Theories of Spectatorship & "A Clockwork Orange"
In the essay, “Identification, Voyeurism, and Projective Illusion”, Richard Allen proposes a relational structure of how spectators perceive and identify with Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange (1971). Allen opens by stating that, “Our emotional response to film is fostered by the experience of projective illusion…[and that] our emotional response to a character during [this experience is distinguished through] identification with the character (whether empathetic or sympathetic) and detachment.” (129) Allen calls the projective illusion aligned with character identification “character-centered projective illusion” and the detached form “spectator-centered projective illusion.” However, the emotion of the “character-centered” viewer is not contingent upon us occupying the character’s point of view. As for the “spectator-centered” viewer, they experience emotion but it does not stem from their connection towards a character. Allen presents two cinematic contexts that privilege the “spectator-centered” projective illusion. First, a film that objectifies the human form in relation to a character that lacks emotional response; this often gives rise to voyeurism. Second, film form that fosters voyeurism by disorientating the viewer’s conventional filmic orientation, which usually aligns itself with the eye-line of a character; techniques that are prominent in the exploitation film. (Allen)A Clockwork Orange, Allen explains, is a film that offers a unique relationship between the two forms of projective illusion. The first few scenes of the film do everything in their power to align our identification with the central character of Alexander DeLarge (Malcolm McDowell). The events on screen are composed in such a way that they project a sense of inclusion. Later on when Alex is imprisoned and institutionalized the film switches gears; our bond with Alex is inverted and “it is as if the spectator is punished for succumbing to the sensory lure of those opening scenes in a manner that parallels the way that Alex is punished for the activities those scenes depict.” (Allen 133) The purpose of this essay will be to expand and illustrate Allen’s theory by applying it to a textual analysis of key of “ultra violence” and institutionalization that exemplify his framework.
Alex represents the urge in all of us to live without boundaries or restraint. The viewer may feel repulsed by his world yet ultimately the audience inherently understands him regardless of the implications of his actions. As Kubrick himself said, “On the psychological dream content level, you can regard Alex as a creature of the id. He is within all of us…our subconscious finds release in Alex, just as it finds release in dreams.” (Peter Kramer 6-7)
The film opens with a close-up of Alex, his character centered in the frame in a ‘direct address’ position. The camera holds, channeling Alex’s glare straight to the viewer as if it were piercing through the screen in order to grab our attention. As Kramer says, “[He] acknowledges the camera, apparently aware that he is being watched by an audience. His longheld stare at the camera makes it clear that he is able to watch us in return, which suggests that there is no proper (and protective) boundary between the world of the film and the auditorium.” (36) We are given context only after Alex’s character is registered. As the camera pulls back, Alex maintains his lock on the viewer; everyone else in the scene (the Korova Milk Bar) seems to be nothing more than a statue. The men on the left are sleeping, while the men on the right have taken up a ‘mannequin-like’ stillness, which situates them nicely in contrast to ‘Lucy’ and the other female mannequin purveyors. Lastly, none of Alex’s three ‘droogs’ aligns his sight with the camera and instead stare blankly off into space. It is evident to the viewer from the outset that Alex is the one active presence. He will be our guide. In this opening shot, Alex’s voice-over is concise and informative, establishing who he is, who they are, where they are, what they’re drinking and what they plan to do.
After this opening, the scenes of violence are all approached in the same way, with the impending actions of Alex and his droogs introduced or established through Alex’s narration. The spectator is given what feels like a brief ‘verbal warning’ that buffers our reaction and aids in our ability to understand the context. This is crucial because visual establishment moves very quickly; Alex and his ‘droogs’ always seem to just appear on the scene. Alex’s feelings about what he is perpetrating somehow seem to justify the acts of violence. The spectator very quickly experiences a relentless succession of sadistic criminal events. In scene two, Alex explains to us what aggravates him about the old man before he beats him. Moreover, as Kramer points out, “The violent action is depicted in a stylized fashion.” (41) The scene is shot from a distance. Cast in shadow, we are given a clashing silhouette between old and new, past and present.
In scene 3, with Billy Boy and his gang, we unconsciously adopt the position of a spectator watching a stage performance of a rape. Moments later, when Alex and his droogs reveal themselves, coming ‘out of the woodwork’, it becomes apparent to us that we have occupied the same spectatorial position as they did. Violence is depicted as a sort of comical dance; a stylized performance that can be enjoyable to watch. As the scene quickly escalates from ridiculous insult to spectacular feats of staged battle, the spectator is pummeled with successive shots of grandiose playground-like fighting. In one respect none of the violence seems real as none of it seems to hurt, though the energy of the scene is pure and the music authentic, not yet matched with Wendy Carlos’ synthetic underscore.
The next scene cuts quickly to their escape. Alex and his droogs cruise down a blackened road in the Durango 95. What is important to note in this brief scene is the composition and arrangement of the characters in relation to Alex. The three droogs are all squashed together in the right side of the frame and passenger side of the car while Alex is positioned on the left, in the driver’s seat, away from the others. Here we adopt a form of “character-centered” projective illusion aligned with Alex’s point of view – his barreled vision. In scenes two and three violence is shot from a distance in a series of long shots. However, this driving scene takes us back to the opening scene, our gaze channeled with Alex’s stare, with the viewer “frequently taking Alex’s place behind the wheel…rushing forward with it and seeing the vehicles that are being forced off the road from Alex’s point of view.” (Kramer 41)
Alex’s voice-over continues in this scene; when the camera returns to the character-centered master shot as it comes in, “…soon it was trees and dark my brothers”. It is in these words that the spectator becomes aware of two things: that Alex is speaking solely to us, subjectively, as if we are his only listeners in this world; as Thomas A. Nelson remarks, “[it] remains subjective and associative rather than objective or logical.” (143) Secondly, and more importantly, we realize that his narration is in the past tense. He occupies a position of detachment from his physical character, being present but also able to reflectively comment on this period in his life. This subjectivity strengthens our identification with Alex and prompts the viewer to buy in to everything he/she witnesses. As Robert P. Kolker describes it, “He takes us into his confidence; he makes us confidants; [as] he addresses us as ‘oh my brothers.’ His body is central to the frame…[his] body is the organic mechanism in the film’s clockworks.” (32)
Scene five represents the climax of “ultra violence”. Mr. Alexander and his wife are established through a tracking shot that again reveals through mise-en-scene this hybridity of traditional and futuristic – shifting from typewriter to escape pod bucket chair. When Alex and his droogs enter their home violence is again shot largely from a distance. As Kramer observes, “There are no closer shots of sticks, boots, and hands making contact with the victims’ bodies, no images of bruises or cuts, and the victims’ screams of pain are largely drowned out by Alex’s singing as well as the shrieks and laughter of his droogs, and then they are muffled when the Alexanders are gagged.” (42) Though I do not entirely agree with Kramer’s account of the scene’s opening, since we are in fact given a quick shot of Dim scratching Mrs. Alexander’s underside and Mr. Alexander bleeding from the mouth, it is undoubtedly true that the violence is downplayed by again staging the event through presentational distance, song, and laughter.
However, what is most evident is the positioning of Mr. Alexander, which blends character-centered and spectator-centered projective illusion together. Allen explains that, “Kubrick mimics the techniques of the exploitation film so as to maximize the spectator’s voyeuristic gratification…[the scene] is filmed through a wide-angle lens with a hand-held camera, which maximizes the spectator’s sense of being involved in the scene. A scene such as this may prompt the spectator to see the image as a staged event.” (133) This blend of projective illusion, our inclusion into Alex’s circle, married with our optical presence within the scene, (a POV similar to that of Mr. Alexander and Georgie) forces the viewer to fully associate with Alex, as if he/she is one of the droogs themselves. The new comer, and this is initiation night – “Viddy well, little brother. Viddy well.”
From here, Alex (and the spectator) will be largely autonomous, for a time, for the “nightcap” at the milk bar represents the starting point of Alex’s isolation and victimhood, the beginning of “a new way”. “Alex hits Dim who then gangs up with Georgie the next day.” (Kramer 13) His love affair with art, with music, with Beethoven, differentiates him from his droogs, and others. After his moment of ecstasy is disturbed by Dim’s obscenity, Alex raises a glass to the devotchka, and to us, in appreciation. Immediately afterward Dim protests, and Alex threatens to exclude him from the gang. Foreshadowing the imminent division –it will be the viewer who follows Alex home. Secondly, it will not be the last time Alex’s appreciation of Beethoven is disrupted.
When Alex is betrayed by his droogs, the milk bottle smashed across his face, he hits the ground screaming –“I’m blind, I’m blind”. This event is crucial to note, because it marks the end of Alex’s glare into the camera. In this moment the direct address link between Alex’s gaze and the spectators’ reception of that gaze is severed. The interrogation scene opens with a close-up of Alex only this time he is not looking at the camera. In contrast, it is now “his victimizers who stare directly into the camera.” (Kramer 46) The scene is made up of a series of shot/reverse shots: a low-angle POV of Alex, Deltoid and the officers looking down on him/us juxtaposed with a medium shot of Alex’s blood-soaked status – “just look at the state of him!” This juxtaposition invites the spectator to reflect upon his decision of having placed his trust in such a character. Experiencing now the guilt-ridden feeling of Deltoid’s glare of disappointment weighing down on us as the inspector tosses us a paper-towel. As Alex lies, proclaiming his innocence, Deltoid bends down moving in closer to the camera, making it even more uncomfortable for him/us. The viewer is then informed of an upcoming torture that he/she will surely take part in. As Deltoid prepares to spit on Alex, Kubrick splices the shots together so that the composing of the spit is directed towards him/us –cut – and the result lands on Alex. We just missed it. Our supposed ‘brother’ does not register us, he stares solely at Deltoid; we have now assumed our spectator-centered vision – “This is the end of the line.”
A helicopter establishing shot of the prison carries the film towards a new dynamic, as Alex’s voice-over appears once more. “This is the real weepy and like tragic part of the story beginning, oh my brothers and only friends.” The past tense and detachment of Alex’s words now become overtly apparent to the spectator. It is as if he/she is going to prison alone, without Alex. He has already been there. What becomes evident once Alex enters the penitentiary is that he is no longer special to us, insofar as his agency has been revoked. After his arrest he is ‘lesser than’, and in exchange we have been given multiple figures of ‘leader’: the inspector, Deltoid, Dr. Brodsky and the Chief Guard are all point forward over Alex. And he now has to remember to address them as ‘Sir’. He is then stripped of his past, the contents of his pockets removed, most of them for safekeeping, but the chocolate and tobacco, (ironically the only stimulants) for good. He is not addressed as Alex anymore he is – 655321.
What is most striking to the viewer when Alex begins his treatment at the Ludovico facility, and begins to “viddy films”, is the fact that he is now positioned as spectator. As Kramer states, “Not only do the scenes in which Alex is shown violent films put us optically in his position, but they also put Alex in the very position which we have occupied since the film’s violent action started.” (47) His voice-over stating the global truth thus far, that in order to be a “free malchick” he/we must endure the film/s “in the mean time”. Moreover, Alex feels sick when he watches violence in the way that we have absorbed it, his eyes popping out of his head much like Mr. Alexander, who also shared the position of “victim as voyeur.” (Nelson 151) When he says to Dr. Branom, “I just don’t understand about feeling sick the way I did, I never used to feel sick before, I used to feel like the very opposite, I mean doing it of watching it I used to feel real horror show.” And she replies, “You felt ill this afternoon because you are getting better…when we are healthy, we respond to the presence of the hateful with fear and nausea.” This moment creates another disjunction between Alex and the spectator, where the assumed mutual understanding we were inclined to share with our “humble narrator” concerning “ultra violence” is contradicted. If we reflect on Alex’s experience we realize how synthetic it was, and more like our own experience of the film – representations of violence underscored by a synthesized classical “switched on” score. It is only after the fact that we are told by both Dr. Brodsky and Dr. Branom (the other members of the audience) what we should have felt during the “cinny” experience.
In the second session of treatment Alex is confronted with the real associations. First, he is subjected to historical archive footage of real world violence. Second, he recognizes that the background score is Beethoven, “Ninth Symphony, Fourth Movement”. Up until now Beethoven has elicited violence in Alex and in the past he has been free to act, and dream, even when the moment of ecstasy was interrupted as I mentioned earlier with Dim. An even more relevant example is the scene where Alex and his droogs are walking along the “flat block marina”, which was the last time Alex was free to act out when music came over him, diegetically that is. “Now it was lovely music that came to my aid, there was a window open with a stereo on, and I viddied right at once what to do.” Conversely, in the spectator’s chair, Alex is unable to act out his desires. He must remain still. His protesting reaction, verging on insanity, implies to us that he finds, and feels that watching scenes of violence paired with Beethoven intolerable. Something we, the audience have tolerated without protest this whole time. This session again contradicts another one of Alex’s assumed attitudes, which his voice-over proves to be rather ironic, “It’s a sin, it’s a sin…using lovely, lovely Ludwig van like that - he did no harm to anyone, Beethoven just wrote music.” The other members of the audience of course assure him, “it’s for [his] own good.”
The scenes depicting Alex’s treatment clearly work to alter the viewer’s initial impression towards him. They invert our feelings towards him by projecting a sense of his hypocrisy. After his arrest, as Allen says, “we become aware of the fact that what we are watching is only a film.” (133) In the last portion of the film, we experience a rewinding and revisiting of the first scenes of “ultra violence” only this time Alex is the victim and we are inclined to continue our spectator-centered perspective rather than try to experience and identify with Alex as we did earlier. Regardless of whether the viewer shares or registers in the redemptive qualities of the last portion of the film, the ending is notable, for it once again invites us back into Alex’s consciousness, inviting us to ultimately ponder the paradoxical relations the film presented. Kramer says it best:
The final shot of the film’s story, shows us what [Alex] is seeing with his mind’s eye, which means that, rather than finding ourselves opposite Alex, we have now become one with him as indeed we had done on numerous previous occasions when we entered his fantasy world…it would appear that in many ways the film’s ending is wide open so that, depending on what we bring to A Clockwork Orange, at its conclusion we can take away from it all kinds of ideas about Alex’s current state of mind. (53,54)
Works Cited
Allen, Richard. Projecting Illusion: Film Spectatorship and the Impression of Reality. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1995. Print.
Kolker, Robert P. “A Clockwork Orange…Ticking”. Stanley Kubrick’s: A Clockwork Orange. Ed. Stanley Y. McDougal. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2003. 19-36. Print.
Kramer, Peter. A Clockwork Orange: Controversies. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Print. Nelson, Thomas. Kubrick: Inside a Film Artist’s Maze. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 2000. Print.
