'As COVID-19 continues to wreak havoc on lives and societies around the world, the likes of which we have never seen (except in a disaster movie or dystopian fiction), we wanted to investigate further the impact that lockdowns are having on film viewing. In these frightening times, what role does cinema play? Do we turn to art for a greater sense of human connection and understanding? Do we seek out films from the past, the present? How is film spectatorship impacted under these unique circumstances? How do we compensate for that lack of community that occurs in a theatre-setting? This issue’s COVID dossier aims to present a mosaic of readers’ journeys and trajectories during this time. A common theme is the role of new technologies and platforms in connecting audiences. Kristy Matheson discusses a fascinating program of experimental film put together by Mark Toscano on Instagram called “Remains to be Streamed,” which screens at specific times and days facilitating a sense of audience and ‘shared’ space. For many readers, streaming services and online video-chat tools have re-energised film viewing, and facilitated an exhilarating ability to self-curate. Djoymi Baker explains how watching a film during a pandemic means so many more ‘home-movie’ or ‘documentary’ moments where we see something in a film connected to our real-life – “a fleeting interruption or a deeply felt resonance.” Such a liminal experience is beautifully outlined in Alexandra Trnka’s piece on Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles, a film about isolation watched during isolation. For other readers, film viewing during this period has brought to the fore new perspectives, such as Robert Koehler’s fascinating reflection on Hollywood cinema of the 30s and 40s. It’s hard to say what ramifications the shift created by the pandemic will have on film viewing in the future, but it already seems clear that new doors have been opened.' (Editorial introduction)
'The current pandemic has not only prompted revived interest in viral dystopian films, but also inflects the way we engage with even the most mundane filmic images. David Edelstein reflects, “the other day I swear I was watching a movie where a guy coughed and I flinched”. This embodied reaction indicates the affective bridge between the screen and the self. Vivian Sobchack argues that even when watching a fiction film, viewers may find themselves having ‘home movie’ and ‘documentary’ moments when they see something connected to their real-life experiences. Building on Sobchack’s work, I have argued elsewhere that the ‘home movie’ moment may be a fleeting interruption or a deeply felt resonance, inspired by sight or sound, with the potential to create an uncanny liminal viewing experience. During the pandemic, it is the surprise of film scenes with new and unintended resonance with the lockdown, or alternatively, scenes now positively alarming in their divergence from our current predicament. This is the shock of the old.' (Introduction)
'Like most people, the pandemic has meant I spend more time online. I’ve found Twitter to be a great resource: the feeds of many writers and cinephiles have come to function as intimate COVID viewing records that I enjoy reading and learning from. As I spottily keep my own, my time spent on Twitter has made me interrogate my own cinephilic anxieties and performances: namely being perceived as ‘serious about film,’ or knowledgeable enough about it. Why was I documenting, posting, and liking Criterion Channel viewing and less frequently sharing equally memorable experiences, such as watching the critically panned The Goldfinch (John Crowley, 2019) on videoconference with giggling friends; or the amount of hours I spent in the bath watching television via a laptop propped up on a chair? Recently, I crafted a pretentious (albeit genuine) tweet about my first time enjoyment of Atom Egoyan’s Calendar (1993) and its use of essay film conventions within narrative cinema. I loved Calendar deeply but the way in which I was positing myself, constructing myself, and articulating myself as a certain kind of film viewer felt silly, when my marathon of the Scream franchise was equally surprising and generative. Perhaps, however, this is what’s most fascinating about media discourses on Twitter: a place in which the seemingly ‘highbrow’ and popular are juxtaposed, their divisions both upheld and dissolved.' (Introduction)
'Occasionally throughout isolation, I’ve experienced that moment when two seemingly disparate films ‘talk’ to each other. Recently, I watched Midsommar (Ari Aster, 2019) and The Virgin Spring (Ingmar Bergman, 1960) back to back. Both are set in Sweden. Both are portraits of devout communities living in pastoral hinterlands. And both are very different. One utilises the horror genre to show, with calculated restraint and control, religious devotion as a form of sociopathy. The other, an elegiac fable, is much more humanist and loving in its portrayal of God-worshipping protagonists.' (Introduction)
'Reading the surfeit of post-COVID commentary written over the past few months, a common refrain emerges: even when the coronavirus pandemic is brought under control and a workable vaccine is developed, the thought of willingly enclosing oneself in a sealed room with hundreds of strangers will seem like something out of a horror movie. The bitter consensus seems to be that society — and cinema — will probably never return to normal.' (Introduction)
'It’s been an interesting experience, to say the least. I’ve spent most of my time making movies, rather than watching them, as you can see here, and participating in online film festivals, Zoom sessions and the like with a community of like-minded filmmakers. For the most part, film festivals didn’t really get cancelled – they just moved online.' (Introduction)
