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It is illuminating to consider how religion and belief have been transformed into seemingly secular activities in the modern world. One way to approach this is to identify our rituals, to think about what people do at night, in the darkness beyond the demands of labor and domestic life. We are thus led to the spaces we set aside for communal behaviors that are unique from prosaic life. These sacred spaces are separate from the everyday, the profane. As Émile Durkheim wrote over a hundred years ago, sacred spaces are those in which powerful, transformative events take place for individuals as part of a collective.
Rituals, like a sacrifice, occur in the enclosed space of the ritual arena. In these spaces, different rules apply. They bring about different ways of relating to the community, to ancestors, time, and fundamental notions of meaning and significance. In this essay, I claim cinema is such a sacred space and discuss how and why it works so effectively.
Movies and the power of ritual
Myth and ritual are central to how every society collates, creates, and perpetuates the core of its significances, values, aspirations, origins, goals, and ethical lineaments. Over the last 80 years, cinema has become a reliable, effective medium for telling stories. In other words, cinema is a preeminent mode for the generation of participation in the myths of our times. The emotional intensity of the ritual, of contact with mythology, is what draws belief, salience, and importance into the encounter.
In movies, the scale of human action takes on mythic proportions. Not only in size but also in terms of the importance of gesture, storyline, character, emotions, settings, and scenes. Archetypal characters bring to life finely-wrought scripts wherein storylines illustrate moral reflections, aspirational narratives, and the dramatization of historical events. The finely selected dialogue in movies is so crucial that it resembles the manifest content of dialogue in dreams. Freud of course claimed that every word uttered in a dream is of utmost importance since the medium of dreams is visual, and thus any words that sneak through the censor must be vital.
The art of filmmaking is extremely difficult; one look at the credits tells you hundreds of people and hundreds of thousands of dollars have gone into any given movie. The layers of censors from investors to editors to distribution companies (and so many more) make every scene highly improbable. Relative to the stories of all the people in the theater and the people who made the film, the production necessary to make a film demonstrates that it functions at a higher level of proportionality. Granted, not all movies are effective and worthy of the treatment I describe here, but many are—those are the movies to which I apply these reflections.
It is also the atmosphere of cinema that creates a form of ritual space. The movie theater, a room with no windows suffused with darkness but for the light burning through translucent celluloid. We sit among strangers with whom we share emotional reactions to shared events. By sharing reactions, we share and reinforce a cultural lens.
The communal setting of the ritual arena of theater itself elevates the event. It confirms us as a community and builds our shared history and interpretation of reality out further and further. Light flickers on the screen, which is 45 to 65 feet wide and as tall as 30 feet. Cinema is larger than life; that is how it can represent life to us in a mimetic ritual of drama. We understand something about ourselves by becoming other, by being taken in by the story and coming out the other end in a slightly different form.
Then there is the narrative, the aesthetic charm poured into the dramatic form. That distillation of life into moments, sieved into distinct tales of definite memorability. The overwhelmingly melodramatic format of the journey, the love triangle, the conflict, etc., pushes us to identify with the characters. We are brought into an empathetic mood. Some movies bring us into the community of the characters such that plot development resembles nothing so much as gossip.
Time is transformed in the cinematic state; for us, it is an escape, a vacation, a portal out of the world and the uncontrollable nature of time. The liminality of being out of time in a dark room doing nothing allows for separation from so much that binds us. We are freed from speaking, from the dense maze of active interactions that make up public life. Here we are voyeurs who participate emotionally even when nothing is asked of us. The filmmaker does it all: through montage, a story comes together; through casting, we are directed to recognize characters; through lighting and sound, we are immersed in environments. All we have to do is keep our eyes and ears open. If we give our attention, the screen creates the illusion of four dimensions. It offers them to us; it takes them all up and drags us in its wake.
After the liminal space of the ritual of cinema, we walk out of the room discombobulated, sensitive to light and motion. We reaggregate ourselves after having become part of a different reality. We reflect upon what we saw and heard, in groups or in internal dialogue. The movie becomes part of our memory; sometimes we get confused about whether the stories we remember come from cinema or stories we’ve heard about people. We take the movie in through the sacred space of the theater and leave with its messages.
When the ritual is over, when the crow and the raven are silent, we return to each other with stories and characters, memories of events that never happened. We want to share them further; we recommend movies, talk about their virtues and failures, and interleave them into our memories of all the other movies and stories we have lived through. The myth has been received, the experience has become a part of us.
References
Durkheim, Émile, 1915. The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life, a Study in Religious Sociology. London : New York :G. Allen & Unwin; Macmillan.
Turner, V. W. 1969. The ritual process: Structure and anti-structure. Chicago: Aldine Publishing Company.
