each of these aspects of Geertz’s definition be found in the religion of film? First of all, films do provide a set of symbols, both visual and narrative, which act to mediate worldviews as well as systems of values—and in accordance with Geertz’s second point, these establish both certain moods (e.g., of reassurance or hope) as well as motivations (e.g., to “do the right thing,” to be true to yourself, or to love your family). When films are called modern “myths,” I take this (in part) to refer to a set of stories that represent the two functions Geertz calls “models of” and “models for” reality. (In the following chapter, the concept of myth and its applicability to film will be examined in greater detail.) That film narratives act this way should be clear: the world is claimed to be a certain way, and it is simultaneously claimed that it should be that way. The world is believed to be a place where good conquers evil, for example, as it tends to in all but the darkest of motion pictures (at least, those made in Hollywood). And if films do diverge from this convention, audiences may find themselves annoyed and even upset.
As one example of this, when I showed Woody Allen’s Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989) to one of my classes, most of the students seemed to think that Allen was somehow saying that Dr. Judah Rosenthal (played by Martin Landau) deserves to get away with murder because he is never caught and even overcomes the tortures of his own conscience for having arranged the death of his mistress. They were incensed that Allen should make a film showing the wicked going unpunished, even though Allen’s point (as I took it) was not that this is the way things should be but rather that this is the way things are. Allen presumably wanted audiences to reflect on the lack of justice in the world and how this creates an existential situation in which people must choose good or evil even though it appears that good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. I was surprised that my class seemed so reluctant to accept this viewpoint, supported as it is by common sense. The worldview they expect to see in films, however, is one that reassures them that justice will be served—even if life experience contradicts this. The models of and for reality that Allen proposed were neither the ones they were accustomed to seeing in films nor ones they particularly wanted to see.
This clearly relates also to the third aspect of Geertz’s definition: religions formulate conceptions of a general order of existence that include the attempt to deal with experiences of chaos—the uncanny, pain and suffering, and injustice or evil. Most people go to the movies claiming the need to “escape” from their daily lives, but to what do they escape? The world presented by most films tends to be neater, more orderly, and has satisfactory endings (usually) in which vice is punished and virtue rewarded, families are reunited, and lovers mate for life. Although the narratives can introduce considerable conflict and tension, it tends to be resolved within the time limit prescribed by the filmgoing experience. However bad the situation of the characters may be at various points in the story, by the end, all will be tidy, and we will be reassured that all is well with the world. This does not mean that every film invokes a banal “happy ending,” as not everything may work out perfectly for all the characters in every respect. But as Geertz said about religion, it can provide a sense that justice and order exist, even though particular events remain unexplained or seem unfair. There are films that are exceptions to this, such as art-house or avant-garde films, but these do not tend to be the films with the largest audiences or box-office success. Such films might still be considered “religious” for the intelligentsia that enjoys them in that they display worldviews and systems of values (just as atheistic existentialism might be considered a religion), but I will not focus on them in this book, as they do not tend to demonstrate larger cultural trends or influence. Nonetheless, I will sometimes contrast films that have been less popular with those that have succeeded better at the box office in order to point out what mythologies and values resonate best with a particular culture: the most popular films are accepted by the largest group of people as representative both of how reality should be and how it actually is.
This brings us to the fourth aspect of Geertz’s definition of religion: the aura of factuality provided through the ritualization of the mythic worldview and its values. Some may claim that there can be no religious ritual involved in film viewing, as it need not be communal and does not require the viewer to participate in the same way as in a religious service. However, I would claim that this view of filmgoers as passive receptacles, doing nothing but imbibing the film’s values in isolation from one another, is a remnant of the discredited “hypodermic needle” model of cinema propounded by the mass-culture theorists—according to which filmgoers were “injected” with the ideology of the filmmakers in the theater and their response could only be that of unquestioning acceptance.32 In fact, filmgoers are very involved in their own appropriation of a film, and they do not passively accept whatever it says. They are often highly critical and spend much time discussing films before, during, and after the viewing. People are especially involved in the film while viewing it, whether they are screaming in a horror movie, laughing in a comedy, or applauding the hero at a key moment. This is one reason people still go to the movies instead of just renting a movie at home: it creates an “aura of factuality,” to use Geertz’s term, a sense of reality in a darkened room with an enlarged screen that encompasses all attention. Furthermore, a good audience can make a difference in how well one likes the movie—whether they laugh, cry, scream, or applaud enough to invite one to join in the communal experience of enjoying the film.
Geertz himself does not seem to see how Western popular cultural experiences might have the sort of ritual dimension he depicts as part of Balinese religion. He notes that the Balinese drama, because of its participatory aspect, is more “like a high mass, not like a presentation of Murder in the Cathedral,” which presumably does not invite the audience to join in.33 But popular films do often invite audience participation—more than live theatrical performances like Murder in the Cathedral in some ways, though (oddly enough) the film actors are not “there” to appreciate it. (Perhaps films even invite more audience participation precisely because audiences don’t need to fear upsetting the actors by their heckling!) Had Geertz done an ethnographic study of a midnight showing of the film The Rocky Horror Picture Show, for example, he might have had some appreciation for the ways in which Western popular culture creates the sort of ritual experience that the Balinese have in their religious drama. As the audience flick their lighters on, throw toast at the screen, or respond verbally to the cues in the film, they become part of the story. This no doubt explains also why people would go to the film over and over again, as if to a church service, for this ritual experience. In fact, filmgoers routinely go multiple times to a film they like and may purchase the film to watch over and over again.34 The experience of watching the film on video is often communal, too, as friends are invited over, popcorn is made, and a discussion of the film surrounds its viewing. Many people memorize dialogue from movies that they can repeat with their friends as a sort of “in-joke” that defines their own groups. Clearly, the communal nature of film viewing and its ritual aspects are linked.35
More ethnographic study needs to be done on the ways films are experienced, as the tendency in scholarship until relatively recently was to treat the film as a “text” in need of interpretation rather than describing the event of film viewing and its attendant symbolisms. Films are understood and interpreted and therefore have meaning only in the context of their actual viewing. Instead of pretending we understand the meaning of a film because we have watched it ourselves and intellectually analyzed its meaning for us, we need to allow for the possibility that to understand the meaning of the film involves understanding how the average viewer sees it, what she liked about it, and perhaps even where she saw it, why, and with whom. Only by answering these sorts of questions can we have any idea of what the film might represent to those who have seen it. This sort of research is elaborate and time-consuming, so there is less of it available than we might wish, but new tools such as online viewer comments have given a source of considerable data that did not exist even a few years ago.
Geertz’s fifth point reinforces the idea that religious rituals create a sense of reality that points to a different way of viewing the world from that provided by ordinary experience. Although people clearly know that films are not “real” in the commonsensical meaning of the term, the films take on the dimension of reality within the
