H. Terminación
VIII. DIRECTORES, DIGNATARIOS, EJECUTIVOS, ADMINISTRADORES, ASESORES Y
No ethnographic film is merely a record of another society: it is always a recording of the meeting between a filmmaker and that society. (MacDougall 1978:119) We were particularly well-received when we stated that most of the people that would see any resultant film would be students. There was an attitude that the beliefs and practices of the Fidencistas should be more widespread, and that we had
a communications function to serve. It was during these discussions that we found ourselves entering into a kind of promesa relationship with the followers to make a film about the cult as closely as possible to their own point of view. (Olson 1988:263)
Reflexive approaches, in both visual and written form, have evolved as part of the current round of textual experiments in anthropology. These are a principal means by which anthropological filmmakers seek to recon- figure the relationship between themselves and their subject by displacing the conventions of an uncontested ethnographic authority (see Ruby 1980). This includes a rejection of thoroughgoing didactic or expository approaches in which experts “speak for” the Other, as well as observa- tional methodologies that promote the view of a neutral, transparent, and objective recording of events.14By contrast, reflexive, interactive, or par-
ticipatory forms of filmmaking seek to uphold contemporary anthropol- ogy’s concern for specifying who speaks, for whom, and in what contexts.15This “specification of discourses” (Clifford 1986:13), because it
outlines the ways in which a filmic ethnography enacts relations of power and authority, has particular relevance for the anthropology of religion on ethical, political, and epistemological grounds.
We know that religious traditions, groups, congregations, and move- ments are not monolithic in terms of ideological outlooks and practices. Nor do they speak with a single voice. We have, as well, every reason to assume that the members of such collectivities are not disinterested par- ties to representations made about them, their beliefs, or practices. As media representations penetrate to every niche of the globe, this holds increasingly for the most apparently “remote” indigenous people (see Arhem 1993; Ginsberg 1991), as much as it does for the members of so- called marginal religions in the metropolitan world.16In addition, as the
quote from Olson (1988:263) above attests, ethnographic filmmaking—no less than ethnography—constitutes forms of human relationships that shape and mediate the production of cultural representations.
In relation to the sphere of religious phenomenon, reflexive strategies internal to a film’s text can provide viewers with a more critical awareness, not only of how films are constructed and their representations mediated, but of how the events they depict are situated more broadly in local struc- tures and social relations. In their film A Celebration of Origins (1992)—a film about a rarely performed cosmogenic ritual on the island of Flores (Indonesia), Timothy Asch and Doug Lewis make us aware that religious ceremonies are not merely major cultural performances, but may emerge as strategic resources in local political alliances and struggles for prestige and authority. Specifying the relationships between anthropologist, film- maker, and subjects, the film gives viewers access to the backstage of a major ritual, revealing, in part, how ambiguous and contradictory rules are negotiated (compare Leib and Romano 1988; Arhem 1993).17This kind
of perspective obviously enhances our anthropological understanding of an event and may allow teachers of anthropology to better integrate films into their theoretical discussions. While such perspectives are infrequently achieved within the text of a film, the increasing availability of film- monograph series, study guides and articles that reflexively detail a film- making process can serve a similar purpose (see the Hoskins and Scherer-Whitney 1986 study guide for The Feast in Dream Village).18
In other instances, reflexive approaches may alert viewers to the fact that filmmakers—as participants in sacred events—are not free agents who can simply assume any position they desire with respect to the peo- ple and actions portrayed (see Jell-Bahlsen 1988:207–8). Correspondingly, we might expect anthropologically trained filmmakers—because of a dis- ciplined sensitivity to how audiences might read the potentially exotic within religious performance—to exercise self-imposed limitations on what and how they represent persons and events within a religious con- text. While such sensitivity is often at work, rarely is this kind of informa- tion about a filmmaker’s perspective provided in a context internal to the film or otherwise easily accessible (see Scherer-Whitney 1986:32–3).
In recent years it is fair to say that it has become increasingly difficult to assess the reflexive position as it was first outlined by Jay Ruby (1980) as a “mode of research in which the roles of the researcher, the research pro- cess, and the research product are brought more nearly into balance” (see Caldarola 1991:59).19Reflexive moves are now manifest on a continuum.
At one end are forms of narration or exploratory dialogue in which film- makers explicitly set forth their conceptual or theoretical interests. This includes such very different films as The Feast in Dream Village, shot in Sumba, Indonesia, and Powerhouse for God, a film about a Baptist church in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. In the former, the filmmaker and anthro- pologist provide background context on an infrequently held indigenous ritual among the people of Sumba. After historicizing the event in rela- tionship to a specific village, they indicate that the perspective they have taken focuses on the activities of ritual leaders and “tensions of leadership during the event.” In the latter, the filmmakers explicitly state the subject, purpose, and organization of their film. Following an initial shot of John Sherfey, the lead character of the film, the narration states that the film “focuses on the pastor of a typical Baptist church in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains and on his family and the church’s congregation. We center the film on the worship service . . . and we move out from worship to portray Pastor John Sherfey and his family. We aim to show how story, history, beliefs, and religious practice integrate these people’s lives.”
At the other end of the continuum are films that seek to give their sub- jects direct access to the film through feedback strategies. As a methodol- ogy, this move inclines toward the interactive or participatory approaches first used by Flaherty and later by Jean Rouch (see Stoller 1992; Loizos
1993:13).20In a seminal article, David MacDougall (1975:119), outlined the
logic behind this approach, arguing that
by entering actively into the world of his subjects, [the filmmaker] can provoke a greater flow of information about them. By giving them access to the film, he makes possible the corrections, additions, and illuminations that only their response to the material can elicit. Through such an exchange a film can begin to reflect the ways in which its subjects perceive the world.
This tack has been taken most recently by Timothy and Patsy Asch and their anthropological collaborators in a series of films shot in Indonesia depicting trance, funerary ceremonies, and other religious rituals (see Connor, Asch, and Asch 1986:46). These include the Jero Tapakan project (which includes the films Jero on Jero: A Balinese Trance Séance, Jero on Jero,
A Balinese Trance Séance Observed, The Medium is the Masseuse: A Balinese Massage, and Jero Tapakan: Stories from the Life of a Balinese Healer). Because
these films all feature a single individual in different contexts, they pro- vide rare access to the subjectivity of religious experience in a particularly dense and rich way. This series of films is accompanied by a companion monograph that provides reflexive commentary on the films (e.g., annota- tions, editing information) as well as ethnographic authentication and interpretation of scenes (e.g., information on linguistic interaction in séances that makes the tone and mood of the event understandable in terms of cultural conventions).
In a related film done with anthropologist Linda Connor, Releasing the
Spirit, Tim and Patsy Asch use video to elicit feedback from subjects who,
when initially filmed, were inaccessible because of their performance in trance or their general engrossment in the ritual event. The film docu- mented how a poor Balinese village organized a complex and expensive collective cremation ritual.21Two years after the original filming, video
shot during phases of the event was replayed to elicit commentary from small groups in family courtyards and key participants in the ritual in the hopes of exploring the relationship between observed behavior and cul- tural meanings. Particular attention was given to eliciting feedback from ritual participants in different structural positions as a way to implicitly challenge the kinds of definitive interpretations that filmmakers often give to similar events based on the comments of a few (often male) informants. Elsewhere, Tim Asch has argued for this kind of approach, stating,
Since our knowledge of social anthropology depends on how well we are able to observe and analyze human behavior, it seems odd that we haven’t made better use of audiovisual materials in our research. It seems particularly appropriate in studying a social interaction where large numbers of people are involved. Playing a video tape of an event to different informants at different times could help sort
out any apparent confusion, as well as indicate differences in interpretation, dis- tribution of knowledge, or structural position. (1979:7)
Although significant variability did not emerge through this process in this film, the concept would seem to remain a valid one (see P. Asch 1992). A different, but fully engaged, approach to reflexivity can be found in the film Waiting for Harry (1978) by filmmaker Kim McKenzie and anthro- pologist Les Hiatt, which addresses simultaneously a number of the issues raised above for reflexive and participatory approaches. The film depicts the problematics of a funeral ceremony held on the clan lands of an Anbarra man in Arnhem Land. We learn that Hiatt has worked with the Anbarra for over two decades and that he is attending the ceremony both as an anthropologist and as a “kinsman” of the deceased man and the chief mourners, Frank Gurramanamana and Harry Diama. Much of the film is spent waiting for Harry who, because of kinship obligations and ritual prerogatives, is absolutely essential for the ceremony.
Peter Loizos (1992:60), who has commented with insight upon this film, points out that the film does not merely depict the normative enactment of a reburial, but that “it provides us with insights into the nature of field research, filming, the organization of death ritual and the politics of Aborig- inal group management.” This is quite distinct from the type of event- centered filmmaking that has been commented upon above. Such an approach would have waited for the ritual to “start” and then depict the communal and aesthetic aspects of its performance. The presumption in the latter is that culture is most readily translated through its actions and that the important phases of ritual are performance oriented and self evident. By focusing on the situation as it actually exists between filmmaker, anthropologist, and subjects, the film calls into question the line that is arbitrarily drawn between preparations for, hiatuses in, and enactment of ritual—allowing us to experience the event from the perspective of the subjects and filmmaker. We gain insight into the concerns of the principals during this event that, as outsiders, we might not readily associate with an aboriginal funeral ceremony. For example, we become privy to Frank Gur- ramanamana’s concern about marshalling enough kinsmen to ensure a successful performance and about Harry (his “boss” in this ritual)—who has returned to a nearby town to attend a court case involving his son, and about the defection of a group of Cape Stewart men who withdrew sup- port from an earlier funeral because they felt the clan emblems they shared with the Anbarra were not properly painted. Access to this infor- mation—which is a product of Hiatt’s 22-year association with this group—allows viewers to understand “what it means to perform a ritual properly in this sort of society” (Loizos 1992:60).
All of this, of course, derives from the intimate long-term relationship that Hiatt shares with this group. From this subject position, the film
becomes a kind of inquiry into an ethnographic situation—much “thicker” and rich in detail—as opposed to a normative description of communal ritual. We find that Hiatt, due to the fact that he has an assigned kinship relationship within the group, is not free to assume a neutral position vis-à-vis the event. When ordered to go off and return with Harry, he must grudgingly do so with the assurance that Frank will await his return to complete the ceremony. (It is of note that written accounts about filmmaking on religious rituals elsewhere in the world note similar normative constraints upon the filmmaker.)
Through the experience of the chief mourners, we come to appreciate the fact that the line between performance and preparations is an arbitrary one, calling into question prescriptions for filmmaking that call for the recording of “whole events,” or performance-oriented depictions of ritual. This film also directs our attention to the motivations of the subjects, their feelings of ownership over the process, and the implied political and ritual purposes that the film itself may serve. At the close of the film, Frank stands before the camera and proudly proclaims:
This film is mine. . . . Now men everywhere will see my sacred emblems, just as, in many places, I have seen theirs. So—the emblems I hold so dear are now on film, so the film is also dear to me. It was my idea to bring these filmmakers!
This statement becomes understandable when one understands the wider social context of such ethnographic filmmaking in Australia. Mac- Dougall (1991:7), who has filmed extensively among a number of Aus- tralian Aboriginal peoples, points out that this film (like those of Roger Sandall and Ian Dunlop on Aboriginal ritual) serve political and ritual purposes. Even if this fact is not always evident to outside viewers, he notes that “they are part of a continuing process of cultural reinforcement and contestation. They [the films] have themselves become emblems” (MacDougall 1991:7).
Finally, it should be noted that the camera angles and framing of ritual are such to underplay any tendency to contemplate the Anbarra as aes- thetic objects. It has been argued that reflexive approaches that expose the actual circumstances of filming and show researcher and subjects within a shared temporality serve to break down the separation between a modern Us and a traditional Them that has so long been a fixture of ethnographic films (see Folkerth 1993:61–3). As in this film, this strategy discourages a view of the subjects as objects for aesthetic contemplation, noble savages, and the like.
Many of the shots in Waiting for Harry work in this direction. Shots of Frank Gurramanamana talking to his kinsmen in town via a short-wave walkie-talkie and inquiring about their scheduled arrival and the where- abouts of Harry, the Cape Stewart men arriving by motor launch, and Les
Hiatt setting off in his Land Rover, place the aboriginal subjects and the event squarely within the present. These shots, coupled with the slow pac- ing of the film and the intercutting of other mundane activities, have a def- inite effect on how viewers are likely to relate to the marked ceremonial actions in which the film culminates. By the time that the final clan dances are performed, this symbolic behavior seems to be little more than a natu- ral extension of Anbarra life.
Reflexive approaches should serve to remind the users of anthropologi- cal films of the kind of preparation that they must put in if they are to use films in their teaching at a high level of engagement. The majority of films available to us still do not provide information reflexively. This includes information about how a film is shaped by the interests and ideology of its maker, his or her relation to the subjects, or the wider social or political context around a film’s production. While some of the latter concerns may not be self evident, other questions arise because of the visible nature of the events and persons portrayed. These include why a particular subject was chosen and in what ways is he or she actually representative of the community portrayed? The film Hail Umband, for example, features an exceptionally effeminate pai de santo but makes no reference to the por- trayal of gender. Similarly, in The King Does Not Lie, a video depicts a San- teria temple in Puerto Rico whose members are primarily light-skinned without reference to how the calculus of race and color plays into the prac- tice of this African-derived tradition. The Initiation Kut for a Korean Shaman documents a “failed” shamanic initiation without reference to what investment the tutelary shaman had in the successful performance of the event before the watchful eye of the camera. A concern with issues such as these should form an unwritten subtext to be explored by those of us who use such films. The absence of this information can often lead us to com- municate valuable considerations to our students about the concerns of anthropological representation.