“In order to understand today’s world, we need cinema, literally. It’s only in cinema that we get that crucial dimension, which we are not ready to confront in our reality. If you are looking for what is in reality more real than reality itself, look into cinematic fiction,” says Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek in Sophie Fienne’s fascinating The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema (2006).
The memory of Žižek was dredged up on a recent visit to Tate Modern, London, with a philosophy professor friend of mine. As we were exiting via the gift shop (insert your own Banksy reference here), we were struck by a display rack stocking an array of graphic novels addressing an esoteric range of subjects, Žižek’s philosophy amongst them. Pausing only to buy a selection of fridge magnets (four for the price of three) and no graphic novels, we proceeded to the riverside to discuss our mutual interest in Žižek.
While I was watching The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema for the first time, at some film festival or the other, it immediately became apparent to me that this is a film that bears repeat viewings in order to get its full import — much like you have to watch the Marx Brothers’ Duck Soup multiple times, because the gags come so thick and fast you miss a new one while still laughing at the last one. Fiennes places Žižek in sets resembling the ones used in several popular films including The Matrix, Blue Velvet and Psycho and watches while he expertly deconstructs them (the films, not the sets). She also from time to time opens up the film and places him in real locations like on a boat in California’s Bodega Bay, the location of the seagull attack in The Birds . Žižek is pure theatre in the film.
An ursine figure of a man, his opinions are trenchant, sometimes confounding, but always thought provoking, with pronouncements like “Cinema is the ultimate pervert art. It doesn’t give you what you desire — it tells you how to desire,” or “Pornography is, and it is, a deeply conservative genre”. It is impossible to encapsulate Žižek’s soliloquies in a few words and therefore the film is essential watching for someone with a cinematic bent of mind, or just plain bent of mind. The sequel, The Pervert’s Guide to Ideology (2012), is a little more abstruse, if that’s possible, and will be more of interest to those with a deeper interest in philosophy or psychoanalysis.
Today, the Slovenian philosopher is somewhat of a rock star in his field, but my professor friend was less than impressed when he had an opportunity to hear his lecture at an Ivy League university. He dismisses Žižek’s outpourings as rants. In fact, he left the talk in full view of the audience while the great man was in full flow, not heeding the creaky floor boards that signalled his every step towards the exit. Nevertheless, A Pervert’s Guide to Cinema remains an exhilarating piece of work.
Author of Rajinikanth: The Definitive Biography , Naman writes on cinema for Sight & Sound , Variety and Cineuropa .
