[Whew. So it only took four months to finish this series that began as a basic review of three films, Julie & Julia, G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra, and (500) Days of Summer. The earlier posts can be found here and here, respectively.]

The film begins with a note to the viewer, over black:

“The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Especially you, Jenny Beckman. Bitch.”

It’s a choice on the writer’s part that sets the film up as an odd, satirically direct imitation of life. (500) Days of Summer, in that respect, disappoints–although charming and hip (Zooey Deschanel might just be the most irresistible woman on the planet; JGL[1] carries his already-clichéd brokenhearted archetype well; people listen to The Smiths, own bad records for their odd covers (how ironic!), have chalkboard walls in their rooms, but still shop at IKEA; everyone works at a greeting card company and are impeccably dressed by Urban Outfitters), the film isn’t saying anything new.

Yet the opening note (attempts to) beg the question: is this real life? if so, whose?  We assume JGL and Zooey aren’t in actuality (off-screen) in and out of love.  But perhaps something about this particular heartbreak is real-er than other heartbreak movies.

Walter Benjamin, a German writer and philosopher who hit his prime in the 1920s before getting the hell out of Germany and dying young from TB, wrote about Hollywood “celebrity” as a side-effect of the audience’s need for a connection to the moment of artistic creation. Audiences obsess over actors in tabloids and gossip because they are a real (enough) embodiment of fantasy (of cinema). That is, we seek to understand our own experience in the movie-house by “understanding” our cinematic icons, and the more we think we know about an actor’s private life the more deeply we connect to any of their fantasy lives (on film, or TV). In this way, (500) Days and JGL and Zooey are attempting something like the far superior imitation of, well, Jon and Kate Gosselin.

No, Jon and Kate Plus 8 is not actual experience. Like most of reality TV, it is a carefully crafted, well maintained imitation of life. It captures experience, chews it up, and what emerges is an imitation. In the chewing stage, there is a story editor (watch for them in the credits … there’s always one) who takes all the footage into consideration and begins mapping out conflicts that can occupy the duration of the show (and season). And because no one actually knows either of those people, tabloids create a false sense of intimacy through the collection of information, which is trying to imitate an actual relationship where there is none. The Gosselins are an excellent example for a number of reasons. Their show did not, at first, set out to be an overtly-crafted fairy tale of life as, say, did The Hills or The Deadliest Catch; nor did its structure stem from sado-masochistic wonderings, such as Fear Factor or Bite Me with Dr. Mike. Rather, Jon and Kate Plus 8 turned into a cultural monster through the very principle Benjamin set down. Once actual conflict occurs off-screen, people are presented with a metacinematic paradox: the imitation of real life is revealed to be incomplete–the audience becomes aware of the world behind-the-scenes (maybe paradox is too strong a word; it’s a curiosity). Regardless, it is in the economic interests of tabloids, news outlets and newspapers everywhere to try and access and translate the “legitimate” (true) experience of Jon and Kate. We are then left with a show fueled by the greatest possible dramatic irony. It is no longer an imitation of life; instead, it is the imitation of perception. People become interested in the Gosselins because they mistake learning of a small fraction of reality for direct empathy; it’s watching (500) Days of Summer, in other words, knowing something about Jenny Beckman. It sounds almost surreal: it is a divorce that millions of people have staked their claim in.[2]

Consider Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo.    The main conflict of the film is not the whodunnit ghost story, or the protagonist Scotty’s (James Stewart) struggle with a fear of heights.  Rather, Scotty’s obsession toward recreating ‘Madeline’ (a blonde Kim Novak) from ‘Judy’ (a redheaded Kim Novak) after Madeleine’s suicide, is what drives the true meaning of the film:  the dangers of imitation.  Although this part of the story only comes into play during the second half of the film, Hitchcock uses the first half as a brilliant sleight-of-hand.  Everything we’ve been told by the director has been false; the inciting incident of the film was entirely false as well.  Scotty’s old school friend, Gavin (Tom Helmore), hired Scotty as a ploy to cover up his actual wife’s murder.  ’Madeline’ never existed … but none of us find this out until the end.

The first half of the film is an imitation of life so that Gavin can benefit from his dastardly ways.  Where Vertigo differs from most other noir or detective films is how Hitch begins to transform Scotty during the last part of the film.  Scotty becomes a representation of the audience’s desire to cut through plot and artifice and recreate meaning from the complete fictions of the film.  Scotty goes to no end: dying Judy’s hair (Judy, moreover, was an actress Gavin had hired), buying her the same outfit that Madeline wore (and forcing her to wear it), even going so far as to begin a romantic, sexual relationship solely on the account of creating an imitation.  The final key to it?  Both of them traveling to the place where Madeline died.  The result?  Judy … Madeline … actually dies this time.

It’s a cautionary tale, but the lesson is not just limited to film.  Imitating an imitation can only lead to disaster, because to imitate an imitation would be, in effect, to reject experience for conception.  Conceptual experience is not reality; it is madness, a chosen reality.  Reality TV is addicting because it is the synthesis of cinema and reality: life seems easier lived and, somehow, quicker on those shows.  Therefore, the snazzy wardrobes and easy weight losses can be perceived as a new reality that we all could live in.  But going down that road is just as dangerous as Scotty (a.k.a. the audience) devoting himself to imitating what life could have been, in the reality of the secondary and tertiary imitations of imitations of imitations of imitations….  It’s not Scotty who pays the ultimate price but the imitation itself— because it ceases to exist when confronted with actuality.

Summer 2009

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[1] I snuck into this film after watchingG.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra. JGL is an incredible actor. I’m not just saying this. Guy has range.
[2] This is not the first time something like this has happened. Ingrid Berman was denounced on the floor of the U.S. Senate for divorcing her husband and running away with Roberto Rossellini.