By Andy Blood

Objectivity refers to the filmmaker’s reluctance to guide or manipulate viewers—the task of deciding what the film means is left to each individual. Ideally, a group of four friends, after watching an objective film, would have four different ideas about how to interpret what they saw. This position is very different from the classic Hollywood way of making a movie, in which the director/writer, at every turn, must ask how this or that will be understood by the audience.

Objective films tend to be voyeuristic by nature, that is, the director is concerned with watching and listening, rather than manipulating. It is true that no purely objective position can be achieved by any filmmaker—the selection of what comes through the lens, the editing process, the writing process, and many other factors prevent this. Even the bank or convenience store surveillance camera, by its very placement, must betray something of the operator’s preferences. While not being totally objective, though, the objective filmmaker is captivated by the ‘reality’ of a scene or character, and wants to show it as it is, without (to the extent possible) trying to color or prejudice anything that is before the lens. Objectivity means that the viewer of such a film is empowered by this voyeurism, because he or she is the final arbiter and judge of meaning, purpose, and interpretation.

Since the French New Wave, objective-style films have been regularly created, including: Blow-Up (Michelangelo Antonioni 1966), Nashville (Robert Altman 1975), The American Friend (Wim Wenders 1977), Boy Meets Girl (Leos Carax 1984), Down By Law (Jim Jarmusch 1986), All the Vermeers in New York (Jon Jost 1990), Fallen Angels (Wong Kar-Wai 1998), and Full Frontal (Steven Soderbergh 2002), to name only a few. Another excellent example is Olivier Assayas’s 1996 film, Irma Vep, which one viewer described as having "not much story" but which was "fascinating to watch." The "documentary feel" which many viewers say they experience when watching one of these films, comes from the de-emphasized plots of objective films. Plot is reduced (or occasionally done away with) in favor of increased sensory experience, heightened feeling of ‘reality’, and greater character development. Sometimes, as with Fallen Angels, the director’s sense of style alone, can propel the movie forward, with very little help from the plot.

The techniques of objectivity in film vary, but can be outlined. The music that accompanies the film doesn’t tell you how to feel (Blow-Up, Down By Law), it rather exists almost as an independent entity, and sometimes, like an errant character, mysteriously disappears. The real-life feeling of chaos, especially when heard as background noise or dialog, can be a strong part of these films (Nashville, Boy Meets Girl). The lengthy use of wide shots (All the Vermeers in New York), panning instead of editing (Irma Vep), and shots in which the actors are barely or even surreptitiously seen (Full Frontal), all tend to eliminate the ‘set-up look’ that identifies mainstream scenes. In general, objective films tend to cut less often, eschewing the modern TV-style of editing. In Down By Law, the camera lingers in medium and wide shots, allowing the individual viewer to decide which character to look at and for how long (a job which the subjective director often usurps).

Another frequent characteristic of objectivity is its natural affinity for ambiguity, for not explaining every detail, for allowing the viewer to do some or even most of the work of interpreting. Why, for instance, does Bruno Ganz’s character abandon Dennis Hopper on the beach, in The American Friend? How did the three prisoners escape in Down By Law (and who cares how?)? This is not mere sloppiness, but comes, I think, from the filmmaker’s delight in spotting and leaving open multiple explanations, or for provoking speculation (or simply because that part of the plot is of no interest). Another good example is the mysterious and oft-analyzed Persona, Bergman’s 1966 film about a patient who will not speak and a nurse who has much to say. Bergman had strong ideas about what all the scenes in this film meant, and various lovers of the film have stated their (differing) opinions as well. In one of the few truly defining issues of film objectivity, it is important to state that the filmmaker here or anywhere else in the objective universe, is not God, and that all fair-minded opinions are equally valid, from Bergman’s to yours and mine. There is no orthodox explanation (except your own).

An adjunct to story ambiguity is the mysterious central character, about whom we can only speculate when the pictures is over, like Maggie Cheung’s character (herself) in Irma Vep. In defiance of the petty, scriptwriting-class tyrants, this hero/heroine moves through the world learning more than he/she reveals, the progeny, perhaps, of Monica Vitti and Anna Karina in films like The Eclipse and My Life to Live.

Objectivity doesn’t appeal to all filmmakers or film watchers. Critics’ primary displeasure comes from the philosophical premise of objectivity, the uncertainties and ambiguity it flourishes in, its refusal to pilot an audience along toward a stated goal. Objectivity feels soft to these people, a lazy, artsy person’s approach to what some believe is a ‘craft’ (as well as a business) and not an art. Not stating a goal (I’m going to scare you, make you root for a side, teach you something, make you laugh, etc.) pisses them off and raises cries of cheating, of playing tennis without a net. Even the lack of an exact definition of an objective film is upsetting to those who would rather operate on what they believe is more solid ground.

To the objective filmmaker, these criticisms are irrelevant. The real strength of objectivity lies in the fact that reality (or at least the altered reality of film) is often more interesting than the re-heated old plots and exhausted stock characters that find their way again and again into modern films. You’re not going to understand everything in life, and objective films are not puzzles that have, in the end, neat solutions, like parlor room games or TV mysteries. Subjective films are often ends in themselves, being statements or entertainment or propaganda, with a very clear agenda (which is exactly what many people want in a movie!). The worlds in these films close in on themselves, as ‘the point’ is finally made (usually, to our disappointment). Objectivity, if done well, opens outward into the world. It raises more questions than it tries to answer, it evokes a sense of mystery, which, if we don’t close our eyes, is an integral part of the human experience.

I think that objective filmmaking is ripe for further experimentation, and has yielded only a tiny portion of its potential. Objectivity, by allowing the filmmaker to drop the burden of the traditional plot-heavy movie and its plot-associated techniques, and by worrying less about markets and ‘the audience’, can be very freeing. The results can be amazingly original, like Harmony Korine’s 1997 Gummo. Without big money pressure (and its insistence on making a big-audience pleasing film) indies are in the best position to make some serious advancement in objective filmmaking.

Andy Blood - Wolf Gang Pictures, LLC