道格拉斯戈登《10米／秒》

Douglas Gordon

10 ms-1

1994

Video installation, 10 minutes 26 seconds

Dimensions variable

道格拉斯.戈登

10米／秒，1994

錄像裝置 10分26秒

尺寸變量

在道格拉斯?戈登10 ms 的發(fā)泡光銀膠片前，人們的目光很難從痛苦、遲緩的框中人身上挪開。一面碩大斜屏上的無聲、循環(huán)視頻投影刻畫了一個男人，他幾乎是以芭蕾舞中的潛水動作落向地面，然后似乎無法爬起。他試圖站立的笨拙嘗試令人沮喪和感傷。場景艱難而凄涼—人們可以看出右手邊似乎放著一張硬板床。他只穿著內(nèi)衣，這增加了他的脆弱性；他蒼白、無力的肢體似乎在阻撓他千方百計站起身。這件作品是《24小時驚魂記》（24 Hour Psycho）（1993年）1的延續(xù)，后者也進行了慢動作處理，可能是戈登最著名的作品。不過，盡管用了與阿爾弗雷德?希區(qū)柯克的《精神病患者》(Psycho)（1960年）相似的典型材料，10 ms 如此成功的部分原因，是因為其源腳本不為人知。

大型投影使我們感受到了人物的真實。屏幕的傾斜，在某種程度上打破了我們的自身平衡，所以我們能接近畫面中的人物，對他的窘境感同身受。該名男子顯然處于苦難之中，從而激起了我們的憐憫和同情。不過，一次又一次的嘗試和失敗開始折磨我們，這種不適促使我們考慮所看到的一切。沉浸在無休止的站立和失敗循環(huán)中，我們的思想在他身上游離。他看起來是那么健康，我們開始懷疑哪里出了錯。我們可以發(fā)現(xiàn)，所能找到的腳本可以追溯到第一次世界大戰(zhàn)，這為我們的解讀增添了一層新的感傷和歷史厚重感。那么，這是個心理問題嗎？是由戰(zhàn)爭恐懼或炸彈休克誘發(fā)的瘋狂嗎？為什么現(xiàn)場有一臺攝影機對他拍攝，而沒有一個人去幫助他？我們可能會想到這個事件是表演——一個醫(yī)療文件或教學視頻。

事實上，這段影片所激起的客觀、迷幻的凝視可以稱之為“醫(yī)療”。正如戈登在一次訪談中所評論的：“恐懼、排斥和魅力同是這一學科（神經(jīng)心理學）和電影世界的關(guān)鍵要素。” 2

不久之后，戈登的另外兩部特別近似的作品也提出了類似主題的討論。《狂亂》（Hysterical）（1994-95年）3放映的是另一部引起廣泛質(zhì)疑的腳本片段，其中有一位年輕女子被弄得渾身痙攣，然后又恢復原樣，以利于拍攝。在另一部作品模糊邏輯（1995年）4中，我們目睹了一只垂死蒼蠅的最后一次抽搐動作。驅(qū)使我們觀看這些令人毛骨悚然卻又冷酷無情的畫面的，是這些作品的核心問題所在。在每部作品中，影片的主題都是攝影機的囚徒，正如我們觀眾是影片的囚徒，被冷酷的鏡頭所禁錮。有趣的是，我們在情感上越是想和屏幕上所發(fā)生的事件決裂，我們就越是被吸引，去審視舊腳本的質(zhì)感，并思考影片的內(nèi)涵及其本身。正如雷蒙德?貝盧爾的簡潔評論：“戈登讓影片發(fā)出了這樣的聲音：我已經(jīng)死去，但我仍然可以在此活著，來告訴你這一點。” 5這段特殊畫面能使我們想起，在膠片中深藏著優(yōu)秀作品，它們含有以下令人不安的信息，并決意要我們遵從：“看。看。看。”

勞拉?麥克利恩?法里斯

1《沃爾夫斯堡私人收藏和藝術(shù)博物館》。第2版

2“吸引力-排斥”，戈登接受斯蒂法妮?莫斯頓-冬布雷采訪（1996年），見道格拉斯?戈登《幻覺：問題和答案》，第1卷，1992-1996年（巴黎：巴黎市立近代美術(shù)館，2000年），第110頁

3 《南安普敦市美術(shù)館和羅什舒阿爾當代藝術(shù)部門博物館》。第2版。

4第3版。

5.雷蒙德?貝盧爾，“見面的瞬間”，見《道格拉斯?戈登》，cat展（里斯本：貝倫文化中心，1999年），第27頁

Douglas Gordon

It is hard to look away from the painfully slowed-down frames of blistered silver film in Douglas Gordon’s 10 ms?1. A silent, looped video projection on a large tilted screen depicts a man, who falls to the ground in an almost balletic dive, and then appears unable to get up. His awkward attempts to stand are frustrating and pathetic. The environment is hard and stark – one can make out what looks to be a hard bed to the right-hand side. He is wearing only underwear, adding to his vulnerability; his pale, quite useless limbs appear to thwart him as he tries different ways of getting to his feet. This work follows 24 Hour Psycho (1993) , which also employs slow-motion process, and is perhaps Gordon’s best-known work. However, whilst the material appropriated for that work, Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), is almost archetypal, part of the reason 10 ms?1 is so effective is because the source footage is unknown.

The large scale of the projection renders the figure life-sized to us. The tilting of the screen upsets our own balance somewhat, so we approach the figure in the footage as an equal, identifying with his sorry plight. The man is clearly in distress, inviting our pity and sympathy. Repeated attempts and failures, however, begin to wear on us, and discomfort provokes us to consider what we are watching. Caught in an endless cycle of build-up and failure, we separate ourselves from him. We begin to wonder what is wrong. He looks healthy enough. We might discover that the found footage dates to the First World War, adding a new layer of pathos and historical weight to our reading of what we see. Is the problem, then, psychological? Madness induced by the horrors of war, or shell-shock? Why is there a camera watching this man in the first place, and why will no-one assist him? It may occur to us that the event is staged – a medical document or training video.

Indeed, the objective, fascinated gaze that this film encourages of us might be termed ‘medical’. As Gordon has commented in an interview, ‘Fear and repulsion and fascination are critical elements in both the world of this science [neuropsychology] and the world of cinema.’ Two other specifically analogous works, made by Gordon shortly after, broached similar themes. Hysterical (1994–95) features another very questionable piece of footage, in which a young woman is provoked into a fit and then restored, for the benefit of the camera. In another, Fuzzy Logic (1995) , we witness the last twitching movements of a dying fly. What impels us to watch these images, feeling horrified yet strangely cold and clinical, is the question at the core of these works. In every one, the subject of the film is a prisoner to the camera, just as we the viewer, are prisoner to the film, locked in a cold embrace. Interestingly, the more we might emotionally disconnect from what is happening on screen, the more we are drawn to examine the texture of the antique footage, and to consider film in and of itself. As Raymond Bellour has succinctly commented, ‘Gordon lends the cinema a voice that could say: I am dead but I am still alive enough to tell you this.’ What this particular piece of footage might remind us is that there is a quality deeply inherent in the fabric of film, that contains the following uncomfortable message, and wills us to obey: ‘Look. Look. Look.’

Laura McLean-Ferris