Visual arts, cinema... and philosophy

Unpublished article - Jonas Follonier

The Fondation de l'Hermitage reopens its doors! With its new «Arts and Cinema» exhibition, the Lausanne institution is highlighting the obvious and no less fascinating links between the visual arts on the one hand, and cinema on the other, from the first films of the late 19th century to the most recent ones.^th century to the New Wave. An inquisitive and imaginative visitor will also notice the relationships that these disciplines weave with other fields not on show, but implicitly called upon, such as philosophy.

The title of the exhibition, «Arts and Cinema,» while very effective, is at the same time incomplete—even misleading. For one thing, because cinema, as far as we know, IS an art form. So why talk about the arts AND cinema? But this isn’t the first time that officials have reduced the arts to the visual arts alone—meaning painting, of course, but also sculpture, drawing, and photography. After all, these places where various things are hung are always called «art museums,» a term directly linked to the tradition of the «fine arts»—yet another curious expression that draws a distinction between art forms that are never “fine” and those that always are.

But let’s set that quip aside. The title «Arts and Cinema»—well chosen, let’s reiterate—brings to mind other titles, insofar as the exhibition focuses its attention, as is to be expected, on certain art forms specifically, rather than on all the arts. One will notice, for example, that music is conspicuously absent. Someday, it would be interesting to explore its connections with other arts—such as cinema, of course, but also the traditional visual arts, precisely. The presence in one of the exhibition’s rooms of the movie poster La dolce vita from Federico Fellini would raise a very bold, very original, and very popular point of order: the title track from cinephile Christophe, released seventeen years after the work by Maestro, would she be inspired by it? A call for action has been issued.

Read also: Christophe, out of format (interview from late 2019)

There is another realm within the world of the arts, sciences, and humanities that may capture the imagination of visitors wandering through the Hermitage Foundation these past few months. For this is the great strength of this new exhibition, beyond what it actually displays: its ability to stimulate associations of ideas. The field in question, then, is philosophy. One thinker in particular, associated with French philosophy, came to the forefront of my reflections during my visit to the exhibition: Henri Bergson. Bergson, a great exponent of French charm, was a theorist of many themes that had scarcely been addressed before, including that of laughter. We owe him, in particular, a remarkable idea summarized in this phrase: the comic is «the mechanical superimposed on the living.» This definition can be understood as follows: the living is defined by fluidity, continuity, and agility; then comes a slip, a tic, a quirk—this is the mechanical, which brings humans closer to machines than to living beings. That is where the comic arises.

This is indeed a clear connection to the artistic context prevailing at the time the Laugh, at the turn of the 20th^th century. Indeed, a new way of thinking about machines—which were ubiquitous during the Industrial Revolution—began to emerge, and these machines gradually came under scrutiny. Thus, this motif of mechanics and cogs would later reappear in works such as Steel at Work by František Kupka (1927–1928) or Cubist Charlie by Fernand Léger (1924).

Let’s talk about the Tramp: this character portrayed by Charlie Chaplin is none other than the embodiment of comedy as defined by Bergson. Not only is he “Man turned into a robot,” but he also demonstrates what, according to the philosopher, is inherent in laughter—namely, a ruthless social correction. Inseparable from the concept of the masses, this collective attitude carries within it the totalitarian risk of a conception of the «same»—or what is claimed to be such—against any being that is different or any deviation, against any «other,» in short. Hence, in Chaplin’s work, we find both such successful comedy and this denunciation of fascism. Bergson writes, at the end of his essay published as early as 1900, as a warning to the century:

«This is how waves struggle ceaselessly on the surface of the sea, while the deeper layers remain in profound stillness. The waves crash into one another, clash, and seek their balance. Light, cheerful white foam traces their shifting contours. Sometimes the receding wave leaves a little of this foam on the sandy shore. A child playing nearby comes to scoop up a handful and is surprised, the very next moment, to find nothing left in the palm of his hand but a few drops of water—water far saltier and even more bitter than that of the wave that carried it there. Laughter arises just like this foam. Outside the realm of social life, it signals superficial rebellions. It instantly captures the shifting form of these upheavals. It, too, is a salt-based foam. Like foam, it sparkles. It is cheerfulness. The philosopher who gathers it to taste it will, moreover, sometimes find in it—for a small amount of substance—a certain dose of bitterness.»

«Arts and Cinema»: a must-see exhibition at the Fondation de l’Hermitage in Lausanne, running through January 3, 2021. Additional information: Arts and Cinema.

Write to the author: jonas.follonier@leregardlibre.com

Header image: Eadweard Muybridge, Animal Locomotion: Males (Nude), phototype, 1887. Paris, La Cinémathèque française series.