When
Raymond Williams introduces the idea of “selective tradition” he uses as his
example time periods. We thoroughly discussed the 1960s in class and our modern
day interpretation of their everyday lives and compared it to the realities of
living at that time. On its most basic level, selective tradition is a theory
used to explain the picking and choosing of what elements about a certain time,
era, culture, etc. remain relevant and distinguishing to later or separated
generations/peoples. It’s a massive understatement to say that “cultural
studies” is a large field. It’s almost impossible to define and can easily
justify the comparable importance of Rembrandt and my late grandfather’s
grocery list. For the sake of clarification and depth, however, I will focus my
exploration of William’s selective tradition in light of the film Be Kind, Rewind, operating under the
assumption that a movie doesn’t have to just represent a culture, era, belief,
etc. but that it can have a life of its own.
When
Jerry, newly magnetized from his run-in with the power plant, accidentally
erases all of the tapes, he and Mike have to find a way to satisfy their
customer’s demands. This is not unlike a separated generation demanding to know
more about the past, or someone in the US longing to understand Japanese
culture. The movie, like the past, is gone. What Mike and Jerry choose to do is
recreate what they remember from the film and to give that as a substitute. At
first they try to pass it off as the real thing, but as Williams says,
“selective tradition creates… a rejection of considerable areas of what was
once a living culture.” As hard as they try, they will never be able to regain
the authenticity of Ghostbusters
(without simply buying a new copy but that’s neither here nor there). Because
it’s only a shadow or reflection of what they remember, it will always lack a
sincerity that is weakly replaced by a structure of feeling.
What
they choose to include, however, is an important reflection on their own times.
Instead of exact dialogue or even true-to-the-original plot points, the most
consistent element is the inclusion of iconic scenes. In their sweded version
of Rush Hour 2, the plot takes a
backseat to the action and dialogue of the “strong bamboo” breaking and hurling
our protagonists into the busy city below. In Driving Miss Daisy’s remake, Mike exposes Jerry as obviously not
knowing what the movie is about. He doesn’t even believe that Jerry has seen
it. All Jerry knows is an old white woman in a hat sitting in the back of a car
driven by a black man. That’s what he’s taken from the film and that’s what he
chooses to pass on to new audiences. Like the selective traditions from decades
and cultures of the past, these movies take on a life of their own. Although
the viewers know that they aren’t the full or even the most accurate depictions
of the original “culture” of the film, they accept them as a substitute and
even learn to love them for it, the way that we love neon spandex and frizzy
hair that has come to represent the 80s sometimes more (or at least in a
different way) than the muted, baggy, shoulder-padded clothes that were most
common during that time.
On
a similar vein comes the story of Fats Waller’s upbringing. Mr. Fletcher has
spent years raising Mike on stories of Fats growing up in Passaic, being born
in that video shop, playing the organ at the local church. In the end, Mr.
Fletcher admits that none of it’s true. He used the stories as a way of
instilling hope in young Mike, in spite of (or because of) the small, rundown
town they are in. Many members of the community have heard the stories and hear
Mr. Fletcher’s confession of the truth. Instead of changing their perceptions
of the town and Fats’ life, they consciously choose to continue believing the
less-true version. They volunteer stories of first-hand encounters and legends
passed down from their parents and grandparents. The entire town is
instrumental in creating the “history” of Fats Waller and Passaic, NJ. This is
then filmed and shown to an enormous group of people both local and not. In
this sense, the selective tradition of Passaic, especially in regards to jazz
piano, is not something that was created organically through time, but
specifically constructed and perpetuated.
Williams
notes in his essay that “the traditional culture of a society will always tend
to correspond to its contemporary
systems of interests and values, for it is not an absolute body of work but a
continual selection and interpretation.” If we’re treating films as cultures by
themselves, then this definitely holds true for Be Kind, Rewind. I saw this film when it was first released in
2008. The elements that remained with me over the next six years were few: the
basic plot, the ghostbusters’ costumes made of tinfoil, and Mike and Jerry’s
incredible camouflage while sneaking into the power plant. At that time in my
life I was starting college, very young, and comparing everything Jack Black did
to Nacho Libre. Now, 6 years, one and
a half degrees, and a lot of sobering experiences later the same film has not
only a different meaning, but new elements that stick out and stay with me.
When describing the film six years ago I would have started with something like,
“it’s a weird, funny movie about a guy that…” Now I introduce it as, “It’s a
hilarious take on our perceptions of art and…” Yes, graduate school has turned
me into a bit of a snob, but my interpretation of the film is swayed by my
contemporary situation, whether that’s as a naïve 18 year old or a 24 year old
desperately trying to act old enough to be in graduate school.
As
seen by Be Kind, Rewind, Williams’
notion of selective tradition is produced both organically and through a series
of conscious choices. Classes and those in power do have a lot of say in what “sticks”
after a culture is done. What matters the most, though, is who is
remembering/representing/researching that culture and what are their
contemporary motivations.
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