A light-hearted comedy that conceals the most thorough exploration of the role that cinema's dreams have in life by one of America's greatest directors.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Purple Rose of Cairo is a film about the one-dimensionality of cinema confronted with the three-dimensions of reality. It's about the naiveté of characters who think life conforms to that of the pictures, where fake movie-money buys food in expensive restaurants, a kiss naturally leads to a 'fade-out' and sex in the privacy of a dark, unseen nothingness. It's a film about the fantasy of the cinema, the allure of the fictions it portrays and about distinguishing real dreams from false dreams. It's about the reality of dreams themselves, of the difference between the perception of the cinematic in life and their real-life potential versus their illusory, fickle nature. It's about the persistence of the dreams of cinema and their undying persistence as dreams even when one sees them for what they are. Finally, it is a film about the romance of reality, of the allure of its hard struggles and complex, bottomless contingency.

From the History of Film Theory: Pasolini

Pasolini wrote in the 1960's about the relative newness of the cinematic form, of its impoverished capacity to speak as its own language and of the difficulties inherent to a form in which the poetic possibilities of metaphor inherent to one who speaks directly does not exist: a film-maker is confronted with the necessity to make his arguments through the voices and images of others. According to Pasolini, the cinema communicates through the perspective of 'free indirect subjectivity', which is a statement that has an analogy in language of the form: 'He stood up slowly. He wasn't going to let them get away with it!' These are statements that operate according to the establishment of an objective situation that is then transformed into a subjectivity. The character acing erratically, as Deleuze points out, flailing around the screen, moving this way and that, establishes an objective fact that someone is moving around, erratically¹. Confronted with an immobile frame, with a camera that refuses to move to follow his movements, it creates a new meaning: a judgment of madness, of a judgment contributed by the forced immobility of the camera that introduces a subjective dimension to the objective fact of his erratic movement, that he is crazy. The cinema, as a constant movement between these two poles, between the objective and the subjective, accomplished through the use of montage, forms the poetic language of cinema.

However, a film like The Purple Rose of Cairo does not employ these kinds of experimental techniques to make use of an overt consciousness of the camera. Rather, according to what Pasolini described as cinema's more primitive communicability (before the emergence of this 'camera consciousness and free indirect subjectivity) it makes use of cultural cinematic images that have been established throughout the history of cinema to the point of becoming part of the collective consciousness. These are moments like the kiss in Casablanca that becomes a fixed image-sequence in cinema, re-made over and over again in different contexts to evoke the romance of certain moments. Pasolini describes the use of shots of train wheels and steam to convey movement. One can certainly imagine many others: sunsets and beach waves; planes taking off and wheels touching down with smoke; a cigarette being placed on an ashtray, a beer bottle dripping on the bar. The list of these kinds of established cinematic images is basically endless today, permeated as one is today in cinema. And there are some interesting instances of this in the film, three of particular importance and upon which the significance of the film rests.

First, take this scene, which takes place in a music shop after Cecilia has met Gil Shepard, the real-life actor who plays Tom Baxter in The Purple Rose of Cairo film within a film, for a date. She mentions that she used to play the mandolin, and so they enter to have a look at the instruments.

What is interesting about this scene is, after Gil Shepard finishes playing the piano and begins to profess, again, his love for Cecilia, how the film becomes for a few brief moments, cinematic. It seems as if, rather than the two real-life characters on a date mired in the contingencies of real life trying to negotiate a relationship, there's simply the screen of cinema and two characters becoming one-dimensional at the same time that they become timeless cinema. The cinema image in the moment that it appears to be Classic Hollywood cinema seems to flatten-out, to lose its depth: the complexities of the lives of the characters dissipate and everything simplifies to the pure representation of a pre-existing cinematic image. This is the moment in the film where one gets the hint of the possibility that this life between these two people might just be capable of transcending its differences and obstacles.

Second, there is the situation that takes place after Cecilia has followed Tom Baxter (the movie-character) back into the cinema screen and the two of them go from filmic situation to filmic situation: from disrupting the normal scenes of The Purple Rose of Cairo film within the film, to occupying and redefining anew other scenes, as the only two characters in them, writing their own version of the narrative into the film.

Take the scene where they walk into the empty Manhattan apartment, luxurious with shining floors and with a view on the city skyline:

Here, the reality of their lives again becoming cinematic presents itself. However, rather than being a cinematic one can only sense almost imperceptibly through its imitation of other culturally significant scenes, this scene is objectively, factually a cinema scene: the two characters themselves have become cinema characters acting in their own movie. And where immediately preceding this scene they may have had the function of disrupting the normal cinematic flow², in this moment, they become the film themselves and, as they're shown in black and white, grainy cinema film that conveys the Golden Age of Classic Hollywood cinema, they become the cinematic image itself.

Finally, is the scene, near the end of the film, when, having decided that romance with the movie-character Tom Baxter could never be real enough, Cecilia decides to go away to Hollywood with Gil Shepard the real-life actor that plays the Tom Baxter role:

Packing her bags and leaving the house, the entire scene takes on, again, the appearance of the cinematic as it once again mimics the convention of a cinematic image: the breakdown of relationship and the rushed packing of a single suitcase messily before quickly escaping. The moment is dramatic, as if real life has once-again become cinema; but, interestingly, this is a cinema that has been transformed into the Real. When Gil Shepard speaks to her in the music shop, the two appear cinematic, but this moment also has the feel of being something promised rather than real, since she is still at that moment caught between two ideas of romance. In this scene, the same thing occurs, but this time there is the feeling that the cinematic has definitively entered into life and that Cecilia is joining the world she's only ever dreamed of joining and that this moment is just the first of many cinematic moments to come in her life.

These are three scenes where the cinematic mimesis of the scene, the way that it mimics culturally significant scenes in the history of cinema's production creates a new perspective on the film that expresses something of poetic significance. These are moments where one's perspective, rather than being simply immersed in the reality of the film itself, as if it is something inhabitable and ordinary in which one can see themselves, becomes something inaccessible and flattens out to one single dimension, to a surface of cinematicity. Each of these moments is a moment in which this mimesis of culturally significant films expresses something beyond what is in the film. When one perceives a moment as cinematic, it also conveys all the meaning that comes with something being cinematic. It becomes something dreamed-of, something of fantasy or fiction, something otherworldly beyond the real, takes on the feeling of being an image projected on a screen: one becomes aware of their position as a spectator of film in these moments that introduce subjectivity into the cinema experience (Pasolini's 'free indirect subjectivity' of film).

But, this use of the cinematic perception goes beyond what Pasolini imagined for the communicability of traditional, more primitive cinematic images, as they existed in the 1960s. For him, and for what he describes, this type of mimesis is used simply for the construction of any kind of meaning at all from out of the chaos that the film-maker faces-down when he's forced to choose from the infinity of images available to him through which to construct his message. His focus was on the use of these scenes as a basic set of building blocks with which to construct a broader narrative: i.e., the images of the steam and wheels of the train to set-up a scene about travel since it has already been established that these scenes convey this understanding. His focus on the poetic potential of cinema and the evolution of the medium came from other techniques that he called a 'camera consciousness' and the way that the film-maker makes himself felt in the film. The case of The Purple Rose of Cairo is something else entirely: it is a form of cinematic consciousness, of a consciousness and perspective that arises as a result of the intentional imitation of the cinematic image within the film that itself constitutes a poetic moment within the film.

Towards a New Theory of the Cinematic: Filmed Dreams

Isolating two poles in the movement of perspective within subjectivity, as Deleuze does for film, one could say that perspective moves between an objective, third-person self-perception that sees itself as external to itself, and a first-person perception involved and in the moment that sees only what is beyond itself, outside and external to itself in the world. Further, one might say as well that moments of objectivity are also moments of anxiety, of calculation and thought, when something fails to work, when time slows down and stops and is over-determined by a time that has as-yet failed to end and that one must grapple with, experiment with to find a way of escape. Conversely, moments of direct, first-person subjectivity are moments when things 'just work', when life seems like its on rails, moving in just one direction and one can focus on the things it presents, dealing with them naturally as they arise: moments of peace, of joy, of being in the present, when the whole of existence becomes distilled in the form of an ever renewing present--moments that one dreams of, of total immersion that, when they happen, seem like life-as-a-dream moments, that one becomes aware of their rarity and the preciousness of having been graced by them almost immediately after they begin to recede.

When Tom Baxter leaves the screen, the remaining characters in the film within the film become stuck in a form of crisis that mimics that of a real-life person: the film cannot continue without their other, admittedly minor character, and until he returns they simply lounge around their cinematic apartments discussing and debating what to do. And in this moment of uncertainty, these character themselves begin to consider alternative visions for their reality. Maybe they too should leave the screen, should unite against the crushing demands of the studio and the demands of the film to perform their roles, day-in and day-out. Perhaps, Tom Baxter is right to leave for reality: their work is too difficult and tedious and under-compensated. In these deliberations, the cinematic projection of the black and white life of these characters loses its quality of being cinematic: they seem like ordinary, bored wealthy people, just like the characters they play in the film they're wanting to act, only now that their film-lives don't go according to script they're left everyone in reality, faced with the anxiety, contingency and the uncertainty of the future. Only in the case of these people, the one-dimensionality of their actual existence and experience as movie-characters is called into question vis a vi the multi-dimensionality of the real-life problem they're faced with which makes them a source of comedy (perhaps they've just been 'on the screen flickering for too long' says one of them in a moment of cynical self-awareness).

In this way, the cinema characters of the film within the film mirror the the reality of Cecilia and her husband and their struggle: they're poor, she's a struggling waitress, he's a philandering husband, and they daily wonder how they'll survive. They live a life of contingency and anxiety, one whose time refuses to release them but, rather, keeps them stuck in a moment they can't seem to escape. This is a life of depth, of three-dimensions, where what one sees (a smile for instance) isn't what it seems but betrays an inner struggle of some kind. As real people, one as a spectator can identify with this reality; and the spaces of the film that portray it seem to have the same kind of multi-dimensional depth of ordinary moments of life and to share its anxiety, complexity and contingency. These are real people who need real solutions, not just any old dream will do.

Which is why, from within this contingent reality, when one is confronted with the one-dimensionality of Tom Baxter—movie-character-become-real-life-person--one views his expressions of love and romance with skepticism. He confronts reality with nothing more than what's been written into his script. He pays with fake movie-dollars, thinks sex takes place in the darkness of the fade-out, and can't imagine other, real people need to work to survive or wash their clothes and hair daily to stay clean. This naiveté becomes problematic for Cecilia as he pursues her in terms of her belief that he's capable of being realistic about their chances to succeed together. She feels the pull of the romance he offers, of the opportunity to join him in enacting the cinematic in her real life: the way he approaches moments as an actor would, charges them with cinematic sensation and the romance of Hollywood as he holds her close while wearing his safari hat. He is the man from film, but quite literally just as deep as film, with no experience beyond it, none of the complexities, baggage, problems of a real person, and none of the experience dealing with reality that would make his statements properly contingent on what he can expect to achieve in reality. He's like a child in many respects, which is both part of what makes him attractive to her but also what undermines his credibility as someone to take serious and who could really make their dreams together reality.

From within the context of the contingent and the dysfunctional the potential for certain moments to seem like possibilities for release sometimes present themselves as cinema scenes. Tom Baxter holds Cecilia in her arms and speaks passionately to her of his love for her at the same time that life's troubles vanish and life seems like a cinema dream; the couple walks into a cinematic representation of a luxurious New York apartment and suddenly, rather than being two people lost and out of place within the film, exploring the montage of places and spaces, they become the film as a living extension and reinvention of it at that moment(the other characters sitting around, bored and lost just a distant memory); and as Cecilia packs her bags to leave for Hollywood with Gil Shepard, throws her things into a suitcase, fights for the last time with her husband (and its is believable this time, significantly), she seems destined for better things now, she's on the right path, resolute and unwavering. These are the moments in the film that have this cinematic quality, when what one sees seems reflective of other cinematic moments: it loses dimensionality, becomes flat and surface. These are also the moments when one sees a life released into a new present from an old one, where anxiety dissipates and a dream begins.

These moments, rather than simply reflecting a pre-existing cinematic image, also directly express a moment of life as a dream, of the kind of functioning life-in-the-moment that is dreamed of, stuck as one is within the contingency of reality. Moments that are factually more than simply references to cinema but are themselves moments of dreams that also reference or mimic cinema that, rather than being explained away by their cinematicity, have cinematicity as part of a more complex relationship between reality and dream³. Its not just that Cecilia and Tom Baxter, as characters have properly imitated the cinematic image and, in so doing, created a cinematic consciousness; rather, it's that the real-life Jeff Daniels and Mia Farrow who play them do, in the course of 'acting' this sequence fulfill their dreams as actors: to be there on the set with Woody Allen, an historic director, on an important film that seeks to expose the depths of the cinematic in life and, for a brief moment, their life becomes more than just an assemblage of written roles and learned personalities. They become, rather, cinema themselves as they become the dream they've always dreamed--that historical one-dimensionality projected on a silver screen. In this way, it is because the life filmed itself has become dream is the reason that it appears as cinematic, rather than that it was portrayed as cinematic that it appears as dream⁴.

Concluding

The cinema was envisioned, from its inception, as something other than reality. Film was black and white like dreams, and cinema chose for itself a frame-rate of 24-frames/second--a frame-rate too slow to capture the smoothness and realism of motion, but also fast enough to not appear like a sequence of photographs. Through these technical choices, film became something extra-ordinary, something surreal, something that provoked the imagination. But perhaps these techniques were always really unnecessary and the cinema could have accomplished its function as a dream-machine without them. Perhaps all that was ever necessary was to actually film dreams.

This is what Woody Allen has accomplished in The Purple Rose of Cairo: he has filmed dreams. But he has done so within the context of a broader objective: to reveal the place and the role of dreams in life to expose the relationship cinema has to producing and sustaining them. It is through his film that one can achieve a new awareness of the functioning of Hollywood as a factory of dreams.

Cinema has the ability to produce dreams with the potential and possibility for fulfilling them in one's own life. Cecilia realizes the impossibility of herself becoming cinematic, of entering into a film and living a life with a film-character that could ever become as real as the reality of its dream. Reality is too strict for such naiveté, and one could almost discount it at first sight. But even her attempt to live a real-life dream, to throw her clothes hastily into a single suitcase and jump on a plane to Hollywood to live a life with a real movie actor falls flat and she's left standing there outside the movie theater alone, in disbelief, on the edge; and he's already left town immediately after the problems there getting his cinematic representation back into the screen were resolved and sits on a jet reflecting on the life, the Real Life with her that could have been. For some, the contingency and tireless work of Real Life is a dream they can only, at certain moments temporarily, touch, before the exigencies of their (over-constructed) reality sweeps them away to their own real-life dream-concerns. For others, a life of glamour and ease, of a life that just works and fulfills everything one ever wanted from it, seems like a mirage that's always beyond their reach. And if it comes, it is certain not to stay. But in the Real World one always has access to those dreams: one can always go to town, sit in a dark room with other strangers, remove themselves from the struggles of reality and see the dreams of others projected there for them, day after day, year after year.

And so it is that Cecilia, despondent and totally abandoned by her dreams, perhaps out of boredom or sheer inability to think of any single other thing to do at that moment, re-enters the movie theater to sit again in darkness to see what Hollywood has anything that can assuage her pain. And as the picture moves, and the music plays, and the dancers glide from one edge of the screen to the other in perfect harmony, their exquisite dress and romantic movements begin to have an effect. And, despite that she can see through them and their lack of depth, and knows the impossibility of ever being a part of them--still, and resolutely in spite of this, she looks at the screen in wonder and amazement as, for a few brief minutes anyway, is is again removed from their ordinary life and elevated to dream.

*Note: this article has been substantially edited from a previous version.

Footnotes