In an attempt to archive some academic papers I've written over the past few years (relying on the hard drives of sometimes faulty PCs has left me tired and frustrated), I will be uploading some of my old work to this blog over the next few months. Here is one I wrote for a class in Media Studies I took in the Fall of 2010.
It was Canadian theorist Marshall McLuhan who once proclaimed the now famous and much analyzed statement, “the medium is the message”, setting off arguments across global villages worldwide and firmly establishing himself as a key scholar in media theory. This idea, when contextualized over the course of a full length essay, “The Medium Is The Message” in his book Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, appears, in its early stages, to be less a hyperbole than an inoffensive, practical observation. McLuhan was much besmirched for applying his theory to entertainment mediums such as television and motion picture screens, but the writer started his claim with a more low-key and unattractive example: the light bulb. Here was an electrical medium that distributed light and lacked content. No one cared about what the light meant (because what could it mean?), but rather that it was there for us to use whenever we wanted. Simply put, it was the mode of distribution, the outlet that harbored the beams of electrical light that was deemed as impressive and noteworthy as the actual light itself. McLuhan writes, “the electric light is pure information. It is a medium without a message, as it were, unless it is used to spell out some verbal ad or name. This fact, characteristic of all media, means that the ‘content’ of any medium is always another medium.” (McLuhan 129). What can be considered more important, the chicken or the egg? Or perhaps we should inquire which is more pointless? McLuhan felt that television and movies' content were message-less, and the fact that these machines were able to exist in the first place was much more profoundly important than the programming spewing out of them.
It is therefore ironic (although as noted above, not altogether unexpected) that one popularized post-industrialized medium, the television set, would bring forth another, this one blurrily three dimensionalized in its banality. As TV became more and more popular in American households in the 1950s, families decided to make babies — sexual organs as mediums lacking content? — watch entertainment programs at home, away from the once-booming town movie theaters. Panicked, movie studios came up with gimmick after clunky gimmick in an attempt to lure good paying folk back to the picture houses. There was the sleek sounding Cinerama (three projectors were used to show three linking parts to a single image, and when placed side by side, came together to make an out of this world, larger than life whole) that played with a blown up aspect ratio before the neutered Widescreen process became the standard (forcing motion picture cameras to switch from a 1:33:1 to a 1:85:1 ratio). There were the gimmick tryouts of schlockmeister artiste’ William Castle — anyone that happens to come across The Tingler must remember that it feeds on fear and your human screams. In its own way, colorization was a gimmick, a successful and profitable one, but a gimmick just the same. And sound? Mediums leading to other mediums.
The invention of 3-D in the movies was first considered an impressive artistic fad that peaked in the 1950s and died in the 60s. Then, as pesky nostalgia reared its ugly head, the technology resurfaced prominently in the 80s and perished there too. Now 3-D has come back for a third time, peripherally-challenged moviegoers be damned, to overcharge patrons for a quick (albeit visceral) thrill.
In his article, “The Problem With 3-D”, J. Hoberman, senior film critic for The Village Voice, wrote wearily, “the only thing that distinguishes this current wave of stereo cinema from that of 1953, 1970, and 1982 is the technology. The profit motive is a constant. Just as in the 50s, Hollywood must again compete with new forms of home entertainment, and there’s not 3-D Youtube or TV (yet)……..the studios are acting like 3-Dizies are the new talkies, using 3-D to sell exhibitors an expensive new delivery system and, not coincidentally, slapping a hefty surcharge on ticket prices.” (Hoberman). The rebirth of 3-D cinema is certainly a medium that finds itself to be its own message: spend money to make money.
Many entertainment writers point to James Cameron’s film Avatar as contemporary proof of 3-D’s revitalization. Whether they are pointing towards the movie’s artistic success (nine Academy Award nominations and mostly positive reviews, although not one from J. Hoberman, who described the film’s Sky People (humans) as, “heavy-handedly associated with the Bush administration,” (Hoberman) or its overwhelming financial fortunes (most successful film ever in inflated box office grosses) is hard to tell. Mr Cameron used specially designed 3-D cameras to shoot his magnum opus, which was supposed to set it apart from the onslaught of other 3-D product. Moviegoers still had to wear glasses — although now the red and blue tinted spectacles were discarded for a more fashionable look resembling sunglasses apparel — and the projected image was still dimmer than if it were to be viewed in flat 2-D, but there it was. An enhanced depth of field made Avatar’s advantageous 3-D tolerable, at times enjoyable even, but still a distraction.
Anyone who tries to sell 3-D as an organically immersive viewing experience is a con man, an optimist, or both. Moviegoers do not need to be coached, visually or otherwise, into forgetting that they are watching a film on a screen laid out before them. If a snake or an automobile come flying at you, everything behind them stays flat. The image can only be as large as the screen; avoiding IMAX for a moment, all 3-D images are measured within a rectangular box — IMAX just spreads them vertically. What’s natural about darkened images expanding out of a large screen? And why does it always seem to appear, almost stubbornly, within the center of the frame? 3-D moviemaking is eye candy hoopla, an exhibition where moviegoers come to be distracted. As Hoberman notes, “3-D is an attraction that that has little to do with, and may even take away from, narrative.” (Hoberman). With many directors shooting in 2-D and then watching their films 3-D enhanced in post in order to bring in the big bucks (the practice is sometimes called “retro-fitting”), artistic value takes a backseat to the almighty dollar. Cameron has already announced that his 1997 blockbuster Titanic is already in the process of being converted into 3-D for a 2012 theatrical re-release commemorating the one hundred year anniversary of the ship’s sinking (because nothing says respectful like dead bodies being hurled at you for sixteen bucks a pop). Not only has he committed to shooting all future projects in 3-D, now Cameron wants consumers to shed more cash to see his old movies in the retroactive format as well (for Cameron’s Terminator footage in 3-D, one must only take a ride to Orlando’s Universal Studios theme park).
Like the light bulb, 3-D in and of itself has no message of which to comprehend. When critiquing a 3-D film, most critics spend eighty-five percent of their reviews discussing the film without a mention of the third dimension add-on. 3-D is what it is and it has gotten so boring and uninspired that many viewers find themselves ignoring it even as the large plastic glasses rest ever so comfortably across their faces. When critics discuss the 3-D aspect, it reads like a painful chore for them to have to describe. “Immersive” or “unnecessary” and “distracting” are key buzz words writers use when trying to create a new message for a medium that spills all the beans at the very sight of its name. If movies are the information and the viewers are the receivers, then 3-D is the constant noise, getting in the way of what everyone keeps struggling to comprehend. We go to the movies to see them, not to see through them.
Later in McLuhan's essay, the writer describes, “Leonard Doob, in his report Communication in Africa, tells of one African who took great pains to listen each evening to the BBC news, even though he could understand nothing of it. Just to be in the presence of those sounds at 7 p.m was important for him. His attitude to speech was like ours to melody – the resonant intonation was meaning enough.” (McLuhan 137). Here was a man who was less interested in content than noise. He longed for the spectacle of sound and need not comprehend what he was hearing. McLuhan uses this somewhat flawed example (if the African man could understand what he was hearing, would he then share an interest in the content?) to draw a clear line between the symbol and the meanings we assign to it. 3-D is an artistic renaissance to some and merely a cash cow to others. Any way your corneas view the illusion, it remains just that.
In a day and age where 3-D is everywhere, detractors can cross their fingers and wait patiently as over-saturation begins to take place. 3-D televisions are starting to find a place in American households and specialized three dimensional programming is premiering on a monthly basis; ESPN is airing an anticipated New York Knicks VS Miami Heat basketball game on December 17th in the third dimension, the first basketball game they are to air in the format. (Lawler). If history is any indication, things will eventually die down. 3-D is not a genre and (for not much longer) a selling point. It lacks substance, good for a quick fix but shallow and unsatisfying in the long run. Producers are a smart bunch, however. They've learned that by the time their audience realizes that there is no unique message to “get”, they will have already paid time and time again for one last confirmation. If the content matters less than the visual trickery, Hollywood will soon have to step their game up. The secret of Hollywood is that they've been selling us the the same thing for years.
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