Tucker Grube-O'Brien

Documentary Practices 

4 May 05

Reassemblage: A Deconstruction of the Picturesque

Trinh T. Minh-ha, in her depiction of Senegalese women, “[does] not intend to speak about; just nearby.”  She presents haunting contrasts of rural Senagal, located in the north west corner of Africa.   One of the first sequences is of a woman and two children walking a rural road.  The film is edited, simply cut to a few seconds later, so that the two children seem to disappear, leaving the woman walking alone on the dirt road.  What was initially picturesque turned disturbing—a pattern that forms one of the many themes.  The contrast of the repulsive and the beautiful, similar to the binary relationship of East/West, and masculinity/femininity, creates a simultaneous response of loathing and admiration.  This confused response, I pose, is used my Minh-ha to create a conflict for the Western interpreter wherein against cinematic, also intellectual tradition, the reliance on alterity is neither accepted nor pushed aside; rather, relativism and ethnocentricity, which are typically understood as being at odds with the other, are simply different; both truly unavoidable.    

One of Minh-ha’s missions with Reassemblage is to deconstruct the I-centric, Western discourse of structuralism.  It is the Western gaze on the East, and in particular Eastern women that Reassemblage puts at the center of this objective.  Minh-ha attempts at a solution that creates a middle ground where the filmmaker, the subject, and the audience all have the ability to interpret without deception of intentions.  In her words, “by refusing to naturalize the I, subjectivity uncovers the myth of the essential core, of spontaneity and depth as inner vision.1"  The subjectivity is the fuzzy area that results from the confusion of the notion of the other, where the filmmaker is what Minh-ha calls the “inappropriate other,” one “who moves about with always at least two gestures: that affirming ‘I am like you’ while persisting in her difference and that reminding ‘I am different.’”2

A topic that Reassemblage provoked many questions on, Trinh T. Minh-ha is often asked about the “lack of conflict” in her films.  By supposedly skirting around politics and social issues, she is accused of only indirectly addressing concerns of her subject.  This sense of conflict, reliant on polarity, is replaced by difference.  In the interview where Minh-ha explains her lack of conflict, she does not mention the paradox of this change in perspective.  In structuralism, where theory relies on binary relationships of male/female, West/East, etc., it is only Western ideology that flourishes.  True, Minh-ha avoids the conflict of dualisms, however, she creates a further conflict within the viewer where the generalizations of structuralism, firmly engrained rhetorical strategies, are not the basis for interpretation.  It is, in fact, easier, far more conventional, to seek identity through alterity; give this up and there is only ambiguity. 

The sequence of Reassemblage that had the most poignancy for me was the topless woman in the first of the three villages that Minh-ha visits; soon after we see a woman spitting on her baby to clean it, we are shown the image of this topless woman, where overexposure of the woman’s breasts serves as a critique on Discovery Channel style ethnographies.  A close up is shot of the woman’s nipple where a bug lands and crawls about.  Shown in Discovery Channel ethnographies to illuminate otherness, a woman’s naked breast is a subject of Reassemblage because it gets the audience to recognize the device of using a topless woman in developing third world custom as “other.”  This is creating Minh-ha’s paradoxical conflict; by exposing the traditional ethnographic manipulation of otherness, she’s giving the audience the option to explore the potential of cinema when the structures of interpretation are broken down.  Thus, she leads the audience to a power struggle that isn’t simply based on the notion of the Western world finding an identity through the supposed simplicity and primitive nature depicted in ethnographies. 

            In the essay, When the Eye Frames Red, Minh-ha writes on the process of her filmmaking strategies, and on her multiple identities that contribute to her films.  She sites an example that illustrates how she deals with alterity.  When she begins a documentary, she claims that she has no preconceived notion about where the film will end up.  Minh-ha talks about the freedom of structure in her films as the trait that provokes the most reactions.  Reassemblage has been critiqued because the freedom could allow the film to be made anywhere.  Regarding this, she says, “Well then, I would have to say ‘no,’ because each film generates its own bodyscape—as related to specific places, movements, events and peoples—which cannot be reproduced elsewhere.”  The previous statement, coupled with the claim of going into the film with a clear slate is far more relativistic than the product of Reassemblage.  The refined narration in Reassemblage shows us that she did, in fact, have predisposed notions about the relationship between the East and the West before beginning the movie.  Thus, the preconceived notions of how the film will progress should not be confused with her particular gaze as filmmaker, which she does not deny.

            When filming, Minh-ha usually takes multiple shots of scenes that catch her eye.  When she has the camera, Minh-ha notices that she is able to show a “smoothness of the gesture,” which is why she usually uses the first footage that she takes, so that the response of the subject hasn’t had the chance to refine itself.3 It is reassuring to hear this because the audience’s unfamiliarity with the subject, if this is true, is also a mirror of terrain that Minh-ha is not familiar with. 

            This furthers Minh-ha’s paradox.  The greater conflict lies within the avoidance of alterity, because Reassemblage becomes a work obsessed with the idea of the other; in fact, it relies on the other as much as the traditional ethnographies do.  Only difference, albeit a dramatic one, is that Minh-ha is congnizant of her position as both an outsider and an insider, an indefinable position where she isn’t able to complete either role. 

            Reassemblage, at once, is a film about the feeling of being an observer and a participant in rural Africa, of self-reflective and scholarly observations about the role of ethnography on the rural women of Senegal.  We are constantly being asked, what good has ethnography done for Senegal?  Have ethnographies helped Senegal appreciate Senegal, or have ethnographies helped Euro-America reinvent itself?  The identity crisis of the West is well defined in Minh-ha’s essay, Not You/Like You, as “usually a search for the lost, pure, true, real, genuine, original, authentic self, often situated within a process of elimination of all that is considered other, superfluous, fake, corrupted, or Westernized.”  In other words, as Kirk Hoppe asks in his critique of the West’s role in ethnographic films, “Whose history is being created?”  Hoppe sees the same troubles with ethnography as Minh-ha.  He sees the traditional alterity in ethnographies as insecurity on the part of the filmmaker—where the filmmaker goes into the project looking for something, where inevitably what is being sought—most likely a primitive, true sense of his/herself—will be found (624). 

            When this happens, due to a consciousness often hidden from the audience, the ethnography shifts to a performative mode where the subject understands the goals of the ethnographer and understands how to act to use the film for their means.  For example, Hoppe mentions that the common inquiry of ethnographies, “what happened to you during your life?,” carries with it the baggage of years of Christian missions, where for a similar purpose to ethnographies, the word “life” came to mean struggle, drama, and even the absences of Western rights (630): a word and question intended to mask the motivations of alterity, intended to inflect a specific emotion.  The invisibility of the implications of the question and the word harbor the deception of the ethnographer.

            This three-part deception, of the ethnographer on the “other,” of the “other” back on the ethnographer, and finally the ethnographer on the audience, is cyclical, all parts relying on the other.  However, the burden is on the filmmaker/ethnographer to adjust the balance of the relationship that exists with the audience and the “other.”  Minh-ha, speaking of Euro-American ethnographers, says, “the conceited giver likes to give with the understanding that he is in a position to take back whenever he feels like it and whenever the acceptor dares or happens to trespass on his preserves.”4

            It would be impossible for Reassemblage to avoid this controversy and the imbalance of the filmmaker with the audience and the other; perhaps this is why no attempt is made to do so.  Subjectivity is never hidden, given the films essayistic qualities, yet Minh-ha does have a socioeconomic background that allows Reassemblage rights that many other ethnographies don’t have.  As a woman born in a third world country making a film about women in another third world country, there opens up an opportunity for the filmmaker to have an insider’s perspective as well as an insider’s respect, while at the same time keeping distance that comes when one is an observer.5 For this reason, Reassemblage’s bend is obvious, therefore revealing it’s subjective nature, a documentary blurred between auto- and traditional ethnographies. 

            This newly defined position, which Minh-ha calls the “inappropriate other,” is the development that Reassemblage attempts and is the change that the critics of the Western gaze call for.  The “inappropriate other” has an obligation to a sense of selflessness, where through a consciousness of the duality of the “I,” the conceited giver who is the traditional ethnographer can break the pattern of deception. 

            The aesthetic of Reasseblage again needs to be examined.  The mixing of the ugly and the beautiful seems to serve a purpose synonymous with Trinh T. Minh-ha as a film maker, where the contrast of perspectives creates the effect of deconstructing notions of what is and is not beautiful.  Consistent with the mission of post structuralism, Minh-ha invites the audience to question, then question again the polarity of the ugly and the beautiful, east and west, feminine and masculine, and the alterity these dualisms rely on.  

            The inflection at the end of the film is purposefully inconclusive.  The feedback loop between the viewer and the documentary is not one where the Western audience feels good, however, there is a heightened awareness of the self, the individual’s role in the relationship between the East and West, between masculinity and femininity.  Reassemblage is an attempt at anti-propaganda, so the viewer is not trapped into the inaction of reaffirming the already dominant belief structure.  

  

 

Bibliography—

Hoppe, Kirk.  Whose Life is it Anyways?  The Journal of African Historical Studies.  Vol. 26, No. 3 (1993), 623-636.

            http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0361-7882%281993%2926%3A3%3C623%3AWLIIAI%3E2.0.CO%3B2-J

 

Minh-ha, Trinh T.  Not You/Like You. Feminism and the Critique of Colonial Discourse, 1998. http://humwww.ucsc.edu/CultStudies/PUBS/Inscriptions/vol_3-4/minh-ha.html

 

Minh-ha, Trinh-T.  When The Eye Frames Red. [Berkeley October 8th, 1998]

http://www.ntticc.or.jp/pub/ic_mag/ic028/html/136e.html

            Note: in the essay I refer to this piece as an essay; it is, however, an interview.

 

Minh-ha, Trinh-T.  Interviewer Interviewed: A Discussion With Trinh T. Minh-ha.  1993.

http://pages.emerson.edu/organizations/fas/latent_image/issues/1993-12/print_version/trinh.htm

 

 



1 From Not You/Like You

2 Not You/Like You

3 When The Eye Frames Red

4 Not You/Like You
5 Not You/Like You