Lipton on Kracauer and The Siege

Kracauer Under Siege
By Gordie Lipton

Siegfried Kracauer, especially in his early work, had very specific ideas in mind as far as what he felt to be the function of film in Weimar Germany.  These views, both with regards to what film should be and what film actually seems to be in bourgeois society, are laid out quite clearly in “Cult of Distraction: On Berlin’s Picture Palaces” and “The Little Shopgirls Go to the Movies.” These articles lay the groundwork for the arguments he makes in his early theory, a body of work that even applies to modern movies in American society.  To make such a connection clear, I will put his ideas to use in a modern context by analyzing Edward Zwick’s 1998 film The Siege, a work that embodies both what Kracauer deems good about film, along with what he sees as undermining what the true power of cinema should be in a society.

The first article, “Cult of Distraction,” starts with a description of the modern movie theaters in Weimar Berlin.  Specifically, he even goes so far as to name them “palaces of distraction; to call them movie theaters would be disrespectful” (Kracauer 91).  He notes how “it is the picture palaces, those optical fairylands, which are shaping the face of Berlin,” the ones with “Elegant surface splendor” that is the “hallmark of these mass theaters” which “are shrines to the cultivation of pleasure, their glamour aiming at edification” (ibid).  So far, all he has put forth is a condemnation of the picture houses, which would lead us to believe that there is something wrong with them, specifically, his attention to the “surface splendor” and their architectural mastery.  So, that begs the question: what is so wrong with them?  He says that “A glittering, revue-like creature has crawled out of the movies – the total artwork of effects” (92); it could be inferred that, therefore, Kracauer does not see the movies as something to be incorporated into a cohesive whole.  He prefers, it can be assumed, “the time when films were allowed to run one after another each with a corresponding musical accompaniment” (ibid). 

So, now that we have a grasp on what Kracauer feels, let’s analyze why he feels that way.  First of all, Kracauer is a Marxist, and believes in the power of the proletariat.  But he notes that in “the industrial centers where they appear in great numbers, they are so overburdened as workers that they are unable to realize their own way of life” (92).  As the pressured working class, they cannot understand how miserable their way of life is because they are, in all senses, too busy to do so.  The best way out of this situation, at least to begin the necessary changes for a betterment of life, would be for the masses to begin to acknowledge their situation.  Once they band together and realize how downtrodden they are, “the sooner the masses will also develop productive powers in the spiritual and cultural domain which are worth financing” (93).  They will, according to Kracauer, refuse “to be thrown scraps” and “demand instead to be served at tables” (ibid); the life of oppression will end once the masses realize their situation and act on it. 

For Kracauer, the ideal medium for this self-acknowledgement would be film.  Film, with its inherent nature of shots, scenes, and other such elements, lends itself to a use that could present proletariat spectators with their lives on screen; the films can be fragmented, jarring, and even overwhelming.  So, the workers realize, are their lives.  Kracauer believes that film palaces should “free their offerings of all trappings that deprive film of its rights and must aim radically towards a kind of distraction which exposes disintegration instead of masking it” (96).  As he stated at the beginning of his essay, Kracauer wants films to be stand alone entities, so that the proletariat’s way of life can be exposed and reacted to, not masked.  In doing so, the masses will be presented with their own fragmented, disjointed state of life by films and be incited to better their way of life.  But their way of life is masked by the nature of the theaters themselves.  The idea of the workers’ way of life being exposed by film is subverted by the picture houses themselves; with the presence of the surface splendor, exquisite design, and gesamtkunstwerk of movies of the time, the medium for rallying the masses is elevated to the status of high art.  Kracauer notes how in “the larger provincial towns not dominated primarily by industry…the traditional forces are so powerful that the masses are unable to shape the cultural and spiritual structure on their own” (93).  With the workers’ stressed situation the way it is, the only release they have is the middle class hand-me-down culture of popular films, so to speak, films that have “only limited cultural ambitions” (ibid).  But specifically, in this article, it is the nature of the theaters themselves that irks Kracauer, in how “The interior design of the movie theaters serves on sole purpose: to rivet the audience’s attention to the peripheral so that they will not sink into the abyss” (94).  Here lies the crux of Kracauer’s issue: movies are undermining political tendencies in film by having the focus be on the majesty of the theater itself.  With the other events that go into the movie showings, a movie is changed from a political tool to a spectacle.  It is the experience of movie going that becomes important, not the film itself.

But bourgeois ideals do not end with the theaters themselves, Kracauer notes.  The values of the middle class also purvey the films themselves, an idea that Kracauer goes into in his rather tongue-in-cheek “Shopgirls” essay.  The opening line of this essay sets the tone for his argument: “Films are the mirror of the prevailing society” (Kracauer 291).  As can be gleamed from his “Cult of Distraction” essay, we already know that Kracauer has a strong distaste for what he perceives to be the “prevailing society,” an institution that undermines the potential revolutionary power of film.  “A producer,” notes Kracauer, “will never allow himself to present material that in any way attacks the foundations of society, for to do so would destroy his own existence as a capitalist entrepreneur” (ibid).  It is this idea, that of the entrepreneur, that Kracauer points out as perhaps the biggest hindrance to the rallying of the masses; society, as a bourgeois capitalist machine, will seek to make money, and you make money by presenting dominant ideologies to the greater whole.  Kracauer even goes so far as to note that “the films made for the lower classes are even more bourgeois than those aimed at the finer audiences, precisely because they hint at subversive points of view without exploring them.  Instead, they smuggle in a respectable way of thinking” (ibid).  Films for the proletariat may, in fact, deal with ideas that could be politically inciting, but in the end are undermined by the inclusion of dominant ideologies.  Although, as Kracauer admits, “There is no kitsch one could invent that life itself could not outdo” (292), the prevailing nature of popularly produced films is to “give the blackest settings a pink tinge, and smear reds liberally everywhere” (ibid).  In essence, “the more incorrectly [films] present the surface of things, the more correct they become and the more clearly they mirror the secret mechanism of society” (ibid). 
This is the Cinderella complex, so to speak.  It is the little shopgirls who go to the movies to see their screen surrogates wind up marrying the rich, handsome.  They do not see the truth of their lives, only their fantasies.  Society, as a mass organism, acknowledges these fantasies and creates them liberally in films, but it “is much too powerful for it to tolerate any movies except those with which it is comfortable” (ibid), Kracauer tells us.  So yes, the proletariat way of life will be presented, with the destitute Cinderella, the laborer for the middle class society.  But, this way of life is then subverted with the traditional, bourgeois happy ending; the glass slipper fits, and she runs off with Prince charming, happily ever after. But, according to Kracauer, all films produced today are “blabbing a rude secret” (294), at least underneath their many layers.  Movies, on the whole, “reveal how society wants to see itself” (ibid), and despite the presentation of potentially revolutionary aspects in a film, everything will be returned to normalcy in the end, because “Film must reflect society whether it wants to or not” (292).  As long as the dominant, middle-class society controls the means of production, Kracauer says, it is the middle-class ideals that will prevail before the final credits roll.      

While Kracauer was writing in 1920s Berlin, though, his remarks and commentaries are still quite useful for thinking about films today.  Modern Hollywood studios are still today censoring incendiary content in film, and any exceptions to this (such as Michael Moore) are rendered other.  As I mentioned earlier, the status quo must be maintained, even if that means coming up with mindless Hollywood blockbusters to distract modern audiences from the truth of their realities.  But, of course, not all films do that, especially not before September 11, 2001, specifically with regards to The Siege.  As far as films go, I would say that this particular one embodies many of Kracauer’s ideals.  The film shows scenes of terrorist bombings (in New York City, no less), racial profiling, and the incrimination of the U.S. Army for war crimes.  But despite the fact that The Siege is a wonderful film with many poignant insights about society, it would never be made today because society has changed and, as Kracauer would tell us, society refuses to deal with anything that makes it uncomfortable. But, the film was made, and I will explain how it both fulfills and undermines Kracauer’s ideal for the concept of film.

The film opens with shots of attacks on the U.S. embassies overseas and with voiceovers (a device used throughout the film) discussing current afflictions against the U.S.  Right away, America is vulnerable.  But then, we learn about Sheik Achmed Bin Talal, a religious leader (and somewhat of a bin Laden look-alike) who is most likely responsible for the recent terrorist attacks on American soldiers, civilians, and buildings overseas.  He is then taken down and captured by his own men, or so we think, and dragged off to a holding cell.  We then meet for the first time the ambiguous character of General William Devereaux (Bruce Willis) of the United States Armed Forces.  In this scene, Devereaux, dressed in a suit, is quizzically observing the simpering, quietly chanting Bin Talal.  The camera slowly pulls away from the Sheik and focuses in on the imposing presence of Devereaux, very obviously looking down, perhaps both literally and metaphorically, upon the Sheik.  In this scene, even before the opening credits roll, we are presented with something politically incendiary: a Western man, a powerful military figure who has (illegally) seized a Muslim religious figure under suspicions of terrorism.  He has kidnapped him, in violation of international law; it can be argued, however, that he does the right thing for his country.  So, right from the outset of the film, we have the West imposing its will upon the East in a manner of racial profiling.  Adding to that is the casting choice for Devereaux; of all people to play a General of suspect morality is Bruce Willis, who through such roles as John McClane in Die Hard has endeared himself to the American public as a representation of America itself.

One of the main themes of The Siege is that of vulnerability; throughout the movie, there are numerous scenes in which America is susceptible to outside attacks.   After the opening scene, we are introduced to our hero, Special Agent Anthony “Hub” Hubbard (Denzel Washington), and his Lebanese-American sidekick Frank Haddad (Tony Shalhoub).  They are sent on a hostage mission to try and save a bus that has been wired to explode…with a paint bomb.  While this action, as Haddad points out later, is not illegal, Hub informs his team that the terrorists “know our response time.  They put in a call and then they walk.  I don’t like that.” While investigating the crime scene, Hub meets the intriguing Elise Kraft (Annette Bening), a CIA agent, alternatively known as Sharon Bridger for a reason that the movie never makes completely clear. She is at the same time a CIA agent helping to fight terrorism and, as we find out later, sleeping with the enemy and acquiring information by somewhat shady means.  Also, throughout the movie, there is a great sense of turmoil between the CIA and the FBI: could this be Zwick drawing attention to the inner turmoil in American society?  These are conflicts between domestic and foreign affairs, internal vs. external surveillance and capabilities; these are themes that over the course of the film threaten to pull the movie apart.  The instances of American fallibility and vulnerability don’t stop there; during the next scene, we meet Khalil, a young Muslim whom the FBI has tracked down and questioned, only to let him go.  Such a routine operation as tracking down a suspect in play is botched to the point where Khalil escapes, only to be captured by Elise and the CIA.  Upon finding Kraft with Khalil, Hub and Frank take him into custody and arrest her.  However, on their ride back to the station, they get a call in: another bus has been taken captive, but this time the bombers are still on the bus and, as Elise correctly guesses, have made no demands to the police or anyone else ((it is worthwhile to note that the makeup of the hostages on the bus is very multiracial and multicultural).

Then, of course, the media shows up.  Elise figures out exactly what’s going on: “They were waiting for the cameras.  They want everybody watching.”  Hub tries valiantly to negotiate with the terrorists, eventually having them concede to letting the children go.  However, almost immediately after Hub gets the media to start leaving, the bombs explode, killing the rest of the people on the bus. America has failed, and the terrorists have gotten what they wanted; they killed the infidels, and everyone saw it.  The only other time that the media shows up to cover a hostage crisis is when a terrorist has taken control of a classroom full of young children.  Hub, after exchanging a look with Elise and realizing what is going to happen (as well as what happened before with the bus), pulls a very John Wayne-esque rescue of the children, killing the terrorist in the process.  The point that Zwick makes about the media adheres to the views of Kracauer: by showing the negative effects that the media can have, it can be argued that we are being incited to action by seeing something that is very real, and could theoretically happen (and three years later, actually did).  Zwick never comes right out and tells us how we should react; it can be induced that we are to realize what a negative effect the media can have on public opinion and the fact that, as both Columbine and September 11 showed us, people will do most anything to get attention.  We are being presented with our own way of life, and now we have an opportunity to change it. 

Deep moral and philosophical points aside, there are other instances of America’s vulnerability that escalate in seriousness as the film progresses.  First, the FBI finds out that one of the main bombers of the bus, Ali Waziri, made it into the country while on the terrorist watch list.  So, we have lost the complete ability to police our own borders.    Not only that, but the man who sponsored Ali’s student visa to get him in was Samir Najdi, another suspected terrorist and one of Elise’s “Joes,” as Hub says.  So, now our own government can’t be trusted, and specifically our own government agencies are not acting in correspondence with each other.  Next, when Hub returns to his office after finding out about Samir (specifically that he’s sleeping with Elise), he finds a guest waiting for him in his office: it’s none other than General Devereaux.  He claims that he, and the President, is pleased with the work that the FBI is doing but does not trust Elise, and it is implicit that he does not trust Hub and the FBI either.  So, now we have different branches of the government, along with the army, at odds with each other.  However, soon after this encounter, the FBI takes down a terrorist cell of three Arab-speaking young men who were correctly suspected in aiding the bus bombing.  But, while the victorious agents celebrate in a restaurant, the building rattles; another bomb has gone off, this time in a Broadway theater.  (Insert Smoky).  If you look closely, you can even see that the show being put on seems to be “Ragtime,” the story of America’s humble 20th century beginnings, a show whose sign brightly displays the red, white, and blue of the American flag through the thick smoke of the explosion’s aftermath.  (Insert Theater).  In one of the most chilling scenes in the film, a beautiful woman descends a staircase and, without warning, turns and reveals that her left arm has been blown off.  Once again, America is losing control, and this time the terrorists have attacked the theater, the staple of American culture itself.  It was not just the proletariat this time that was being attacked, it was the bourgeois as well; we are all in this fight together.  The theater, the main method of distraction (both “good” and “bad”), has been attacked.  We no longer feel safe in the institution that protects us from life’s hardships.

A board meeting in Washington then convenes: how can we stop the terrorists?  During the meeting, we find out that the FBI (intelligence) and the Army (blind force) are working together to stop the terrorism.  But the board meeting is inter-cut with the scene of the most chilling attack yet: a bomber takes out One Federal Plaza, the FBI counter-terrorism headquarters.  Intelligence has been destroyed, and now force must rule when the President declares martial law in Brooklyn, believed to be the center of Arab activity in New York City.  People of Arab heritage, including Frank’s son, are rounded up and herded into temporary holding camps.  Devereaux, now firmly in command, captures and tortures Tariq Husseini, a suspected key member of another terrorist cell.  Now, America’s sense of moral right and wrong has become hazy.  Hub tells Devereaux that he is wrong to “bend the law, shred the constitution just a little bit,” even if it is the only option at the time.  These events, coming to a climax, lead to the people of New York rallying together in a march, chanting “no fear,” protesting the treatment of the Arabs by the Army.  The march is multicultural and multiracial; the Jews march with the Muslims, the Whites with the Hispanics and Blacks.

This is the application of Kracauer at its peak.  We are now, as a people, incited to action through the surrogate of the protesters.  We are made to realize that America is not invulnerable, but we cannot simply lash out in blind rage.  We are presented, as a people, with the ugly truth of life, that we are not totally safe, but in order to do something about that fact we must work together, accept one another, and most importantly try to understand each other.  We are shown the ugliness of certain aspects of our own society, where the government can be power-hungry and take dramatic action in order to stop terrorism.  And we must learn that while we as a nation are powerful, we are not always right.  The march in the film shows us that we must form a “brotherhood with these people,” that racial profiling is flawed despite how appropriate it may seem.

However, despite all of the incendiary devices that The Siege possesses, despite the aspects of it that would make Kracauer pleased, and despite all the thought-provoking ideas of ambiguity and moral issues, this is still an American film, pre-9/11 or not.  American society does not want to see itself in a negative light, and it does not want its people to rise up, much like the marchers did, and revolt against the corrupt system of government.  So, aspects of the bourgeois form of distraction make themselves present.  For instance, while it is All-American Willis who plays the somewhat corrupt Devereaux, Zwick and company do not make him a stock villain, or even a true villain at all.  For most of the film, he is seen in either U.S. Army fatigues or in conjunction with an American flag.  When the council is meeting in Washington, Devereaux all but begs the committee not to consider martial law as an option, and even when he is forced to implement it, he claims himself that he is acting in the best interest of his country, not in his own best interest.  And most of all, in the end, when there is a standoff between the FBI and the army, Devereaux makes the conscious decision to tell the sergeant at arms to lower his weapon and stand down, thus giving into, perhaps, what is right.  (Insert StandDown).  And while Willis plays the slightly ambiguous antagonist, the main protagonist is none other Washington, who is just as much of an American icon as Willis.  He, according to the movie, displays the American ideal.  And in this film, perhaps most importantly, he is a minority himself, a black icon in American society.  And of course, there is character of Frank Haddad, the “good guy” Arab.  Despite being a protagonist, he is very much the “other” in this movie.  The prospect of having an Arab-speaking Muslim as a lead could be troubling to many people, so the filmmakers subvert any racial tensions by rendering him comic.  Throughout the film, he is always cracking wise, calling the original bus bomb “assault with a deadly color.” He is always talking about how much he wants microwave signals to help search for criminals.  When he and Hub are viewing Elise having sex with Samir, he remarks that it “beats the sh*t out of cable.” By having Shalhoub’s character be the comic relief, it is made obvious that while he is of Arabic heritage, he is nonthreatening.  And also, when he and his son are reunited in the end, it reminds us of how “saving individual people is a convenient way to prevent the rescue of the entire class” (295).  Indeed, when we can let Frank have his happy ending, it is much easier than attempting the somewhat complicated task of redeeming Muslims as a whole.  Don’t want to say outright that Arabs aren’t bad people?  Fine.  Just give the loveable Frank Haddad what he wants, and let him have his happy ending.  To be honest, it worked for me.

And of course, without even taking any of the film’s themes into consideration, the politically incendiary material of the film is subverted from the onset by the surroundings in which we view it.  The concept of the movie theater, or the “palaces of distraction” as Kracauer calls them, inserts itself into the modern American context, much like it did in Kracauer’s time.  While we may no longer be thrilled by the “surface splendor” of the theaters as much as Kracauer’s peers were, there are other aspects of the modern multiplex that subvert political messages.  There are video games, popcorn, previews, glitz and glamour in a theater that remind us that only in America do we have the freedom and the spare time to do something as seemingly innocuous as go to the movies; it is the return of the gesamtkunstwerk, the focusing on the peripheral instead of the “abyss,” that bothered Kracauer so much.  Wait, did the respectable General just torture and murder a prisoner?  Are we seeing that we’re vulnerable to outside threats no matter how safe we feel we are?  Oh, here comes good old Denzel Washington to save the day!  Tony Shalhoub made a joke!  The good guys win!  Have some more popcorn!  Isn’t America great?  Of course it is.

Maybe that’s why we were so unprepared for September 11.

Works Cited

Kracauer, Siegfried. “Cult of Distraction: On Berlin’s Picture Palaces.” New German Critique, No. 40.  Winter 1987.

----.  “The Little Shopgirls Go to the Movies.” The Mass Ornament.  Harvard UP.  1995.