Simulacrum
A Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of the Film and Television Department
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the
Degree of Master of Fine Arts
Savannah College of Art and Design
By
Philip G. Thompson
Savannah, GA
March, 2011
DEDICATION
Simulacrum is dedicated to Nancy C. Luke,
without whose support this work would not have been possible
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter
Abstract…………………………………………………………………………………...1
I.
Introduction……………………………………………………………………….2
II.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde…………………………………………………………..4
III.
Psychology………………………………………………………………………..8
IV.
Postmodernism…………………………………………………………………..11
V.
Cinema…………………………………………………………………………...14
VI.
Simulacrum………………………………………………………………………19
VII.
Method…………………………………………………………………………...27
VIII.
Conclusion……………………………………………………………………….34
Works Cited....…….……………………………………………………………………..37
Bibliography..……………………………………………………………………………39
1
Simulacrum
Philip G. Thompson
March, 2010
This thesis, a film called Simulacrum, examines the implications of events that occur when its
protagonist locks himself out of his home and, upon trying to re-enter, realizes that strange
people suddenly inhabit its inexplicably altered interior. The accompanying paper discusses the
philosophical and psychological themes that influenced the film’s production.
2
Introduction
The road to the completion of any film meanders in ways impossible to predict at the
outset of production. If the act of filmmaking is a process, defined by the technologies that
facilitate it and by the pathways that the filmmaker follows as his work evolves from germinal
idea to completed, on-screen presentation, then Simulacrum, the film at the center of this thesis,
is an example of this evolution. Originally a throw-away story idea for a graduate production
class, the film underwent a period of growth and change for the next year and a half, during
which the many facets of the film – character perspective, point-of-view, location, mise-enscène, etc. – grew to maturity. Simulacrum’s primary motifs address the duality of the human
psyche and the shifting nature of reality, themes that have held a fascination for humans for
thousands of years and appear repeatedly as cultural expressions. A number of related
philosophical and psychological influences guided the film’s development. Most notably are the
concepts of the doppelgänger, or dark side to human nature; Freudian theory regarding the
multiple layers of the human psyche; Post-Modern interpretations of simulation and
appropriation; and examples of duality as a cinematic theme during film’s relatively short
history. In its infancy Simulacrum’s plot might have suited a B-grade horror thriller, but as
character and story developed further, these other more complex motifs exerted a progressive
influence over the film’s growth. Nolan, the film’s protagonist, evolved from being a man
inexplicably confronted by confusing circumstance into a complex, multi-leveled character
whose very existence is a question mark. The following pages discuss specifically how these
3
themes of character duality and altered realities informed Simulacrum’s thematic thread and
ultimately determined its final form.
–
“My evil self is at the door, and I have no power
to stop it.”
Dr. Edward Morbius – Forbidden Planet
It seems ironic, in retrospect, that the earliest films in history were little more than
documentation of day-to-day life – workers streaming through the gates of a factory, a
locomotive hurtling towards the viewer – especially in light of the lengths to which current
producers of film go to create worlds which do not exist. As often as not current cinema depicts
worlds far removed from what one might call reality, even if purporting to be “true-to-life”.
Today’s audiences rush to view films like Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, escapist fare that
bears little or no resemblance to reality but is legitimized by its link to popular fiction. In spite
of its inauspicious origins, cinema progressed at near-light speed beyond the mere recording of
events into the realm of storytelling, a realm in which willing suspension of disbelief became the
criteria under which nearly any story could be told, no matter how dark or fantastic.
Accompanying advances in technology insured that implied realities were, in fact, realistic. The
late twentieth century gave birth to more emphatic examples of this trend, not only in film but in
other media as well. Television shows like Real World, Cops, and Survivor emerged, shows
which insisted that they were “reality- based”, and computer games strove for realism so vivid
that, in a strange twist, the American armed forces began using them to train soldiers. In the first
decade of the new century, society largely finds itself rushing to embrace each new manifestation
of the hyper-real, displaying a seemingly unquenchable thirst for media that purport to “mirror”
4
reality. Consumers seem increasingly ready to insist that what they see on television, on the
internet, or at the movies is “real,” that the characters they love exist somehow outside of the
constructive minds of their producers. It might be argued, however, that this fascination with
alternate realities finds its origins not only in the rise of consumer capitalism and the advance of
modernity, but also has roots deep within the human psyche as well. Scholars and philosophers
have written extensively about the rise of Post-Modernism, with its roots in simulation and
appropriation. In short, Post-Modernism itself, with its implications of identity crisis and loss of
self, may be a reflection of myths and legends spanning millennia and a medium for the
expression of subtle, psychological aspects of our society’s character.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Producers of film and television are highly attuned to what sells, and consequently, some
themes are frequently revisited as new work is produced. Certain stories have resonated deeply
with audiences from film’s earliest days, and thus, directors and producers return to these tales
without hesitation, either transposing their themes to the modern world or cloaking them within
an alternate story line or even an alternate genre. One such story is that of Dr. Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde, originally the novella The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis
Stevenson. Appearing first in 1886, versions of Stevenson’s story span practically the whole
history of film itself. Charles King writes that “there have been at least 88 film and television
adaptations, including shorts and some less traditional versions. Since 1908, there has not been a
period of longer than five years without a version of the story, and multiple versions in the same
5
year are not uncommon.” 1 Briefly, Stevenson’s original novella tells the story of Henry Jekyll, a
physician who, through the use of an unspecified concoction, is able to open a door to an alterego, Edward Hyde, who represents the antithesis of all that is good in Jekyll. Through the
perspective of a series of narrators, the reader slowly learns Mr. Hyde is mysteriously linked to
Henry Jekyll and is apparently responsible for at least a pair of brutal murders. It is only at the
end of the novella that it becomes apparent that Jekyll and Hyde are one and the same.
The reasons for the popularity of Stevenson’s story are varied. This story hearkens back
to the myth that man has an animal side to his nature, a bestial force representing his darker
inclinations. This myth has repeated itself throughout history, assuming variously the form of
shape-shifting, vampirism, and lycanthropy, and this theme plays on our fascination and fear of
the idea of an “evil twin” or Doppelgänger – an aspect of our character which threatens to take
control of our “civilized” outward appearance. Of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Charles King notes
that “probably all of such stories should be seen as manifestations of a much older folkloric
tradition about people who are unable to control an aspect of their persona that can transform
into a fierce beast.” 2 Dr. Jekyll’s “beast,” Mr. Hyde, is a mirror image of himself, though a
distorted one, and a thematic element that is crucial to the story. Mirrors “distort our image and
turn it around on us. The mirror life is so mysterious that in many cultures the mirror is feared.” 3
It is an oversimplification to dismiss Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde as merely an “evil twin”
story, however. Though predating Sigmund Freud’s descriptions of the structure of personality
by more than a decade, Stevenson’s story clearly addresses many of the same issues that the
noted psychiatrist would later describe. Jekyll is a person “caught between seemingly
1
King, Charles. "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde: A Filmography." Journal of Popular Film and Television, (Spring 1997):
9. Print.
2
Ibid., 9.
3
McNally, Raymond T., and Radu Florescu. In Search of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Los Angeles: Renaissance, 2000.
128. Print.
6
irreconcilable tendencies – the demands of the unconscious self and the desires of the ego… [He
is] trapped by ‘the lower elements of his soul’ and the demands of polite society.” 4 Many of the
film versions of the story have, either with or without intention, made it seem as if Jekyll and
Hyde are two distinctly different persons, with Jekyll portrayed as an inherently virtuous
character who is tormented by the evil Mr. Hyde. This characterization is not present at the
conclusion of Stevenson’s original story. Rather, Henry Jekyll is both good and evil, and despite
his assertion that his invocation of Mr. Hyde is done in the interests of science – for the benefit
of mankind, it is clear Jekyll likes turning into Edward Hyde because it allows him behavior that
he is not allowed otherwise. There is an aspect of forbidden pleasure associated with the
Jekyll/Hyde story and with the original myth itself, as if those tormented by their darker half are
at the same time attracted to the freedom the Doppelgänger offers, and thus, the element of
choice enters the equation. It is important to remember that Jekyll and Hyde are the same
person, and that it is the draught that Jekyll ingests – a potion he consumes voluntarily and then
cannot turn away from – that triggers the transformation. The mysterious elixir that initiates
Jekyll’s transformation into Hyde is a crucial element when interpreting the story’s structure, for
it provides an excuse for the behavior – avoiding personal responsibility – and speaks to the
additional theme of addiction and its accompanying denial as being pivotal to Jekyll’s selftorment.
It seems important to speak about addiction as it relates to a discussion of duality of
character. While the disease of addiction by no means explains an eons-old suspicion that there
is a darker side to our nature, there are certain characteristics inherent in the disease that tend to
nurture those traits that might be seen as characteristic of the Doppelgänger or “evil twin.” It is
easy to get lost, as many filmmakers seem to have, in the idea that Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde are
4
Ibid., 134.
7
two completely different people. “The history of Jekyll and Hyde criticism suggests…that many
readers of the novel have seen in the tale little more than a simple exposition of two-sidedness in
the human condition,” notes Daniel L. Wright, “to assume that Jekyll represents human ‘good’
while Hyde embodies that which is ‘evil’ is to forget that Hyde is but the consequence of Jekyll’s
experiments in forbidden science; he exists only by the will of Jekyll; he has no independent
being. Hyde is not other than Jekyll; he is Jekyll.” 5 Henry Jekyll is compelled, not by the potion
itself but by the attraction of that part of his persona represented by Edward Hyde, to continue
his use of the unnamed draught. The potion itself is symptomatic; he has always been very much
Mr. Hyde. “Jekyll’s drug or potion may be seen only as a convenient vehicle for him to release
his dormant evil tendencies. It is not the potion alone that turns Jekyll into Hyde. Jekyll was
leading a double life long before he took the potion.” 6
Interestingly, real-life addicts had appropriated the Jekyll and Hyde analogy by early in
the twentieth century. The founders of Alcoholics Anonymous, when writing the book that
would become the cornerstone of their organization, describe the alcoholic as “…a real Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” 7 Addicts themselves are often acutely aware of the personality changes
that occur when they indulge in their drug of choice and may even speak of their disease in the
third person, as a separate entity, even as they vehemently deny that they are afflicted.
Unwilling to face reality as it is presented to them, they pursue their addiction as a means of
accessing that part of their personality that is strong, that is brave enough to take risks, and that is
often capable of depraved behavior. “A likely candidate for addiction, for example, frequently
will regard himself as one for whom ordinary human happiness is impossible, and he may seek
5
Wright, Daniel L. "The Prisonhouse of My Disposition’: A Study of the Psychology of Addiction in Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde." Studies in the Novel Fall (1994): 254.
6
McNally and Florescu, 137.
7
Alcoholics Anonymous. New York City: Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 2001. 21..
8
to compensate for that loss by indulging dark desires that seem to promise the happiness and
self-satisfaction that he otherwise thinks himself denied.” 8 In any case, it is clear that Henry
Jekyll adheres to this pattern and that he is also willing to engage in a level of denial that will
eventually doom him. Though he may be unwilling to accept it, “…Jekyll is an addict. His main
tragedy is that he cannot accept the fact that he has a complex, sometimes even contradictory,
personality. Jekyll erroneously thinks that he can stay in control of Hyde and that he can get rid
of Hyde whenever he wishes. But he cannot.” 9 In short, Henry Jekyll’s denial is an attempt to
adhere to societal ideals. Although on some level Jekyll knows that the allure of his alter-ego is
damning, his denial takes the form of a belief that he can adhere to Victorian society’s mores and
suppress his darker self. He returns again and again to the concoction and thus dooms himself.
Psychology
Sigmund Freud, the father of modern psychoanalysis, remains an icon even into
the twenty-first century. In spite of fervent criticism and reevaluations of his ideologies through
the years, Freud’s theories on the development and structure of human personality remain largely
relevant even today. His thoughts are also crucial when making the link between Dr. Jekyll and
Mr. Hyde and Postmodern society. Sigmund Freud separated human personality into three
distinct, though overlapping, structures – the id, the ego, and the superego – that together define
how each of us reacts to ourselves and to our external environment. At the core of these
structures is the id, which Freud describes as “…a chaos, a cauldron of seething excitement…it
has no organization and no unified will, only an impulsion to obtain satisfaction for the
8
9
Wright, 265.
McNally and Florescu, 140.
9
instinctual needs...” 10 The id is hereditary and exists at birth; it has no rational relationship to the
outside world on its own, but is ruled completely by the desire to meet its own selfish needs. It is
“…a completely unorganized, primordial, reservoir of energy, derived from the instincts…” 11
and “…knows no values, no good and evil, no morality.” 12
Mediating the id’s relationship with the outside world is the ego. The ego develops after
birth and draws all of its energy from the id. It plays the role of the consciousness, acting as a
foil to the surging desires of the id, and deploys defense mechanisms to protect itself from the
id’s impulsiveness. For Freud “…the ego advances from the function of perceiving instincts to
that of controlling them…..[it] stands for reason and circumspection, while the Id stands for the
untamed passions.” 13
The superego is the third structure in a Freudian anatomy of human personality. It
develops last and represents that part of the personality that makes moral judgements about what
a person should or should not be doing. These judgments often derive from what the person’s
parents might have invoked or by what the person perceives that his or her parents might have
invoked. As such they may conflict with the desires of the id or with the ego’s attempts to
mediate these desires. Freud continues, “….every movement is watched by the severe superego, which holds up certain norms of behavior, without regard to any difficulties coming from
the id and the external world; and if these norms are not acted up to, it punishes the ego with the
feelings of tension which manifest themselves as a sense of inferiority and guilt.” 14
10
Freud, Sigmund. New Introductory Lectures on Psycho-analysis. Trans. W. J. H. Sprott. New York: W.W.
Norton, 1933. 103.
11
Meissner, W. W. Freud & Psychoanalysis. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 2000. 163.
12
Freud, 105.
13
Ibid., 107.
14
Ibid., 109.
10
It is important to note that these three aspects of human character are neither distinct unto
themselves nor harmonious as a group. Their interactions are complex and varied, and because
the development of the ego and superego accompany socialization and growth to maturity,
seemingly trivial childhood events can greatly influence adult mental health. Thus, we return to
Robert Louis Stevenson and contextualize the conflict between Jekyll and Hyde as epitomizing
the struggle between the three unhealthy parts of Henry Jekyll’s personality, with his denial a
manifestation of his superego’s need to conform to society and his addiction representative of his
id’s intense desire to invoke Edward Hyde. For Jekyll, the need to adhere to the mores of
Victorian society, to live within its strict rules, is in conflict with his desire to accommodate the
baser instincts of his nature; his superego and id are in conflict with the ego left struggling
between them. As previously noted, a motif of a character in conflict with itself is ancient, but
Stevenson’s novella, in conjunction with a Freudian model of personality structure, seems to
punctuate the theme of a dark “other” so clearly present in twentieth century art, literature, film,
and critical thinking. Variations on this theme continue to the present day, but as we shall see,
their manifestations have adopted much subtler forms.
Edward Hyde, in R. L. Stevenson’s tale of duality, embodies a confrontation with a staid
Victorian society thoroughly entrenched in nineteenth century England. He represents that part
of every man which would rebel, would vehemently resist the control of a societal ego and
superego. Hyde’s behavior is a rejection of the values in place at the time. Sigmund Freud’s
developing theories of human psyche likewise challenged accepted ideas about human nature
and, at least in the context of our present discussion, provide a bridge to other changes in the
twentieth century. By the end of World War I, significant changes in aesthetic thought were
emerging as well. Modernism, the movement that would dominate artistic thought through the
11
1960s, was beginning to alter the established and traditional ideas about how art should be
produced and how it should be interpreted. Surrealism, Da Da, and Cubism forced art lovers to
reevaluate their sense of artistic representation, to recognize that the world could be portrayed,
perhaps, without the benefit of perspective, or that art need not be representational at all.
Modernism was by no means limited to the milieu of the painter or sculptor, either. Literature
was transformed by the stream-of-consciousness of Joyce, the poetry of e. e. cummings, and
others. Cinema was influenced as well, with films like Salvadore Dali and Luis Bunuel’s Un
Chien Andalou and an active avant garde breaking new ground very early in the history of film
itself. Modernism continued to exert its influence well past the mid-twentieth century, bursting
forth as abstract expressionism, minimalism, and pop art, and epitomized by the work of Jackson
Pollack, Mark Rothko and others. At its culmination Modernism was characterized by
fragmented, random motifs, often not even vaguely representational. Cinema claimed its own
accompaniments to this trend as well, an example being Andy Warhol’s Empire, an eight-hourlong film depicting a unchanging view of the Empire State Building. It is important to
remember, however, that Modernism was not merely a change in the way that art was produced
or perceived. It was also a reflection of cultural and ideological changes, a rejection of
formalized aesthetic ideas and of differences between “high” and “low” art. These societal
changes were not, and are not, static. Rather, they are indicative of an ever-changing continuum
that is a reflection of our society and its culture.
Postmodernism
In the latter half of the twentieth century another shift in aesthetic and critical thought
occurred. In spite of its minimalist, often non-representational nature, Modernism had long
12
portrayed itself as a unifying force, a movement which sought to bring order to an increasingly
fragmented world. By the 1980s, however, philosophers had begun to write about an emerging
new movement, one which would initiate additional changes in critical thought and quickly be
labeled Postmodernism. While this new school of thought was in many ways similar to
Modernism – denouncing formalized boundaries between high and low art, flouting strict genre
classifications, and affirming a sense of self-reflexivity – Postmodernism was also a departure
from the movement that preceded it in that it celebrated and capitalized on the fragmentation
brought to human existence by an increasingly technological and media-oriented world.
Philosophers like Jean-Francois Lyotard, Michel Foucault, and Jean Baudrillard characterize the
Postmodernism period as one in which meaning has been increasingly broken down, when the
“grand narratives” that society has typically used to describe itself (and which Modernism
embraced) have been shattered, and when reality itself is increasingly called into question. In the
late twentieth century mass media assumed its role as a domineering, determining entity
hovering at the forefront of popular culture. To critical thinkers like Jean Baudrillard, society
has become so bombarded with images that the images themselves have begun to lose their
meanings.
These images, what Baudrillard calls simulations, might take the form of messages
delivered to us by the media about how we should live our lives, how we should look, or how we
should view our society or government. Ever-present and inherently self-replicating, these
messages are woven into the fabric of our lives and have become inescapable. Baudrillard’s
conclusion is that as these images or messages copy and recopy themselves, they become
simulacra, – they replace their original referents and become copies for which there are no
originals; they become hyper-realities. Byron Hawk writes, “Baudrillard’s concept of simulation
13
is the creation of the real through conceptual or ‘mythological’ models which have no connection
or origin in reality….the boundary between the image, or simulation, and reality implodes
(breaks down). This creates a world of hyperreality where the distinctions between real and
unreal are blurred.” 15 The implication of Baudrillard’s ideas are enough to make many people
uncomfortable, for their validity would imply that society is finding it increasingly hard to
differentiate actual “reality” from the reality presented to us by the media and by our leaders.
The intimation would be that our world itself is becoming a simulation. Jean Baudrillard himself
notes, “…the age of simulation thus begins with a liquidation of all referentials…it is no longer a
question of imitation, nor of reduplication, nor even of parody. It is rather a question of
substituting signs of the real for the real itself.” 16 Baudrillard further delineates what he sees as
“…the successive phases of the image:”
1. It is the reflection of a basic reality.
2. It masks and perverts a basic reality.
3. It masks the absence of a basic reality.
4. It bears no relation to any reality whatever: it is its own pure Simulacrum. 17
While such ideas may seem at once fantastic, one must admit that most of the societal
conditions upon which Baudrillard is basing his conclusion do exist. We do live in a world
increasingly dominated by a mass media that largely determines our view of the world outside of
our immediate surroundings. We do accept the images presented to us on radio and television as
being true representations of reality, without the benefit of any other evidence to the fact, and
largely without mistrust. We do tend to align our lives with the lives of the characters we see in
the media, to mimic their dress and desires. This tendency on our part to adhere to and act as a
15
Hawk, Byron. "Baudrillard and Simulation." George Mason University Classweb. Web. 4 Mar.
2002. <http://classweb.gmu.edu/bhawk/101/semiotics/baud.html>.
16
Baudrillard, Jean. "Simulacra and Simulations." Ed. Mark Poster. Selected Writings. Stanford,
CA: Stanford UP, 1988. 167..
17
Ibid., 170.
14
reflection of the determining forces in our society is not without its repercussions, either. Much
like Dr. Jekyll in Robert Louis Stevenson’s nineteenth century novel, it seems natural that those
aspects of our psyche as described by Sigmund Freud would find themselves bombarded by the
most mixed of messages. Our collective superego must, by necessity, find itself struggling to
adhere to a field of constantly-changing canons, just as our collective id revels in the potential of
an increasingly complex range of self-indulgent possibilities. It seems logical, even natural, that
the artistic vehicles of our society, whether they take the form of literature, painting, or cinema,
might act as a reflection of a collective ego enmeshed in psychic conflict.
Cinema
The Jekyll and Hyde text, with its motifs of addiction, duality, sexual tension, and the
dark side of human nature, has wormed its way inexorably into the minds of both producers and
consumers of popular culture. The theme of duality especially, with its ancient underpinnings in
our collective psyche, seems to resonate most clearly in R.L. Stevenson’s work, and
confirmation by Freud that there apparently are multiple layers to our reasoning insured that
Jekyll and Hyde would remain in our consciousness. While one can by no means attribute every
filmic theme of duality or Doppelgänger-as-character-study directly to the Jekyll/Hyde story, the
continuing emergence of films applying variations of these themes to their plot lines confirms a
debt to the Stevenson story as a unifying thread. As noted earlier, almost a hundred cinematic
adaptations based directly upon Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde have been produced, and there have
been many, many more films borrowing on its themes, often in conjunction with a Freudian view
of human personality structure. Often these first productions of the story avoided emphasis on
the unity of the vying qualities of human nature, evidence of the discomfort with which early
15
audiences approached themes of duality. Rather, early examples like The Werewolf closely
followed the evil-twin-as-physical-other motif, clearly delineating the line between redeemable
good and abhorrent evil through differences in behavior, appearance, etc.— an indication by the
film’s auteur that society was still to be considered a unifying force, that the dark side was close,
but not that close. Frankenstein, though originating with Mary Shelley, another nineteenth
century author, continued the trend towards a clear separation of good and evil, though heavily
playing up the theme of man’s arrogant presumption to create the image of himself and
inadvertently spawning the embodiment of his baser “self.” While early directors and producers
may have been reluctant to pursue deeply philosophical interpretations of the Jekyll and Hyde
story, as the twentieth century progressed more astute cinematic readings on themes of duality
began to appear. Though not the first of these films to delve into increasingly complex
examinations of human duality, Forbidden Planet was among the first to name Sigmund Freud’s
“Id” as being representative of man’s dark side.
Briefly, Wilcox’s film tells the story of an
advanced technology created by a race of super beings on a faraway planet, a technology that
quite literally magnifies the innermost desires of the human psyche. When a rescue ship tries to
evacuate the inhabitants of a long-abandoned outpost, they find themselves confronted by a
monster created by the id of one the stranded scientists. Aside from being very much ahead of
its time in terms of special effects, Forbidden Planet, whether with the intent of its producers or
not, was among the first films to portray the seething anxiety possible between the varying facets
of man’s personality. Its story also presented a mankind in conflict with the rapid onrush of
technology, a deeply foretelling theme that would reappear with the emergence of
Postmodernism.
16
While one might look to any number of films produced in the last quarter of the twentieth
century as being quintessential examples of Postmodern cinema, there is one film – Ridley
Scott’s 1982 Blade Runner – which was born on the cusp of Postmodernism itself and which,
perhaps better than any film since, illustrates many of the issues confronting society as raised by
Jean Baudrillard. Set on a post-apocalyptic Earth during the twenty-first century, Scott’s film, an
adaptation of a book by Philip K. Dick, tells the story of a police officer, Rick Deckard (Harrison
Ford), who is asked to track down and kill five “replicants,” androids who are such perfect
copies of humans that a special test must be conducted to differentiate them from their creators.
Deckard’s world is a dense, claustrophobic milieu, a place where rain falls eternally into deep
canyons formed by the immense skyscrapers of a future Los Angeles. One’s societal status is
determined by how far one lives above the street level. Animals have been consumed into
extinction, replaced by their own replicant mimics, and there is the distinct feeling that the
denizens of this world never see the sun at all. They are bombarded endlessly with messages
urging further consumption and lured by the promise of a better life “off-world” as colonists.
Jack Boozer describes this Earth as a place of “…dense iconography, the postmodern eclecticism
in architecture, modes of transport, dress, advertising and electronic information bathe the
spectator in what Baudrillard has called an ‘ecstasy of communication’.” 18 Deckard moves
through this dark culmination of civilization with cynical disillusion, as if suddenly hesitant to
adhere to a role he has long played but knowing nothing else. His search for the replicants and
their leader, Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer), begins reluctantly, and it is soon clear that his prey seeks
far more than mere freedom from bondage. Limited by their creators to a sharply curtailed lifespan, the replicant’s great longing is for a life, for a confirmation of the memories that have been
18
Boozer, Jr., Jack. "Crashing the Gates of Insight." Ed. Judith B. Kerman. Retrofitting Blade Runner - Issues in
Ridley Scott's Blade Runner and Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Bowling Green, KY:
Bowling Green State University Popular, 1991. 215.
17
programmed into their “psyche”, for proof that the manufactured photographs they cling to as
evidence of a past life are, in fact, genuine. As the film progresses the viewer understands that
Deckard himself is searching for answers, or might even be a replicant himself. Any sense of
singleness he might have had has long since been diluted by the world that he moves through.
In this place “…memory, vision, and identity are all fragmented. Nothing can be relied upon as
real, particularly the ‘human’ protagonists…they search not only for an elusive reality, but for
themselves through their memories and photographs.” 19
His encounters with the replicants only add to his disorientation. Despite assertions by
his superiors that the androids are inferior, rogues who need to be terminated, Deckard finds their
anger and fear frighteningly human and somehow compelling. Though he proceeds with his
assassination of the androids, his sudden uncannily human relationship with Rachael (Sean
Young), the prototype for a new generation of replicants, and a final confrontation with Roy
Batty force Deckard to examine the androids’ crisis of identity in a new light, even while
questioning his own.
Although Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, 20 the book that Blade Runner is based
on, was published in 1968, certainly well before the first glimmerings of Postmodernism began
appearing on the horizon, its author, Philip K. Dick, was astute enough to suspect that the
accelerating influence of technology, with its accompanying bombardment of media messages
and consumerism, might have profound effects on society in the late twentieth century. Dick
was accustomed to writing about man’s confrontations with bureaucracy and the dehumanizing
influence of technology; in 1964 he even published a book entitled The Simulacra. 21 The story
19
Cupitt, Cathy. "Eyeballing the Simulacra: Desire and Vision in Blade Runner." Reocities Archive, Rising from the
Ashes - RIP Geocities... Web. 2 Feb. 2002. <http://reocities.com/Area51/Hollow/2405/blade.html>.
20
Dick, Philip K. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1968..
21
Dick, Philip K. The Simulacra. New York: Ace, 1964.
18
that became Blade Runner is typical. It is characterized by “an obsession with the blurring of
reality, dreams and waking confused together, mechanical replicas indistinguishable from their
originals, drug-induced hallucinations more real than reality.” 22
Whether intentionally or not, Ridley Scott’s adaptation of the Dick story repeats many of
the same themes, and when viewed in juxtaposition with R. L. Stevenson’s The Strange Case of
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, it is clearly also a direct descendant of the Stevenson novella. Scott’s
film is foremost a translation of the Jekyll/Hyde story to a burgeoning Postmodern world,
however. “ Blade Runner interrogates identity and exposes antiquated assumptions to illuminate
a crisis of identity formation – based on postmodernist concerns of hypermediation and
simulation.” 23 Although Blade Runner starkly echoes the motif of duality found in Jekyll and
Hyde, the film transforms a reading of one man struggling with the different structures of his
own personality into one of humankind itself in an intense conflict with its own desires and
mores when faced with a too-rapidly changing world. Deckard’s encounters with the replicants
represent a distillation for him, the heart of his own struggle to define himself in a societal
context. He is torn between the authoritarian role of police officer he must play and his desire to
have a more meaningful, human existence. Boozer best sums up this inner conflict as a
reflection of Deckard’s society:
…it is in the psychological imagery that the problems of personal perspective and
identity take on the greatest significance……Batty is a libidinous figure of rage deprived
of a past; he represents a repressed anger and disgust comparable to the despair that has
driven Deckard to early retirement. Batty incarnates the power of the id over and against
the malaise of Deckard as superego. He is obviously a doppelganger, a monster in the
true etymological sense of a ‘warning.’ As figure of repression, Batty suggests not only a
troubled past but a problematic future. 24
22
Felix, Amedeo. "Reality Or Simulacra." Amedeo Felix - Fine Art Portfolio. Web. 30 Nov. 2010.
<http://www.amedeofelix.com/BladeRunner.html>.
23
Boozer, 216.
24
Ibid., 221.
19
Complicating Deckard’s desire is the fact that he is essentially trapped in a dehumanizing
world, an environment where one is constantly delivered conflicting messages about what it
means to be human. His acquiescence when ordered to search for the androids indicates the
denial that he feels, the sense that he should somehow cling to the role set for him by the world
he inhabits. His search for Batty and the other replicants becomes necessarily a search for
himself, for reconciliation and redemption. His future is by no means certain, however (indeed,
with the release of Ridley Scott’s director’s cut the film has two different endings). Instead, the
viewer is left to wonder if, like the replicant animals of the film, the last vestiges of an extinct
species and themselves simulacra, man is himself on the verge of extinction, with only false
copies as evidence of an existence.
Simulacrum
A Film by Philip Thompson
Simulacrum began as an overnight assignment required for a graduate field production
class more than a year before its actual production began. Students submitted lists of short, one
or two-sentence ideas which could then be bantered around during class to debate their merit as
prospective ideas for films. The discussion of these proposals was enthusiastic, humorous, and
divergent. Little thought had been given to the practical constraints of seeing these concepts
through the three phases of production in the short span of one term. The original synopsis for
Simulacrum read:
A man hurriedly readies himself for work and leaves his house in a rush, only to realize
that he has locked both his briefcase and keys inside behind him. As he frantically tries
to break into his own home, he both glimpses and hears events taking place inside which
cannot and should not be happening – a wild party rages, a woman poisons her husband,
a man is arrested, etc.
20
Of my list of possible film ideas, the above synopsis was not one which I thought might
be produced during the quarter, primarily because as a concept for a film it was very much off
the top of my head. I had given virtually no thought to how it might be produced. I remember
thinking that it would require at least two locations and, as written, several actors or more. I also
remember liking its premise, though, and as we began our discussion of the various ideas that
other students had brought in, I am certain that I played it down, perhaps thinking that I might
develop it further. Other synopses were chosen for production that quarter, but the original
proposal for Simulacrum remained in the back of my mind, where it would simmer for a while.
During the next few months, the idea of a character whose world is inexplicably and
impossibly turned upside down, occupied my thoughts increasingly. Further, while the general
theme of the original premise remained constant, the nature of the story’s crisis began to evolve,
began to take on a darker, or even sinister tone. Initially I had thought of the story as being a
black comedy or sorts: As the main character struggles to break into his own home, the events he
witnesses are more darkly humorous than menacing – a costume ball swirls through the suddenly
unfamiliar rooms, a dog barks furiously at a cowering police officer as a young girl eggs it on, a
group of leather-clad dwarves stoke a furiously burning furnace. The problem with this
approach was to develop commonality between the various events in the story. They seemed
appropriately odd but without much meaning beyond that impression. In addition, the main
character seemed impossibly shallow, and his experiences seemed implausible. In answer to
these issues I began to explore how the character and the events within the script might motivate
each other.
Nolan, whom the audience meets at the beginning of Simulacrum, emerged as much from
a process of self-examination as through one of active creation. I don’t remember when the
21
comparison between Simulacrum and the “Jekyll and Hyde” theme became apparent. I am
deeply aware of my own “dark” side, as it were, and have been forced to recognize that often
these flaws in my own personality have triggered unfortunate, impetuous decisions and damaged
both my relationships with others and my perception of myself. I was interested in the mythical
idea of the Doppelgänger even prior to these periods of self-examination, though, and had come
to a conclusion that most people harbor aspects of their personality/psyche that they deny to
others or even to themselves. Often this inclination to disguise is manifested in patently
harmless forms – one may hide one’s inner views or opinions for fear of persecution or ridicule
or may nurture unconventional belief systems – but more malignant charades may take place as
well: an alcoholic may for years deny his condition repeatedly, even to himself, or outwardly
“normal” people may go to great lengths to conceal pathologies that nag at their conscience. As
noted previously, the “evil twin” is a thematic device older than film itself; it has appeared in
numerous artistic forms for millennia and is itself rooted in our cultural psyche. I was by no
means interested in merely adding another Jekyll/Hyde story to a long history of such films, but I
was attracted to the idea of a character who is so separated from the darker aspects of his psyche
that his existence becomes virtually two separate realities, each vying with the other for
dominance in the character’s personality.
This character concept dovetailed well within the framework already established for
Simulacrum. Rather than confronting merely impossible or unlikely events as he tries to break
into his own home, Nolan, the screenplay’s lead character, is forced to confront aspects of
himself that he would just as soon deny. Essentially, two separate worlds are created within the
film – one a representation of how Nolan would want himself perceived by the outside world, the
22
other an indication of who he is or might be, if seen without the veil of his own denial or outright
disguise.
Nolan, the character that the viewer meets in the opening scene, seems outwardly normal,
if meticulous. We join Nolan in his bathroom, where he is being careful not to miss any spots
before toweling off thoroughly. His bedroom is likewise scrupulously neat, with its wrinkle-free
bedspread and carefully arranged decor. Nolan starts his day as many of us might – he sets his
watch and dresses consciously, knotting his tie carefully in the mirror before filling his pockets
from a tray on the dresser. At first glance nothing seems untoward. His world is a clean,
organized, softly-lit place, with apparently nothing to mar what must be a satisfying and
appropriately civilized existence. It even sounds normal, with a soft background of the
presumably pleasant world outside mixing with the hum of the house itself. Nolan fits well
within this environment. He moves confidently from room to room, assured of his place in these
familiar surroundings, his actions familiar to the point of ritual. It is only as he finishes his
morning coffee in the dining room that the viewer becomes aware that all may not be right with
Nolan’s world. The sounds of a rather one-sided argument seep through the window to the
accompaniment of a dog’s bark and the slam of a door, a faint but unwanted intrusion on his
morning solitude, and Nolan is forced to look up from his morning newspaper.
If we were to rewind the film to the beginning we might notice other indications that all
is not as it seems; imperfections stare back from our picture of Nolan’s existence. In the
bathroom a leaky faucet drips ominously as Nolan shaves. In the bedroom an empty picture
frame stands next to the bed, as if the frame was remembered but the picture itself was forgotten,
and we realize that Nolan seems preoccupied with time. He carries two watches, one on his
wrist and the other in his pocket, and seems concerned that they do not keep the right time.
23
Nolan’s world is neat – but inconsistent, as if its elements were chosen from a series of catalogs.
Incongruities insert themselves into his frame of reference, as if added as an afterthought or at
the behest of an unconscious influence. On the dining room table stand porcelain angels, a
distinctly but isolated feminine touch, and in the kitchen two coffeemakers clutter the counter.
The sounds of the argument outside are an indication to us that external forces may occasionally
intrude on Nolan’s routine. He is quickly able to shrug off this intrusion, however, as he may
have done countless times in the past. He washes his coffee cup out and leaves it in the dishdrain before heading back to the bedroom to put on his sport coat. He hums absentmindedly as
he starts towards the front door where he is brought to a sudden, shocked stop. In front of him a
paint chip flakes away from the wall, an obvious and, for Nolan, unacceptable blight on his
otherwise perfect world. To his horror his tentative touch causes it to break away from the wall
completely, generating a sudden need and determination to fix it, to paint over it before leaving
the house. His attempt to match the paint color is unsuccessful, of course, and Nolan is instead
left standing in the foyer, unable to correct the flaw that will signal the beginning of a change for
him.
The discovery of the flaking paint chip is a pivotal point in the film, and the events that
follow in quick succession are a deepening indication that not only is Nolan’s world not what it
seems, but that, in fact, Nolan may not be what he seems. Something is wrong, though we may
not be quite able to understand what. Nolan himself seems blissfully unaware of any problem
except for the flaking paint chip, and as he strides confidently down the walkway toward the
luxury sedan parked on the street, he reaches into his pocket for his keys, an action easily within
the bounds of his character, except that he has left them locked them inside the house, an action
that Nolan, at least, would agree was categorically something he would never do. Suddenly he
24
finds himself standing in confusion on the front porch of his house, wondering what has
happened, locked out by his hurry to adhere to a schedule, and we begin to understand that
underneath the patina of Nolan’s life something deeply disconcerting may lie. Nolan himself has
no such understanding. His response to these sudden complications has been to deny the current
reality presented to him. Nolan’s confusion on the porch signals a new phase in the
transformation of his character – at this point he deviates from the rules he has set for his life and
ceases to act rationally, as the fastidiously neat Nolan would. He heads straight across the lawn
despite the certain dirtying of his shoes. He curses at the locked side door and then climbs over
the fence to the backyard. In his desperation to correct, to put order back into place, Nolan is
crossing a boundary into distinctly un-Nolan-like behavior. He is beginning to betray himself to
whatever it is that lies beneath the surface of his world, and as he trots up the steps to the back
door of his house, we suspect that it is at this door where he must confront the source of his
disorder.
As Nolan tries the door at the back of his house and, he senses that something is amiss
and looks through the window into the room beyond. At that moment events within the film
have begun to accelerate. Inside is a room that Nolan has never seen before, occupied by people
he has never seen before, people who cannot possibly be there. A man and a woman argue
violently in a kitchen that is in harsh juxtaposition to the neat space that Nolan keeps for himself.
It is a filthy, claustrophobic space, with dirty dishes cluttering the counters and sink. Horrifying
pictures decorate the refrigerator, as if left there by some deeply disturbed child, and scribbled
graffiti decorates a cabinet. Shots of the strange couple’s escalating argument alternate rapidly
with shots of the shocked Nolan on the stoop outside. Initially, the man inside has his back to
the camera as he loudly berates the cowering woman, but as his profile is revealed we realize that
25
he looks very much like Nolan (he is written into the script of Simulacrum as “The Twin”), albeit
unshaven and dressed in torn and dirty clothes. He is treating the woman very badly indeed, at
one point throwing the contents of the refrigerator at her before he chases her out of the room.
The stunned Nolan watches from outside, seemingly unable to fathom the unfolding scene. We
sense that, at least for now, his denial is continuing and that he views the man and woman as
mere intruders in his home. His pounding on the window as the man chases the woman out of
the room seems more outrage at their intrusion into his life rather than outrage at the man’s
treatment of her. His confusion is certainly deepening, however, and as he turns away from the
door the look on his face is one of bewilderment.
Nolan’s house seems both implacable and inscrutable as he rounds the corner and returns
to the front yard. In a few short minutes his world has changed from neat predictability to
threatening chaos, and as he stands on the walkway leading from his front door, he looks up and
down the street, as if wondering if he is at the right address. Yet even after the startling events at
the back of the house, he still seems determined to confront the disruption in his life, as if his
doggedness has become a need to get into the house. He rounds the opposite corner of the
building and fights his way through bushes to try a chin-high window on the side of the house.
Unable to effectively pry it open, he stands on an upturned flower pot and, as he tries to slide the
window upward, glances in. Again, and perhaps to no one’s surprise but his own, he is
confronted by the strangers inside, by the Twin loudly chastising the woman in the room beyond.
Like the alien kitchen, the space beyond the window is filthy and cluttered, the antithesis of
Nolan’s neat world. The scene again takes on a staccato-like quality, alternating between the
Twin’s abuse of the woman and the now shocked Nolan peering through the dingy glass as he
stands on the flowerpot outside. After a few moments the Twin swings his fist at the woman and
26
chases her out of the room. Nolan almost stumbles off his perch and turns away from the
window, a stunned and disbelieving look on his face. He thrashes his way out of the bushes and
returns to the front walk, by now reduced to utter confusion. He pauses and surveys the street
around him, as if confirming for a last time that he is at the right address, and it seems to us that
we, and he, can still hear the sounds of the argument inside. In a last rush of determination
Nolan bounds up the steps to the locked front door, his decision made. He twists frantically at
the unrelenting doorknob, then pounds on the locked door, shouting his protest at the strangers
inside. Their argument continues, gaining volume, and Nolan, by now at the apex of his
frustration and anger, backs up and then kicks as hard as he can at the closed door. Fade to
black.
A new scene fades in, and we find ourselves in a place far removed from the tidiness of
Nolan’s bedroom. Instead of his spotless bathroom or scrupulously neat kitchen, we are looking
through a doorway into the entrance hall of a far different home, this one perhaps the antithesis
of Nolan’s. Paint peels from the walls in sheets, and the linoleum-covered floor looks cracked
and uneven. Cluttered, filthy stairs lead upstairs, and a hallway leads straight away into the
darkness. Even the dim light that falls in from an unseen window seems dingy and pale, as if
fighting its way through clouded glass. In the center of the hallway, looking past the camera,
stands the Twin, an unshaven, shabbily dressed, sullen version of Nolan. He continues to stare
past the camera, and after a moment the camera reverses angles and we look past him though an
open front door onto the empty street outside. The Twin sighs, rubs his hand over his unshaven
face, and walks to the door and closes it. Fade to black.
27
Method
Even in the earliest stages of the development for this film, as the treatment and the initial
drafts of a script were written, it became apparent that the actual production of Simulacrum
would face some serious difficulties. Chief among these was the problem of location. The script
as written called for a single exterior and two interiors, these to be hopefully at least similar in
layout while appearing vastly different in terms of mise en scène. Two choices presented
themselves: I could use one location, which would provide an exterior, and during production
transform the interior from Nolan’s universe to the Twin’s. The problem with this approach was
that I would have to gain permission from the owner of the location to essentially trash the
property during its transformation into the Twin’s world. My other option was to use two
locations – one to provide both the exterior and interior of Nolan’s world, the other for use as the
interior of the Twin’s world. This approach seemed somehow more viable to me – I had already
been scouting locations on an ongoing basis and had found one that seemed suitable for use as
Nolan’s home.
The trick was to find a house that at least looked filthy enough to be the Twin’s.
I had envisioned the Twin’s house as being more or less identical to Nolan’s but was faced with
the probability that, even filming in a city with certain architectural consistencies, it was going to
be difficult to find a second location that was identical to the first in terms of layout. I felt
certain, however, that if I could find a setting for the Twin’s interiors that was even close in
appearance to Nolan’s, then through the editing process I could make the viewer believe that
Nolan was looking into his own home.
Finding a location for the Twin’s interiors proved to be difficult indeed, even setting
aside compatibility issues with the first location. Out of desperation I finally contacted a realtor,
asking him to keep an eye out for properties in disrepair whose owners might allow me to shoot,
28
and this tactic yielded a possible location, a house which had been abandoned by its previous
tenant. The interior of the home was a disaster, filthy to an extreme, for the tenant had also
abandoned most of her belongings. Every room of the house was more or less filled with
discarded clothing, books, broken appliances, and other detritus. Rats had made their home
there, and one of my main concerns became the heath of my film crew. If anything, the location
was possibly too filthy, and I was faced with the necessity of cleaning the location to a point
where it would at least be usable.
A further complication was the house’s layout. While similar in size to our probable first
location, the interior of the house bore only a passing resemblance to the original. In the end,
and perhaps optimistically, I decided that I might be able to make this work in my favor. In the
script Nolan looks through the windows of his house – it is from this point of view that he sees
that there are strangers inside and that his rooms have changed. I reasoned that it might be
possible to give the impression that not only had the rooms changed in terms of their décor, but
that they had changed in their layout as well. The difficulty would be constantly reinforcing in
the viewer’s mind that Nolan was looking through the windows of his own home, into his own
home. I would have to accomplish this task through skillful shooting and editing.
Another problem that faced the production was one of casting. The script called for three
characters: Nolan, the Twin, and the woman (written in as Gracie). I had written Nolan as being
around forty years old and felt that I needed to stick to this age range, that a younger character
would not have had time to accumulate the internal “baggage” presumably necessary to trigger
the events in the film. Gracie, I felt, could be younger since her relationship to the Twin is not
clearly defined. She could be either a spouse or a daughter, and as such could be of any age
between fifteen and thirty-five years old. I did hold auditions, but I confess that I went into these
29
with the role of Nolan/the Twin more or less already cast. During the previous year I had met
another student, John Haymes, who was of an appropriate age and had the “look” of Nolan. He
had read the script and expressed an interest in playing the role, but had never acted. Despite this
drawback I felt that he would be perfect for the role of Nolan, and I admit that when we held
auditions I was looking mostly for someone to play Gracie. In retrospect, this approach was not
a healthy way to cast a character for a film. By the time we started shooting we were so
committed to our shooting schedule that if Haymes had not worked out, or if for some reason he
had had to withdraw, I am not sure what we would have done.
Even if Nolan and the Twin are nominally the same person, they do look distinctly
different. Blake Kimball, the cinematographer, and I decided to film in two stages to facilitate
differences in appearance. We intended to shoot for three weekends. The first of those sessions
would encompass the Twin’s interiors with Gracie. I asked John Haymes not to shave for a
week before the start of shooting, so that by the time we started filming he would be suitably
scruffy. The second two weekends would be the interiors and exteriors at Nolan’s house, and
prior to shooting at this location, we would clean and dress him up to fit that part of the
character. These strategies wound up working almost too well. While we did use the same actor
for both versions of the main character in Simulacrum, some viewers did not realize until after
the film was over that the two men are one and the same.
Above and beyond the issues of location and character, my primary concern during the
production of Simulacrum was one of believability. In a perfect world, I had envisioned an ideal
balance between Nolan’s world and that of the Twin’s. Their houses would look essentially the
same, except for decoration, with only a thin veneer separating the two realities. My own reality
was by no means so clear cut. My protagonist was cast, and I had considerable confidence in
30
John Haymes’ abilities, barring outside complications. I had an excellent crew of people with
whom I had worked before and had accumulated the resources to shoot the project on Super
16mm film. The nagging question was whether we could pull the project off. What worried me
most was the possibility that when Nolan looks through the exterior windows of his house,
viewers might not accept that the shots seen from his point-of-view (POV) - the scenes shot
inside the Twin’s house - were the changed interior of Nolan’s own house. If I had been able to
find a second location whose interior layout had been more similar to the first, this issue
probably would not have concerned me as much, but since the second interior was so different, I
was forced to look for ways to reinforce the illusion of both interiors being the same location.
Another question mark was the sequence of shots intended to represent Nolan’s point-of-view
through the windows of the house; that is, the shots where the camera literally acts as Nolan’s
eyes, seeing what he would see. It is difficult to discuss the complexity of shooting film through
a pane of glass without resorting to technical jargon, but filming through a window involves its
own set of difficulties, and we would not know for certain if we had surmounted these until the
film came back from the lab.
I began to understand that the tools that would make the film believable would be the
editing and sound design suites. In addition to its obvious role in the post-production process, I
knew that if I planned my shots well enough ahead of time that I would have the maximum
amount of material available when editing and thus stood a good chance of successfully giving
the impression that both interiors belonged to the same house. Accordingly, once we began
shooting the exteriors of Nolan’s house, we paid particular attention to the sequences where he is
actually looking through the windows. This meant that as he neared the window, either in the
back door or at the side of the house, we captured this action from various distances – long shot,
31
medium shot, medium close-up, etc. – as well as from different angles. Further, as he began to
actually look through the window, we framed our shots tighter and tighter, as well as from
different angles, so that the final shots captured for each sequence were extreme close-ups, where
Nolan’s face fills the screen. We also positioned the camera inside the house and filmed Nolan
looking in, as if he were witnessing the scenes between the Twin and Gracie. Our intent with
these shots was to give the viewer the impression that the camera was “in” the Twin’s world,
looking head-on through the pane of glass at Nolan and his disbelief. Because we captured these
sequences from so many angles, and at such a wide variety of focal lengths, when I got to the
editing suite I was able present the Twin’s confrontation with Gracie from Nolan’s point-of-view
and still constantly come back to objective views of Nolan looking in from the outside, thus
reinforcing in the viewer’s mind that when I cut to Nolan’s POV, what they are seeing is what he
is seeing – the changed interior of his own home. Since these sequences encompass the primary
escalation of tension in the film, we were able to give them a certain rhythmic quality during the
editing process that added to the sense of increasing anxiety. As Nolan peers through the
windows, the edits take on a clock-like regularity, comprising increasingly shortened intervals,
that serve well as a means of increasing anxiety or a sense that things are rapidly accelerating out
of control. Truthfully, as I neared what I was to consider a fine-cut of the film, I realized that the
piece itself largely follows a distinct motif. In the beginning of Simulacrum, the shots are long
and quite methodical, with little sense of urgency despite evidence that all is not as it seems. As
the story unfolds, Nolan’s shots with the paint chip and outside become progressively shorter and
closer together.
Another concern that occupied a lot of my time even in the early stages of production was
that of the film’s sound. I had taken quite a few courses in sound design as part of the curricula
32
and had developed an awareness that the soundtrack of a film influences believability. Thus, as I
began the process of fleshing out the treatment and script, I tried to hear how sound might further
the plot’s structure and progression. In my own mind the Twin’s world is “seeping” into
Nolan’s. That is, that elements of the Twin’s environment are crossing the thin veneer that
separates the Twin’s psyche from Nolan’s and that it is these elements that Nolan is being forced
to confront: the paint chip, the physical incongruities in Nolan’s universe, etc. It occurred to me
that a similar, though aural, transposition might occur as well, that as the story progressed Nolan
might also begin to hear elements of the Twin’s world. One such element was already written
into the script in the form of the argument that Nolan hears while finishing his coffee in the
dining room, and no doubt other opportunities would arise once I began editing the film’s sound.
I felt certain that when constructing the soundtrack during post-production I could introduce a
mix of sound effects, music, and extra dialogue that would reinforce the idea of the Twin’s and
Nolan’s worlds becoming a superimposition of sorts.
We utilized synchronous, double-system sound, and thus, the only audio recorded during
actual filming was the actors’ dialog, their movement within the scene, and any extraneous
ambient sound that happened to be picked up by the microphones. While a degree of selectivity
was desirable, this need also demanded that considerable work would be required during post to
even out sound levels, to compensate for the unavoidable camera noise, and to correct other
anomalies. Truthfully, when the raw location audio is mated with the picture for the first time
during the post-production of any film, it sounds bland, at times even awful. A great deal of
work is needed to build the final aural environment for a film. Early in pre-production I realized
that there was almost no limit to the directions I could take when designing Simulacrum’s aural
environment. This fact at times ensured that sessions in the audio suites were highly
33
exasperating; there were almost too many choices to be made. I quickly decided, however, to
follow certain aural themes that I hoped would jibe with the visual ones that I had already
established. Generally, I tried to match the escalation of tension imparted by the film’s visual
elements. At the beginning of Simulacrum, the sound of Nolan’s environment is fairly
predictable, even boring – we hear the drip of water into the sink, the ticking of his clock, the
hum of the air conditioner, and, very faintly, the sound of the world beyond his windows. With
the exception of the accompanying musical score, most of these sounds are diagetic, meaning
that they belong to the world of the film - we see the source of the sounds we hear.
As the
film’s plot progresses through the scenes in the dining room, kitchen, and hallway, leading up to
Nolan’s encounter with the flaking paint chip, the soundtrack becomes increasingly non-diagetic.
Suddenly we are hearing sound effects for which there is no explanation – strange synthetic
hammerings, dog barks, and a low-frequency roar accompany Nolan’s frantic search for the
proper paint, only to end in a sudden release of tension as he opens the front door of his house. I
followed a similar strategy for Nolan’s encounters with the Twin and with Gracie. In the
sequence immediately prior to each confrontation, the environment sounds relatively normal, or
at least believable, but as soon as Nolan peers through the windows into the kitchen and dining
room, chaos erupts – the roar returns, this time accompanied by pounding factory sounds, odd
synthesized tones, and incongruously, the buzzing of flies. As the Twin hurls the refrigerator’s
contents onto the kitchen floor, I made it a point to add sounds that do not quite match the
objects crashing to the linoleum. Overall, I believe Simulacrum’s soundtrack works very well.
In the latter stages of post-production I still found myself reacting to the rising tension of the
film, a response I found both gratifying and a bit surprising considering the hundreds of times I
had seen it in its entirety. As a final comment concerning the soundtrack, I must point out the
34
sound design of Simulacrum took far, far longer to construct than did the fine cut of the picture,
certainly a period of months. This disparity was due mostly to extensive pre-production in
preparation for the shoot. When I got to the Avid suite to edit the picture, I essentially knew how
the film would cut together visually. When I began designing the sound track, however, I was
beginning with only the raw location sound – from scratch.
Conclusion
So why are these events happening to Nolan? The answer to that question has never been
completely clear. However, writing of this paper has given me some valuable insight into what I
may have been trying to do, even without meaning to. The completion of Simulacrum, the film
that signals the end of my scholastic career, represents a culmination, a point at which many of
the definitions and perceptions of myself, both as an artist and as a human being, have undergone
a transformation. While the film is not directly autobiographical, its plot reaches a pinnacle, a
point when change has taken place and when decisions must be made, that mirrors the theme of
my own life in recent years.
At the end of Simulacrum the viewer is left with the image of the unnamed Twin standing
in the foyer of his filthy house, his eyes staring out at a world beyond the viewer, as if left
suddenly in a limbo that we can only guess at. Casual viewers of Simulacrum may find
themselves wondering what has happened, may even feel confusion at the sudden disappearance
of Nolan. This reaction is not wholly unintended. One might argue that the Twin used to be
Nolan, that something has happened, that he is down on his luck and destitute, has submitted to
personal demons and is remembering his life the way it used to be. To my way of thinking this
interpretation is partially correct. It is clear, if only based on the reality that Nolan sees through
35
the windows of “his” house, that the Twin’s world is an abyss, that he is trapped in an intolerable
existence and at the end of the film is confronting his future. Truthfully, I have come to believe
that Nolan is the Twin’s response to circumstance, his own simulacrum, a construct that he has
become lost in, a version of himself as he might be – if he were not mired by fate and by a
peculiar insanity.
The early conceptual leap from synopsis to the idea of two aspects of a character vying
for legitimacy was an easy one for me, but had I realized the implications of such duality early in
the film’s thematic infancy, I am honestly not sure if Simulacrum would have been made at all.
In a shallow reading, the film undoubtedly has certain elements that suggest that there is
something supernatural going on, that both Nolan and the Twin are somehow “real” and that for
better or worse the Twin prevails in the end. Even today, knowing for myself that it is the Twin
who is “real” and that Nolan is the construct, I find myself thinking, “Okay, that’s true. But are
there parts of what we have seen that are real, or were they ever real?” It is a question that, even
as the director, I still ask myself.
If I step out of the reality of the film and its very limited time-span, I can easily imagine
the Twin as partly a product of the world he was born into, a world where he is bombarded with
conflicting messages about what it means to be human and have value, and partly as a victim of
his own unfortunate choices. I am also convinced that the Twin has a severe addiction of some
sort, and that it is this condition that has, as for R. L. Stevenson’s Dr. Jekyll, exacerbated his
inclination to nurture Nolan, his imperfect alter-ego. We cannot, of course, be certain if the
Twin is as doomed as the unfortunate Dr. Jekyll, but Simulacrum certainly leaves him hanging,
as it were. My own reconciliation of the events in the film is that everything that we witness up
until we meet the Twin standing in the doorway is happening in his head at that moment. For
36
whatever reason he has experienced a moment of epiphany, of culmination, a moment of clarity
and light, in which he has been able to suddenly see himself as he really is. He is left at a
crossroads and must decide whether to go on as best he can or to find a new way to live his life.
We cannot know if redemption follows.
I have heard it said that for a filmmaker, each piece is a means of exploring some aspect
of himself. While my life prior to graduate school had been by no means unfulfilling, its
unexpected appearance meant that there were evidently still changes to be experienced in my
life. Prior to this last chapter in my scholastic career, I feel like I was often ruled by what was
immediately in front of me, by what I could grasp in a moment, with little thought to working
towards a greater goal. Much like the Twin, I found myself standing in a doorway, with only the
choice of whether to step through or not to be made. The ensuing three years of graduate school
encompassed a long string of projects, each of which demanded that I look at the world in a
slightly different way while inculcating the ethos of working on a task whose results might not
be seen for weeks or even months or years. Aside from its necessary role as a degree
requirement, Simulacrum the film is very much defined by my emerging role as a filmmaker. It
is a meridian of sorts, but only as a signal of the end of my time at school. Now it is up to me to
open the door and walk out into the real world.
37
Works Cited
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