Microcinema DVDs - Pervert's Guide to Cinema, The

2009-10-26 New York Times
By Stephen Holden

If you embrace the notion that Hollywood is literally a “dream factory,” then Freud stands as a proto movie critic who taught us how to decipher the hidden meanings of its celluloid fantasies. In “The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema,” the Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Zizek subjects more than 40 mostly classic films, by directors ranging from Chaplin to Hitchcock, to psychoanalytic scrutiny. We need movies because they hold the clues to our true selves, Mr. Zizek argues in a wildly entertaining, digressive lecture packed with juicy clips that illustrate his points.

Thus the Marx Brothers are the superego (Groucho), ego (Chico) and id (Harpo). In “Psycho,” the three levels of the Bates house — top floor, ground floor and basement — embody the same unholy trinity. In Mr. Zizek’s view, the raging male monsters of David Lynch’s “Blue Velvet” and “Lost Highway” personify pure phallic aggression released from the shadows of the unconscious. It is no coincidence that the song that encapsulates “Blue Velvet” is Roy Orbison’s eerie, impassioned “In Dreams.”

Because “the ultimate object of anxiety is a living father,” Mr. Zizek declares, Mr. Lynch’s walking nightmares are manifestations of “the father who doesn’t want to die.” Anakin Skywalker’s transformation into Darth Vader in “Star Wars: Episode III — Revenge of the Sith,” he says, illustrates the same principle.

The clips from Hitchcock and Lynch films are so numerous and Mr. Zizek’s comments so incisive that after watching “The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema,” you may never see these directors’ movies the same way again. It is almost as if those filmmakers received instructions from Freud himself on how to visualize his ideas.

The use of “pervert” in the movie’s title is a bit of a come-on. Although there is kinky behavior in a number of clips (especially those from the Lynch films), this is not a textbook in Krafft-Ebing. The word merely refers to the Peeping Tom aspect of moviegoing. In the darkness of a theater we can unashamedly gape at bodies and fantasize without being observed, and in doing so we confront our demons in a safe environment. The movies of Hitchcock, who was obsessed with emotional manipulation, repeatedly toyed with the notion of the viewer as voyeur.

In this globe-trotting documentary, directed by Sophie Fiennes (sister of Ralph and Joseph), Mr. Zizek, a blustery, excitable lecturer, is often filmed speaking on the actual locations of the films he discusses, or on recreated sets. We find him riding on a motorboat in Bodega Bay in northern California, the site of “The Birds,” and prowling around the locations of “Vertigo”; those are the two Hitchcock films besides “Psycho” to receive the closest scrutiny.

Like Freud’s division of the psyche into three parts, the movie unfolds in three loosely overlapping sections. The first examines how the movies arouse our desires and allow us to channel unconscious drives into entertaining thrills and chills. The shower drain in “Psycho” and the toilet bowl that backs up in Francis Ford Coppola’s conspiracy thriller “The Conversation,” he says, are vehicles for transporting evidence of our brute animal selves to a safe distance.

The second part examines sex and fantasy in movies and reaches some major conclusions: that sex is impossible without fantasy; that anxieties are the most authentic emotions we feel; and that fantasies, and by extension the movies that address them, are defenses against anxiety.

Part 3, which contemplates appearance versus reality in movies, explores the paradoxical scene from “The Wizard of Oz” in which the all-powerful Wizard is discovered to be an old man pontificating from behind a curtain. Even when the illusion of the Wizard’s omnipotence is exposed, Mr. Zizek theorizes, there is something more real in the illusion than in the reality behind it. And so when the old man hands the Scarecrow a diploma to prove he has a brain, the Scarecrow is convinced he is smart.

Mr. Zizek is a little bit like the Wizard. If he is a compelling speaker (despite his thick Eastern European accent), he is also an academic magician and master of intellectual sleight of hand. Many of his statements, especially those rooted in contradiction and paradox, have the ring of brainy hocus-pocus.

The teachers we remember most fondly are often the ones who entertained as they enlightened, through hyperbole seasoned with grains of salt. Mr. Zizek belongs in that company.

2009-08-25 DVD Talk
By Chris Neilson

The Pervert's Guide to Cinema (2006) is an engaging exploration of introductory level film theory delivered by Slovenian philosopher and psychoanalyst Slavoj Žižek, and directed by Sophie Fiennes. Though the documentary is essentially a two-and-a-half-hour film theory 101 lecture, it's remarkably entertaining thanks both to Žižek's larger-than-life physicality, rich Eastern European accent, warm and energetic delivery, and keen intellect, and to Fiennes' innovative direction which puts Žižek into sets and locations closely matching those from the films under discussion. Thus, Žižek waters a lawn reminiscent of that in David Lynch's Blue Velvet, sits on the very hotel room toilet featured in Francis Ford Coppola's The Conversation, visits the actual locations featured in Hitchcock's The Birds and Vertigo, and appears in numerous set reconstructions including the space station in Andrei Tarkovsky's Solaris, Norman Bates' fruit cellar in Psycho, Regan's bedroom in The Exorcist, Dorothy's living room in Blue Velvet, and Morpheus' simulacrum of a study in The Matrix.

Žižek's overarching thesis is that human desires are artificial social constructions to which socialized human beings must be indoctrinated, and that cinema is the best tool yet created for such indoctrination. According to Žižek, "Cinema is the ultimate pervert art. It doesn't give you what you desire, it tells you how to desire."

Fiennes thematically divides Žižek's discursive presentation into three 50-minute segments. In part one, Žižek offers a Freudian analysis of how cinema allows us to create and experience the desires of the subconscious while simultaneously "keeping it at a safe distance, domesticating it, rendering it palpable." In part two, Žižek argues for the absolute necessity of fantasy in human sexuality to channel desire and shield against overwhelming anxiety which would otherwise prohibit copulation. In part three, Žižek argues that for human beings appearances are more important than reality, and that cinema is so engrossing and effective precisely because we know that it is illusionary.

Žižek offers a mixture of widely known and generally accepted theories (e.g., that Hitchcock is obsessed with sexual repression and domination, that hyper-sexualized father figures loom large in David Lynch films, and that the Wizard of Oz concerns the power of illusion or appearance) together with fresher or more controversial arguments (e.g., the dread produced by the scene of the overflowing toilet in The Conversation is so palpable because it confronts us with evidence of our animal natures, and Lynch's Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive are flipsides of the same story). Like fellow social critic Cornel West, Žižek frequently relies on rapid-fire, flashy and discursive presentation to make arguments that seem to resonate without being necessarily logically persuasive.

Most viewers interested in this documentary likely will be familiar with nearly all the 43 films discussed by Žižek. This choice of familiar films should help viewers comprehend Žižek's arguments more quickly and comprehensively, and may prompt viewers to go back and re-watch old favorites with new eyes though it also means that it won't prompt many new discoveries for most viewers.

Video:
The Pervert's Guide to Cinema has excellent underlying production values which include using high-quality film clips in their original aspect ratios, but the DVD presentation is less than ideal. Though this release is anamorphic widescreen (1.78:1), it's interlaced and suffers from soft focus attributable to a mediocre PAL-to-NTSC conversion.

Optional subtitles are available in English, French, German, Japanese, and English for the hearing impaired.

Audio:
The 2.0 DD audio sounds good with no drop outs or distortions, and a dynamic mix.

Extras:
Other than detailed menus of the chapter stops, there are no extras on this release. Because these menus also serve as an outline of the topics and films discussed, I've included them here:

Final Thoughts:
If you regret having never taken a film theory course or did but still want more, The Pervert's Guide to Cinema provides an engrossing 150-minute lecture by philosopher Slavoj Žižek with stellar production values and innovative presentation by filmmaker Sophie Fiennes at a fraction of the price of a textbook.

2009-05-21 A.V. Club
By Noel Murray

Astra Taylor’s 2005 documentary Zizek! offered an easy-to-grasp introduction to the life and theories of eminent social philosopher and Lacanian psychoanalyst Slavoj Zizek, but those who crave a more immersive Zizek experience should try The Pervert’s Guide To Cinema 1, 2, 3, a 150-minute lecture on the psychological underpinnings of some of the world’s most famous films. Zizek and director Sophie Fiennes either visit or recreate the locations for movies like The Conversation, Psycho, The Birds, and Blue Velvet, and from those spaces, Zizek pontificates: first on how movies reflect, feed, and exploit our subconscious desires; then on how sexual fantasies in movies illustrate the ongoing communication issues between men and women; and finally on how cinematic artifice calls attention to itself in order to prompt us to question our own perceptions of reality. The guiding concept between all three parts is the notion that we shape our belief systems and personalities around shared cultural experiences, which makes cinema a perverted art because “It doesn’t give you what you desire; it tells you how to desire.”

Individual viewers’ appreciation for The Pervert’s Guide will depend largely on their tolerance for highly abstract, academic analysis of popular culture—as well as their tolerance for Zizek, who delivers this lecture rapidly and unceasingly, in a heavily accented voice. Though loaded with film clips and clever intros, this cine-essay’s ideas are free-flowing and tough to follow at times, because they aren’t always logically ordered or properly punctuated. But when Zizek really gets on a roll, he unpacks aspects of the films of David Lynch and Alfred Hitchcock that are fascinating to contemplate. Why did Hitchcock so often reveal overhead shots as his villains’ point of view? Do the three stories of the Bates house in Psycho—or the three Marx brothers, for that matter—represent the id, ego, and superego? Are the Alien and Matrix series elaborate metaphors for how our souls animate our frequently rebellious bodies? And most importantly: Are the messages Zizek finds really implicit in the work he’s analyzing? Even Zizek would probably say that intentionality doesn’t matter. Ultimately, he isn’t really explaining how Hitchcock, Lynch, and the Marx Brothers see the world, but rather how he sees the world. And he sees a lot.

2009-03-19 Palm Beach Daily News
By Robert Sims

Don't be misled by the salacious title of this three-part documentary by Sophie Fiennes â€” yes, Ralph's younger sister â€” that originally aired on British TV. Slovenian sociologist and philosopher Slavoj Zizek's psychoanalysis of established classics by Alfred Hitchcock, David Lynch and the Marx Brothers is aimed solely at cinephiles.

"In order to understand today's world, we need cinema literally," the colorful commentator declares after putting Hollywood on the couch. "It's only in cinema that we see that crucial dimension which we are not yet ready to confront in our reality."

To prove his theory, Zizek dissects The Birds, Psycho and The Matrix to find the reality in illusion, and then uses Lars von Trier's stagy Dogville as an example of cinema revealing how reality constitutes itself. The Pervert's Guide to Cinema is never more compelling than when Zizek tears into Andrei Tarkovsky's 1972 version of the sci-fi epic Solaris and Hitchcock's Vertigo and â€” both of which feature male protagonists literally and figuratively haunted by women from their past â€” as examples of the film industry all but asserting that "the only good woman is a dead woman." Also, if you're baffled by the surreal, dreamlike works of David Lynch, Zizek provides invaluable insight into the way the director blends reality with fantasy in Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive.

At 150 minutes, The Pervert's Guide to Cinema offers far too much information and analysis to digest in one sitting. Under ideal circumstances, it would be best to watch each part separately. And does it help to have some knowledge of the psychoanalytic work of Sigmund Freud and Jacques Lacan? It would certainly help to make it easier to process all that Zizek puts forth. But the verbose Zizek often speaks in layman terms without coming across as condescending. And that means you'll never watch The Birds again without recalling Zizek's contention that one attack by our fine feathered friends is driven by "raw, incestuous energy."

2009-03-11 IFC
By Michael Atkinson

With the exception of Godard's largely-unseen (on these shores) "Histoire(s) du Cinéma," Sophie Fiennes' and Slavoj Žižek's "The Pervert's Guide to Cinema" (2006) might be the greatest piece of film-criticism-on-film ever made. That's not saying a pantload, of course; despite the obvious potentialities and the seductive pleasure to be had in perusing film history in powerhouse visual swatches, it's not even a subgenre, beyond the boosterism of promotional docs and Todd McCarthy's "Visions of Light." The "video essays" by critic Kevin B. Lee constitute a pioneering version of the idea, despite the entire corpus being dropped for a while from YouTube thanks to copyright protests. Otherwise, the closest we have is the now ubiquitous audio commentary track that accompanies virtually every movie on DVD, the likes of which are sometimes sublime (when they're performed by spirited critics and scholars, mostly, like Žižek's on "Children of Men") and often unendurable (with the glaring exception of Martin Scorsese, directors can rarely speak cogently about their own work). Either way, audio tracks are restricted to running the whole course of a single uninterrupted feature. What Fiennes and Žižek have dared to do is simply illustrate what amounts to a semi-interactive lecture on Lacanian psychoanalytic theory illustrated with film clips -- which sounds dull, but Žižek, Slovenian lisp-monster that he is, is world-renowned for a reason: he's a terrific communicator, popularizer and provocateur as well as an interpretive idea volcano.
Žižek, Slovenian lisp-monster that he is, is world-renowned for a reason: he's a terrific communicator, popularizer and provocateur as well as an interpretive idea volcano.
"Lacan" is never mentioned in this three-part, 2.5-hour tour through popular cinema, but Freud certainly is, and the inexperienced would do well to see it twice and assume that virtually every utterance out of Žižek's spittle-firing mouth is a concept worthy of another half-hour of exegesis. A good liberal arts bachelor's degree grasp of Freudian psychoanalysis is pretty much essential, but otherwise you just need eyes: Žižek's hand-holding walks through entire chunks of "Blue Velvet," "Psycho," "Vertigo," "The Matrix," "The Great Dictator" and "The Conversation" are never less than a blast, because Fiennes contrives (through clever set-building and Remko Schnorr's digital cinematography) to place the always anxious, always splenetic Žižek literally within the films' scenes, watching Isabella Rossellini's demi-rape in "Blue Velvet" from the couch, or the writhings of Linda Blair from the corner of the arctic bedroom in "The Exorcist," and often talking over the action.
The subject here, for the most part, is sex, but Žižek's approach is refreshingly untheory-like: instead of the non-canonical, abstruse, navel-gazing insularity of most theory, we're presented with formulations that extend and heighten the meanings of the films, and the achievements of the filmmakers (whom Žižek, rather un-post-structuralistically, gives full credit for the Freudian manifestations in their work). That is, the films aren't simply cult-stud specimens without authors, but cataracts of desire and fear that illuminate our own relationship with sex and its discontentments. Except perhaps when he's pointing out how Gene Hackman in "The Conversation" seems to be literally examining the scene of the murder from "Psycho" (a painfully obvious inter-film connection I never noticed before), Žižek is all about how the films literally and profoundly "teach us lessons," symbolically, about desire, about subjectivity, about the strange but universal need for sexual fantasy (and how it's expressed as the voyeurism of cinema-watching), about our conflicted relationship with the sexual significance of various body parts.
Unlike most theory, "Pervert's Guide" relates directly to our pleasure in watching movies, and to our ideas about our own behavior. Of course, a percentage of what Žižek says is half-conceived and presumptuous, as when he declares that women's sexual pleasure only comes after the fact, in contemplation of the act. But his juicy bon mots are always challenging ("I want a third pill!" he declares, in view of "The Matrix"'s inadequate dichotomy between illusion and reality). At the very least, those of us who've only seen "Vertigo" or "Lost Highway" or Tarkovsky's "Solaris" once long ago will be inspired with a convert's fervor to sit down and reevaluate them with new eyes.

2009-03-05 Boston Globe
By Ty Burr

A delightful two-and-a-half-hour repast for mindful film junkies.

2009-03-05 New York Magazine
By Miranda Siegel

It sounds completely mad, but it hangs together because of the brilliant, hilarious decision to insert the garrulous philosopher into key scenes of the films he discusses.

2009-03-04 Variety

'A virtuoso marriage of image and thought... Propulsive... Exhilarating... Superlative'

2009-03-04 The Guardian

'Tremendously exhilarating stuff'

2009-03-04 Financial Times

'Brilliantly argued and illustrated'