|
The following
is from 312 No. 2, February 2005 [Download
Publication in .PDF format]:
Playing
Narrative Games
In “Untitled
(white chairs)”, Andrea Rettig accumulates a multitude of
narratives around an everyday pair of chairs. As in the title,
the chairs seem to be the only certainty in the video—a
chair is the first thing I see, and the two chairs figure prominently
over the next three and a half minutes. Everything else in the
video feels far more ambiguous: the figures, two men and a woman,
seem dressed for a funeral, and the setting is a generic, but
ominous, urban concrete space with sketchy flickering lights.
As with the rest of the title, the figures and the place are (mostly)
undefined by choice.
As a result,
what actually happens onscreen is largely up to the viewer’s
interpretation of events. Extremely still images scroll by, suggesting
a static film noir parade. A few instances of motion reveal that
the images are actually pieces of video footage slowed down. In
each piece, everything is reorganized—the woman and a toppled
chair are on the ground with the men gazing at her from the back;
now a man is on the ground with the other one hovering over him,
the woman gazing into the distance, indifferent…
Each image
presents me with a new hint of a story. What have the men done
to the woman? Has someone fallen or been pushed? What are the
figures so often gazing at down below? Nothing about these figures
seems certain. The images are not arranged in an order
that allows me to form a coherent plot. Rather than a sequence
of events, Rettig provides me with a series of possibilities,
with each image acting as a suggestion. I’m allowed to tell
myself what is happening, even if it is uncertain.
It would
seem that the uncertainty itself is where all the action is. Narratives
immediately come to mind as soon as I see a particular arrangement
of the figures. Watching the video becomes a bit of a narrative
game for me. Soon, I start to question why I think what I do.
Why does violence come to mind when none is visible? Why am I
troubled more by the appearance of the woman on the ground than
either of the men? Is it the suggestion of film noir or the ghostly
machine-music soundtrack that makes me prone to these off-putting
thoughts? Most concerning for me is that so many of the narratives
that arise seem to come from elsewhere, as though I’ve seen
or heard something similar on television, the news, or in a book.
Rettig’s figures tap into archetypes and tales tucked away
in the corners of my dusty skull. She opens the door to the unconscious
a mere crack, but it comes crashing into the room regardless.
Even the chairs start to take on an uncanny quality suggesting
something more than stage props. Occasionally, they lie upon the
ground, echoing the human figures in a complex web of narratives.
I find it
impossible to be sure of everything going on in “Untitled
(white chairs)” as nothing seems fixed. That makes me even
more intrigued by the possibilities in the video, compelling me
to watch it over and over again. Instead of a firm story that
I passively accept and move on from, Rettig gives me a puzzle
or brain teaser of sorts. In response, I move to fill in the gaps,
to attempt to define the unclear (despite the inherent impossibilities
of such a task), and to reassess my initial assumptions. I may
not be certain, but I’m certainly engaged.
Mark Prier.
|
