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COPYRIGHT 2006 Western States Communications Association
Few films in the last twenty years capture the contradictory visions of suburban life as carefully as does Pleasantville (1998). The film opens with images of a fictional 1950s television show, Pleasantville. The clips introduce the audience to the perfect nuclear family, the perfect house, and the perfect life, all photographed in crisp black and white. The film's viewers are then jolted into the present. Images of a contemporary suburb constructed of look-alike beige stuccoed homes marching up the barren hills of California fill the screen. Students in the high schools are disengaged from their education, a disengagement fostered by teachers who drone apocalyptically about the future. The film's magical conceit is this: siblings from the present dystopic suburb travel through their television set into the black and white (in nearly all senses of the phrase) perfection of Pleasantville. In sharply marking this contrast between the anxieties of the contemporary suburb and the imagined simplicity of the 1950s seen at the beginning of the film, Pleasantville engages its audience in a crucial contemporary question: what constitutes the good life in contemporary suburban living?
This question is important in the contemporary moment. For many, suburban life is the norm in the United States (Garreau 3-4; Hayden 3). Suburban developments are the dwelling places of postmodernity, the loci of everyday lives and practices (Garreau 3-4; Blakely and Snyder 3). It is within suburban landscapes that many US Americans stake their claim to the good life (Cohen 1052-1053; Fishman x; Kenyon 1). Suburbia is the space of the appearances and disappearances of the ethos of postmodernity. But what is this ethos? What are the claims to the good life made within the spatial imagination that constitutes suburbia? Answering these questions fully is complex and involves careful investigations of the wide variety of texts, practices, artifacts, and modes of living that constitute "suburbia." [1] Recent cinematic representations of suburbia offer one compelling way into these questions, for in these representations we can get clues to the hopes and the discontents of suburbia.
In this essay I argue that Pleasantville and a constellation of recent suburban movies offer audiences spatial visions of nostalgically tinged suburbs that place individuals into the bosom of imperfect but loving and white families and remake home and away, self and Other, on foundations of security and comfort. Functioning as a rhetoric of ethos, the films create suburban dwelling places that map particular contours of suburbia. In the first section of the essay I will develop a conceptualization of an "ethical" spatiality--what I will call the Pleasantville effect--by exploring the intersections among space and spatial representations, and everyday suburban life. In the second section of the essay, I turn to a thematic reading of suburban films to trace the contours of a spatial imagination of suburbia. In the final section of the essay, I will return to the idea of the Pleasantville effect to reflect on the importance of images of suburbia for understanding everyday life in the contemporary moment and to reflect on the ways spatial visions engage us in ethical deliberations.
Everyday Life, Space, and Ethos
Animating this essay is a basic theoretical commitment: that as users and critics of everyday spaces, we need to explore the intersections among the varieties of texts we bring with us to particular spaces. Suburbia cannot be thought of exclusively in terms of its architecture, built environment, or aesthetic design. [2] Instead, suburbia is also suburbia as imaged and imagined across wide-ranging texts. As Victor Burgin argues about the city, "The city in our actual experience is at the same time an actually existing physical environment, and a city in a novel, a film, a photograph, a city seen on television, a city in a comic strip, a city in a pie chart, and so on" (28). Space as experienced is created through the intertextual resources we bring with us to material sites. We do not, Burgin suggests, live only in material, concrete, or geographically locatable space. Instead, our lives are bound together in hybrid spaces constructed out of the (sometimes overwhelming) welter of textual resources (29). Cinematic and other images do not simply intersect with or draw on spatial images, but films urge viewers to see and understand suburbs in particular ways. Put differently, living in suburbia is not simply framed by filmic images, but rather the cinematic images are part and parcel of the ways in which we "actually live and act" in these spaces (Burgin 29). As rhetorical and cultural critics of space, we need to resist the temptation to separate image from space, image from experience. We never simply experience space or place in a vacuum. Our experiences are always conditioned by a host of previous experiences, including our immersion in media images. As Burgin writes, "This is to say representations cannot be simply tested against reality, as reality is itself constituted through the agency of representations" (238).
Our immersion in media images, in the "semiotic excess" of postmodernity, is a significant factor that undermines our sense of self as located in any particular, concretely knowable space (Collins 5, 31). Identity depends on an ability to locate oneself in time and space. But "the excess of information [in postmodernity] has forced an all-pervasive rethinking of spatial and temporal demarcations" (Collins 31). And yet, we are not simply cut adrift in a postmodern sea of excess. Instead, spatiality and identity draw on differently marked boundaries than they did in the past. Narratives and images of and about space serve as ways of mapping or making sense of new spatial relationships. Audiences engage spatial narratives and images as strategies for mapping and remapping their "location" in time and space (Burgin 194; Collins 41). These spatial images and narratives offer audiences "strategies for self-location" (Collins 41). Self-location--and by extension identity--is created out of the welter of images constituent of contemporary visual culture (Burgin 211, 226).
Arguing for the centrality of mediated spatial images is not an attempt, however, to empty space of its concrete importance. It is crucial to balance the agency of representation against the emplacement of ideology and subjectivity. Henri Lefebvre argues that "ideologies do not produce space: rather, they are in space, and of it. It is the forces of production and the relations of production that produce social space" (Production 210). Space, then, does not disappear behind the vale of mediatic representation. Instead, spaces become the nodes where images and imaginations come together. Spaces and images become constitutive of each other and of the possibilities of spatialized experience itself. Indeed the "spatial imagination" often organizes material spaces and the material relations enacted within these spaces (Grossberg, "Cultural Studies" 8). Pleasantville makes this very argument when an announcer's voice commenting on the omnipresence of TV asserts, "TV Time, remember you're soaking in it." The spatial imagination, then, offers consequential images of space--images that can manage and organize spaces and actions within the context of conceptualizations of the good life.
Michael Hyde's rich and historically informed conceptualization of ethos can guide an understanding of space and consequentiality:
Abiding by this ... "primordial" meaning of [ethos], one can understand the phrase "the ethos of rhetoric" to refer to the way discourse is used to transform space and time into "dwelling places" (etho; pl. ethea) where people can deliberate about and "know together" (con-scientia) some matter of interest. Such dwelling places define the grounds, abodes or habitats, where a person's ethics and moral character take form and develop (xii).
The rhetorical art, seen from this perspective, is "architectural." It creates spaces in which rhetors and audiences can "feel more at home with others and our surroundings" (xii). This architectural art is an everyday practice that relies on, as Michel de Certeau suggests, spatial stories. For de Certeau, spatial stories enunciate lines of connection and of boundaries (de Certeau 115-130). [3] These stories locate individuals with regard to (and often in resistance to) larger structures, providing ways of imagining an everyday life that is aesthetically, polemically, and ethically rich (de Certeau & Giard 254-255). Suburban films are spatial stories in precisely this sense; they are stories about space that strive to create a "dwelling" in the world that responds in meaningful ways to the concerns of everyday life. These stories engage audiences in the most important of ethical questions: what might be the good life in suburbia?
In this sense, suburban films can create a suburbia effect, or what I will call, drawing on the popular 1998 film Pleasantville and following Blair and Michel, the Pleasantville effect. Blair and Michael coin the term "the Rushmore effect" to help explain the rhetorical and ethical force of "Mount Rushmore." As they suggest in their magisterial reading of Mount Rushmore, the giant sculpture is more than just the images on the mountain, but is instead the accumulation of texts, histories, narratives, and public interpretations of and about Rushmore. The Rushmore effect is at least twofold. First, it pertains to the ways Americans imagine memorializing the nation--Rushmore in quite literal ways influences how Americans see their nation and themselves. This first effect seems to be an aesthetic or visual effect (254). But this aesthetic effect is also a political and ethical effect. Rushmore is more than "just" an image or even "just" a memorial; it is an advocate in the conversation about who and how we should be as a nation (183). "Mount Rushmore is important," Blair and Michael write, "because it nominates for us a particular 'consensual' mirror of the American past and present. It marks out a particular image of the national ethos" (159). Thus, Rushmore is a material space, a cutting in stone, a collection of diverse and divergent discourses and silences, and a set of assertions about what it means to be American. Understanding the Rushmore effect becomes part of a larger project of uncovering the force of memorialization in the United States.
Spatial imagination is also important in creating other kinds of spaces as well. In particular, building and living in suburbia depend on the creation and enactment of a suburban imagination, of what Amy Kenyon calls suburban dreams (3). [4] Attending to the ethos of suburban films is crucial because suburbia has become the decentered center of US life. Suburbs, in all their variety and in their shifting visual, cultural, political, and economic forms, are now central...
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