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Introduction: Corruption and Cinema

Christophe Gelly

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  • 1 Lee Grieveson, Policing Cinema: Movies and Censorship in Early-Twentieth-Century America (Berkeley: (...)

1 The history of cinema is steeped in the social and political circumstances of its emergence at the dawn of the 20th century. Born in France at the very end of the 19th century, and entering a mode of exploitation as an attraction rather than as an art, as André Gaudreault showed, it grew into an industry in California where it soon became associated with a disregard for social and moral norms… until censorship and the Hays Code came to regulate productions, bidding on the conservative reaction to what looked like tolerance in excess. This association is of course not innate and has much to do with historical and artistic conditions, particularly the popularity of the new art that seemed to make possible any bold venture into unexplored territory, as Damien Chazelle’s Babylon (2022) documents. Lee Grieveson explains why cinema was so often seen as a source of concern for moral guardians from 1905 onwards, through three main reasons: it was a mass entertainment, attracting a mass audience with low costs of admission; it is a medium based on mimetic representation, hence more likely to spur a desire for imitation of questionable behavior in its audiences; and it emerged at a period when the concern for the collapse of social cohesion was at a climax, in the wake of growing industrialization and urbanization1. The second point in this argument is particularly enlightening because it stresses the danger and corruption triggered by a specificity of the new medium, i.e. a new kind of realism practiced in cinema — an element that was also at the basis of the early film theory by Siegfried Kracauer.

  • 2 Ibid.

[E]xperiences at moving pictures in nickelodeons were regarded as particularly dangerous, principally because of the realism of moving pictures, because images were seen to be linked closely to imitative responses from “suggestible” audiences […].2

Thus, the backlash which came with the Hays Code tells us a lot about the specificity of this relation between cinema, corruption and the social and moral norms this corruption endangers. Cinema, as an art of the real, fashions its production out of a material — the profilmic — that is not so remote from everyday reality (at least before the advent of digital cinema — see Gaudreault and Marion) as what it is in other arts, except photography. This privileged relationship to the real is what can account for its social impact and the frequent endeavors to restrict its freedom.

  • 3 Maud Desmet, Confessions du cadavre – Autopsie et figure du mort dans les séries et films policiers(...)

2This relationship naturally suggests that the topic of cinema and corruption conjures up perspectives related to the political role of the medium and its production and distribution context. Corruption thus appears as an economical phenomenon taking place in Hollywood studios for instance, and more largely in the cinema industry. This makes a political reading of the theme possible. Whether in fictional cinema, which sometimes treats corruption as the main issue, as in Francis Ford Coppola’s Godfather trilogy (1972-1990) or in the House of Cards series (Beau Willimon, 2013-2018), or in documentary cinema, with the example of Michael Moore’s films, the relevance of cinematic representation often lies in the way in which the processes of prevarication are dissected. In other political contexts in Europe and in North Africa, the theme of corruption can also be at the heart of nonfiction films, as in Alexandre Nanau’s Colectiv (2019), Leonardo di Costanzo’s Prove di stato (1999) or Malik Bensmail’s approach with Contre-pouvoirs (2015). The elaboration of scenarios directly or implicitly linked to historical events (one thinks of All the President’s Men [Alan J. Pakula, 1976], inspired by the Watergate scandal) stands as a commentary on the role of the media but also, in a reflexive way, as a discourse on the role of cinema in contemporary democracies. This reading of corruption in cinema can be extended beyond politics to “social” cinema dealing with issues of acceptance of or resistance to social segregation, as in the work of Ken Loach or Brazilian director Glauber Rocha, for instance. It is the corruption of an ideal of the human community that is at stake here. Examples could be taken from a variety of films — for instance, Picnic at Hanging Rock (Peter Weir, 1975), an Australian production, stages the unexplained disappearance of a group of students, which is implicitly related to the corruption of the private school community they live in. The way cinematic production comments on social classes (take for instance the whole 1960s movement of Free Cinema in the UK) or on race issues (from Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, Stanley Kramer, 1967, to Get Out, Jordan Peele, 2017) illustrates the direct impact of film discourse on social reality. This phenomenon originates, again, in the fact that the cinematic medium, consisting of images of reality, also shapes that reality in a specific way, which may constitute a danger for some critics — the danger of social reproduction. This was the reason why the silent era “fallen woman” cycle in 1920s Hollywood triggered such scathing critiques, lest the immorality depicted on the big screen should inspire real women with the desire to imitate fictional depravity. One could quote other examples, from the gangster films in the 1930s (or today’s crime films analyzed by Maud Desmet3) to the 1920s films about filmmaking (like The Cameraman, Edward Sedgwick and Buster Keaton, 1928), which all problematize the relationship of the filmic medium to reality and the potential influence of the former over the latter.

3 But the danger of mimetic reproduction of the cinematic spectacle by the audience is only part of the connection we can identify with corruption. In this first sense, cinema as conveying a questionable content is liable to shed a favorable, glamorous light on socially subversive behavior — but this is purely dependent on the influence of cinema on social reality. The reverse influence is also observable (and equally problematic, to some) when one considers that the part played by material reality in cinema endangers its status as an artistic endeavor. The closeness with the profilmic, and the “derivative” relationship between material reality and cinema, even in fiction films, is a phenomenon that is hardly met in any other type of art except photography again, as Kracauer pointed out. In short, reality is the stuff cinema is “made of,” and this proximity, to many critics at an early stage of development of the medium, testifies to its impure, corrupt nature as an art — the idea behind this being that art must evince at least some measure of autonomy from the real to justify its own aesthetic quality. One may trace the origin of this idea in Walter Benjamin’s famous essay, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” which examines the impact of capitalism on the role of art in society, and concludes that art has gradually lost part of its “auratic” quality through its inclusion in a commercial circuit, and due to the impossibility to retrieve the authenticity of the original work in the copy.

  • 4 Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations, ed. Han (...)

Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be. This unique existence of the work of art determined the history to which it was subject throughout the time of its existence. This includes the changes which it may have suffered in physical condition over the years as well as the various changes in its ownership. The traces of the first can be revealed only by chemical or physical analyzes which it is impossible to perform on a reproduction; changes of ownership are subject to a tradition which must be traced from the situation of the original.4

A similar reasoning may be held regarding the relation between cinema and its corruption by the real, or by the materialistic dimension that is innately present in cinematic representation. The proximity with this dimension of reality in cinematic representation, and the reproduction of this reality through audio-visual representation, empties this reality of its uniqueness, and reduces it to a medium for storytelling, without aesthetic autonomy. Cinema is both too close to reality (hence unsuitable for purely artistic purposes, which need more disconnection from the mundane realm) and unfaithful to auratic reality, which it reduces to a commodity to be peddled through a purely mercantile perspective.

4 Of course, this vision is only one side of the medal, and one could easily question such a rejection of the medium as corrupt on the basis of its connection to the profilmic — for instance, cinema as a material medium also evinces the same propensity to physical degradation (of film reel) as, for instance, the paintings Walter Benjamin has in mind. But the two blames hurled at the cinematic medium in the early days can help us to understand the specific relation between cinema and corruption more thoroughly. As a medium anchored in mimetic representation and entertaining a direct connection with its referent — profilmic images, after all, testify to the reality of their subject at some time in front of the camera —, cinema problematizes the relation between art and material reality, in terms of separation, unwilling connection, or acknowledged sourcing. Whatever the perspective we choose to take, the relation between corruption and cinema lies in this awkward dealing of the artistic and the mundane, of the narrative and documentary purposes, and of a creative and mimetic quality in the medium. However, these are not necessarily mutually exclusive qualities, and one may consider that the privileged relation to the real in cinema is part of a specificity that works towards a greater artistic, and not only referential, impact. In this perspective, the potentially corrupt influence of reality on cinema can turn into enhanced emotional effect. This is the type of analysis suggested by Roland Barthes’s essay on photography, which stresses the particular emotional value (or punctum) a photography may convey precisely because of the intrinsic connection between reality and representation, and because reality enters the photographic representation despite or regardless of the artist’s initial project.

  • 5 Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida, translated by Richard Howard (New York: Hill and Wang, 1981 [1980]), (...)

This punctum, more or less blurred beneath the abundance and the disparity of contemporary photographs, is vividly legible in historical photographs: there is always a defeat of Time in them: that is dead and that is going to die. These two little girls looking at a primitive airplane above their village (they are dressed like my mother as a child, they are playing with hoops)—how alive they are! They have their whole lives before them; but also they are dead (today), they are then already dead (yesterday). At the limit, there is no need to represent a body in order for me to experience this vertigo of time defeated. In 1850, August Salzmann photographed, near Jerusalem, the road to Beith-Lehem (as it was spelled at the time): nothing but stony ground, olive trees; but three tenses dizzy my consciousness: my present, the time of Jesus, and that of the photographer, all this under the instance of “reality” — and no longer through the elaborations of the text, whether fictional or poetic, which itself is never credible down to the root.5

The conjunction of several temporalities is understood by Barthes as a specificity (or noeme) of the medium which stems from its referentiality and the various modes of approach the viewer can adopt towards it.

  • 6 Barthes, Camera Lucida, 36.

Discourse combines signs which have referents, of course, but these referents can be and are most often “chimeras.” Contrary to these imitations, in Photography I can never deny that the thing has been there. There is a superimposition here: of reality and of the past. And since this constraint exists only for Photography, we must consider it, by reduction, as the very essence, the noeme of Photography. What I intentionalize in a photograph (we are not yet speaking of film) is neither Art nor Communication, it is Reference, which is the founding order of Photography.6

Although Barthes refrains from extending his analysis to cinema, one may do so and suggest that the presence of the real in this medium (what he calls the “Reference”) similarly represents not a flaw or a source of artistic corruption but an “added value” to the medium itself. Hence the necessity to problematize the notion of corruption in the context of a deeply ambivalent critical discourse — viewing the representational specificity of cinema both as a limitation and an opening towards greater emotional power.

5This ambivalence is a starting point to examine the various declensions and readings of corruption in relation to the cinematic medium. As an art of reality, in direct contact with the profilmic, fictional film is also built on the desire to achieve artistic status through a certain detachment from a discourse directly linked to reality. Therein lies the ambivalent status of the medium which accounts for its versatile, privileged relationship to reality. This relationship not only corrupts the essence of cinema as a medium susceptible of an aesthetic approach but opens it towards a revaluation of “the Reference” in a renewed, aesthetic discourse. Apart from this revaluation, cinema can also exploit its relationship to reality as a physical artefact. The cinematographic medium can thus appear as particularly subject to degradation in its material incarnation, and this quality opens potentialities for aesthetic treatments of corruption, as Martine Beugnet points out through her distinction between figurative and experimental cinema, the latter engaging with a deconstruction — a corruption — of the material quality of images.

Dans le cinéma classique, regarder un film, c’est distinguer des formes humaines (des personnages) et des objets tels qu’ils apparaissent dans l’espace de la représentation, éléments à la fois distincts et déjà codifiés du récit filmique que le spectateur appréhende de son point de vue d’observateur omniscient. Un cinéma de la sensation joue au contraire sur les qualités matérielles du médium pour construire un espace déhiérarchisé où peuvent se former des relations d’intimité et de proximité entre spectateur et objet du regard. (56)

We may thus reconsider the corruption of the filmic material in a new way as a potential for aesthetic creation. Many early films were lost or irretrievably deteriorated, which places a whole part of the medium’s history beyond our reach. This fragile nature of the filmic medium is certainly not an exception among the arts as a whole, but it places cinema at the crossroads between a purely “auratic” art, and an art conceived with an entirely reproducible medium. At least in the early days of cinema, this corruption of the medium led to the fragility of the works. These damaged works (which have not all disappeared) have been reintegrated by some filmmakers into their films constructed from incomplete or deteriorated film stock, as in Bill Morrison’s short film Who By Water (2007). The advent of digital technology seems to have detached cinema from this threat of corruption, but it has also opened up another equally problematic avenue, that of the falsification of the work used for purposes contrary to those intended by the original. The notion of corruption of a primary discourse should also be considered more broadly, following the work of Gaudreault and Marion, in the context of the inflections that the transition to digital technology is causing the medium to undergo by further obscuring the relationship to the profilmic.

6Expanding on this approach that examines the possibilities of dealing with corruption in the form of the filmic medium, the question of purity as the antonym of corruption is also clearly at stake. We know that this question of purity is at the heart of Bazin’s discussion on the ontology of cinematographic art in the 1950s — a complex question which also relates to the issue of genres, as Janet Staiger showed. The concept of purity introduces a variation of this question on the identity of cinema through the approach of what “corrupts” cinema considered as pure art: the presence of other arts, the influence of source texts in the case of filmic adaptations, or the forms of discourse inherited from other media (as in the case of filmed theatre). Bazin considers that the practice of adaptation, far from being a sign of cinema’s indebtedness and dependence on other arts, testifies to the autonomy of its aesthetic and semantic system.

  • 7 André Bazin, “In Defense of Mixed Cinema,” in What Is Cinema? 1, translated by Hugh Gray (Berkeley: (...)

If the cinema today is capable of effectively taking on the realm of the novel and the theater, it is primarily because it is sure enough of itself and master enough of its means so that it no longer need assert itself in the process. That is to say it can now aspire to fidelity — not the illusory fidelity of a replica — through an intimate understanding of its own true aesthetic structure which is a prerequisite and necessary condition of respect for the works it is about to make its own. The multiplication of adaptations of literary works which are far from cinematic need not disturb the critic who is concerned about the purity of the seventh art; on the contrary, they are the guarantee of its progress.7

We may indeed question what would make cinema an uncorrupted or pure art, detached from modes of representation inherited from the artistic and media “heritage.” Bazin’s reading of the hybridity of the medium does not presuppose a hierarchical approach to modes of representation, but rather a diachronic reading of the relationship between cinema and that which is not cinema (other arts or other modes of conveying meaning, such as borrowings from advertising, e.g.) and which has threatened, or still threatens, to “corrupt” an immanent cinematographic quality that is perhaps theoretical.

The concept of pure art — pure poetry, pure painting, and so on — is not entirely without meaning; but it refers to an aesthetic reality as difficult to define as it is to combat. (ibid, 60)

This approach of purity is certainly topical at a time when the filmic medium is constantly confronted with other media or other modes of communication and dissemination (since the digital revolution) with which it competes at least in part. Digital cinema has caused an evolution in the relation to the profilmic as anchored in the real, and suggests a reconsideration of the very form of the medium in this respect.

7The theme of corruption also refers, in a second thematic and formal approach, to the question of cinema as an art linked to the body, and as working on the image of bodies. Thus, the corruption of the human body can be the subject of cinematographic work, taking its cue from the technique of chronophotography, which in the 19th century consisted in reproducing the image of a movement by a series of shots taken during the different stages of this movement. Lefait and Ortoli take up this example to illustrate their conception of “cinematic bastardy” as the association of disparate objects and techniques mingled in a necessarily hybrid form.

  • 8 Sébastien Lefait, and Philippe Ortoli, “Introduction,” in In Praise of Cinematic Bastardy, ed. Séba (...)

From [our] perspective, the art of film can be considered to implement a form of experimental bastardy, and to bear the traces of the process in its own productions. For instance, in the pre-history of film, Muybridge or Marey, after decomposing movements thanks to photography, used a zoetrope — one of those sophisticated toys described by Baudelaire — to prove their intuition by re-assembling what they had divided. Their procedure foreshadowed the invention of cinematography, the mongrelized product of scientific experimentation, leisure activities, and the obsession for visual testimony.8

This fragmentation of the human body opens whole new vistas onto the figuration and formal manifestation of corruption on screen. Certain filmmakers such as David Cronenberg (notably in The Fly, 1986) can be particularly sensitive to this problem of the body and its degradation, but this is of course also the case for a whole film genre, that of horror. Time is also to be considered since it is directly linked to the degradation of bodies which is implied in the concept of corruption. In this perspective, the relationship between the corruption of bodies as represented on screen and the treatment of time as a vector of degradation of bodies appears as essential. Once again, it is the relationship of the medium to reality that is at stake here. Finally, a third declension of this theme relates to the treatment of the moral theme in cinema. This is of course too broad a theme to be addressed in its entirety, and the analysis needs to refocus on a body of works that allows us to highlight the ambiguity of moral standards. A film like Taxi Driver (Martin Scorsese, 1976) could serve as an example of this reading of moral corruption, in the sense that it depicts the intransigence of the main character, Travis Bickle, as the reflection of a paranoid personality grappling with a society that seems to have lost all moral reference points and has turned into a world where debauchery rules. Conversely, another example like Brief Encounter (David Lean, 1945), staging the temptation of a married woman, could point out the resistance to unfaithfulness and corruption, despite the sacrifice and self-denial this implies. But it is the difficulty of distinguishing between good and evil that predominates in this treatment of corruption and invalidates any simplistic interpretation, so that the subject of moral corruption is here related to a more general reading of the degradation of human relationships. These variations of the subject, although not comprehensive, reveal the formal and thematic variety of corruption and suggest an open and multiple approach to the notion.

8The following essays approach corruption in its many-sided aspects through both a formal and thematic perspective. The topic of hybridity, closely related to the notion as we saw, is first examined through the way genres are present as references necessary to the full apprehension of films but never entirely welded into their structure. Cristelle Maury thus shows how Debra Granik’s independent rural film noir Winter’s Bone (2010) deconstructs the noir archetypes to reinvest the field of domesticity and emotions so as to articulate a feminist critique of action genres and neo-liberal patriarchal capitalism. Amira McGivney proposes a reading of Robert Eggers’s The Witch (2015) that foregrounds an ecofeminist perspective with elements drawn from the surrealist and naturalist worlds reshaping the fantastic genre and suggesting a new treatment of corruption as a topic. Nicole Cloarec comments on two films (Berberian Sound Studio [Peter Strickland, 2012] and Censor [Prano Bailey-Bond, 2021]) which stage the corrupting influence for two characters of having to watch horror films repeatedly, and addresses the formal issues involved in the pastiche of (corrupting) the horror genre and the influence that it can exert on its audience. Vincent Jaunas examines the superhero movies referred to in M. Night Shyamalan’s Split (2016) and develops an analysis of the ambivalent morality manifest when considering the corruption of mind and body staged in the film as an ethical reflection on corruption leading to greatness, in a Nietzschean perspective. The political and social scope of cinema is then tackled in a second part through a consideration of the context of production, distribution and reception of films. Hadrien Fontanaud examines how an anthology episode, Alan Clarke’s Penda’s Fen (1974), negotiates issues of identity related to religion and national ideals and shows how the concept of purity acts as an obstacle towards a greater creative drive that allows the main character — a teenager struggling with a certain kind of fanaticism — to understand his own self in a better way. Tricia Jenkins examines how the US government-entertainment complex corrupts the truth, enforcing an ideological and self-serving perspective by revising the screenplays and influencing the production of films it participates in. Raphaëlle Costa de Beauregard dissects the mechanisms of corruption at two levels by studying how Stanley Kubrick’s heist film noir The Killing (1956) not only stages a corruption of the rules of race-track bets but also suggests a handling of time itself by the characters which points to a desire for control that holds its own part of the corrupting influence at work in the whole plot. Dominique Sipière analyses various films by Ernst Lubitsch, to show how corruption is dealt with, i.e. as a way to defeat repression and reach self-fulfilment beyond social control, and through the distance that humor allows. The essential topic of bodies and their representation constitutes a third chapter that deals with the interaction between generic determination and auteurist specificities. Guilhem Billaudel reads two films dealing with life in outer space (High Life by Claire Denis [2018] and The Martian by Ridley Scott [2015]) and examines how the image of human bodies represents corruption and impurity, although the two works constantly redefine this relationship and the complex interactions it involves. Using the theoretical tools of iconology, Pablo Cabeza focuses on the question of character overhaul in three TV series (Sliders, Angel, and Doctor Who) and shows how this device involves material corruption and a redefinition of the image of characters’ bodies. Anne-Marie Paquet-Deyris analyses a series of films from the “fallen woman” cycle produced in the 1920s and 1930s and argues that the loose morals associated to corruption are necessarily linked to the emancipation of women and to the liberation of their bodies, in a constantly ambiguous negotiation between empowerment and exploitation of female characters. Finally, contributors study the crucial question of form in its relationships to the concept of corruption, a question which is intrinsic to cinematographic art itself in its relation to material reality. Against film obsolescence, Patrick Adamson thus examines the Fractured Flickers 1960s comedy series and its practice of re-purposing older silent films from the 1920s as an example of a play with form that aims both at corrupting and preserving the original material. Martine Beugnet’s study focuses on the corruption of the very material of film reel and extends her analysis to the metanarrative level of film form to point out that corruption is both a transgressive and a creative force that characterizes the whole filmic medium. Argyrios Keleris analyses Todd Haynes’s Superstar: The Karen Carpenter’s Story (1987) and its experimental devices consisting in using dolls to represent characters through a plot centered on material degradation, suggesting that these devices manage to establish the conditions for an auratic experience, according to Walter Benjamin’s definition, and revealing the political and social significance of the film. The variety and the scope of the interpretations collected here confirm that the question of corruption resonates strongly in the field of film studies, both in terms of contents, form and theory. We can only hope this issue may open a path towards further works that will integrate and develop some of the perspectives proposed here.

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Bibliography

Barthes, Roland. Camera Lucida. translated by Richard Howard. New York: Hill and Wang, 1981 [1980].

Bazin, André. “In Defense of Mixed Cinema.” In What Is Cinema? 1. Translated by Hugh Gray, 53-74. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005 [1967].

Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” In Illuminations,

edited by Hannah Arendt, translated by Harry Zohn, 217-251. New York: Schocken Books, 1969 [1935].

Beugnet, Martine. « La Forme et l’informe : de la dissolution du corps à l’écran. » In Images des corps / Corps des images au cinéma, edited by Jérôme Game, 49-68. Lyon : ENS éditions, 2019.

Desmet, Maud. Confessions du cadavre, autopsie et figure du mort dans les séries et films policiers. Aix-En-Provence : Rouge Profond, 2016.

Gaudreault, André. Cinéma et attraction : Pour une nouvelle histoire du cinéma. Paris : CNRS Éditions, 2008.

Gaudreault, André and Philippe Marion. The End of Cinema? A Medium in Crisis in the Digital Age. New York: Columbia University Press, 2015.

Grieveson, Lee. Policing Cinema: Movies and Censorship in Early-Twentieth-Century America. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004.

Kracauer, Siegfried. Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality. Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1960.

Lefait, Sébastien, and Philippe Ortoli, eds. In Praise of Cinematic Bastardy. Newcastle Upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012.

Staiger, Janet. “Hybrid or Inbred: The Purity Hypothesis and Hollywood Genre History.” Film Criticism 22, no. 1 (Fall, 1997): 5-20.

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Notes

1 Lee Grieveson, Policing Cinema: Movies and Censorship in Early-Twentieth-Century America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 13-14.

2 Ibid.

3 Maud Desmet, Confessions du cadavre – Autopsie et figure du mort dans les séries et films policiers (Aix-En-Provence : Rouge Profond, 2016).

4 Walter Benjamin, “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction,” in Illuminations, ed. Hannah Arendt, translated by Harry Zohn (New York: Schocken Books, 1969 [1935]), 220.

5 Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida, translated by Richard Howard (New York: Hill and Wang, 1981 [1980]), 47.

6 Barthes, Camera Lucida, 36.

7 André Bazin, “In Defense of Mixed Cinema,” in What Is Cinema? 1, translated by Hugh Gray (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005 [1967]), 69-70.

8 Sébastien Lefait, and Philippe Ortoli, “Introduction,” in In Praise of Cinematic Bastardy, ed. Sébastien Lefait and Philippe Ortoli (Newcastle Upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012), 3.

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References

Electronic reference

Christophe Gelly, Introduction: Corruption and CinemaFilm journal [Online], 10 | 2024, Online since 01 December 2024, connection on 08 July 2025. URL: http://journals.openedition.org/filmj/789; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/130u0

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