The same kinds of problems are also present in live TV broad
casts. Here, as well,
- process and result are practically indistinguishable—even though. in fact, the process involves three or more simultaneous images. out of which, at the last moment, only one emerges as the result;
- the work and its antecedents coincide—even though the cameras are positioned in advance;
- invention is not limited by a repertory but rather by external factors. Which is to say that, all in all, the autonomy of the author is considerably reduced, as is the artistic potential of the medium.
Once again, this could well be a definitive conclusion if we chose to see as a limit the fact that a TV narrative represents autonomous events which, though they can be approached from different angles, have a logic of their own that demands to be respected. But we needn’t see this condition as a limit; in fact, we can easily see it as the only real artistic possibility of live TV, for reasons that can be traced all the way back to Aristotle.
Speaking of the «unity of plot,» Aristotle notes that «many things, countless things indeed, may happen to one man, and some of them may not contribute to any kind of unity; and similarly he may carry out many actions from which no single unified action will emerge.» 2 Likewise, within a certain field of events, there can be some that, although they have absolutely no connection with one another, intersect and overlap. creating a number of situations that will evolve in different directions. Or a certain group of facts, which, considered from a particular angle, seem to evolve toward a certain resolution. may, when considered from a different angle, proceed in a completely new direction.
Obviously, all the events that take place within the same field needn’t be in close contact with one another to justify their presence: their presence is justified by the very fact that they occur within the same field. On the other hand, this does not change the fact that we need to look at them from a unifying perspective, so much so that generally we tend to favor those that seem to fit that perspective over those that don’t. In other words, we need to group them in a specific form. In yet other words, we need to unify them into experiences.
I am using the term «experience» here because it allows us to refer back to Dewey’s definition, which seems to be particularly relevant to the present argument: «We have an experience when the material experienced runs its course to fulfillment. Then and then only is it integrated within and demarcated in the general stream of experience from other experiences . . . In an experience, flow is from something to something.»3 According to this definition, only those actions that have been brought to their preestablished conclusion, such as a job well done or a completed game, can be considered experiences.
When we look back on our days, we often distinguish complete experiences from those that have been merely sketched or have remained incomplete. Thus, it may often happen that we discard as useless experiences that are perfectly complete but have so little relevance to our most immediate concerns that we haven’t even noticed they took place. Similarly, within a field of events, we inevitably focus on the ones that seem most relevant to the interests, concerns, and emotions of the present moment.’
Clearly, what we find most interesting in Dewey’s definition of experience is not so much the organic nature of the process (the interaction between the subject and its surroundings) as its formal aspect: the fact that he sees it as an accomplishment, a fulfillment.
And what is even more interesting in this whole question is the attitude of the observer, who prefers to guess and represent the experiences of others rather than living his own. The observer produces imitations (in the Aristotelian sense of mimesis) of experiences, thereby enjoying his own experience of interpretation and mimesis.
These imitations of experiences can be considered as having an aesthetic value, since they are at once interpretations and creations— choices and compositions—even though the events themselves may seem to require such choices and such compositions.
The larger the field of events among which we deliberately set out to identify and select experiences, the greater their aesthetic value. This process is the search for, and the establishment of, a coherence, a unity, an order in the midst of chaotic diversity—the search for a unified whole such that «its various incidents must be so arranged that if any of them is differently placed or taken away the effect of wholeness will be seriously disrupted.»‘ Which brings us back to Aristotle and the realization that this effort to distinguish and reproduce experiences is precisely what he calls poetry.
History is the exposition not of a single action but «of a single period, and of everything that happened to one or more persons during this period, however unrelated the various events may have been.»6 To Aristotle, history is like a panoramic photo of a whole field of events, whereas poetry is the selection of just a few events out of the many. It involves the identification of a coherent experience, of the genetic relationship that binds different facts together; in other words, poetry organizes according to a perspective of value.’
All these observations should allow us to recognize the artistic aspects of live broadcasts, and even sec an aesthetic potential in their attempts to isolate experience in as satisfactory a fashion as possible and to organize facts according to a perspective of value.
Consider, for example, a fire. The event itself consists of a number of elements that can be grouped according to different narrative perspectives: the devouring fury of the flames, the intrepid firemen, the bereaved families, the awestruck bystanders, the elusive arsonist, suspected villain of the piece. It is up to the camera to decide what story to tell, what «reality» to offer its viewers, for every representation of reality entails a choice and a judgment. Live TV broadcasts can come very close to the poetics of cinema verite.
The artistic aspects of the televisual phenomenon, with all that they entail, would be fairly easy to recognize if it weren’t for the conditions of improvisation, characteristic of live TV, that somewhat complicate the issue. Dewey, speaking of the experience of logical thought (though his example can actually be applied to all sorts of experiences), notes that «in fact in an experience of thinking, premises emerge only as a conclusion becomes manifest.»8 In other words, the predicative activity is not a mere syllogistical deduction, but rather a relentless effort to achieve a conclusion that—alonewill justify its initial motivation.’ Thus, both the «before» and the «after» of an experience become apparent only after a prolonged processing of all the data in our possession—data which, of course, already include some purely chronological «befores» and «afters,» but not the essential ones, the ones that will still be there once the process of predication is over.
A TV director faces the difficult task of having to identify the logical phases of an experience at the very moment when these are still merely chronological. He can isolate a logical thread out of an ensemble of events but, unlike even the most «realist» of artists, who can avail himself of both an a priori and an a posteriori stance visavis his text, he can neither plan nor revise. In other words, he must stick to his «plot» while it is still unfolding among many other plots. By having the cameras follow a particular point of view, the TV director must essentially invent an event that is still happening, and invent it so that it is the same as the one that is taking place.
In other words, he must both guess and predict the time and space of the next phase of his plot. As a result, his artistic activity is fairly limited and yet, from the viewpoint of production, very new, for it must be based on a particular sympathy with the event, an intuition and hypersensitivity (more commonly known as flair) that would allow him to grow with the event, to happen with the event. Or, at least, to distinguish the event immediately and highlight it before it has passed.’
Thus, the development of his narrative is an effect partly of art and partly of nature. The result will be a curious mixture of spontaneity and artifice, in which artifice defines and chooses the spontaneity, and spontaneity determines the artifice both in its conception and its realization. Other arts, such as gardening and hydraulics, have already provided examples of an artifice that determines both the present movements and the future effects of natural forces,
