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Watching The Truman Show before reading Jean Baudrillard’s “Simulacra and Simulations – I. The Precession of Simulacra” probably does not count as an impressively smart move. Nevertheless, ideas from David Evan’s Appropriation and morsels about the uncanny, the Other, and copying fit into the construct of Truman, and Baudrillard’s work simply adds another layer of theory to the mixture of ideas that could be called a personal mashup of applied theory.

Guy Debord’s words from “The Use of Stolen Films” in Appropriation can be remixed to apply to Truman: “stolen fiction films, external to my film but brought into it, are used, regardless of whatever their original meaning many have been, to represent the rectification of the ‘artistic inversion of life’” (66). Instead of a film, Christof has stolen the entire life of Truman in order to create a fiction; through that fiction, Cristof gains artistic and commercial success. The meaning, in fact the entirety, of Truman’s life has been redirected to the purpose of entertainment.

In the next Appropriation essay, “On Dial H-I-S-T-O-R-Y,” Johan Grimonprez discusses the concept of “explor[ing] the phenomena of identification and pleasure, to get viewers to adopt a critical distance while at the same time involving them and incorporating their own voyeurism” in art (67); again, Truman obliges the reader – viewer by providing an example of the theory. Throughout the movie, there are scenes of the television viewers of Truman’s life: the old ladies on the couch, one of whom holds a Truman pillow; Lauren-Sylvia, who has fallen in love with Truman when she was on the set; the bar crowd and workers, who are engrossed in Truman’s life; and the two security officers, who quickly move on to another program when Truman escapes and the show ends. Close scrutiny shows elements of each of Grimonprez’s elements: the old ladies identify with Truman in that they wish him to find love, but they also experience pleasure in watching his travails. Lauren-Sylvia has certainly been forced to adopt a distance, she is critical of the entire scheme of using Truman as entertainment, and she cannot help but watch voyeuristically as he attempts his escape. The bar crowd and waitresses seem to only display the pleasure of being entrenched in the story unfolding before them, and the two men at the end of the film see The Truman Show as nothing more than a entertaining diversion.

In searching out the uncanny in Truman, it is easy to focus first on the suited twins who assure Truman that they are considering the insurance he sells. They are simply strange. Pushing Truman daily up against the chicken sign, their only apparent purpose is to ensure that another product is noted by viewers. But as mirror images of one another, they are eerily uncanny. They invoke thoughts of the Other in their closely attached physical movements and reactions. On a first viewing, one can almost think they are Siamese twins. They are certainly freakish. They also fit the idea of copying since they are so alike. But copies appear in another, more devious manner throughout Truman.

Truman’s mother is, in fact, not his mother. Nor is she a true mother figure for him. What she seems to be is a copy of a mother, doing some things a mother would do, but putting no emotion behind her actions. His teacher, too, is a copy. She does not have a real classroom: all the children except Truman are actors. She is not really teaching, and when Truman declares that he wants to be an explorer, she cannot even act as a copy, she reacts in probably her only unscripted line telling him that all the world has already been explored. However, the two most devious copies are Truman’s wife and best friend. Both of these characters work hard to keep Truman from discovering that his reality isn’t real, and in so doing, both also deceive themselves as they pretend to like the man they are paid to befriend. Truman finally realizes that his wife does not even like him, and though it is not pictured, one imagines the same is true for the best friend character. Once Truman fully understands that these people are only props and that his life is lived in a loop, he can finally overcome his fear of water, and attempt his escape from his present reality, which is not really real.

The “really real” and “present reality” depicted within Truman invoke thoughts of Jean Baudrillard’s “Simulacra.” He writes that “[t]he real is produced from miniaturized cells, matrices, and memory banks, models of control” (1). Cristof’s Seahaven is exactly that: a miniaturized world where Truman is incarcerated from birth so the world can watch his progress which is touted as an unscripted life. This set works as Baudrillard describes the “hyperreal:” the “map” drawn by Cristof is so precise that every minute, every blade of grass, every grain of sand is “so detailed” the “territory” known by Truman is “simulated” to perfection until it begins to unravel when Truman rejects the scripted life he is fed after the constellation light falls from the man-made sky (1).

Though other aspects of Baudrillard’s essay might well be applied to Truman, this blog has rattled on long enough. Suffice it to say that the ideas are still knocking around in my head, but it’s time to consider this week’s reading if it is to be completed in time for class. The Truman Show is an interesting, entertaining, and even fun movie to watch, and it is now on my favorites’ list. But while it met those criteria, it is also thought provoking, sad, frightening, and even uplifting and hopeful. One could easily write a long paper applying many and varied theories to the movie from a number of disciplines. It is decidedly a movie that might appeal to academics across a range of interests.

Battlestar Galactica is something that, of course, I was already aware of, but I had never watched even a single episode. Nor am I intrigued or enamored with the Star Trek series. However, as soon as I mentioned to my husband that it was required viewing this week, he said, “Oh, a redo.” He had an idea what to expect and I thought I did, too, but I found myself at a distinct disadvantage as I attempted to keep track of which individual was a copy, who was human, who was the really real bad character, and who just might be a good guy. It was almost an exercise in futility. Then he suggested that I actually read the Wikipedia link, I did, and it helped, a little.

Immediately following the opening, “There are copies and they have a plan” struck me like a bullet. Mark A. McCutcheon’s article, Downloading Doppelgängers, starts right off with a clever play on the series copies of humans who are the God-fearing antagonists. Certainly, McCutcheon is right in pointing out the biblical and even the Mormon theological subtexts (3), but it would take more than one thirty minute chapter of the miniseries to be able to make multiple connections in that realm. Many of the other points made in the article were also difficult to pinpoint in only one episode; one example is the use of military uniforms and structures, for only the doctor was clearly sporting a topcoat that bore insignia (4). However, McCutcheon’s submission that the US and an uncanny Canada are portrayed was somewhat easier to isolate in Galactica’s “Downloaded” (8).

Tricia Helfer plays the part of a copy of Six, or Caprica-Six , and Grace Park is Eight, or Sharon as she insists. Both are Canadian and both managed to speak with a sort of clipped mid-American non-accent. Either could be from Anywhere, USA. The third copy, Three, played by Lucy Lawless slightly undermines McCutcheon’s theory since she is from New Zealand. However, since Lawless antagonizes Six and Eight, she can ruled out as an example of Canadian representation. Helfer and Park appear uncanny, too, but perhaps that is only due to McCutcheon’s suggestion that they are (8). Six’s persistent hallucination of her lover, Gaius Baltar, who she believes to be dead, is much more uncanny and unsettling than the idea that the women are copies. This canniness is more unsettling when viewers discover the deceit: Baltar is alive and suffering mirrored hallucinations. In some strange way, these duplicated and mirrored hallucinations evoke the idea of the Other.

Beyond these meager observations, other notables for me include the single camera shot wherein viewers saw through the eyes of a character, the use of the word “procreation” to refer to the mixing of human and copy DNA, and the idea that Hera would serve as a “new beginning.” For the remainder of the episode, I returned again and again to that single shot in an attempt to understand the message that it surely conveyed. The procreation and new beginning references are startlingly biblical, and underscore McCutcheon’s claims. But honestly, the hallucinations and flashes to Baltar’s current situation kept me too confused to fully focus on making connections to the article.

The cover art of E. Elias Merhige’s Shadow of the Vampire seems eerily uncanny to one suffering from some sort of flu and a semi-stupor induced by drugs taken to fight said malaise.  Contemplating the faces, shadows, and limited amount of architecture raised a series of questions: do vampires have shadows (try as I might, I could not recall seeing Edward’s shadow in Twilight), do vampires have talon-like fingernails (none of the movie vampires I remember had deformed claw-like hands), and do vampires need to be inherently ugly for some reason (Twilight’s vampires are quite fetching – even the evil ones)?  Of course, those questions are not particularly literary or important, and this movie is a precursor to the prettier, modern vampire fare.  Clearly, it is of more consequence to note the various points from Jonathan Auerbach’s “Chasing Film Narrative: Repetition, Recursion, and the Body in Early Cinema,” which are embedded in the film.

Auerbach spends considerable words explaining “the chase film” (802).  Using The Escaped Lunatic as his example, he insists, “movement must be sustained at all costs” (805).  Merhinge uses a similar technique by filming a long train journey in which blurred landscape makes clear that a journey is taking place.  Rather than focusing only on the train moving through wild brush, the camera pans to clouds, empty sky, and back to the ground, where a length of track creates vanishing perspective, leaving no doubt in the viewer’s mind that the film crew is on a lengthy trip into an unfamiliar land.  It is not clear to the casual observer whether the train is moving or the camera is creating the sensation of movement, and as with the chase and running scenes of the early cinema, these shots “follow no special order and are virtually interchangeable” and serve only to move the setting to a distant location (806).  Though there is no chase in this sequence, the series of shots from train tracks to clouds is very reminiscent of the early chases described by Auerbach.

Recursion aspects also clearly presented themselves in this movie.  There were multiple scenes where the shadow of the vampire foreshadowed his entrance or allowed the viewer to know he was lurking and listening.  Other instances of recursion include scenes where faces and even bodies are not shown; only moving feet illustrate any sort of movement in this portion of the film.  In these shots, shadows once more give clues about the identity of the persons not shown.  Auerbach proclaims, “[t]here is no other goal than movement itself, no other reason for us to watch the movie than to see bodies in motion;” Merhige instead refuses to show these bodies in motion, which is a direct opposition to the earlier films (805).

In any case, Merhige uses the idea of repetition, as in the chase, to indicate movement; he uses recursion, as in the use of the shadow, to signify the secret presence of the vampire; and finally, he uses bodies, showing only the feet, to denote movement that goes nowhere.  However, many more aspects of this film raise additional non-academic questions.  Here are a few more fevered reflections: why are the filmmakers dressed in lab coats, why does the vampire have no fangs (oops, Edward has none either), why does this vampire drink alcohol (blood should be his only choice!), why are there so many rats in the coffin, and why did the star give in so easily to being drugged?  These are questions that must wait for another blog.

It’s amazing how many details one can forget from an in-class screening of a movie.  Despite the attempt to take copious notes on Brett Gaylor’s rip! A Remix Manifesto, very few points in the movie remained in this head other than facts concerning remix master Gregg Gillis aka Girl Talk: his quiet, yet determinedly defiant attitude toward copyright law, the catchy beats he produces from illegally remixing the work of other artists, and the crazily overcrowded, hot, exciting dance parties that occur in celebration of his digital music – that and the fact that he’s a professional researcher and until recently did similar work in the process of scientific investigation.  After all, the work of a researcher requires the use of original material that “belongs” to others.  However, researchers can use snippets of material under fair use, and artists have long “borrowed” from one another – from Einstein to Shakespeare to Mozart to Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson, Son House, and a plethora of more modern artists including Walt Disney and other film makers – they have used ideas that belong to the past to build on the future.  In his essay, “The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism Mosaic,” Jonathan Letham writes, “Literature has always been a crucible in which familiar themes are continually recast” (26).  Recasting, borrowing, remixing, retelling, and even plagiarizing and mashingup are elements of creativity that simply cannot be denied in the cultural evolution of art forms.

In the academic world, there is a bias against any sort of plagiarism, be it deliberate or accidental.  Students are advised to carefully cite not only the use of phrases borrowed from others but to also give credit for any idea that is not commonly known or general knowledge.  One can be expelled for academic dishonesty if there is any lapse, and yet, many students do not know what is commonly known.  The same might be said for the world of music.  In Rip, it is noted that “sampling a single note is illegal.”   Common sense argues that no individual can own a single note because all music is made up of variations of single notes grouped together with other single notes.  Letham applies the same idea to writing as he weaves an essay that includes famous borrowers from Vladimir Nabokov to Bob Dylan to Woody Allen to Ernest Hemingway and others.  He uses the terms “‘higher cribbing’” and appropriating, but these are, in reality, the same as remixing or mashup; the terms vary depending on the medium and it seems that all artists borrow from the past (26).

This borrowing, according to Brett Gaylor, falls under fair use, public domain, and the fact that ideas need to be shared; he calls this “copyleft.”  On the other side, private industry and businesses argue for copyright, which has evolved into long term ownership of intellectual property: the 1710 Statute of Anne gave authors fourteen years of ownership; the 1998 copyright now extends authors their lifetime plus seventy years, and corporations garner the lifetime of the author plus ninety-five years.  While these laws ostensibly protect the income of the owners, the same laws shackle creativity that might be based on owned ideas.  Often, the writer realizes little or no monetary gain from copyrighted material.  In the settlements cited by Gaylor, funds from lawsuits landed in the pockets of large corporations.  Yet some artists favor copyright.

Oddly, Metallica band member and founder Lars Ulrich heatedly argues in opposition to the concept of remixing and borrowing; instead, he insists that ownership is a right of musicians and that too many dollars will be lost in the process of sharing.  Oddly because his “band made it to New York in a stolen U-Haul” in order to “play some shows and record an album” (Yeager).  Hypocrisy in action – U-Haul certainly lost out on its profit in that incident.

On the other hand, there are artists who favor sharing: Cory Doctorow, author, columnist for Wired magazine, blogger, and featured commentator in Rip often publishes through Creative Commons in cooperation with Brazilian artist and former Minister of Culture Gilberto Gil.  Radiohead, an English alternative rock band, published their music online asking consumers to pay what they wished.  Recently, Switchfoot posted a cut for listeners to freely share.  As this digital war escalates between business conglomerates and artists, still others may join in the effort to share and encourage creativity.  Letham sums it up succinctly, “[I]t becomes apparent that appropriation, mimicry, quotation, allusion, [mashup, borrowing, copying, remixing], and sublimated collaboration consist of a kind of sine qua non of the creative act, cutting across all forms and genres in the realm of cultural production” (29).  It seems the Brazilians have it [copy]right and this country should follow suit.

Works Cited

Letham, Jonathan.  “The Ecstasy of Influence: A Plagiarism Mosaic.”  Ed. Paul D. Miller. Sound Unbound. Cambridge, MA.: MIT Press, 2008.  Print.

Yeager, Jeff.  “History: Part One.”  Metallica: Death Magnetic.” 2011.  Web.  6 Mar. 2011.

In his article, “Viewed from Behind: The Projected Image and its Doppelgänger, Ignaz Cassar discusses how the rearrangement of a projected image changes perception.  Reversing the order of beginning and ending elements, overexposure, and the relation of self to the projected image all have impacts that distort, illuminate, modify or alter meaning.  In Being John Malkovich, there is much distortion as various characters enter the brain and see the world through the eyes of unknowing host Malkovich: Craig Schwartz seeks to control and profit from his host, Lotte Schwartz and Maxine Lund seek sexual thrills and voyeuristic satisfaction through the host.  Schwartz’s employer plans to use Malkovich as a means to youth, and even Malkovich has an impulse to experience the world as a double in his own brain.  In each of these situations, one can find elements of Cassar’s postulated theories.

Craig inadvertently finds that he can force his will over that of Malkovich, who exemplifies “shielding” (Cassar 117).  Malkovich becomes the “vanishing point that swallows up the visible” as he “remains behind the image” seen through Malkovich’s eyes.  His body, like that of the artist Export, becomes the “underpinning,” his presence is and “outlining [his] presence through what surrounds [him]” (118).  In a strange and uncanny way, Craig becomes Malkovich’s doppelgänger.  Craig’s purposes are monetary gain, and suppression of the host amounts to kidnapping.

Perhaps less criminal, Lotte obtains a more emotional pleasure from her time within the host.  She is able to connect with the male point of view during Malkovich’s sexual encounter with Maxine.  It is during this experience that Lotte determines her future.  Though her inhabitation of Malkovich cannot be permanent, her longing for a woman can come to fruition.  What was once “imaginary,” is now “projected;” and Lotte is able to “steer towards … the image” of her desire, Maxine (115).

On the other hand, Maxine, too, has a stake in what is Malkovich.  She seeks to place Malkovich behind Lotte while making love to the latter through the former.  Malkovich substitutes as “the screen [that] can be seen as a plane of intervention that obstructs the projection” of Lotte (116).  Lotte is not present in a visual way, but Maxine is very much aware of her presence in the host.  When Maxine attempts another Lotte- Malkovich encounter, Craig is in the host.  Because he is able to gain control, Malkovich disappears much like “filmic images [that] have become wiped out through the photograph’s overexposure” (116).  Only Maxine and Craig are present for the short duration of Craig’s control.

It is during that conversation that Malkovich becomes intensely aware of his disappearance.  In an attempt to understand the phenomenon, he insists on entering his body.  Now the “screen” of his own vision is directed toward himself, “reflecting back the image;” all the people he faces are versions of himself (116).  He is his own doppelgänger.

Feeling much like a poor quality copy of my former self, the self prior to bronchial infection, reading Marcus Boon’s In Praise of Copying left some quirky impressions in my muddled, medicated head.  Chapter by chapter, the whole concept of copying, copies, and reproductions became intriguing as I began to wonder if anyone can discern a fake from an original in any well-copied product, be it a Louis Vuitton bag or some other well-replicated item.  Copying is a distinct part of being human: infants copy parents and caregivers, manufacturers copy each other’s designs, artists copy and build on one another’s works, and students copy teachers and great writers.

Of course, if one is discussing Louis Vuitton bags, one must know from where the bag originated and from which shift it was produced.  Assuming the bag owner knows that information, she is not likely to discuss it with friends.  Let the viewer beware: if the “stores which sell the real items” cannot detect the fakes, then the casual observer surely cannot do so (14).

Like the Vuitton bag original and copy, music artists create both originals and copies.  Original songs are repeated, sampled, borrowed, and reconstructed by mixing sounds.  Laws, however, cause this borrowing and mixing to be a criminal activity unless hefty royalties are paid to the owners of the sounds.  Boon elaborates by connecting an inherent violence to both hip-hop and copia in general (93-95).  From the original horn of plenty to the Harlem and Bronx looting that “facilitated hip-hop’s emergence as a culture,” violence is associated with copying (43).  Yet one does not immediately consider any artist a criminal, violent or otherwise.

And what has this to do with academia, writing, and English courses or papers?  Students have ready access to thousands and thousands of words, articles, books, documents, and other formerly printed material via the internet.  Copy and paste is not only easy, it is a way of life for many.  It is much faster and easier to copy-paste than to write something “original,” which probably is not original anyway because words can only be arranged in so many ways that make sense.

Nevertheless, professors admonish students not to plagiarize, even as students wonder why and how words can belong to someone else.  Boon points to three sets of laws that clarify the concept of intellectual ownership: “copyright, trademark, and patent;” all three protect the “material expression of an idea” (21).  One of my professors explained it this way, “If copying three or more words from someone else, cite it. Period.”

In spite of the admonishments, students continue to copy, both deliberately and inadvertently.  That does not make them criminals.  Copyright, patent, and trademark laws need to be revised; they need to protect but allow for creativity.  Creativity does not occur in a vacuum.  Sometimes, creativity does not even occur in solitude.  It is almost always based on works that came before.  After all, even the greatest artists borrow from others.

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