In a recursively nested interview with Buba later on in the film, he states that he would much rather let the subjective voices of people involved in the subject he was documenting speak for their authentic selves, rather than drown out their voices with the “omniscient narrator” style of conveyance typical with much documentary film. This attitude is reflected in a larger sense with the function of his own identity within the film as an individual affected by the issues of economic downfall, rather than as an objective outsider theoretically capable of making logical and unaffected judgments. “This personal and public perspective … provides the filmmaker with a moral authority that enables him to critique his hometown’s conditions” (Lane 141). This autobiographical strategical approach to documentary seems to lend a unique authenticity not present in much other conventional documentary.

The constant barrage of pseudo-fictional acted scenes interwoven throughout the film could work on some level to counteract this authenticity by evoking insecurity and lack of trust in the sincerity of Tony Buba as the central narrator of this issue. However, since the fictive scenes primarily don’t poke fun at or otherwise detract from the moments of sincere subject matter, they could reasonably be seen as contributing to a form of ironical self-critique on the larger documentary form itself. Many of the fictional or acted scenes involving Sal seem to be at odds with the documentary that the Buba presence in the film is attempting to create. The inclusion of these scenes by the Buba who is the author of the film as a whole seems to signify a self-critique, which functions as a reflexive attribute in addition to the humorous results of this technique. “The film renders Sal’s portrayal ambiguous, functioning as a site at which fiction and documentary discourses conflate. This conflation subtends the film’s third voice, and systematically questions documentary’s ability to represent the world” (Lane 142).

Buba’s autobiographical presence in the film, much in contrast to some of the previous autobiographical work we’ve viewed this quarter, is primarily self-referential and ironic. An example is Buba’s repeated technique of featuring himself as subject by replaying his interviews with the local news station. He imitates his interview words with live voiceover, and then allows his words in the interview to play on while his voiceover continues. “This gesture is repeated frequently and is an additional way in which the film ironizes the autobiographical subject” (Lane 142). Rather than emphasize the negative aspects of self-preoccupation that could go with a serious portrayal of himself, this technique functions to ironically make light of his own role as documentarian, and serves to facilitate a questioning of the verity of the film as a whole on the part of the audience.

If there is one thing that I will definitely take away from being immersed in the cinema of Tony Buba, it is the positive attributes which can be had from having a tendency to laugh and poke fun at yourself. This is an especially refreshing attitude to take in the genre of autobiography, which is often somber and seemingly lacking in playfulness. I think some of the most successful and compelling points are made when you are able to step back and look at yourself or your own role in something with a humorous or ironic slant.

My papers are conceptually superficial, but this attribute is disguised under layer upon layer of smarmy prose. For this, I apologize.

Very much a part of this active readerly process is the expressive function of the relationship between the visual and auditory components of Soon Mi Yoo’s films. This oppositional strategy to the conventions of traditional documentary allow a much more nuanced and interesting approach. “The expressive dimension remains sorely underdeveloped in current documentary practice, the play of the signifier held in dutiful harness to the signified” (Renov 09 col1). In the films of Soon Mi Yoo which I have seen, it seems that often the voiceover contains the primary portrayal and discussion of the ideas in the piece, while the corresponding visual elements serve an associative, expressive role. This is especially evident in Faith, in the way that the layered dual voiceovers reminisce, while seemingly disassociated, or sometimes thematically tangentially related scenes present themselves on screen.

The expressive dimension is possibly better exemplified in the nuanced and sometimes difficult to comprehend associations between different components of Soon Mi Yoo’s films. In Ssitkim: Talking to the Dead, there is a recurring and logically inexplicable sound of tearing or scraping that occurs periodically throughout the film. Separate from this sound, and never occurring at the same time, is the written list of the names of the dead. This list progressively becomes more and more worn and difficult to read as the film goes on. Suddenly it struck me that the ink comprising the text appeared as if it were partly scratched off, as if with a knife or other sharp instrument, and then this idea associated itself with the scratching sounds heard earlier. I’m sure that the subtle nuanced associations that contribute in a compelling and profound way to the meaning of the film are excessively abundant for those that are willing to look. As Sally said in our seminar, one can’t fully analyze Soon Mi Yoo’s films with our logical cognitive selves, we must look more deeply for the nuanced and emblematic sources of expressive meaning as well.

I am very fond of the work of Soon Mi Yoo, with its intricate, carefully and intelligently constructed, and subtly nuanced and artistically expressive attributes. I can already see some strategies she uses apparent in my own work. I have always naturally gravitated towards a writerly (and essayistic in some regards) method of presenting my ideas in a piece, choosing to attempt to allow the viewer to read their own ideas and reasoning into whatever ideas or themes I present. Accomplishing this through subtly nuanced associations between different aspects of the film is something I have attempted before as well. However, I would be very pleased to be able to make my visual metaphors, associations, and other subtle expressive attributes as intelligent and carefully intentionally constructed as I perceive Soon Mi Yoo’s to be.

Works Cited:
Ssitkim: Talking to the Dead. Soon Mi Yoo, 2004. video, color, sound, 34 min
Faith. Soon Mi Yoo, 1999. video, color, sound, 12 min
Renov, Michael. “History and/as Autobiography: The Essayistic in Film & Video,” Frame-Work: The Journal of Images and Culture 2 n3 (1989): 6-13.

The videos of Sadie Benning are an innovative anomaly that creates a unique language of expression. To some extent this innovation is dictated by her technological medium, the Pixelvision camera. As her working style evolved, it began to intersect with the precepts of the autoethnographical form of cinematic expression, though she was certainly not consciously creating her work within the confines of this definition.

Benning’s medium of the PXL-2000 Pixelvision camera suites itself very well to her visual style of self-representation. Because of the low resolution and “gutterboxing” of the format, a preponderance of macro framing is necessitated. This contributes to an intensely personal and subjective feel in her videos. In her first work, Me and Rubyfruit, the medium was very apparent also in the distinct in-camera edits of the Pixelvision camera, which served to accentuate each shot as an individual statement, as well as to make very apparent the medium itself in the content. This method of editing, combined with the confiding voiceover, contributed to a very personal style of self-portrayal. This is a very telling example of how using a medium can be exploited to not only more effectively convey a message, but to innovate a new form and language to convey new content.

Even while being personal, the videos of Benning succeed in communicating the social and cultural plight of being a lesbian in upper middle class white America in such a way that the target audience can identify intensely with the subject matter. After our discussion of autoethnography and Ngozi Onwurah, the precise definition of the term was still quite fuzzy in my mind. The excerpt from Experimental Ethnography served to elucidate the many and varied meanings, ideas, and definitions behind this term. Russel perceptively distinguishes between autobiography and autoethnography: “Autobiography becomes ethnographic at the point where the film or videomaker understands his or her personal history to be implicated in larger social formations and historical processes. … Autoethnography is a vehicle and a strategy for challenging imposed forms of identity and exploring the discursive possibilities of inauthentic subjectivities” (Russel 276). This quote quite clearly defines a term which seems to be adaptable to describe some similar qualities of some work which is quite disparate in some respects, notably, Su Friedrich and Sadie Benning.

In the earlier work of Benning such as Me and Rubyfruit, while certainly challenging the notion of her own identity as a lesbian teenager, she does not address herself in the context of larger social formations or probe the expressive possibilities of multiple inauthentic subjectivities as much as in her later work. As Benning’s style evolved, and she gained the capability to edit out of camera and edit audio elements apart from the in-camera sync-sound, she began to experiment with and challenge the conventional portrayal of self. In It Wasn’t Love, this experimentation is especially evident. Benning goes so far as to adopt the persona of an overtly masculine man, complete with goatee, cane, and cigar. This usage of a persona does not detract from her exploration of her own identity and seemingly becomes a comment on the impossibility of veritable autobiography. However, the persona that is acted out could be seen as one aspect of her own personality. This usage is very much in line with the non-essentialist, discursive, shifting, and fragmented views of identity inherent in autoethnography (Russel 276).

Benning’s work is particularly striking to me because of her age when creating it. Only 15 when she made Me and Rubyfruit, it nevertheless conveys a very mature and intelligent portrayal of her own identity. To some extent I think her aptitude for the visual and auditory medium could be explained by the professional occupation of her father as a filmmaker himself, but her stylistic innovation and uniqueness speak for themselves. She wasn’t trying to imitate anyone, and found a new way to express what she had to say. I would be pleased if I could use purposeful naiveté to such innovative effect.

Works Cited:
Russel, Catherine. Experimental Ethnography: The Work of Film in the Age of Video. Duke University Press, 1999.
Me and Rubyfruit. Sadie Benning, 1990. Video, sound, B&W.
It Wasn’t Love. Sadie Benning, 1992. Video, sound, B&W.

The films of Jay Rosenblatt are constructed so that they maintain universal appeal, and a sense of earnest sincerity, even while using found footage to construct the visual components of his work. He does this through carefully calculated choices in the construction of his films. These choices are evident in his usage of audio and other tools of expression to evoke a certain metaphor or audience reaction. All of these elements of Rosenblatt’s approach contribute to the creation films which are at a base level intended to challenge and inform the perceptions and assumptions of his audience.

(Download file“>download the paper in word format)

One of the most remarkable things about Rosenblatt’s films is their sincere usage of found footage. Often, recombinant films tend toward a satirical or parodic approach, and indeed, it often seems that the usage of found footage lends itself to a humorous and insincere style. In Phantom Limb and The Smell of Burning Ants, Rosenblatt uses a variety of footage from 1950s educational films, and still succeeds in creating emotionally poignant and intellectually challenging explorations of psychological issues.

One of the main reasons that Rosenblatt’s films avoid delving into parody of the visual material he works with, in addition to his manipulations of the visual material by cutting, looping, speed-shifting &c., is his use of sound. In The Smell of Burning Ants, the vast majority of the sounds are nondiegetic(1) in the context of the original footage. The original sounds are replaced with Rosenblatt’s own scripted voiceover and subtly emotive music. This technique allows the audience to detach themselves from their own associations of insincerity, humor, or absurdity that they might have with the original footage, and comprehend it as a contributing rather than distracting element in the success of the film.

In Phantom Limb, Rosenblatt plays more with the addition of what appear to be original sounds from the footage he is recombining. This is evident not only in the inclusion of synch-sound interview footage, but in his usage of sounds from older film-originated material as well. In section 6, “shock,” there is what appears to be a home-movie of a boy being told to sit in a chair as he screams and cries. Rosenblatt’s calculated and deliberate approach is apparent here as well. The inclusion of the original sound in this case does not draw the viewer away, but rather serves to punctuate and draw sincerity to the idea of loss which the film is addressing. The sincerity of this shot could be contributed to also by the possibility of this being one of the 8mm home movies that Rosenblatt’s parents donated for use in the film(2). Rosenblatt seems to be less distant and impassive in his presence in this film, compared to The Smell of Burning Ants. By utilizing techniques of controlling the audience’s perception of sound, Rosenblatt thus achieves authenticity even while working in the medium of reproduction(3) .

An admirable attribute of the cinema of Jay Rosenblatt is his ability to create films which are intensely personal in content, yet do not alienate and even work to engage, challenge, and educate the audience. As Rosenblatt is quoted as saying in Mark Athitakis’ article, “if [the film] stimulates some good, healthy debate, then I feel like I’ve done my job” (Athitakis par. 33). This explains to some extent the exactingly intentional and intelligent formal construction of the films; in order to break down the societal and psychological issues that Rosenblatt attacks, in a way that can challenge and possibly redefine the preconceptions of viewers, the presentation must be logically reasoned out and carefully considered.

The most inspiring aspect of Rosenblatt’s work to me is his ability to challenge an audience to look at an issue in a new way. This could easily be done in a way which was alienating or exclusive because of the specificity of the subject matter, but he manages to posit a logical, objective, and thus appealing argument. I think this discursive, even somewhat scientific or academic approach is a useful when you want the subject matter of your films to be seriously considered, as Rosenblatt obviously does(4). I hope to one day have the ability to construct a film as cogently and intentionally as Rosenblatt has done.

Works Cited:
The Smell of Burning Ants. Jay Rosenblatt.
Phantom Limb. Jay Rosenblatt.
Athitakis, Mark. “The 10-Minute Masterpiece.”

Footnotes:
01 – “A Short List of Film Terms for Beginning Students in Film Courses.”
02 – This was mentioned in the credits of the film.
03 – see Practices of Looking, pg 123
04 – See, for example, the extended and involved discussion of the significance of The Smell of Burning Ants in the Study Guide on Rosenblatt’s website.

The work of Richard Fung is much more in line with the idea of a confessional than the work of Su Friedrich. In Su Friedrich’s films, our sense of her identity is obfuscated and mediated through stylistic and aesthetic aspects of her artwork, however in the work of Richard Fung, we are given what seems to be a very clear, open, and sincere sense of who he is. This difference is brought about largely by his intensely personal stylistic approach, accomplished by his use of text on screen, and confiding playfulness and apparent sincerity.

Though the technical and associated aesthetic qualities of his films vary widely, Fung’s style, especially in the more documentary pieces, remains saturated with similarity. Contrasting Friedrich’s method of intentionally hiding her presence in the film, Fung opts instead for an intensely personal nearly confessional style that allows the audience to easily identify with him.

As an audience member watching Fung’s videos, I often got the sense that he wasn’t hiding anything, that he was laying all of himself out, for better or worse. One example is Fung’s playful aside in My Mother’s Place about how he was once caught dressing up in womens clothing, and his mother nearly kicked him out onto the street. This aspect is evident in a more powerful way also in Sea in the Blood, in Fung’s choice to show even aspects of his personality which might be deemed less than admirable. For example his own selfishness is evidenced by his choice to remain in denial about his sister’s terminal condition, and remain traveling in India with his boyfriend. Fung could have constructed this in such a way as to glorify himself, but instead, in the same manner as a confessional, we see his flaws and identify more thoroughly with him as a person.

This confessional aspect is evident in both My Mother’s Place and Sea in the Blood in Fung’s use of text. He often employs a line of marquee text on top of whatever narration or interview is currently happening, which conveys a sometimes witty, and sometimes intensely personal side note related to what is currently being talked about. In the interview History, Memory, and the Politics of Programming: The Video Work of Richard Fung, he says of his use of text “Sometimes I deploy it against the grain of the image, in ways which disrupt the image. In Sea in the Blood I use text to say things I couldn’t for various reasons bring myself to say in voice-over.” While Su Friedrich employs a similar style of disjunctive text and image, Fung uses it rather for the purpose of intensely personal revelation (Beattie).

Another thing besides the alternate and somewhat opposing styles of conveying a sense of oneself through obfuscation or confession evident in the work of Fung and Friedrich is that of the effect of the medium on how an audience sees a work. Friedrich’s medium of film particularly suited her artistic and somewhat formalist autobiographical style. Fung’s medium of video is likewise particularly suited to his borderline documentary style of confessional, personal history, and childhood place (Lee 105).

Video has a historical association with the real in my mind, being so often used with documentary and video art; the aesthetic thus lends itself well to Fung’s genuine portrayal. In addition to the possibilities of usage of the style of confession in my future work, I will certainly bear in mind with great importance the effect of the aesthetic of a medium on a viewing audience.

Works Cited:
Sea in the Blood. Dir. Richard Fung. 2000. Video, Color, Sound.
My Mother’s Place. Dir. Richard Fung. 1990. Video, Color, Sound.
Beattie, Keith. “History, Memory, and the Politics of Programming: The Video Work of Richard
Fung.” 27 June 2003. URL:

One of the most striking things about Su Friedrich’s work is her stylistic innovation of separating the semantic and visual components of her films in the creation of meaning. This characteristic is common to all of her films which I have seen, though it is accomplished in different ways as her filmic style evolved. The effect on the viewer of this style is constant however, in that it allows audience to engage with the film text more subjectively and personally than would otherwise be possible. The separation of the two components that create meaning for the viewer is a very interesting idea, and is something I would like to experiment with in my own work, possibly in new ways.

In the earliest Su Friedrich film that I saw, Gently Down the Stream, concrete meaning is conveyed entirely through the medium of text scratched onto the film. The visual images being scratched on often have little or no relation to the text. According to my traditional conception, images and text (or sound) must be explicitly related to create apparent meaning. Having this disjunction between visual data and semantic data allows the meaning of the film to be more fluid, and places a postmodern confidence in the viewer to take an active stance in the personal creation of meaning from what is present in the film. This approach allows for more varied subjective interpretations of the film, and a corresponding broader appeal to viewers. (Although in Gently Down the Stream, the surrealistic interpretive nature of the text itself functions also towards this end).

Gently Down the Stream is a silent film, so there is only the singular dimension of semantic meaning conveyed in the scratched text. In her next film that I saw, The Ties that Bind, there is the added element of voice over. This audio element functions primarily in the same fashion as the scratch text in Gently Down the Stream in that the meaning holds only tangential relationship to the visual images presented. Instead of working in tandem, the images and semantic components work individually and separately to convey meaning, and the responsibility of relating and combining the two is left to the viewer. An interesting thing about The Ties that Bind is Friedrich’s use of scratch text. Here it serves the purpose of representing Su Friedrich personally as she interviews her mother and uncovers her relationship with her past. Though the scratched text represents Su personally, it remains impersonal enough so that the audience can more easily identify themselves with her position. The sense of anonymity is one of the major components of Su Friedrich’s films, though this is conjured in different ways in her other work.

In her most recent work that I’ve seen, Sink or Swim, the function of the scratched text as an impersonal method of intimate autobiographical communication in order to engage the audience more thoroughly is replaced by voiceover narration. While different in form than direct animation text, the narration serves a similar purpose. It is conducted by what sounds like a young girl, who at the beginning of the film we associate with the person’s life being described. As the life of the person being described evolves, however, and the narrators voice does not change, we realize that the narrator and the experiences she is describing have the possibility of being understood as generic of any child growing up. Thusly the audience is allowed to identify with the film more personally than would be possible if Friedrich elected to conduct the narration herself.

This style of narration tells the story of a girl’s childhood and relationship with her father that is aided by, but not dependent on, the visual image component of the film. Associations between the narration or text and the images comes and goes, like the varying focus of a lens being randomly adjusted. Sometimes as a viewer I watched wondering what the relationship between what I was seeing and what I was hearing was, and then suddenly it all made sense. One example is in Sink or Swim, when the narration is addressing the traumatic event of the sudden departure of the father. On screen, images of a mental hospital are being shown, and I am wondering what relationship these two things have beyond obvious common issues of emotional pain. Then suddenly and simultaneously, the narrator mentions her mother going to the window to shout at her Dad, and the camera pans from the hospital bed to the window of the room, and the sound and images suddenly fuse together in my brain (Sink or Swim).

This process of searching for connections and discovering them in moments of glee is characteristic of the film as a whole. It is a very liberating idea that the image and sound or text does not have to be linked directly, but can be connected together through ambiguity, symbolism, or metaphor, and I think this idea possesses great creative potential in my future work.

Works Cited:
Gently Down the Stream. Dir. Su Friedrich. 1981. 16mm B&W, silent.
The Ties that Bind. Dir. Su Friedrich. 1984. 16mm B&W, sound.
Sink or Swim. Dir. Su Friedrich. 1990. 16mm B&W, sound.