Susan
Sontag's Regarding the Pain of Others discusses the photographic
documentation of atrocities, particularly of wartime atrocities. She opens the
book with an anecdote about Virginia Woolf discussing gendered reactions to
horrific representations of war. The discussion of women looking at wartime
photographs immediately makes me remember Persona.
In Persona, there are two scenes
where Elisabet witnesses photographic documentations of atrocities: a video of
a monk killing himself by self-immolation and a photograph of Nazi soldiers
rounding up a group of Jews during the Holocaust. The two incidents stand out
from the rest of the film as two of the only hints of a world outside the
minimalist, insular realm of Elisabet and Alma. Because of their distance from
the diegetic space of the film, the “real” images seem unreal, and yet they
affect Elisabet more than most of the “real” (and, ironically, fictional)
events that occur in the main plot of the film. We already know that Elisabet
is an actress who has suddenly chosen to remain mute rather than perform roles in
“real” life; essentially, her existential crisis arises from feeling that the
real world is somehow false, so she seeks a jolt of “truth” from these deliberately
shocking images.
Sontag
addresses the reasons behind representations of the horrific, saying that
people seek documentation in order to try and feel the “reality” of the event.
The irony, she explains, is that most people who experience horrific events
describe their memories in disconnected terms, saying that it felt “like a
dream” or, more interestingly for this course, “like a movie”. One wonders
whether the audience for these images, like Elisabet, is trying to capture an
elusive feeling of “reality” or wholeness which is impossible to achieve in
real life.
The
two images in Persona—the monk and
the Jewish ghetto—stand on their own, without any background information or
connection to the rest of the story. However, in her book, Sontag discusses the
problem of divorcing an image from its context, particularly when it is used to
evoke horror. “Antiwar polemicists” like Woolf, she explains, see generic
atrocities committed against generic victims, and fail to take politics into
account. Perhaps this represents a common humanist attitude in which the
suffering of an individual victim is believed to stand apart from its political
context as more significant; the idea behind presenting wartime images without
captions as anti-war propaganda is that such photographs are expected to be
understood from the lens of “universal” human empathy rather than in terms of
historical context. However, Sontag claims that “all photographs wait to be
explained or falsified by their captions” (10). Captions and context can
change/charge images with meaning. This makes one question whether an image can
ever really stand on its own or speak for itself. It reminds me of the Kuleshov
effect, the theory behind early Russian montage, which explains how the image
of an actor’s ambiguous expression will be interpreted by an audience as
sadness, lust, or hunger depending on whether it is cut with images of a
coffin, a beautiful woman, or a plate of soup, respectively. This idea is also
at the core of semiotics; Ferdinand de Sassure argued that words acquire
meaning only in relation to each other, and perhaps the same can be said about
images. If this is the case, what does it say about the audience’s role in
constructing meaning?
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