The word dummy has more than one negative connotation, ranging from sheer stupidity to a fake stand-in. How is it that as a viewer we allow ourselves to be equated with a dummy in any way? For that matter, why would we accept surrogacy, distantiation, and cowardice in place of real interaction or intimacy?<\/p>\n
For one, the viewer is not openly called a \u00e2\u20ac\u0153dummy\u00e2\u20ac\u009d in any way, quite the contrary; we are treated like a friend. We take the place of the dummy, because of the strategies Cardiff and Miller employ to engage us, which include the pleasure of recognition, sensory immersion, and the contract. It is pleasurable to be recognized and treated as a familiar friend, pleasurable enough to pull us from critical distance. The technique of sensory immersion (and deprivation) is intensely distracting, and the third technique contractually binds us in a covert way.
\nThere is the pleasure of recognizing and also the pleasure of being recognized. Cardiff makes no qualms that she is simulating tropes of friendship; in interview with Gary Appels, Cardiff says J\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s voice is presented to be \u00e2\u20ac\u0153\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 like the friend you hope will be your friend, someone you can be confessional to \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 you can talk about those innermost things and you feel there\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s no sense of judgment.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Despite the fact that there is nobody to \u00e2\u20ac\u0153be confessional to,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the feeling that of the possibility is there.
\nFor example, we achieve a surprising level of intimacy with the character J in The Paradise Institute<\/i>. Recognition of our role as friend is triggered with aural cues. A few minutes into the film there is the recorded sound of somebody entering the theater from our right \u00e2\u20ac\u201c this is disorienting, since we, with all the other viewers entered from the left. This aural character sits down beside us and leans close:<\/p>\n
J (whispering beside you<\/i>): Here\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s your drink
\nDid you want some of my popcorn? Sound of eating popcorn.<\/i><\/p>\n
We recognize instantly that we are J\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s friend in the theater. The recorded binaural voice persistently hovers by your right ear. No matter how you turn your head, unless you take the headset off, the sonic illusion remains. Her voice has matter-of-factly walked right through our comfort zone and plopped itself down next to us as if she has known us forever. The aural proximity J\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s voice establishes somehow avoids being threatening.
\nFor one, there is the ante of the sultry whispery quality of the voice: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The dominant force of the work is manifest in the pull exerted on the listener by the artist\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s voice. It is a seemingly ageless, pleasantly deep, female voice that ranges from matter-of-fact to sexy to solicitous.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Cardiff uses her feminine, attractive voice to her advantage. While maintaining a non-threatening tone, J\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s voice is feminine and erotic; it depends on the deepest of stereotypes. She is both the vixen and the helpless female. When J sits so close to us and matter-of-factly offers us \u00e2\u20ac\u0153our\u00e2\u20ac\u009d drink and popcorn, we are immediately befriended. This simple move is at once nurturing and beguiling. J gets away with being so close to us because she is not threatening.
\nThe chummy atmosphere set by the character J sitting next to you, is put in further relief by the tension in the suspenseful \u00e2\u20ac\u0153narrative\u00e2\u20ac\u009d of the story on film and in the soundtrack. The same voice takes on a Jekyll and Hyde quality when it whispers from behind you: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s all arranged. He\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll meet us here between shows,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d as if you were an accomplice to some mysterious crime about to happen. Then there is the banal reassurance when you hear J slurping her soda next to you, still on your right side. After a moment, she whispers, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I read about this film. It\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s based on a true story about the experiments the military did the 50\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s. Pause.<\/i> Or maybe that was a different film.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d While being almost obsessively self-reflexive, J\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s character continues the monologue, giving you more and more clues about your presumed relationship. Later J lets on that we live together when she anxiously whispers, Did you check the stove before we left?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d After a few more escalating comments and finally, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m too worried. I have to go home and check the stove. I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll see you after the movie.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d By addressing an assumed shared history, J draws us into accepting our new identity. By the time we hear the binaural sounds of J leaving, we feel slightly abandoned but there is no way to ask her to stay.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The word dummy has more than one negative connotation, ranging from sheer stupidity to a fake stand-in. How is it that as a viewer we allow ourselves to be equated with a dummy in any way? For that matter, why … Continue reading