Animal Representation in Cinema

Animal Representation in Cinema

The connection between animals and film can be traced all the way back to some of the oldest stories in cinema: it was a galloping horse that inspired the invention of motion pictures; La Petite fille et son chat (1899) by the Lumière Brothers, one of the earliest films to juxtapose humans and animals in the same frame, remains one of the most beautiful and succinct works in cinematic history. However, more than a century later, with countless images of animals in film and countless movies featuring animals as protagonists or supporting characters, do we truly have the confidence to claim that animals have found their place in cinema? Or perhaps a different question: can film truly represent animals?

The implied criteria for the word "truly" in this context may still need clarification, but first, let's exclude those representations that are undoubtedly false: for example, almost all fable films about animals merely abstract them as symbolic devices, using animals as metaphors to convey the author's intended viewpoints and rules. Similarly, many animated or fairy-tale-like films anthropomorphize and sanitize animals, retaining only certain prominent, stereotypical traits of the original animals as references for character personality or design, often set in an "animal world" permeated with logic heavily embellished by fantasy (such as Zootopia or Isle of Dogs). Clearly, such a world lacks real animals; there exists only humanized animals, or humans cloaked in animal skins. Another example: many Hollywood melodramas place animals as central characters or focus on the emotional relationships between humans and animals. These films seemingly present animals in a more realistic manner than the former two categories, but in fact, there are no animals in these films, only pets, those so-called "friends of mankind", shouldering the obligations of companionship and emotional value, representing qualities such as kindness, loyalty, honesty, courage, and diligence -- qualities that humans find challenging to possess themselves but eagerly seek from others. People's overly idealized imagination of animals in reality finds its most unrestrained manifestation through the fictional power of film; these seemingly animal-friendly films fall into the most irredeemable anthropocentric tendencies.

If narrative films always seem to fail in representing animals, what about documentaries? Documentaries about animals, particularly those produced by institutions like the BBC, might be a way for cinema to get closer to real animals. These films or series primarily consist of showcasing science knowledge and natural scenery, providing ample education and enjoyment for any audience with basic curiosity about animals. However, on the other hand, the comfort of watching these documentaries hinges on their firm division between viewers and the viewed, narrators and the narrated. Animals are present merely as materials, spectacles edited and narrated in a didactic tone for educational purposes. Despite BBC-style documentaries always boasting about their authenticity in shooting, they still face fictional choices in post-production: how to organize the materials captured from reality? Should they take the perspective of the animals or that of the viewers? This directly determines whether the film can break free from the human-centric perspective and truly delve into the world of animals.

However, this question is often more difficult to answer than people imagine because even if filmmakers intentionally try to "take the perspective of animals", the binary relationship of viewer and the viewed, inherent in the medium of cinema, is not easily eliminated. As long as this relationship remains unbreakable, "animal care" in films stays akin to "humanitarian" as a disingenuous performance. We can easily think of documentaries that originate from a specific social issue -- such as environmental protection, animal rights, or critiques of the farming industry. For example, The Cove, which caused a sensation during award seasons over a decade ago -- behind its meticulously planned structure and the emotional manipulation lies an obvious inherent hypocrisy. Some auteuristic art films attempt to represent animals with more radical means: Arnold's Cow or Kossakovsky's Gunda both exclude humans from the entire film, focusing solely on animals silently surviving in neglected corners. Yet, the seemingly tranquil atmosphere of these films still can't conceal the moralistic hypocrisy ingrained in their filming intentions -- when Arnold demands the audience to witness the scene of the cow being slaughtered at the end of the film, the entire film ceases to belong to the slaughtered animal itself but becomes a cautionary "self-reflection" presented by the executioner to the audience. With it comes to observational film or direct cinema, Nicholas Philibert's Nénette or Wiseman's Primate might not overtly intend to subject the audience to ethical scrutiny or empathy, but due to the natural expectation for primates to exhibit some human-like emotions, film selection often amplifies this point exponentially. Hence, sometimes, the mere presence of a camera can cast a melancholic gaze upon the image.

So, is there a film genre that can truly free the representation of animals from the anthropocentric gaze? Jerzy Skolimowski's EO provides a possible answer, although it is far from a flawless work. In Bresson's original work Au hasard Balthazar, the donkey is still quite classically used as a metaphor for the pure and innocent ascetic, with various symbols of human suffering embodied within the appearance of the animal figure. Skolimowski certainly maintains this structure, leading us to follow a donkey named EO from the circus to the slaughterhouse, witnessing various typical negative social events in contemporary Europe through its eyes along the way. However, while we do indeed always see the donkey's eyes seemingly filled with tears, and Skolimowski even simulates the images seen from the donkey's subjective perspective for us, have we truly entered the donkey's viewpoint? In EO, whether in the bustling circus or the hurried road trip, or in moments where the donkey quietly grazes, trots along the road, or stands on a bridge over a dam, the image and posture of the donkey possess an impenetrable silent power, rejecting our presumptive projections. Rather than the suffering superficially depicted repeatedly, it is the impossibility of mutual understanding between species that makes us feel fearful and sad -- EO observes everything happening in the human world, but it doesn't care about any of it. More importantly, we actually know nothing about EO. Thus, the ending slaughter is not a premeditated act like in Cow but a ludicrous accident; the donkey's death carries a power of animal protectionism far beyond the universal, linked to a more abstract and profound absurdity of existence. All the aforementioned animal films have found a perspective to represent animals, and they have all succeeded -- of course, they have succeeded in a human-centric manner. However, EO fails in its representation of the donkey, and it does not shy away from this failure. Instead, it honestly portrays this failure and the impossibility behind it, and isn't this precisely what constitutes a truly powerful representation?

wirtten by ANNI