. p. 116.
37See: Takahashi, Seechiro. Traditional Woodblock Prints of Japan, Weatherhill, New York, 1972. p. 9–18.
38For an introduction to Japanese garden design, see: Ito, Teiji. The Japanese Garden: An Approach to Nature, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1972; Hayakawa, Masao. The Garden Art of Japan, Weatherhill, New York, 1973; Kuck, Loraine. The World of the Japanese Garden, Weatherhill, New York, 1968.
39Yoshida, Tetsuro. The Japanese House and Garden, Ibid. p. 170.
40Engel, Heinrich. The Japanese House. A Tradition for Contemporary Architecture. Charles E Tuttle Publish
ers, Tokyo, 1964. p. 258.
41Engel, Heinrich. The Japanese House, Ibid. p. 320.
42Richie, Donald. Ozu, Ibid. p. 105.
43Ibid. p. 115.
44Engel, Heinrich. The Japanese House, Ibid. p. 284.
45These ideas are discussed in introductory form in: Stanley-Baker, Joan. Japanese Art, Thames and Hudson, New York, 1984. p. 118–148. See also: Yashiro Yukio. 2000 Years of Japanese Art, Thames and Hudson, London, 1958. p. 177–208.
46Engel, Heinrich. The Japanese House, Ibid. p. 373.
47This basic interpretation of the Western Renaissance tradition is laid out in numerous introductory texts. For example, see: Gombrich, E.H. The Story of Art, Ibid. p. 223–247.
48For an overview of the various techniques and principles associated with the classical Hollywood continuity system, see: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Film Art: An Introduction, McGraw Hill, New York, 2001.
49Okawa, Naomi. Edo Architecture: Katsura and Nikko, Heibonsha, Tokyo, 1975. p. 9.
50This characteristic is discussed by Bordwell in his introductory overview of Tokyo Story. See: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Film Art: An Introduction, Ibid. p. 371–376.
51Donald Richie describes this characteristic as a “lack of interest in harmonizing succeeding shots”. See: Richie, Donald. Ozu, Ibid. p. 130.
52Bordwell specifically draws attention to Ozu’s use, and occasional elimination, of clear “transitional shots”. See: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Film Art: An Introduction, Ibid. p. 372–373.
53Richie deals with the compositional characteristics of Ozu in general terms and gives certain indications of the use of architectural elements in these images. See: Richie, Donald. Ozu, Ibid. p. 114–124.
54Anderson, J. and Richie, D. The Japanese Film; Art and Industry, Ibid. p. 37.
55The relationship between traditional Japanese architecture and the work of Frank Lloyd Wright has been particularly noted and discussed. For an overview, see: Nute, Kevin. Frank Lloyd Wright and Japan, Routledge, London, 2000.
56The Fundamentals of Japanese Architecture introduced Japanese architecture to a Western architectural and modernist audience. Taut’s short treatise deals with aspects of construction but, more significantly, also the relationship between traditional Japanese architecture and the culture of Japan. See: Taut, Bruno. The Fundamentals of Japanese Architecture, Society for International Cultural Relations, Tokyo, 1936.
57Fawcett, Chris. The New Japanese House – Ritual and Anti-ritual Patterns of Dwelling, Granada, London, 1980. p. 14.
58Nute, Kevin. Frank Lloyd Wright and Japan, Routledge, London, 1993. p. 3.
Cinematic phenomenology in architecture: The Cartier Foundation, Paris, Jean Nouvel
Introduction
Jean Nouvel is an architect and theorist for whom architecture is not a formal question of aesthetically appealing buildings. Rather, it is a perceptual game of ephemeral optical effects. Inspired by the writings of Paul Virilio in the realm of visual culture, Nouvel expresses an interest in the eye and, by extension, the nature of contemporary vision. He has also discussed the possibility of turning the fixed, solid object of architecture into an ever changing maelstrom of phenomenological illusions. He is an architect who seeks an architecture that is not based on presence but one that is based on perception.1 For this architect, film revolutionised our way of seeing the world. It gave us a new visual language. It also allowed us to better understand the way the eye works in everyday settings. The new visual phenomenon was, and is, for Nouvel, a source of visual tropes employable by contemporary architects. Architects today can still be inspired by the visual languages of the past – painting, sculpture, collage, etc. – but they can also seek sources of inspiration in the visual language of the moving image.2
Similarly, Nouvel eschews the conception of architecture as purely built physical form. Our appropriation of buildings occurs through our physical engagement with them. However, it also occurs through our sensorial perception of its multiple and varied ambiances: the sound of chatter in a building’s corridors, the sensation of coolness in a shaded courtyard, etc. Our experience of architecture is multi-sensorial and, as a result, intangible.3 In this double definition of architecture as optical game and phenomenological experience, Nouvel sets out to create a form of architecture that is complex and, at times, contradictory. It is an architecture that can be examined from two perspectives simultaneously: the cinematic and the phenomenological.
Phenomenological beginnings
Stemming from the initial works and writings of Franz Brentano4 at the end of the nineteenth century, phenomenology was, by the second half of the twentieth century, one of the most influential branches of Western philosophy. Associated with thinkers of the calibre of Edmund Husserl, Jean Paul Sartre and Maurice Merleau-Ponty, it found its way into the world of cinematic theory in the 1950s through the writings of Henri Agel, Amédée Ayfre5 and André Bazin. Its manifestation in the world of architecture would be seen in the writings of Henri Lefebvre in the 1970s and in more populist essays such Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture by Christian Norberg Schulz at the beginning of the 1980s.6 More recently, it is detectable in the work of Rob Shields and has been applied as an analytical model by architectural practitioners and theorists such as Steven Holl and Jean Nouvel himself.7
For all these writers, thinkers and practitioners, phenomenology’s central concept, that human consciousness manifests itself through perception, means that perceptual experience lies at the heart of everything they do. Within this framework, human consciousness is seen as composed of two mutually influencing factors: a sensorial act of assimilation and the object towards which that act is directed8 - the “act of perception” and the “object of representation”, respectively. Perception, and by extension consciousness, is thus definable as the interaction between external and internal factors. In Phenomenology and the Crisis of Philosophy, the figure to whom the establishment of phenomenology as an accepted school of thought is attributed, Edmund Husserl9, suggests that philosophy should aspire to be a “rigorous science”.10 The methodology of thinking he designed to ensure this rigorous analysis of perception, and through that, consciousness, divides phenomenological analysis into two stages: the initial “stage of suspension” and the subsequent “eidict stage”.11
Underlying this is the supposition that the human subject is capable of separating and distancing itself from its own “lived experience” and is thus capable of understanding it objectively. Husserl’s ideas can thus be said to be based on the presumption that the human being has the potential to be a “transcendental subject”;12 a belief that was completely rejected by another of phenomenology’s most important figures some years later, Maurice Merleau-Ponty. Merleau-Ponty argues that such a hypothetical objectivity is quite simply impossible and, in fact, is only conceivable if we actually “distort” our understanding of perception by conceiving of it as something far simpler than it is in reality13 Thus, Merleau-Ponty proposes that both perception and consciousness are concepts beyond the objective grasp human subject. They are phenomena that we ultimately have to accept as “indefinable” and “ambiguous”.14
In contrast to the Transcendental Phenomenology developed by Husserl, the ideas of Merleau-Ponty fit within the framework of Existential Phenomenology.15 This proposition considers the inherent ambiguity of perception as stemming from various factors, three of which are of interest in our context: (i) the simple fact that the objects we observe are in themselves extremely complex, (ii) the fact that the human subject is, in itself, an integrated and inseparable part of these same phenomena and (iii) the fact that the sensorial machinery of the human mind and body is too limited to fully assimilate the complexity of what surrounds it.
The complexity of the environment. Beginning with the first factor in Merleau-Ponty’s rejection of Husserl, that is, the complexity of the objects or phenomena assimilated, he argues that the world is composed
of elements that are “non-determinable” and characterised by their “internal relations”. Transcendence of what we perceive thus becomes impossible.16 In his introductory explanation of these ideas, Michael Hammond identifies that this non-determinable quality corresponds, in its most basic form, to the simple complexity of objects themselves; every phenomenological object, whether a facial expression, a memory or a building, is something composed of multiple different factors. They are thus difficult, if not impossible, to perceive in all their detail.17 Adding to the impossibility of understanding objects in all their detail is the fact that their individual components are “internally related”; our understanding of one individual component thus being influenced by our simultaneous perception and understanding of all the others present in any given “act of intention”.
Applied to the case of the external environment, a city street for example, the phenomena we have before us can be seen as composed of multiple elements: the street itself, a car that drives along it, the pavements lined with trees and the glass facade of a building that fronts the road, for example. Our understanding of the combination of these factors must take into account the multiplicity of elements that go to make it up, as well as their individual and multiple internal relations. Given that many of these factors and their internal relations are also momentary, Merleau-Ponty argues that their complete observation, description and understanding are not simply a difficult task but, quite simply, an impossible one. All we can hope to do is perceive fragments of an incomplete experience.
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