Filmic Architecture: Thesis-Anthithesis-Synthesis; What Architecture Sees in Film | Andri Haflidason

Filmic Architecture: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis What Architecture Sees in Film

Andri Haflidason

Filmic Architecture: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis What Architecture Sees in Film

Andri Haflidason andri.haflidason.com

PUBLISHED AS HONOURS DISSERTATION, 2005 DISTINCTION, HONOURS FIRST CLASS DEPARTMENT OF ARCHITECTURE, UNIVERSITY OF STRATHCLYDE, GLASGOW © Andri Haflidason / UoS except where otherwise credited

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Pg

Acknowledgements Abstract

04 05

Introduction

06

THESIS

08

The Linear Route/Procession/Sequence: Deconstructed/Folded/Edited/Fractured space: Narrative/Events: Optical Devices/Effects: Atmosphere:

09 11 13 15 17

ANTITHESIS

20

Perception, Imitation, and Opportunism: Language, Propaganda, Alibis

21 25

SYNTHESIS

29

Conclusion

29

Bibliography Recommended Viewing List of Illustrations

33 35 36

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Abstract The relationship between Film and Architecture can appear simple, while at the same time it can be read as complex. The fact that film relies on the city, and hence architecture for much of its drama is generally accepted. That architects and theorists of architecture have been affected and inspired by the evolution of this new and powerful art is also recognised. These figures refer to theories of ‘montage’, ‘folded space’, and ‘filmic architectures’, yet nowhere is a clear definition of what these might actually be.

Do these filmic architectures exist in reality, or only in fiction? Where lies the underlying motive behind the architect’s interest in this medium, and is it significant?

The answers to these questions are, like the subject itself, both straightforward and convoluted. Filmic architectures do exist, yet their definition is transient; it is through association and metaphor that they are understood. As in film, there are a variety of ‘genres’ of these architectures. They range from those that use film as direct inspiration, to those which use it only through association and language. Some ‘direct’ the experience of the viewer in architecture, by using devices inherent to film, while others share only an intriguing metaphor with the moving image or with cinema itself.

However, while it can be seen that some architecture benefits from such an association, it must be acknowledged that some do not. In fact, the strongest links between film and architecture appear to manifest themselves in journalism. The disciplines of film and architecture suggest immediate and exciting combinative possibilities, yet the texts which accompany these inevitably concentrate on the minutiae of one or two specific films or concepts, and often those which have already been successfully dissected somewhere else. The function of this paper is to resolve a broad, yet pertinent question, that of the existence, and significance of, Filmic Architecture.

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Introduction:

Metropolis; fantastical social and urban order

Playtime; mocking Modernism

Blade Runner, future, decay, megalopolis

Over the past century, within the architectural community, there has developed a growing and evolving fascination with the moving image. This interest has taken many guises, from analyses of the ever more fantastic filmic depictions of the built environment, to the search for a conceptual architectural generator within the processes, and indeed, the final form of film itself. Key cinematic works recur throughout the length and breadth of this debate. ‘Metropolis’ (Fritz Lang: 1927) remains a somewhat flawed, yet understandable favourite. ‘Blade Runner’ (Ridley Scott: 1982), is another key reference, and arguably still realises the epitome of the architects hopes and fears for the future metropolis. Along with these are a host of films from most, if not all genres within cinema that have been dissected or examined along some architectural avenue.

‘Playtime’ (Jaques Tati: 1967) continues to endear itself upon new generations of architects thanks to its comic portrayal of the strict minimalist principles that were part of the modern movement. ‘The Matrix’ (Wachowski brothers: 1999) was undoubtedly the first film to perform what must surely be the ultimate de-constructivists dream; a non-linear, fractured reality of unlimited potential and awesome imagery. However, while all of these have clear agendas and even critiques on the built environment, it is in their nature to limit this to supporting the role of the ‘movie’, and as such, very few purely ‘architectural’ films can be said to exist.

The prominent figures within the essays, manifestoes, and critiques of this area tend to span both professions. These include a number of architect-turned filmmakers and vice versa, as well as a multitude of theoreticians and writers from a variety of other backgrounds, bringing with then a plethora of related and unrelated conclusions. Le Corbusier was one of the first architects to recognise the potential of film to inform architecture through what he termed as its ‘spirit of truth’ (Vidler 1993:46).

Contemporary architects such as Jean Nouvel, Rem Koolhaas, Bernard Tschumi, and the office of Coop Himmelb(l)au, regularly cite film as an inspiration in their work, sometimes directly, often abstractedly. Sergei Eisenstein, who first studied as an architect before becoming a filmmaker, wrote a number of polemic yet considerable works on film and architecture. More recently, significant modern writers and thinkers such as Paul Virilio, Anthony Vidler, Mitchell Schwarzer, and Roger Connah have further articulated an ever more nebulous, and in turn, mysterious realm of what are loosely termed ‘filmic architectures’.

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Architecture & Film I (UFA cinema pictured)

Hence what is so intriguing about the plethora of these text and theses is that they rarely feel conclusive, no matter how many ideas and theorems they propose, the answer to the equation; that of ‘architecture + film’ remains tantalisingly unsolved. Even in books and journals dedicated to the subject area, (such as AD editions “Architecture + Film” I & II) there lacks any real conclusion as to the apparently interconnected nature of these two disciplines. Perhaps, there exists either no conclusive ‘realisation,’, or even that there shouldn’t be any attempt to locate one, which is precisely what some of the critics mentioned above warn against. Thus there can be no conceivable ‘ending’ to the debate, and why should there be, especially as it is evidently such a rich source of ideas and inspiration. It is potentially the very transient character of the relationship wherein its value lies, for both film and architecture hold within them a universe of ideas and concepts. Unsurprisingly, it is therefore often been through the vehicle of a number of disparate theories and analogues that the subject of film and architecture has been explored. Key and repeating lines of inquiry include examinations of dystopian and utopian representations of the future, the notion of ‘folded’ or ‘fractured’ space, to comparisons between architecture and specific genres in cinema, such as early German expressionist cinema with deconstructivism. While these are all fascinating, it is a specific and so far apparently unanswered question that is explored here; What, if such a thing exists, is ‘filmic architecture’ and where lies the fundamental reason for, and the desire behind, the architects interest in it?

Methodology

Nikos Georgiadis Open Air Cinema Project

Oursler Sutdio: ‘The Influence Machine’

Through research into this subject area a ‘theory of thought’, literally speaking, from the philosophy of Hegel was mentioned by Bernard Tschumi in his ‘Questions of Space’ lectures. It consists of a process of “Thesis, Antithesis, and Synthesis”, that is, through putting forward a position, and then analysing its contradiction, that this should result in reconciliation, and therefore a balanced conclusion to the problem. Here, the thesis concerns itself with a primarily perceptual and experiential explanation for the architects’ interest in film, while the ‘antithesis’ examines a case put forward by some that this interest is not only misplaced, but a questionable area for the architect and theoretician to concern themselves with. The synthesis therefore seeks to find the middle ground of these, and suggest a conclusion to the aforementioned question, while putting forward any novel ideas discovered through this line of questioning.

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Thesis:

The terms ‘cinematic’ or ‘filmic’ architecture conjure up exciting notions of drama and spectacle, and as such, are powerfully suggestive. Yet rarely is a definition given to exactly what they might actually be. It is recognised that almost any architecture, that is, any building or urban space have innately filmic qualities, it just depends on how the director and cinematographer choose to film them. The concern here is not which architectures make good subjects or backdrops for films, instead the analysis of architectures that use film as concept or inspiration in built and unbuilt form. The original question which sparked this line of inquiry was simply, ‘how do we create filmic architecture?’ which not only suggests that there is such a thing to be discovered, but that one might wish to emulate it.

Educatorium Utrecht, entrance ramp

The argument put forward here, is that architects have been inspired specifically by the moving image to further explore ways of experiencing, and modes of creating space, which are inherent to the format and construct of film. Notions of linearity, sequence, editing, narrative, optical effect and atmosphere have entered our theoretical and practical vocabulary as never before, and the reference to film is often explicit. Yet the suggestion that all of these concepts derive from the cinema alone, is neither tenable nor realistic. What is clear, however, is that the architects wish is to take on a role akin to a ‘director’ of the viewers spatial experience, along with all that accompanies this; emotion, perception, comprehension. This is not to imply that a limited, or totally ‘controlled’ experience of a building is what is sought, or even that all of these architectures are the most successful. Rather it is that some use specific theories and concepts derived from film to inspire and inform their designs. The thesis is therefore split into five sections, dealing specifically with each of the ‘filmic devices’ mentioned above, along with examples from various work, both conceptual and realised.

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The Linear Route/Procession/Sequence:

Villa Savoye, ramped space and procession

The linear, processional route, or promenade architecturale is not a new concept in architecture. Yet where once it was linear in the strictest sense, it has now become a three-dimensional element; it snakes in and out of space, over and under itself, and serves as a strong conceptual generator in a number of contemporary buildings. Of course, one of the first modern architects to highlight its importance and experiment with its use was Le Corbusier, and perhaps the most famous example of this was that of the Villa Savoye (1929). In ‘Vers une architecture’ (1923) he included Auguste Choisy’s perspective studies of the Acropolis as an example of this sequential harmony. Sergei Eisenstein, architect and filmmaker, also reproduced them to demonstrate his theory of montage in space; that a spectators movement through a building or structure should become a “series of carefully disposed phenomena, which he absorb[s] in order with his visual sense”. He said of film, that by contrast, it offered, “diverse impressions passing in front of an immobile spectator”(Vidler 1993:56). What he was arguing, was that architecture was the ancestor to film, and that film had transcended architecture in its representations of space.

What also seemed to have been implied was that architecture and film might yet become more mutually informative.

Rudolf Arnheim, a respected film critic and theoretician, recently put forward that “Of great significance for architecture is the movement of the observer vis-à-vis the built environment. As he approaches a building, enters and traverses it, he sees his surroundings in a state of constant change. A good architect can organize this sequence meaningfully, to achieve a dramatic climax concurrent with the building’s central purpose.”(Arnheim 1998:28) Rem Koolhaas, himself a one-time film script writer, and rumoured to have made his way through the Architectural Association by writing a multitude of these scripts, (themselves linear narratives) often explores the concept of linearity in his work. In the design for the Dutch Embassy in Berlin (2003) the projects interior was literally and graphically stretched out into one continuous form, in section and in plan. The path of circulation traverses the inside and outside of the building, while various openings frame views of Berlin, constantly shifting as one climbs stairs and ascends ramps. Koolhaas’ concern is clearly with revealing and reflecting upon what he describes as “the beauty of Berlin - its opacity, complexity, its heaviness, the richness of its ghosts”. (Koolhaas 2004:361) At the same time, adherence is shown to the planning regulations of a ‘cube’ and the security concerns of an embassy.

Auguste Choisy’s perspective studies

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Kunsthal Rotterdam, complex linear route

Passage des panoramas, Paris ca. 1900

In art galleries (and even Ikea), the concept of a plan organised in a linear fashion is inherent to the basic principles of displaying art, or a product. Yet with the development of art history away from a linear, chronological organisation to a concept of near ‘free association’ (as advocated in Tate Modern and recently MOMA New York) architecture has had to respond in kind. One of the most interesting examples of this is the Kunsthal in Rotterdam, again by OMA. The building is a complex composition of ramps, roads, and stairs which move the observer through the building, sometimes up, sometimes down, along, around, and at one point reminiscent of Jacques Tati’s Playtime, one is brought face to face and walk side by side with people who have not yet even entered the building, or have only just left. While some confusion can arise as to where exactly one is within the Kunsthal, this is a result of a strategy which attempts to mesh the city and the building together. As is often the case with Koolhaas, the exterior is a strange and almost unreadable form, but this is not the concern here.

In the buildings described within this section, a linear, sequential programming of spaces and experiences are a key ordering factor, both programmatically and perceptually.

Although the demarcated route and a succession of spaces are to be found in many architectures of the past, from the palace of Versailles to the shopping arcade and the humble street, it is within the last century, in which film was born and grew, that some architectures have attempted to either capture or take inspiration from its effortless, linear, and poetic deconstruction of space and time. Mitchell Schwarzer, author of ‘Zoomscape’ argues that; “…challenges to spatial perception link film with architecture. In the modern era, a building’s encircling glass curtain wall or free plan work to resist confinement, akin to cinematic shots that use depth of focus and wide angles; similarly, a tall building’s elevated vistas resemble the craned or aerial tracking shots of the movies. Later, influenced by structuralist philosophy, avant-garde cinema, like avant-garde architecture, has transported viewers into spaces whose appearance demonstrates the formal and theoretical techniques of the medium. Instead of building a film around acceptable notions of spatial succession or formal appearance, films turn architecture into a set of random and unusual experiences, situations where meaning emerges anew through each encounter.” (Schwarzer 2004:242)

Kunsthal Rotterdam; unusual views/experiences

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Deconstructed/Folded/Edited/Fractured space: “A corridor in a building: Wall veering outward from the floor, traversed by sharply defined parallel strips, emphasizing the perspective and broken violently by pyramidal openings, steaming with light, marking the doors; the shadow between them vibrating as dark cones of contrast, the further end of the corridor murky, giving vast distance. In the foreground a section of wall violently tilted over the heads of the audience, as it were. The floor cryptically painted with errant lines of direction, the floor in front of the doors shows cross lines, indicating a going to and fro, in and out.

The impression is one of formal coldness, of bureaucratic regularity, of semi-public traffic.” (Vidler 1993:47) UFA Cinema, Dresden, fractured space

Herman Sheffauer’s descriptive text from the German Expressionist film “Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari (Wiene: 1920) could conceivably be a depiction of a number of modern buildings, and in particular the UFA cinema in Dresden (1998) by Coop Himmelblau. ‘Das Kabinett’ is a horror story, which through skewed and angled sets coupled with various perspective tricks attempted to create hallucinogenic and psychotic spaces for the cinemagoer. While the architects were not, of course, interested in creating horrific spaces (no matter what the critics might say) there is a specific interest in using film as an analogue of form and instigator of organisation in the design.

The city of Dresden, for obvious reasons, required much reconstruction after the war, and it is perhaps ironic, though oddly appropriate that a deconstructivist architect should find a home here for a significant work. The city authorities asked that the design mediate between public and private space in this still evolving centre, and form part of an urban ‘densifying’ concept on Pragerstasse Nord. In their own words, the architects explain that the design is as a result “…an urban passageway. The bridges, ramps and stairs to the cinemas are themselves urban expressions. They allow views of the movement of people on a multitude of levels, unfolding the urban space into three dimensions…the lively quality of this space can be described in relation to the dynamic structure of film. … It is an inside-out building which sustains a dialogue with the city.”(A+U 1998/7:58) Coop Himmelblau are among a number of well known ‘deconstructivist’ architects who entertain theories of folding, deconstructing, and editing space. Their ideas are informed in part by the French theorists Gilles Deleuze and Jacques Derrida, the latter a deconstructivist of language itself.

UFA Cinema, Dresden; deconstructivism

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UFA; Crystalline form reflects and reveals

The group all concern themselves with resolving movement and time with space, often through fractured form and highly abstracted geometries. This fracturing of form runs parallel to developments in the world of art, where either everyday objects or familiar shapes reappear twisted, broken or fragmented somehow, with diverse explanations for this concept. That the thinking of these architects, and artists, were inspired and informed by film is generally accepted. Anthony Vidler, who has carried out his own effective ‘deconstructions’ of the subject of film and architecture, puts forward that: “…in the search for ways to represent movement and temporal succession in architecture, “deconstructivist” designers have turned naturally to the images forged by the first, constructivist, avant-garde – images themselves deeply marked by the impact of new filmic techniques. In their new incarnation, such constructivist and expressionist images seem to reframe many earlier questions about the proper place for images of space and time in architecture: questions that resonate for contemporary critiques of the “image” and the “spectacle” in architecture and contemporary society.”(Vidler 1993:46) What is interesting about Vidler’s standpoint, is that while he recognises the influence that film has had on a number of well-known architects, he appears to questions the very value of its presence, and this is discussed later in the Antithesis.

Another of these architects is of course Rem Koolhaas. A project which appears to potently embody the idea of ‘folded’ space is the Educatorium University building in Utrecht by OMA. The floor, in section and elevation, can be seen literally to bend, taper and wrap around the spaces within. The plane becomes both floor and ceiling, most spectacularly above the dining hall where the wooden surface underfoot morphs from floor to ceiling in one elegant flourish; not only an impressive feat of engineering but a truly novel and enjoyable space. While the function of such a feature is unclear, (sliding down it is possible) it is undeniably a space where the fantastic takes over from the functional. What is most film-like about the building, however, is the complex editing of space; the circulation and hence the movement of the students is co-ordinated such that there are continuous moments of surprise and delight. Walls appear more like floors; strip lighting is mounted onto walls and not ceilings. Circulation spaces recede into the distance reminiscent of the matte paintings of a film set, and reflective doors engender a sense of mystery and intrigue, as do the many curiously articulated spaces within the building.

Educatorium Utrecht, the Deleuzian fold

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Educatorium Utrecht; stage and spectacle

While Deleuze coined this idea of the fold from Baroque architecture and ornament, this is a case where a modern interpretation takes it to its logical conclusion. If one were to take a film, and imagine all of its scenes, places, and characters on a linear plane, the result might be termed a super filmstrip. If this was then folded and twisted to mimic the movement of the camera and the angle of view, one would perhaps come close to a paradigmatic representation of Deleuzian folded space. Deleuze is interested in how the form and organisation of a building influence the events which occur in a building. In his own words, he asks “What are the conditions that make an event possible? Events are produced in a chaos, in chaotic multiplicity; but only under the condition that a sort of screen intervenes.” Gilles Deleuze (Pelkonen 1998:83) In the Educatorium Koolhaas uses this fold, this screen in the attempt to influence a persons perception and use of space. While the building is at times confusing, the result is undoubtedly a rather spectacular vision of movement and interaction. The Architectural Review reflects that Koolhaas has created an “extraordinary stage for the spectacle of student life” and it is hard to disagree. (Cleef 1999:50) Narrative/Events:

Educatorium Utrecht; screens intervene

Narrative is not an uncommon device for the contemporary architect to deploy in support of a project, and the notion of ‘events’ that might or shall occur in a design are also widely used in the form of descriptive language or photomontage. Arguably it is Bernard Tschumi who first recognised and argued for the potential of the event to describe and celebrate architecture in his book “The Manhattan Transcripts” (1981).

While the volume is not always easily understood, and perhaps purposefully so, the fact that it is inspired by film is evident: “The temporality of the Transcripts inevitably suggests the analogy of film…Besides some extraordinary relations between spaces and events, the history of the cinema also suggests a rich and inventive catalogue of new narrative and editing devices.”

(Tschumi 1994: XXVII) While his various attempts to analyse, dissect and merge time and space graphically are as interesting as they are at times frustrating, it is his avocation of the ‘event’ which carries more weight, and a sense of potential.

This potential was to be realised in his design for the Lerner Student Centre for Columbian University New York. He has argued that “There is no architecture without action, no architecture without events, no architecture without program.” (Pelkonen 1998:83)

Bernard Tschumi suggests murder, 1981

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His strategy to infuse the design with this ‘event potential’ was to use ‘dynamic circulatory systems’ (Pelkonen 1998:83) and overlapping programmes [img]. A sense of chaos, it would seem, is encouraged, and within the seething mass of New York is perhaps appropriate. His idea that the possibilities to meet, and to socialise are dictated by a buildings organisation find favour with many, Rudolf Arnheim helpfully reminding us that “Buildings are the most stable objects belonging to out everyday experience. They surround us and set our limits…They enclose our daily activity in the space we inhabit. The forms assumed by their perimeters determine the paths of our encounters.” (Arnheim 1998:26)

Lerner Student Centre; conceptual sketch

While some criticise the manifestation of these concepts in his architecture, this is often on a visual basis, or on the quality of construction. They perhaps ignore his belief, expressed in the 1980s, that some architectural practices had “turned architecture into a passive object of contemplation instead of the place that confronts spaces and actions. Most exhibitions of architecture in art galleries and museums encouraged surface practice and presented the architect’s work as a form of decorative painting”. (Tschumi 1995:89) His intention therefore would be not so much to use visual effect to create or suggest this ‘eventful’ architecture, but through a complex configuration of space that allows for a variety of events to take place in intimate proximity. While the success of this strategy is difficult to measure, his point that “architecture – its social relevance and formal invention – could not be dissociated from the events that ‘happened’ in it.” (Pelkonen 1998:84) is powerful and is liable to ring true with others in the field of architecture.

In this example of Tschumi’s idea of an event space, there would appear to be an affinitive relationship between film and architecture. Films, which are often made up of events we would either like to experience, or at least come close to experiencing, and these are what Tschumi deploys in support of his argument. When he famously said that "To really appreciate architecture, you may even have to commit a murder", (Tschumi 1981) he was tapping into a desire within many which suggests that we would like to experience a little more of the extreme and the sublime in our lives and in our surroundings. Without being overly cynical, this usage is perhaps part of generating a certain sense of mystique, but then this is an accusation true of many other architects, and again, is not the focus here. Director Jean-Luc Godard sums up the basic idea simply; “…one can say, after an event, I have lived.”(Pelkonen 1998:88)

Blade Runner artwork, 1982

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Optical Devices/Effects: “Architecture exists, like cinema, in the dimension of time and movement. One conceives and reads a building in terms of sequences. To erect a building is to predict and seek effects of contrast and linkage through which one passes…In the continuous shot/sequence that a building is, the architect works with cuts and edits, framings and openings…I like to work with a depth of field, reading space in terms of its thickness. Hence the superimposition of different screens, planes legible from obligatory points of passage which are to be found in all my buildings…” [accent added here] Jean Nouvel (Rattenbury 1994: 35) Hotel Lucerne; cinematographic visual effect

Jean Nouvel often uses a descriptive language which purposefully references terms common to photography, film and cinema. He would appear to be an architect who wishes to explore the implications of architecture in a rather poetic fashion, in which the use of language, and a discussion of semantics are key. It is no surprise to discover he is an associate of Jacques Derrida, the ‘language deconstructivist’ mentioned earlier. The discussion of these ideas does not just end at a verbal level, however, as Bernard Tschumi is so often accused. He almost habitually employs various optical devices or effects in his more striking projects, which seek to enhance what can be described as a cinematographic aesthetic.

His renovation of the Hotel Lucerne (2000) could directly be termed ‘cinematic’, or at least ‘cinematographic’, and this is in no small part thanks to the various film scenes which appear on the ceilings of the hotel rooms. The effect at night is to enigmatically bring the exterior to life, evoking a visual depth and aura of intrigue which few other hotels might possess. In his words the purpose is to “give people outside the impression of being inside, and vice versa, those inside being outside.” and claiming that “the barriers between outside and inside have been eliminated”(El Croquis 112/113:138) As contentious as this statement may be, the design is a remarkable assembly of mirrors, hidden lighting elements and visual intricacy. The ceiling designs are all unique and relate to specific films from directors such as David Lynch, Luis Buñuel, and Peter Greenaway, themselves the very directors often referenced in works on architecture and film. The design itself bears an appropriate comparison to the voyeuristic aspects of Hitchcock’s excellent ‘Rear Window’ (1954), where James Stewart spends his time staring into his neighbours windows, believing that he has discovered the secret to a murder.

Hotel Lucerne mirrors; outside as inside

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In another (unbuilt) hotel design, dubbed ‘the mirror of Manhattan’, Nouvel further explores a method of revealing and framing a buildings surroundings, asking Manhattan rather narcissistically to “look at yourself, and love it!” (El Croquis 112/113:54) Again, mirrors and large areas of glazing are utilised here, this time with the intention to expand the room spatially and allow the guest to ‘become Manhattan’ (El Croquis 112/113:54).

Another tool which he utilises in the presentation of the design are a triptych of Manhattan skylines, from what are presumably a range of times from dawn, to dusk, and finally to night-time. The passing of day, and the remarkable changes in light that it brings with it, have been noted and their essence captured by many, including generations of poets and artists (one of them the Dutch Realist painter Vermeer, recently ‘reincarnated’ by Hollywood).

Hotel Lucerne mirror array

It was film, however, and only surprisingly recently that enigmatically captured and represented these remarkable effects to us. In particular was ‘Koyaanisqatsi’ (Godfrey Reggio:1983), a film which set out to simply reflect on our environment and existence through cinematography. What was so powerful, and even amazing for people then and even now, was the technique time lapse photography; recording large periods of time, from minutes to hours of city scenes and landscapes, subsequently speeding them up many times over to reveal the incredible beauty of shifting light, cloud movement and human activity. While this method is quite common to us now, its effect on our consciousness is perhaps underestimated. The theory that Jean Nouvel espouses and the architecture that he builds are not only clearly emoted by film, but arguably come closest to executing a clear and valuable execution of an architecture which is ‘cinematic’, if only through the use of mirrors or other devices to enhance an optical effect, or experience. If a hotel guest became, for a day, something akin to James Stewart in ‘Rear Window’, he would surely witness the unfolding of a beautiful scene.

Manhattan hotel concept: the city performs

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Atmosphere:

‘Mulholland Drive’; superlative filmic atmosphere

Sun at Tate Modern; literal atmosphere

Herman G. Scheffauer, film critic and theorist, described atmosphere as “the sixth sense of man, his feeling for a space or room – his Raumgefühl (Vidler 1993:47),” Yet the concept is not always one which is easily explained, especially as it is a feeling often unique to the individual. In cinema, he described instances of atmosphere thus; “The frown of a tower, the scowl of a sinister alley, the pride and serenity of a white peak, the hypnotic draught of a straight road vanishing to point – these exert their influences and express their natures; their essences flow over the scene and blend with the action.” (Vidler 1993:47) What was highlighted here was that architecture had quickly become a character in film, no longer an ‘inert background’, as he puts it. After this, it could be recognised, the consideration of what ‘atmospheric effect’ architecture has was considered more than before.

There are architects and students alike who use the term ‘atmosphere’ to evoke feelings in, and desires for their designs, yet it is much harder to describe how this aspect might in fact be designed. It is more in the realm of art, specifically installation art that a sense of atmosphere is a clear, and as it were, a designed concept. One of the most memorable of these was the “Weather Project” (2003) by Olafur Eliasson in the turbine hall at Tate Modern, nicknamed simply ‘the Sun’ by many. Not only is atmosphere used here in its most literal sense (Seeßlen 1998:120), i.e. that of a gas, but the space which has been created has had a specific and remarkable effect on its spectators.

Mirrors on the ceiling triggered people to lie down, en masse, and stare upwards at their reflections. In the vast space above floated a fine mist catching the ‘sun’s glow, and surrounding the onlookers in this undoubtedly incredible atmosphere; an atmosphere at the same time real and perceived.

While there is something ambiguous about this form of installation art, there is something which feels innately architectural. Even if Corbusier had a point when he said that ‘everything is architecture’, it is not often the case that architects deal directly with mist, fog, smell or sound, no matter how much they might want to. Film, as it has been argued, (as further discussed in the Antithesis) changed our perception of space and time significantly, and as such presented new and novel ways of representing the effects that our constructed spaces have on us. That this therefore instilled in architects and artists a wish to experiment with notions of atmosphere and perception is believable, and to an extent, logical.

Sun at Tate Modern; atmospheric effect

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Through film, many have witnessed, and come as close as is possible to experiencing, a wider range of atmospheres than they ever would have previously. This is part of its attraction for us, and an explanation for why some use the term to explain, describe, and even ‘sell’ architecture.

“Atmosphere – one of those strange words with multiple meanings that only regains its wholeness in a strange medium like film…it means the aura of a space, and finally the mood that characterises a process of communication.” [Accent added here] (Seeßlen 1998:120)

‘Last Year at Marienbad’: Alan Resnais

Sun at Tate Modern; spectacle and event

In bringing together the realms of architecture, atmosphere, and film, Rudolf Arnheim, author of “Film as Art” is useful. He points out firstly that atmosphere is such a useful description in part due to its ambiguity and universal application; that all spaces inevitably have some sense of ‘atmosphere’. (Arnheim 1998:26) He further argues that something has changed in our descriptive vocabulary which allows for us to use the term atmosphere to describe our intentions in, and perceptions of, architecture; “The aesthetics of atmospheres shifts attention away from the ‘what’ something represents, to the ‘how’ something is present. In this way, sensory perception as opposed to judgement is rehabilitated in aesthetics and the term “aesthetic” is restored to its original meaning, namely the theory of perception.”

(Arnheim 1998:26) It is perception which much of the discussion on the relationship between film and architecture inevitably surrounds. A key component to perception is, of course, atmosphere. In an issue of Daidalos entitled “Constructing Atmosphere” (Daidalos 1998/6) the work of Le Corbusier appears once again within the debate, this time the Chapel of Notre-Dame-du-Haut at Ronchamps (1954). One might imagine that this is a highly ‘atmospheric’ building, perhaps for its novel use of window openings, or the faint suggestions of colour dappling the interior, or perhaps even for an effect almost impossible to pin down or explain. It would appear to be the case that often the most highly atmospheric spaces are those in which we either find ourselves with nothing else to do other than to be ourselves, or are instead places that we go to for precisely this opportunity. A critic claimed that what Olafur Eliasson's Weather Project had achieved, was to literally, “hold up a mirror and show us who we are” (Dorment:2003) A church is, of course, a place of contemplation, and there is in a sense no specific ‘function’ as it were, at least not in a strictly material sense.

Atmosphere at Notre-Dame-du-Haut, 1954

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If these atmospheric places are indeed without function and have instead only an effect, then they are analogous to a film which has no plot or narrative, only consisting of depictions of space, or rather, of atmosphere.

‘Koyaanisqatsi’; space, time, movement, life

Apartment complex, Zurich

Atmosphere is a crucial and fascinating component of the films of David Lynch. In an article on his work, George Seeßlen identifies his films as those which ‘refuse to subordinate themselves to a narrative’. (Seeßlen 1998:124) The key to their success, he argues is their sense of mystery and paradox. “Lynch’s films play in a non-linear world, one that produces atmospheres through self-contradiction. The individual elements are not subordinated to the idea of the whole, but rather subvert the cinematic myth of the congruence between meaning and function. A light, for example, must not necessarily be present in order for something to be illuminated” (Seeßlen 1998:124) Gernot Böhme surmised this development away from the object/meaning and towards the experience/atmosphere, in both art and architecture, thus: “The aesthetic of atmosphere corresponds to a primary direction in the development of modern art. If in the visual arts we are dealing with paintings that represent nothing, and in literature with texts that have no meaning, then semiotics and hermeneutics cannot constitute the whole of aesthetics. Installation, performance, and happenings bring to light a dimension that always belonged to art, but was repressed in favour of form and meaning.”

(Böhme 1998:114) If film, as it often must be, is fundamentally about sequence, editing, montage, narrative, events, optical effects, and atmosphere, then by association this ‘installation art’ and all of the architecture so far discussed is by association cinematic. Yet this relationship is not only through convenient connotation; there are clear signs that the architect has looked for, and found, inspiration within the realm of film and the cinema. These are therefore, ‘filmic architectures’. However, some criticise and express concern over such notions, and this is reflected upon in the Antithesis.

Thesis closes.

Olafur Eliasson Installation, Switzerland

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Antithesis

‘Side, Walk, Shuttle’, director Ernie Gehr

‘Side, Walk, Shuttle’; deconstruction of space

This section explores a number of critiques on the attempt to find meaning within, and make use of, the synthesis of film and architecture. They suggest that this endeavour is not only somewhat misplaced, but go so far as to imply that it has an ulterior motive.

There is general agreement that the advent of film significantly altered the way we perceive our environment and our existence within it. To what extent, and in which ways, are debatable, but the fact remains that it has had an important and often underestimated effect on many, architects included. Walter Benjamin was one of those who first reflected on this, and his rather poetic commentary on the subject has been consulted by many of the figures discussed within this text. There are several who remind us of this effect, and acknowledge the architects attempts to use (and abuse) this formula of ‘film + architecture’. Particular among them is Mitchell Schwarzer, who in his recent book “Zoomscape” (2004) puts it forward that our “perception of architecture has been fundamentally altered by transportation and camera technologies” (Schwarzer 2004: Back cover) However, there appear to be few, if any, that suggest that the explanation is so simple as this; that architects have become as enamoured with film as have so many others, and wish to emulate its effects somehow. This is what is proposed here, that architects have not been immune to the magical interplay of sight and sound that is cinema, and have looked for some way to capture or replicate its essence. As Guiliano Bruno, professor of visual and environmental studies at Harvard, puts it succinctly, “film conflates architecture and emotion” (Schwarzer 2004:230) It is also the case that many of those who have led or informed the debate, trained first as architects before becoming filmmakers, such as Eisenstein, or vice versa. It is only natural that they would look for, or even create connections between the two.

However, the weight of available evidence, as it were, for the Antithesis is considerably less than that available to the Thesis. This is conceivably a result of the relatively disparate and still developing nature of the relationship between architecture and film. A decade is, one might say, a long time in architecture, and in the past ten years a few individuals interested in the subject area have highlighted what they see as something of a contradiction. Writer and filmmaker Roger Connah in his recent book “how architecture got its hump” (2001) describes what he sees as various ‘interferences’ with architecture, one of them film. He points out that while they appear to be natural companions, the use of film by architecture is analogous to an ‘alibi’ or worse, excuse.

‘Side, Walk, Shuttle’; effortless flight

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Anthony Vidler, who displays such a searching fascination with the subject in his written work, ultimately and rather surprisingly, appears to conclude by questioning its value.

What both maintain, is that there is a certain use of film by architecture which is strange, and even erroneous. Therefore, there are two key areas which are explored here.

Firstly, that of the effect film has had on architects and theorists (i.e. its source), and secondly, an analysis of the language which they employ to put across their various ideas and theories (its use).

Perception, Imitation, and Opportunism: ‘Market Street’, 1905, director unknown

‘Los’, James Bennings; wasteland as beauty

“To Walter Benjamin, writing in the 1930s, it was apparent that the visual dynamics of film were contributing to the rise of a modern consciousness. For citizens of the modern metropolis, cinematic mise-en-scene functions as a form of surrogate, often therapeutic travel. Film, he writes, ‘on the one hand, extends our comprehension of the necessities which rule our lives; on the other hand, it manages to assure us of an immense and unexpected field of action. Our taverns and our metropolitan streets, our offices and furnished rooms, our railroad stations and our factories appeared to have us locked up hopelessly. Then came the film and burst this prison-world asunder by the dynamite of the tenth of a second, so that now, in the midst of its far flung ruins and debris, we calmly and adventurously go travelling. With the close-up, space expands; with slow motion, movement is extended.’ ” (Schwarzer 2004:231) Mitchell Schwarzer, Chair of Visual Studies at California college, and an author of a number of works on architecture, has a role akin to a modern day Benjamin, when he reminds us of the power that film and travel have had on our senses and perception. He argues that through this, as he terms it, ‘zoomscape’, we perceive our environment in many ways which were impossible to imagine even a hundred years ago. That architects were not affected by this is unlikely, and in fact, are perhaps the group that these representations had the most effect on. For here were examples of seemingly effortless flights through space, rapid sections through cities, and a heady montage of life with architecture. It is inconceivable that they were not inspired by this to somehow act upon this new source of inspiration. In particular, Schwarzer highlights a whole new genre of cinema that not many are familiar with now; the ‘City Symphony’. In the early days of film, just the act of watching a moving image was enough to hold an audience rapt, and this was exploited in Walter Ruttmann’s ‘Berlin: The Symphony of a Great City’ (1927) Schwarzer describes its essential ingredients thus:

New American Village, Bob Thall

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‘Berlin: the Symphony of a Great City’ 1927

The power of motion; John Santoro (Zoomscape)

“Even the occasional disorderly sights – a street fight, a suicidal jump off a bridge, a disorienting view of apartment facades from a roller coaster – do not disrupt the relentless order that Ruttmann’s editing has imposed upon Berlin. A scene of dogs fighting gives way to images of hands dialling telephones and people circling through revolving doors – it is all part of the structural workings of the city. Editing subsumes irregularities, making them flow together into meaningful sequences.

Montage links trains and pedestrians, buildings and streets, machines and humans, and animals and people. Berlin underscores how cinema differs from architecture in its construction of urban order. Architects work to organize the forms and spaces of cities with partial success at best. A filmmaker can transform the city. Almost any set of urban images can be edited into a cinematic journey more logical than any we might take in everyday life.” (Schwarzer 2004:247) While his assumption that it is architects who manifestly organise cities is somewhat incorrect, his point that this type of ‘deconstruction’ of the city is a paradigmatic experience of an urban setting is strong, and potent. It was of course, and as mentioned before, Eisenstein who argued for this ‘montage thinking’ and that it could somehow inform architecture, the details of which, however, remain unclear to this day. What is convincing about Schwarzer's argument is in part its obviousness. He says of film and architecture that their perception together is powerful, yet that which is often portrayed is by the most part something familiar to us. (Schwarzer 2004:215) In the same way, it would appear we have needed reminding of the remarkable cause and effect that film has had on not only the general public, but also those involved in the profession of architecture.

“Where once the opening of the city gates announced the alternating progression of days and nights, now we awaken to the opening of shutters and televisions. The day has been changed. A new day has been added to the astronomers’ solar day, to the flickering of candles, to the electric light. It is an electronic false-day, and it appears on the calendar of information ‘commutations’ that has absolutely no relationship whatsoever to real time. Chronological and historical time, time that passes, is replaced by a time that exposes itself instantaneously. On the computer screen, a time period becomes the ‘support surface’ of inscription. Literally, or better cinematically, time surfaces.”(Leach 1997:383) Here, Paul Virilio illuminates another side of our existence which arguably had an effect on architects, which is the electrification of our surroundings and of our very lives.

Expressway interchange, Carol Buhrman (Zoomscape)

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It is often this aspect of modern life which film utilises either for visual effect, Times Square a favourite example, or in trying to gauge the consequences this has had, or might have, on our society, such as in Jean-Luc Godard’s Alphaville (1965).

These effects and these spaces were, and still are, of great interest to the architect. On describing New York, Le Corbusier once admitted their seductive power by saying that he could not “…pass by the luminous advertising on Broadway. Everyone has heard about that incandescent path cutting diagonally across Manhattan in which the mob of idlers and patrons of motion pictures, burlesque shows and theatres moves. Electricity reigns, but it is dynamic here, exploding, moving, sparkling, with lights turning white, blue, red, green, yellow.” (Boyer 1998:55) While he went on to say that what he found behind this façade disappointing, the power of this spectacle was confirmed in his eyes. It is no accident, therefore, that Broadway and Times Square are so often featured in film. Most recently in ‘Magnolia’ (Paul Thomas Anderson:1999), Tom Cruise was found running through a mysteriously abandoned New York, adverts still flashing away above him. In her article on Times Square, Christine Boyer dejectedly asks; “Has Times Square/42nd Street become another non-place instantly recognisable from the images that circulate on television and cinema screens but a space that is never experienced directly?”( Boyer 1998:49) In summary, it appears that often the effect of some spaces are popularised through film and TV, yet the experience in real life is deemed deeply unsatisfying by some. It is a metaphor, some might suggest, for those architectures both real and imagined that attempted to somehow imitate these cinematic moments.

Times Square; ‘Dead or Alive?’

Building sets for Metropolis

Opportunism is another charge which could be levelled towards those who dabbled first in the murky area of film and architecture. It has been noted by others, that at the advent of film and the cinema, architects became excited by the prospect of portraying (and supporting) their ‘brand’ of architecture, in particular Modernism. Among them was Robert Mallet-Stevens, who erected sets strikingly reminiscent of the Schröder house in Utrecht, as well as other modernist icons. Even a filmmaker, Luis Buñuel, urgently proclaimed that “Now and forever the architect is going to replace the set designer. The movies will be the faithful translator of the architect’s boldest dreams.”

Luis Buñuel (Neumann et al 1999:7) However, this reality never really materialised, in part thanks to a movement in Hollywood away from specially constructed sets to real locations. Recently, however, the computer has reawakened this desire within the architect to direct a near perfect vision of his beliefs and dreams. It has now become Filmic Architecture

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possible to create and navigate impressive and even hyper-realistic 3D models of more or less anything the architect might wish for, free of gravity, free of all that inevitably accompanies building in the real world. The computer, as is well known, has made previously unimaginable or impossible architectures feasible, either through its technical mastery of complex surfaces, or thanks to its potential to visualise the result. Architects from Norman Foster to Zaha Hadid have utilised it in direct support, and as manifestation of, their architectures.

Anthony Vidler, however, is cutting of this shift, arguing that from one false desire of ‘filmic architecture’, architects have stumbled onto another, that of ‘hyperspaces’; “Such arguments over the potentialities of a “filmic architecture” have hardly ceased with the gradual demise of the cinema and the rise of its own “natural” successors – video and digital hyperspatial imaging…their spatial sequences are designed more as illustrations of implied movement, or worse, as literal fabrications of the computer’s-eye view.” (Vidler 1993:56) The conclusions that can be drawn from these critiques of ‘filmic architecture’ would appear to suggest, and rather adamantly so, that it has had its basis in effect, and not substance. Yet some go further, and argue that the existence of this ‘architecture of film’ lies only in the realm of language, and through association, not realisation.

Set design by Robert Mallet-Stevens

The lure of cinema, Broadway

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Language, Propaganda, Alibis “People spoke the same language, but could not understand each other” - (Fritz Lang: Metropolis 1927)

‘New Tower of Babel’: Metropolis, 1927

The above is an excerpt from the ‘New Tower of Babel’ scene in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis, its purpose to highlight the vast differences in ideologies between the workers (‘the hands’) and the bourgeoisie (‘the head’). It is reminiscent of the level of complexity and diversity within the often contradictory debate within architecture.

Among others to address this, Roger Connah has made a concerted effort to deconstruct the language that some theoreticians and critics use to describe architecture. In particular he has focussed on film as an example of something which ‘interferes’ with, and ‘problematises’, architecture.

“Even language itself is part of this production. The contemporary desires are easy to list out, as the vocabulary itself is a concordance of contemporary upset. A roof can become a “life-support system” as well as defining an “in-between.” It is a residual space between the impossible layers of rationalities. Events not part of any curriculum, any continuum, any recognizable architectural project become another space for the unfolding of a myriad other events. The prattle is not a foregone architecture, however Deleuzian it sounds. But we must remember that the language is always more formidable and predictable than the architecture itself, and precisely because of this seduction should be resisted”. Roger Connah (Connah 2001:23)

‘Das Kabinett des Doktor Caligari’ 1920

While an aspect of his book “how architecture got its hump” it to entertain as well as inform the reader, which it arguably achieves, his point is serious; that architecture should stop looking around itself for excuses, or ‘alibis’ (Connah 2001:31), and interferences in a profession which has enough concerns out with these. He discusses a number of figures that consistently appear within this area, Vidler, Deleuze, and Jacques Herzog; the “Hitchcockian” architect of our generation. (Blueprint 1995/3:26) This limited selection of individuals again points towards the relatively narrow field and critical basis in which ‘architecture + film’ has developed. However, Connah does not completely dismiss these ideas, and it seems to be more the method in which they are described and utilised that he takes issue with.

‘The Fountainhead’s; disillusioned architect

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“The ease with which we assume membership with ideas and theories through vocabulary, dazzling images, and language games does not necessarily eradicate future thrill in the architectural program.

Fortunately, the usefulness of redundancy ensures that the architecture must ride all claims to its own problematisation of meaning and convention. Architecture problematising architectural meaning itself still takes forms that must fight their own signification. Radical montage – if we call it that – could move beyond the parallels of film and architecture.” (Connah 2001:24)

Film artwork, ‘Blade Runner’, 1982

Film artwork, ‘Blade Runner’, 1982

Yet, and somewhat ironically, Roger Connah himself uses a language which is at times equally romantic and complex. The historian Ole Bouman, is by contrast, yet more frank than Connah about the professions use of terms such as ‘filmic architecture’; “Architecture is always given a reason. Going along with every project there is a justification, a mission statement or other propaganda. As an architect, you do not count unless you are capable of formulating an underlying motive. Essential is the premise of some or other secret agenda, a purposeful intervention to alleviate a certain deficiency, chaos or reprehensible situation. You rarely hear of an architect being satisfied with a simple statement that he was merely doing it for the hell of it.” (Bouman 2004:www.archis.org) He goes onto argue that the idea of architects simply acting in the service of general society has become unfashionable, that the notion of utility has become endangered; “the modernists, the supremacists, the deconstructivists, the futurists, in short all those who question the inertia and inevitability of utility, never tire of explaining why their actions are necessary” (Bouman 2004:www.archis.com) His argument, it has to be said, carries some weight, not just due to it’s rather forceful communication, but that it no doubt rings true with those that have become weary with, and even disillusioned by the revolutionary rhetoric (Pelkonen 1998:85) of architects such as Tschumi et al.

Nevertheless, there is another perspective which should be considered in regards to this discussion on the use of language and imagery to describe or promote these filmic architectures, and this is journalism. While the intentions of many architectural journals are, on the most part, well meaning, it is plausible that for reasons of profit, and even survival, they must create an aura of excitement and intrigue around architecture.

Journals such as ‘Architectural Design’ more than likely played a part in propagating the concept of ‘architecture + film’. They even recognise this in the second edition on the subject, that in lieu of the success of the first, they felt compelled to follow up with another.

Film artwork, ‘Blade Runner’, 1982

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This is not to cheapen or devalue the realm of journal-based academic debate, but the fact remains that often something new has to be presented to the reader in order for him, or her, to take notice.

In a rather revealing study on the New York Times’ culture and architecture critic Herbert Muschamp, Michael Sorkin revealed the extent to which, though the use of a journalistic language in which certain references appear time and again, an idea of a consistent meaning in architecture is predicated. In a short article on Jean Nouvel, for example, were a litter of references to Hollywood, in fact, no less than 12, ranging from avant-garde director Pedro Almodovar and Film Noir, to Alfred Hitchcock. (Sorkin 2004:www.bbzine.com)

Film artwork, ‘Blade Runner’, 1982

This, he appears to argue, reveals how the impression that some useful connection exists, such as that between film and architecture, can be supported simply through a careful and rather insidious use of language. However, it should also be recognised that this is true of many areas of writing and journalism, and even of this very text. It is certainly in the nature of language that it be used to its fullest potential to support an argument or idea, no matter how abstract or contentious.

It must remain, however, that one of the contemporary individuals writing most lucidly on the area, that of film and architecture, appears to question its value. Anthony Vidler, specifically in his article “The explosion of space: Architecture and the Filmic Imaginary” explores and clarifies many areas in, and connections between, film and architecture. In spite of this, he concludes the text by quoting Robert Mallet-Stevens, pointing out that “real life is entirely different, the house is made to live, it should first respond to our needs”.

(Vidler 1993:53) His tone is, concordantly, negative and lacklustre, as if perhaps he didn’t find what he expected or hoped to discover; “In the present context, debates about the nature of ‘architecture in film,’ ‘filmic architecture,’ or filmic theory in architectural theory are interesting less as guiding the writing of some new Laocoön that would rigidly redraw the boundaries of the technological arts than as establishing the possibilities of interpretation for projects that increasingly seem caught in the hallucinatory realm of a filmic or screened imaginary, somewhere, that is, in the problematic realm of hyperspace.” (Vidler 1993:46) While this is only the view of one critic, it is also the view of the figure who is most referenced by his contemporaries writing on this subject.

Film artwork, ‘Blade Runner’, 1982

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As Mark Wigley said on atmosphere, “The concept of atmosphere troubles architectural discourse – haunting those that try to escape it and eluding those that chase it” (Wigley 1998:18), one might feel that this is also the case with film and architecture. As an example, director Peter Greenaway, who authored films such as “The Belly of the Architect” once outlined his ‘grand vision’, consisting of “…a series of architectural sets, ten gallery spaces around the world to hold a deliberation on the mutability of film, where the cheat of the false perspective, the disorientation of invented scales, the curse of having always to make a choice [accent added here], the wish to use thirty light-readings on one architectural view, the wish to see an architectural façade ten times throughout its history of decay – all these and more, without the limiting necessity of the anecdotes of plot and the vanity of actors [or construction and client] will be made explicitly...and then the camera can restfully contemplate the excitements of architecture to its heart’s delight.”(Schwarzer, 2004:234) This statement, perhaps more than any other, reveals the near fantastical impulse that could lie behind the architects vision of ‘architecture + film’; his desire to replicate somehow what film achieves with space, time, and architecture.

Antithesis closes.

Film artwork, ‘Metropolis’, 1927

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Synthesis: It is appropriate here to return to the question posed in the Introduction; What, if such a thing exists, is ‘filmic architecture’ and where lies the fundamental reason for, and the desire behind, the architects interest in it?

A suitable metaphor for the attempt to answer this question can be found in the form of a Hollywood detective movie. For in the search for the apparently existent nature of architectures described as ‘filmic’ by the architect and critic, not only have the available sources not always been direct or forthcoming, but the meaning and motive behind some of what is said appears at first unclear, and even questionable. On the one hand are those architects and theorists who claim that these architectures are directly or indirectly inspired and informed by film. On the other, are those who agree that while there are interesting comparisons to be made, the similarity, and the usefulness of the relationship, begin and end in the realms of theory and language.

What is clear, is that at its inception, film immediately formed relationships with architecture firstly through its groundbreaking representation of movement within space, and secondly, where the two met professionally in the area of set design. The early figures who discussed the further potential relationship between the two often had training or experience in both disciplines. As it has been suggested, the advent of film had a marked, yet often overlooked, influence on perception, art, and eventually, architecture. It led Sergei Eisenstein to create his theory of ‘montage in space’, Le Corbusier to expound on its ‘spirit of truth’, and contemporary architects and critics to increasingly make reference to its various component parts. A vocabulary that consists of terms, devices, and theories inherent to film continue to find favour within various elements of the profession, and while by no means a large movement, one which is significant.

Filmic Architecture through folds, edits, screens

Consequently, the conclusion, and that of the Thesis, is that ‘filmic architectures’ do indeed exist, however their nature is not singular; there are a number of manifestations which differ considerably from one another. At the most abstract level, are notions such as narratives and events, as these are only partially within the control and specification of architects.

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Further to this are concepts allied to film such as the ‘folding’ or ‘fracturing’ of space; intent on allowing architecture, and the architectural experience itself, to become more plastic, more fluid. More concretely, as it were, are filmic architectures which use a visual suggestion of cinema and film, either directly, or through optical devices which claim to reveal and alter perception. A common idea to many of them is the cinematographic concept of framing and highlighting certain views and aspects of a building or its surroundings. While some of these ideas find expression before the advent of film, this is an architecture which specifically seeks to describe itself through analogues or metaphor.

It must be acknowledged, however, and as was explored in the Antithesis, that part of the implication of a direct and fruitful connection between film and architecture lies with the areas of publishing and journalism. There are not many more intriguing and suggestive titles than ‘The Cinematic City’ or ‘Architecture + Film’. Again, this is not to question the often serious nature of their ambitions, yet the fact remains that they have instilled within them a rather unique potency, one which many of those involved in architecture find appealing. As has been discussed, the idea that two apparently separate concepts or ideas have a meaningful relationship can be suggested through as little as the careful use of a language which supports this, even if only through association. It need never actually make apparent the connection between the two; allusion, in this case, is often enough.

This charge is not only levelled at the critic or theorist however, as it can be argued that some architects make use of these intriguing and mysterious associations to their own, perhaps less than transparent ends. Narratives, textual or photographic montage, and philosophies which make reference to film are all means by which the architect can suggest, imply, or emote certain appealing ideas, or even feelings within a proposal; whether they exist or not is another matter altogether. Arguably however, this true of many other questionable connections that have been made between an idea, object, or meaning, with architecture.

Nevertheless, the Thesis argues that the fundamental reason for the architects’ interest in film is to use it to inform concepts of directing a viewer’s experience of space, in the same manner as that of a film director.

Filmic Architecture through optics, reveals

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Yet it can be seen that there are a host of explanations for his, and everyone else’s, interest in the synthesis of film and architecture. Psychologically, film has had an often underestimated effect on our perception of space and time, as well as a recognised manifestation of our hopes and fears in life and even architecture. There are therefore two aspects that must be considered in this discussion; the technique and effect of the moving image, and the method by which it portrays certain ideas.

While film conceivably offers best a near effortless, linear, and poetic deconstruction of space and time, it also functions as a useful and stimulating reflection of our society and built environment. As well as offering inspiration to those involved in the theory or practice of architecture, it can itself be used as a suggestion of intention and desire.

While not every architect can be a consummate director, the advent of affordable video technologies and the internet arguably offer a so far unexplored potential, far more intriguing and with more potential than clumsy computer-generated ‘fly-throughs’.

The conclusion of the Synthesis must therefore be that filmic architectures do in fact exist, perhaps either only through association, or through a demonstration of a plausible connection. While there are those who rightly question the source and the articulation of these ideas, and even the motive behind them, it can be reasoned that through this relationship some remarkable and enjoyable architectures have been created. Not only this, but at the heart of the matter appears to be an idea of revealing sights, moments, and encounters within a building, and of the city, to the outside observer. If the cinema is essentially about representing events and happenings that we would not normally see or experience, then these architectures implicitly follow the same idea. They attempt, as much as is possible through a rigid construction, to engender something of the spectacle in themselves, on scales both large and small. If the effect of making the equation of architecture + film is to result in architecture which further considers perception, emotion, and even atmosphere, then this is not only significant, but also valuable.

Synthesis concludes.

Filmic Architecture through spectacle, projection

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The End.

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Bibliography:

(* denotes that his publication has been referenced within the text)

Books: Albrecht, Donald, Designing Dreams: Modern Architecture in the Movies, Thames and Hudson, 1986 Arnheim, Rudolf, Film as Art, University of California Press, 1957 Clarke, David B. The Cinematic City, Routeledge 1997 Connah, Rogers, How Architecture got its hump, MIT Press 2001* Eisenstein, Sergei, Nonindifferent Nature: Film and the Structure of Things, Cambridge University Press, 1988 Friedberg, Anne, Window Shopping, Cinema and the Post-modern, University of California Press 1993 Koolhaas, Rem, Content, Taschen, 2004* Leach, Neil, Rethinking Architecture: a reader in cultural theory, Routledge 1997* Neumann, Dietrich, et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999* Penz, Francois, Cinema & Architecture, British Film Institute, 1997 Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004* Schonfield, Katherine, Walls Have Feelings, Routledge, 2000 Tschumi, Bernard, The Manhattan Transcripts, St. Martin's Press, 1994* Tschumi, Bernard, Questions of Space Lectures, AA Publications, 1994* Whittock, Trevor, Metaphor and Film, Cambridge University Press, 1990

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Journal articles/editions:

(listed first by author (referenced*) then by Title) Arnheim, Rudolf, Buildings as Thoughtful Vision, Daidalos Special issue. no. 68, 1998, p. 26-* Böhme, Gernot, Atmosphere as Aesthetic Concept, Daidalos Special issue. no. 68, 1998, p. 112- * Boyer, Christine, Times Square Dead or Alive? Daidalos Special issue. no. 68, 1998, p. 48-* Cleef, Connie Van, Educatorium by Rem Koolhaas, Architectural Review, vol 205, no.99, Mar 1999, p50* Kil, Wolfgang, UFA Cinema by Coop Himmelb(l)au, Domus no. 807, September 1998, p8-17* Rattenbury, Kester, Echo and Narcissus, Architectural Design “Architecture & Film” vol. 64, no. 11/12, 1994 Nov./Dec., p. 35-* Seeßlen, Georg, Breathing Pictures, Daidalos Special issue. no. 68, 1998, p. 120-* Pelkonen, Eeva Liisa,Bernard Tschumi’s Event Space* Vidler, Anthony, The explosion of space: architecture and the filmic imaginary. Assemblage no. 21, 1993 Aug., p. 44-59* Wigley, Mark, Atmosphere, Daidalos Special issue. no. 68, 1998, p. 18-*

A + U no.7 August 1998, p58-79 (Article on UFA cinema) Architectural Design “Architecture & Film” vol. 64, no. 11/12, 1994 Nov./Dec., p. 6-96.* Architectural Design “Architecture & Film 2” vol. 70, no. 1, 2000 Jan., p. 6-96 Architectural Record “'Blade Runner' still on the cutting edge, familiar as it is.” vol. 182, no. 10, 1994 Oct., p. 27.

Assemblage “Architecture: & cinema” no. 19, 1992 Dec., p. 96-105. “Designs on the Body: Film/Architecture/Writing” Author David Willis Blueprint “Beyond Architecture: The Hitchcockian Architecture of Herzog and de Meuron,”, March 1995, p26-30 Filmic Architecture

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Daidalos Special issue. “Konstruktion von Atmospharen [Constructing atmosphere].” “Breathing picture: filmic atmosphere, its metamorphoses and David Lynch,” no. 68, 1998, p. 18-141. * El Croquis, Jean Nouvel, 2002, El Croquis* Werk Bauen & Wohnen “Control as politics of space” “On the filmic space installations by Rachel Khedoori” vol. 88/55, no. 12, 2001 Dec., p. 6-43, 58-68.

Websites Bouman, Ole, Archis is without mercy, Archis, 2004, Available URL: www.archis.org [the previous version of this webpage from which the article was located does not contain links as it is based on Flash] [Febuary 2005] Dorment, Richard, A Terrifying Beauty, 2003, Telegraph Newspaper* Available URL: www.telegraph.co.uk/arts/main.jhtml?xml=/arts/2003/11/12/batate12.xml [March 2005] Sorkin, Michael, EXit POll, www.bbzine.com, Available URL http://www.bbzine.com/archeplus/poll01/EXit201.html [March 2005]

Recommended Viewing Alphaville – Jean Luc Godard Being John Malkovich: the 7½ floor Blade Runner: Ridley Scott Brazil: Terry Gilliam The Fountainhead, King Vidor The Hudsucker Proxy: Coen Brothers Koyaanisqatsi, Godfrey Reggio Last Year at Marienbad - Alain Resnais Los, James Benning Lost in Translation, Sophia Coppola The Man with the Movie Camera – Dziga Vertov Metropolis: Fritz Lang Mulholland Drive: David Lynch: Playtime, Jacques Tati Side/Walk/Shuttle Ernie Gehr Wavelength, Michael Snow

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List of Illustrations

(In order of appearance, from top to bottom and left to right) Page 6 Metropolis: Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999 p35 Playtime: Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999 p144 Blade Runner: Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999 p149 Page 7 Architecture and Film: Architectural Design “Architecture & Film” vol. 64, no. 11/12, 1994 Nov./Dec., Front Cover Nikos Georgiadis: Architectural Design “Architecture & Film” vol. 64, no. 11/12, 1994 Nov./Dec., p4 Oursler Sutdio: ‘The Influence Machine’: Lotus Journal, issue 122, p103 Page 8 Educatorium: A + U no.9 September 1998, p42 Page 9 Villa Savoye: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999 p23 Perspective study by Choisy: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999 p22 Page 10 Kunsthal, photographer Pavel Machar, May 2003 Passage des panoramas, unkown photographer, Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999 p19 Kunsthal, photographer Pavel Machar, May 2003 Page 11 UFA Cinema interior: Architectural Review July 1998, p57 UFA Cinema interior: A + U Journal, July 1998, no.334, p75 Page 12 UFA Cinema exterior: A + U Journal, July 1998, no.334, p59 Educatorium interior, photographer Pavel Machar, May 2003 Page 13 Educatorium interior, photographer Pavel Machar, May 2003 Educatorium interior, photographer Pavel Machar, May 2003 Tschumi “you may have to commit a murder” Image found at http://www.interaction.rca.ac.uk/alumni/0204/martin/ghosts%20page/ghosts%20images/tschumi-ad.jpg

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Page 14 Tschumi architects: from Daidalos Special issue. no. 68, 1998, p. 83Blade Runner Artwork, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999 p47 Page 15 Hotel Lucerne: A+U November 2000, No362 p48 + 52 Hotel Lucerne: A+U November 2000, No362 p48 Page 16 Hotel Lucerne technical drawing: Jean Nouvel architects: El Croquis, Jean Nouvel: The Symbolic Order of Matter, 2002, p146 Manhattan Hotel proposal: A+U November 2000, No362 p62 Page 17 Mulholland Drive, David Lynch, screenshot from DVD Weather Project at Tate: Olafur Eliasson, photograph found at www.ukexpert.co.uk Weather Project at Tate: Olafur Eliasson, photograph found at www.securityworld.be.tate Page 18 ‘Last Year at Marienbad’ - Alan Resnais, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p213 Weather Project at Tate: Olafur Eliasson, photograph found at www.ukexpert.co.uk Page 19 Koyaanisqatsi: Godfrey Reggio: Screenshot from DVD Apartment Complex, image source: Daidalos magazine 68 june 1998 p103 Atmosphere at Notre-Dame-du-Haut, 1954, unknown photographer, source: lotus journal - “temporary” - issue 122 p98 Page 20 All three images from “Side, Walk, Shuttle” by Ernie Gehr, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p239 Page 21 Market Street, film, director unkown, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p36 ‘Los’, directed by James Benning, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p253 ‘New American Village’ - Photographer Bob Thall, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p201

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Page 22 “Berlin: Symphony of a City� director Walter Ruttmann, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p245 Photo: John Santoro, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p43 Photo: Carol Buhrman, Source: Schwarzer, Mitchell, Zoomscape: Architecture in Motion and Media, Princeton Architectural Press, 2004, p126 Page 23 Times Square: Source: daidalos issue 68, June, 1998 p58 Metropolis set construction: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, inside cover Page 24 Set design by Robert Mallet-Stevens, Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, p23 Photographic montage of Broadway, Source: daidalos issue 68, June, 1998 p52-3 Page 25 Metropolis scene: Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, p100 Des Kabinet der Doktor Caligari scene: Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, p16 Fountainhead scene: Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, p43 Page 26 Blade Runner artwork, all images sourced from: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, p44-5 Page 27 Blade Runner Artwork, both images sourced from: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, p154 Page 28 Metropolis Artwork: Source: Neumann, Dietrich et al, Film Architecture: Set Designs from Metropolis to Blade Runner, Prestel, 1999, p33 Page 29 Educatorium photograph, Source: Domus, issue 800, January 1998, p46 Page 30 Hotel Lucerne, photo Source: : El Croquis, Jean Nouvel: The Symbolic Order of Matter, 2002, p141 Page 31 Photo: Lotus Journal, issue 122, p103 Filmic Architecture

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