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events extra
the bafta film lecture by david puttnam
In the wake of September 11, many observers noted that the appalling images of that day had all the resonance of a con- temporary Hollywood movie. Whether it was the plane arcing towards one of the twin towers, the mushroom cloud rising over their collapse, or the spectral scenes that followed at ground zero, commentators reached time and again for cinematic analogies to describe the end- lessly replayed horrors.
The temptation to try to com- prehend these images in cine- matic terms was a testament to the power of film. But the analo- gy felt entirely inadequate, and not just because of the momen- tous scale of the tragedy. It should have been a massive wake-up call, because for too long cinema had been playing with reality, playing with it in such a way as to allow actions to become divorced from their con- sequences. For too long sensation has come to eclipse almost everything: bigger and better explosions that miraculously don’t kill the most important of the pro- tagonists, simulated plane crash- es which the right people some- how survive, shootings that man- age to create victims without widows or orphans.
In how many movies do we see a policeman walk up a gar- den path to tell a woman that her husband is dead? And then, perhaps, witness her having to decide whether to tell her 12- tear-old child, who is about to appear in the school play? Should she tell him now or wait until bedtime? This is the stuff of real human drama – the all too frequent consequence of tragic actions. Yet, with a few notable exceptions, here’s a whole world of human experience which has been effectively abandoned, to the simplicities of the small screen.
It’s as if much of cinema has returned to its very earliest days,
before it grew up, when all the audience demanded was the thrill of standing in front of that Lumière brothers train as it was about to run them over: cinema as fairground spectacle.
As I see it, there’s an unfortu- nate complicity here between fin- ancier, filmmaker and audience. All of them – all of us – are caught up in a cycle which none of us entirely controls. Yet its effect is to undermine the value of a medi- um which possesses the capacity to affirm our common humanity. Unfortunately, many if not most filmmakers, when confronted with this moral dilemma, go into a form of emotional denial.
More than a hundred years after its invention, cinema has established itself as one of the most powerful and effective means of communication with which, not just to entertain our- selves, but express ourselves. We refer to Hollywood as Tinseltown, as if somehow it really didn’t mat- ter. Some try to persuade us that films and television are a business just like any other. Don’t be fooled. Films and television shape attitudes, create conventions of style and behaviour, and in doing so reinforce or undermine many of the wider values of society.
The appeal of the movies is universal. Their stars provide a mir- ror in which we can see a height- ened reflection of our own lives. Their stories can open a window through which we can better understand the dreams of others. Cinema reflects or damages our sense of identity, and that’s true of both individuals and nations.
We should recognise, for instance, that thousands or even millions of young people are growing up in refugee camps. Wherever they are in the world, every one of them is a living tin- derbox, and while that situation continues, the potential for dev- astating explosion will always remain. It’s important that we
“The appeal of the movies is universal. Their stars provide a mirror in which we can see a heightened reflection of our own lives.”
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