The Architecture of the Screen

by Graham Cairns

  Through this type of technique, a combination of natural elements and the use of glass, Nouvel manages to create an architecture that is both ambiguous and, to an extent, constantly changing. In a sense then, it is possible to form an analogy between the aim of the architect and the philosophical speculations of Heraclites: “the impossibility of experimenting the same building twice”. When the reflections of the oak tree combine with those of the street and the direct views of the building interior, the general visual effect of the building is “agitated”; something more typical of a complex cinematographic image than the standard view of a building facade.

  Figure 3: Screen extending beyond the constructed building.

  Figure 4: The optical effect of fading and blending.

  The cinematography of the Cartier Foundation. Everything described above points to an attempt at creating a building whose principal aim is the manipulation of perception, rather than the creation of a building that is notable in a standard formal sense.44 In other words, the dominant motivator behind this architecture is not an interest in architecture as built form, but rather architecture as an ephemeral and intangible phenomenon. This interest in creating architecture that, in and of itself, reflects ideas from phenomenology, however, leads to an interpretation of the building in purely cinematographic terms as well; something Nouvel suggests is relevant beyond the confines of this particular project.45 The placement of the independent screen in front of the building proper creates the effect of two mirrors facing one another. This, in turn, results in an explosion of reflections in which we see diffuse prints of both elements superimposed one on top of the other; both on the surface of the building proper and on the independent screen in front (Fig. 5).

  From the street, the passer-by primarily sees the independent screen. On the surface of this screen we see not only the reflections of the street but also those of the building facade behind which, invariably, includes reflections of the screen itself. The main visual image of the building is not only something architectural and ephemeral but also a form of mediated representation of itself. The screen acts as a screen for its own visual representation. Given that the image is an extremely complex one, impossible to appropriate in all its detail, it is an image that can carry echoes of the type of filming lauded by André Bazin. The on-screen image presented to the passer-by being a long shot overloaded with information presented in one continuous and constant take. Within the multiple stimuli that this representation collects together is the image of the building itself superimposed on images of the activities and events on the street: people talking, trees blowing, cars passing by and street lights flickering, etc. Seen in different parts of the screen, these multiple incidents create an image of the street and the building that the eye simply cannot assimilate in its entirety.

  Figure 5: An explosion of superimposed reflections.

  Given this complexity, as happens with the direct view of the overall street scene, the eye agitatedly oscillates between the different changing and static stimuli that together create the image. As André Bazin and Merleau-Ponty indicated with respect to Cinerama and the physical environment respectively, in any attempt to assimilate all the information contained on the screen, passers-by are “obliged to move their eyes, but also to twist their heads”. Consequently, when confronted with this building, we find ourselves imbued in a phenomenological experience that is not only active and live but also operative in a double real and mediated arena. That arena is simultaneously phenomenological and cinematographic.

  Notes

  1For information on the work of Nouvel, see: Boissière, Oliver. Jean Nouvel Studio, Patmos Verlag GmbH & Co KG, Ostfildern, 1992; and Jean Nouvel, Terrail, Paris, 1997. Also see: Márquez Cecilia, Fernando and Levene, Richard (eds). El Croquis, 1987–1998, Jean Nouvel, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 1998; El Croquis, 1994-2002, Jean Nouvel, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 2002.

  2In particular, Nouvel argues that cinema teaches us to think in sequence. See: Nicolin, Pierluigi (ed.). Jean Nouvel Film Director and Architect, Lotus 84, Milan, 1995. p. 129–131.

  3Central to this “intangibility” is an interest in what he calls “the creation of mystery”; an effect best achieved through the intangible “materials” of light and shadow. See: Díaz Morneo, Cristina and García Grinda, Efrén. “A Conversation with Jean Nouvel”. In: El Croquis, 1994-2002, Jean Nouvel, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 2002. p. 23.

  4Many of Brentano’s works have been reprinted and published by Routledge in recent years. For example, see: Brentano, Franz. Philosophical Investigations on Time, Space and the Continuum, Routledge, London. 2009; The True and the Evident, Routledge, London. 2009.

  5For an overview of phenomenology as film theory, see: Dudley Andréw, J. The Major Film Theories, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1976. p. 243–254.

  6Schulz, Christian Norberg. Genius Loci: Towards a Phenomenology of Architecture, Rizzoli International Publications, New York, 1980

  7In particular, Steven Holl has been explicit in his referencing of phenomenology as a key set of ideas to explain his architecture. See: Holl, Steven. Questions of Perception: Phenomenology of Architecture, William Stout, New York, 2007.

  8Examples of this are not necessarily restricted to the sensorial field. They can include the memory of a friend, the analysis of a problem, the touching of an object, or what is of specific interest to us here, looking at our physical environment. A basic description of this is offered in Hammond, M., Howarth, J. and Keat, R. Understanding Phenomenology, Basil Blackwell, London, 1991. p. 1–4.

  9Hammond, M. Howarth, J. Keat, R. Ibid. p. 4.

  10Husserl, Edmund. Phenomenology and the Crisis of Philosophy, Harper and Row Publishers, London, 1965. p. 71.

  11In the stage of “suspension”, a detailed observation and description of the objects and acts of perception can be carried out whose aim is to “put on hold” any preconceptions we may have and attend exclusively to things “as they are”. In the eidict stage, our aim switches to the objective analysis of what we have previously simply observed and described. This concept and Merleau-Ponty’s criticism of it is discussed in: Kockelmas, Joseph. Phenomenology: The Philosophy of Edmund Husserl and Its Interpretation, Anchor Books, New York, 1967. p. 393–397.

  12Hammond, M., Howarth, J. and Keat, R. Understanding Phenomenology, Basil Blackwell Inc, London, 1991. p. 5.

  13Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Phenomenology of Perception, Routledge and Keagan Paul, London, 1962. p. 10.

  14Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Ibid. p. 6.

  15This basic and fundamental distinction is discussed in detail by Hammond, M., Howarth, J. and Keat, R. Understanding Phenomenology, Ibid. p. 5–7.

  16Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Phenomenology of Perception, Ibid. p. 320–325.

  17Hammond, M., Howarth, J. and Keat, R. Understanding Phenomenology, Ibid. p. 133.

  18Merleau-Ponty describes this notion with the term “spatiality of situation”. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Phenomenology of Perception, Ibid. p. 100–101.

  19Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Phenomenology of Perception, Ibid. p. 203.

  20Depending of the movements of the retina, alternatively explained as “the focus of the eye”, this image appears to be either the profile of two faces looking at each other or, alternatively, the profile of a chalice. Given the limitations of the eye, we can only focus on either the faces or the chalice, but never both images at the same time. In short, the eye is forced to select the object of its attention. Merleau-Ponty’s referencing of Gestalt psychology in The Phenomenology of Perception is more generalized than this specific example suggests, however. See: Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Phenomenology of Perception, Ibid. p. 47–50.

  21This famous example of Supremacist art is composed, as the title suggests, of a black square in the centre of a white canvas. The optical effect is one of depth but relies on the same retinal “movements” as the Gestalt chalice example. It is discussed here in terms of optical eff
ects and spatial perception. See: Shadova, Larissa A. Malevich, Suprematism and Revolution in Russian Art 1910–1930, Thames and Hudson, New York, 1982. p. 45–47.

  22Casebier, Allan. Film and Phenomenology, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1992. p. 9.

  23For an overview of the introduction of this technology and its effects on cinematic production and consumption, see: Cousins, Mark. The Story of Film, Pavilion, London, 2001. p. 116–121. See also: Bordwell, David and Thompson, Kristen. Film Art: An Introduction, McGraw Hill, New York, 2001. p. 291–326.

  24Dudley Andréw, J. The Major Film Theories, Oxford University Press, Oxford, 1976. p. 134.

  25 Bazin, André. Jean Renoir, Da Capo Press, New York, 1992. p. 89–90.

  26For an overview of Bazin, see: Dudley Andréw, J. The Major Film Theories, Ibid. p. 135–177.

  27Bazin, André. What Is Cinema? University of California Press, Los Angeles, 2004. p. 38.

  28Dudley Andréw, J. The Major Film Theories, Ibid. p. 158.

  29For Eisenstein, individual shots were to be given the freedom to function as emotive images in and of themselves. However, they were also intended to be arranged by the director into sequences and were thus intended to be controlled and controlling. See: Eisenstein, Sergei. Film Sense: Eisenstein, Faber and Faber, London, 1977. p. 14.

  30For a brief overview of the Kuleschov effect in the context of other Soviet directors (in particular Vsevolod Pudovkin) and questions of architecture, see: Puttock, Heather. “Vsevolod Pudovkin and the Theory of Montage”. Architectural Design: Architecture and Film II. Vol. 70, No.1, 2000. p. 9–11.

  31For Eisenstein, film was in many ways a theatrical device. He saw one of its primary functions as storytelling for which the film director had to take “responsibility”. It was at the heart of his conflict with Dziga Vertov and the Kinocks, who argued for a less “pre-determined” and more “real” cinema (albeit with very different methodologies and intentions to Bazin and Renoir). See: Petrić, Vlada. Constructivism in Film: The Man with a Movie Camera – a Cinematic Analysis, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1987. p. 48–51.

  32The most famous example of this was the reaction of early film audiences to the new visual and misunderstood phenomenon of film as evidenced in the “shock and fear” of the public at screenings of the Lumière film, The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat. See: Whiting, Jim. Auguste & Louis Lumiere: Pioneers in Cinema Film (Unchartered, Unexplored, and Unexplained), Mitchell Lane Publications, London, 2005. A similar effect is documented with regard to other films by Béla Balázs. See: Balázs, Béla. Theory of the Film, Denis Dobson Ltd., London, 1945. p. 24.

  33Bazin, André. Jean Renoir, Da Capo Press, New York, 1992. p. 107–108.

  34Cardullo, Bert. Bazin at Work: Major Essays and Reviews from the Forties and Fifties, Routledge, London, 1997. p. 77–92.

  35Dudley Andréw, J. The Major Film Theories, Ibid. p. 147.

  36In discussions on his work, Nouvel has expressed a number of times an interest in the creation of optical effects without the “inconvenience” of the built object, the building. What is of central importance he argues is the “image” and the “illusion”. See: Nouvel, Jean. “Incorporating: Interview with Alejandro Zaera”. In: El Croquis, 1987–1998, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 1998. p. 31.

  37A number of monographs have been published on the work of Jean Nouvel which offer basic descriptions of this project. See: Boiseière, Oliver. Jean Nouvel, Birkhaüser, Basel, 1996; Jodidio, Philip. Jean Nouvel by Jean Nouvel: Complete Works 1970–2008, Taschen GmbH, London, 2008; Zaera, Alejandro (ed.). Jean Nouvel. El Croquis, 1987–1998, Ibid.

  38Nouvel has described his use of glass in this project as technically challenging but, more importantly, as part of his attempts to play with the complexity of glass as a material for producing lighting and optical effects. See: Nouvel, Jean. “Incorporating: Interview with Alejandro Zaera”. In: El Croquis, 1987–1998, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 1998. p. 31.

  39Boissière, Oliver. Jean Nouvel, Terrail, Paris, 1996. p. 127.

  40The game of reflections instigated in this project by its arrangement of glass facade and free-standing screen is described in: Zaera, Alejandro (ed.). Jean Nouvel – El Croquis, 1987–1998, Ibid. p. 234–253.

  41The key component here is of course the use of glass and the notion of transparency and reflection. Boissière defines this as “the primary way in which Nouvel blends architecture and the environment”. See: Boissière, Oliver. Jean Nouvel, Terrail, Paris, 1996. p. 127.

  42He has described his interest in this type of effect as a desire to create a “phenomenon of disappearance”. See: Díaz Morneo, Cristina and García Grinda, Efrén. “A Conversation with Jean Nouvel”. In: El Croquis, 1994–2002, Jean Nouvel, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 2002. p. 18.

  43Nouvel, Jean. El Croquis, Jean Nouvel. 1994–2002, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 2002. p. 15.

  44Nouvel refers to this as “dematerialisation”. See: Nouvel, Jean. “Incorporating: Interview with Alejandro Zaera”. In: El Croquis, 1987–1998, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 1998. p. 37.

  45Central to Nouvel’s architectural theory for many years has been an analogy between film and architecture that is operative on multiple levels. See: Nouvel, Jean. “Incorporating: Interview with Alejandro Zaera”. In: El Croquis, 1987–1998, Jean Nouvel, El Croquis Editorial, Madrid, 1998. p. 39.

  Cinematic space and time: The morphing of a theory in film and architecture

  Introduction

  In the 1980s, the architecture of Deconstruction revisited the fertile and mutually influencing relationship between film and architecture that existed with the avant-garde of the early twentieth century. In particular, Bernard Tschumi suggested that the fragmentary aesthetic of Soviet Discontinuity film could function as a perfect precedent for the type of architecture emerging through the works of those architects associating themselves with the theories of Jacques Derrida at the end of the twentieth century. In looking back to the early twentieth century for a filmic precedent for contemporary architecture, Tschumi was reflecting a continued interest in the potentially fruitful relationship that can exist between these two disciplines. However, this “flashback” also revealed a lack of contemporary experimentation in film that meant no modern day director could fulfil the conceptual role he outlined for the architecture of Deconstruction.

  Despite this reconvergence of film and architectural theory in the climate of Deconstruction1 however, the architectural Deconstructivists have now arguably pushed the Derridian analogy and its filmic counterpart to its limits. Peter Eisenman2 in particular has sought to move beyond the fragmentary aesthetic of Deconstruction and has, over the last decade and more, recurred to the psychological and philosophical ideas of Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari.3 As a result, he has begun to speak of space in distinctly non-deconstructive terms; in terms of folds, multiple continuities, superimposed hierarchies and the blending of plateaus. In the evolving, doubling and fusing spatio-temporal experiences he envisages for architectural form, there is now no analogy to be found in the deconstructive montage of early-twentieth-century film.

  In these terms, the potential of the resurgent intellectual engagement and interaction between film and architecture, set up by Tschumi in the context of Deconstruction, is no longer valid. However, in the context of cinema it is possible that a recent set of commercial and experimental films mark the emergence of a new tendency that, if developed, could serve as a precedent, influence and inspiration for the type of architecture designed by Eisenman. More interestingly perhaps, it could also serve as precedent for a younger generation of architects working with computer-generated folding and fluid forms: for example, Greg Lynn, Lars Spuybroek, Thom Mayne and others.

  Films like Russian Ark, Run Lola Run, Zidane: A Twenty First Century Portrait, and Mike Figgis’ Timecode, have all experimented with the standard spatio-temporal format of narrative cinema over the past two decades. Directed by Alexander Sokurov
, Russian Ark, 2002, is a single-shot, ninety–six-minute film recorded on uncompressed high-definition video by one continually moving camera.4 Spatially, it passes through the thirty-three rooms of the Winter Palace in the State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg, and narratively passes through various layers of Russian history, presenting the viewer with images of Peter the Great, Catherine the Great, Tsar Nicholas I, the Shah of Iran, Joseph Stalin and various contemporary figures in modern dress.5

  Coordinating over two hundred actors to move, interact and weave narratives together through a single unified time and space sequence, Russian Ark completely rejects standard narrative techniques and the goal-orientated rules of continuity. It layers spaces, events and movements in an incredibly fluid and sophisticated filmic construction. Characters, narratives and times all merge with one another, flow alongside each other and evolve out of each other. It is a film that perfectly reflects Deleuzian notions of the folding, the fluid and the morphing.