MAKBLOG

The term integral cinema was first used by French avant-garde filmmaker Germaine Dulac in the 1920s. Dulac employed this term to describe cinema that utilized the natural inherent language of the cinema to evoke the interior life normally hidden beneath the exterior life of the objective world (Flitterman-Lewis, 1996). This form of cinema was also called pur cinema or visual music, because of the contention by its adherents that the language of the cinema is a language all its own, more related to music or poetics, than to literature or drama. In order to liberate the cinematic image from literary or dramatic expression, “…Dulac sought to create for the spectator a ‘cinegraphic sensation’ that could be achieved through the contemplation of pure forms in movement—the melodic arrangement of luminous reflections, the rhythmic ordering of successive shots” (Flitterman-Lewis, 1996, pp. 69-70).

While Dulac’s theoretical writings and public discourses on integral cinema mostly focus on this definition, her films reveal two distinct types of cinematic approaches. Whereas some of her films did seek to explore pure visual music approaches of using cinematic imagery, movement, and rhythm to reveal the interior life, films like her 1928 classic, La Coquille et le Clergyman (The Seashell and the Clergyman), reveal the raw beginnings of a more comprehensive or “integral” approach that attempts to use the inherent language of the cinema to capture and express the interior and exterior lives of both the individual and the collective. Dulac hints at this approach when she writes, “It isn’t enough to simply capture reality in order to express it in its totality; something else is necessary in order to respect it entirely, to surround it in its atmosphere, and to make its moral meaning perceptible…” (Dulac, as cited in Flitterman-Lewis, 1996, p. 49).

This more comprehensive approach hauntingly captures some of the constructs of Jean Gebser’s integral worldview (1985) and Ken Wilber’s Integral Theory (1995) while predating both by 21 and 67 years, respectively. These Integral constructs, as elementarily expressed in Dulac’s La Coquille et le Clergyman, include rudimentary cinematic representations of Gebser’s aperspectival structures of the concretion of time and interiority, and Wilber’s Integral framework of multiple dimension-perspectives with evolving levels of depth and complexity. More recent examples of these types of cinematic structures include: The concretion of time in films like Groundhog Day (1993), where concrete shifts in time affect objective and subjective realities; the concretion of interiority in films like The Matrix (1999), where individual and collective subjective realities are given concrete forms;  and multiple dimension-perspectives of evolving depth and complexity in films like Inception (2010), where the characters move through different dimensions of reality as they evolve toward deeper levels of understanding and being.

While Dulac’s integral cinema movement was a significant contribution to the evolution of the cinema in many ways, it was also short-lived due to several factors. In 1928, the year that Dulac made La Coquille et le Clergyman in France, Hollywood released the first talking picture, The Jazz Singer (1927), and ushered in the sound film era. For many film theorists and historians, the introduction of sound marked the downfall of the artistic trailblazing of the silent film era as cinematic artists attempted to adjust and adapt to the new technological advancement, and audiences became enthralled by the heightened sense of reality of the talking picture (Andrew, 1976). The following year Luis Buñuel and Salvador Dalí made Un Chien Andalou (1929), which took the avant-garde cinema world by storm and established a precursor of postmodern relativism and meaning deconstruction as the center of gravity for the artistic worldview of experimental cinema, overshadowing Dulac’s more integral vision (Ebert, 2000; Short, 2008).

Finally, since Dulac operated from an unconscious expression of a worldview that had yet to be named or theoretically mapped, her integral vision ultimately fell dormant. Wilber notes that some kind of prescient emergence of integral consciousness appeared sporadically throughout Western civilization in the early to mid-20th century. Examples of this emergence include Sri Aurobindo’s Integral Yoga (1921/1990), Jacques Maritain’s Integral Humanism (1996), and Vladimir Soloviev’s Integral Christianity (Kostalevsky, 1997). Wilber also notes that these integral visions, along with Dulac’s, were short-lived because they were initial emergences not supported in all four fundamental domains of experiential, material, cultural, and social realities (Wilber, personal communication, July 20, 2010).

Beginning in the mid-1990s, concurrent with the dissemination of Wilber’s Integral Theory, there has been a growing movement of individuals and groups who have been applying integral principles to their personal and professional lives. In the domain of the cinematic arts, scholar-practitioners have explored the application of Integral Theory to cinematic story creation, acting, and video game design (Melody, 2008; Ornst, 2008; Silbiger, 2010). In addition, several cinematic artists have begun to explore and engage in dialogue about Integral Theory in relation to both their personal and professional lives (Aronofsky & Davis, 2006; Brill & Wilber, 2006; Crichton & Wilber, 2004; Konietzko & Davis, 2007; Ormond & Wilber, 2004; Stone & Wilber, 2007; Wachowski & Wilber, 2004). Wilber’s Integral Theory was also an inspiration to filmmakers Larry and Andy Wachowski (Wachowski & Wilber, 2004) in the development of The Matrix (1999), The Matrix Reloaded (2003), and The Matrix Revolutions (2003). The Wachowski brothers also invited Wilber to record a commentary on the films for The Ultimate Matrix Collection (2004), a complete DVD set of the films.

Nearly three quarters of a century after Dulac’s work, many people within the integral and cinematic arts communities are raising the same question that Dulac asked many years ago: “What is Integral Cinema?”

_______________________________________________________

This material is an adapted excerpt from: Kaplan, M. A. (2010). Toward an integral cinema: The application of integral theory to cinematic media theory and practice. Journal of Integral Theory and Practice, 5(4), 112-138. Copyright © 2010 by Integral Institute. The complete article is available for download at Integral+Life.com.

Germaine Dulac’s La coquille et le clergyman is available for viewing online in its entirety at: http://www.ubu.com/film/dulac_coquille.html

ABSTRACT: Germaine Dulac’s “integral cinema movement” of the 1920s and her integral cinematic work, La Coquille et le Clergyman (1928), are analyzed from a historical and theoretical perspective. Results suggest an early introduction of integral consciousness into cinematic media that corresponds to and predates the integral theories of both Jean Gebser and Ken Wilber. Defining characteristics of what may constitute an integral cinematic work are mapped out and developed into a set of evaluation criteria using the works of Dulac, Gebser, and Wilber. A test of these evaluation criteria with the viewing of several motion pictures is summarized; the results suggest that several past and recent films demonstrate qualities that could be said to constitute an integral cinematic work. A preliminary typology of forms of integral cinematic creation, and the potential benefits and challenges for the application of Integral Theory to cinematic theory and practice are presented and discussed.

Published in The Journal of Integral Theory and Practice, 2010, Volume 5, Number 4, Pages 112-138.

Schindler’s List (1993)

Within this journey through the darkness there was love and hope and beauty. I also found both the darkness and the beauty inside my self. And for a moment they merged into a sort of sweet sorrow.

Now I am seeking a way not to condone yet not to abhor the violence around me. I wonder if I can use it to seek the violence in me and use its dark mud to grow the golden flowers of light.

I have noticed my own tendency to see Transpersonal films in terms of films of light and not of darkness. Yet now I can think of several films, which are clearly transpersonal odysseys through darkness. There are films which show the triumph of the human spirit through the dark horrors of existence (Schindler’s List, 1993); films which take us to the horrors and madness deep inside us (Apocalypse Now, 1979); and films which take us through the darkness of our minds on our way to the light (Jacob’s Ladder, 1990).

But perhaps every journey through darkness and violence can be consciously used for our own healing. And perhaps as we make this journey and face our fears, the external manifestations will dissolve into the golden lotus growing up from the dark mud.

(Originally published in Focus: The Quarterly Newsletter of the Institute of Transpersonal Psychology, Winter, 2-3, 1994)

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946)

Announcing the publication of…

Transpersonal Dimensions of the Cinema

By Mark Allan Kaplan, Ph.D.

ABSTRACT: Transpersonal dimensions of the cinematic art form are explored, including transpersonal elements inherent in the nature of the cinematic medium; transpersonal influences on cinematic content, structure, and style; and potential transpersonal effects of the cinematic experience. A preliminary classification of transpersonal cinematic effects indicates potential synchronization effects between constructed cinematic reality and various aspects of creator/viewer realities. Personal filmmaker observations and a review of theoretical, empirical, anecdotal, and historical sources suggests that the transpersonal or boundary-transcending nature and capacities of the cinematic medium make it a potentially powerful and valuable tool for the mediation of transpersonal experience and perception.

Published in The Journal of Transpersonal Psychology, 2005, Volume 37, Number 1, Pages 9-22.

View and Download the Complete Article at: http://www.markallankaplan.com/text/tpcinema.htm

Voice in Exile (1984)

Back in the mid-8Os, I was invited to attend the premier of a 30-minute film on stuttering that was written, directed, and produced by Mark Allan Kaplan, a graduate student at the American Film Institute. It was a remarkable accomplishment in many ways, especially in how concisely it captured the essence of the stuttering experience. The fact that it was created by a student made it even more remarkable. Since then, Voice in Exile has had hundreds of screenings… on Cable Television, at National Stuttering Association chapters, and in schools across the country. No film better communicates to the non-stuttering world what many of us have gone through; and yet, the story is uplifting and transcendent. 

– John Harrison, National Stuttering Association

It was the fall of 1979 and my junior year at the University of Southern California. Professor Barbara Myerhoff entered the classroom, and began to teach us about personal and social anthropology, myths, and dreams. During one of the classes, Professor Myerhoff introduced us to the world of the Shaman, the indigenous holy person, or medicine man (or women). She explained to us that the shaman was the “expert of the injured soul” who has been called on by the spirits to heal themselves and others. This call often came in the form of a sickness that the shaman-elect would have to cure themselves of with the aid of helping spirits. Once they cured themselves by traveling between the waking world and the world of the spirits, they would have the ability to help others.

After the lecture, Professor Myerhoff asked me to walk with her back to her office. She said she was touched by my personal journal entries about my stuttering. Her voice softened to almost a whisper as she told me that it was believed that stuttering was one of the major afflictions that the spirits used to call someone to the shaman’s path. Professor Myerhoff smiled, and told me that after reading my personal writings, getting to know me in person, and being deeply moved by my films, she believed I was being called by spirit through my stuttering to heal myself and to help others.

At first I was just sort of numb. I thanked her for her insights as she went into her office. I walked around campus for a while in a daze and ended up in the courtyard of the Philosophy building. As I stared into the bubbling water of the circular fountain in the center of the gothic courtyard, my whole perception of my self began to shift. I had always seen my stuttering as this horrible and crippling handicap. Now, as I began to think of my stuttering as a challenge for change and growth from some higher or deeper source, a heaviness seemed to lift from around my heart.

Inspired by my experiences with Professor Myerhoff and my exposure to shamanism, I began to ask within for a direction or purpose. A while later, during a film project evaluation, one of my film professors said that he believed my stuttering had made me a great filmmaker. He explained that because words were so hard for me that I had found a way of speaking visually with great depth and power. Looking back at my life, I suddenly saw my creative endeavors into drawing, painting, architecture, still photography, and film as part of a great archetypal quest to communicate with others beyond the realm of the spoken word. Not long after this encounter, I received the inspiration to create a dramatic film based on my own experiences and perceptions as a stutterer. The making of this film would be a vision quest into the depths of my own psyche to uncover and share what it felt like to be a person who stutters. I sensed that the process of making this film could be healing for myself and for others, and a culmination of my creative quest to communicate.

As I began to work on the story, the idea of creating a shamanic subplot emerged. The story would be about a young stutterer who would face his fears with the help of his grandfather, a retired anthropology professor specializing in shamanism. His journey would include the waking world, dreams, symbols, and archetypes.

After graduating from USC, I attended the American Film Institute (AFI) to continue developing my craft, and to supply a creative container for the making of this film. One day the title for the film came to me in a dream. I saw myself on a lone runway. I opened my mouth to scream, but there were steel bars in my mouth. I woke up with the title: Voice in Exile.

After the first year at the AFI, I returned to my childhood home in Chicago, Illinois and spent the summer writing the screenplay for Voice in Exile. The familiar surroundings of my childhood aided in the unearthing of the emotional and psychological memories needed for the story. This entire process felt like a dream. As I descended into the darkness of my unconscious, the world around me seemed supportive and gentle. It felt as though the world was holding its breath while I journeyed within. A black bird became the helping spirit in my story in parallel with my seeing large black crows following me wherever I would go. They seemed to be my helping spirits, both within my story and in my waking life, telling me I was on the right track.

After completing the first draft of the script I returned to school, and began the process of making the film. I met with the Los Angeles chapter of the National Stuttering Association to deepen my research for the final draft of the script. This was my first group encounter with fellow stutterers and as I became aware of our shared reality, I had a deep sense of tribal homecoming. After completing the final script, we began pre-production, which included casting the actors and preparing them for the shoot. This was the beginning of my quest to train an actor to stutter. At first it was merely a mechanical process, working on the physical process of stuttering. Then came the journey into the psyche of the stutterers mind, my mind. I learned so much about my self from this process that I am still in awe of it.

Weeks later we began to shoot the film but the production process was fraught with turbulence and confusion. Communication problems arose at every turn. My mind seemed to be waging a war within me – part of me wanted to share my truths, and another part of me was terrified. Everyone who worked on the film seemed to be caught in the energy of some form of communication challenge.

When principal photography was finished, I was exhausted and burnt out. I went up to San Francisco to work with my composer, and he suggested I go to Esalen Institute in Big Sur for some rest. Driving down the California coast was calming. I drove along the winding road south of Big Sur looking for Esalen, hoping that it would be before the spot where the coast road had been closed for the past year because of storm damage. Up ahead, I saw the signs announcing that the coast road was still closed. I stopped at the roadblock, and asked a construction worker when the road would be open. He smiled and said, “Right now, you’re the first to get through.” He waved and the crew lifted the barrier. As I drove past the construction site I couldn’t help feeling as though I were being divinely guided.

I drove for a while, and finally found Esalen. Driving down the steep incline into the property, I felt an incredible sense of belonging. Even though I had never been there before, it seemed deeply familiar, like a long lost home. I went to the office and asked if they had any vacancies. They told me that I was lucky because there was only one opening left.

After checking in, I walked around the grounds in a daze, wondering what was happening to me. I found my way to the dining room, and sat at a small table by myself, eating my food, and surveying the colorful crowd. A middle aged Native American woman approached and asked if she could join me. I said sure. She smiled warmly and sat down. Looking deeply into my eyes, she told me that she was a shaman and could tell that I had just been through a very powerful creative experience that was chaotic and painful. She continued, saying that communication was the central theme. At this point, I could only stare in dismay. The woman proceeded to tell me that the creative endeavor was successful, despite the confusing nature of the experience. She told me I needed to replenish my energy by resting my body, following my intuition, and doing only what I felt like doing.

Later that evening I floated in the mineral baths under the stars wondering if I was dreaming and if my journey to share the inner life of a stutterer would have value. In the darkness beside me, a man and woman were having a conversation. The woman stuttered as she told the man “… if y-you c-could o-o-only kn-now how it fffeels.” Tears came to my eyes as the hot water penetrated my pores and her words cut through the darkness miraculously answering my hearts question.

Feeling rested and renewed, I returned to Los Angeles and finished the film. We premiered the film, and it was a great success. Stutterers and non-stutterers said they were deeply moved. The studios called me for private screenings, power lunches, and meetings. The film won many awards, and was shown at festivals across the country. Amidst all this, I was asked to show the film and speak at a national convention for the National Stuttering Association. As I stood before the crowd of several hundred stutterers, I felt like the shaman who had gone on a vision quest, and was now bringing it back to share with the tribe. I was truly overwhelmed by the response. Stutterers, their spouses, and their families expressed their gratitude for the healing the film brought into their lives.

My vision quest was complete, yet it seemed as though my journey was just beginning. I thought I would feel whole and healed, but I felt empty and naked. All my fears were exposed to the light, the trappings of fame and fortune seemed hollow, and the person I thought I was seemed like an illusion. I left Hollywood in search of my self and to continue my quest to heal my stuttering. I traveled to distant lands, explored the rituals and practices of many spiritual traditions, and became a student of eastern and western psychology. I have lived through many crises of the heart, the mind, and the spirit, as well as many physical challenges including poor health, bankruptcy and near homelessness.

During this strange and wondrous adventure I have learned how to love and how to live more fully. With the completion of “Voice in Exile” my quest to communicate through other forms beyond the spoken word shifted to a quest to find my own voice and to help others find theirs. As I look back on my journey, I feel a deep sense of gratitude for the gift of both the blessings and challenges along the way, for they all conspired toward my growth. I have discovered that stuttering can be a call to awaken and to heal the self and others; I have discovered that for true healing to occur we must work on all levels of ourselves: Body, mind, heart and spirit; and I have discovered that the journey is all there is and it is endless.

*Originally Published in Letting Go: The Monthly Publication of the National Stuttering Association, May/June, 1-10, 2002