In 1975, philosopher Michel Foucault compared the design of Jeremy Bentham’s penitentiary, the Panopticon, to Western society.
As Foucault explained, citizens operated as if they were constantly being watched, just like the Panopticon’s prisoners. People followed daily routines while always aware of potential observation and disapproval from others; this suspicion normalized their behavior because they feared possible retribution. In response to Foucault’s theory, a question arises: what constitutes authenticity? And, perhaps more intriguingly, does it even exist?
In the summer of 1960, sociologist Edgar Morin and anthropologist Jean Rouch filmed a documentary that followed a group of participants in France. Throughout the process, they asked questions about current social mores, relationships, and whether or not it was possible to experience true happiness in day-to-day life. In this way, Morin and Rouch attempted to find out whether or not film participants could truly show their “sincere” selves on camera.
Chronicle of a Summer (1961) employs the use of open conversation to tackle issues of authenticity. When watching the film’s participants onscreen, it becomes clear that there is no straightforward definition of “truth.” Rather, we all engage in small fictions and narrative flourishes when talking about our experiences and emotions. But, as Chronicle of a Summer illustrates, this does not make our words any less real.
In a 1985 essay titled “Chronicle of a Film,” Morin emphasizes his desire to reveal the “contents of subjective life.” The phrasing here is key: he does not, ostensibly, believe in an objective life because no one is ever truly objective. The film’s participants, even in moments of vulnerability, are reshaping their stories and thoughts for public consumption: they know people are watching. In this way, a lack of authenticity graces the frame because of this self-consciousness. No matter how honest they try to be, these characters automatically maintain a distance with its viewers because they must repurpose their lives for the camera.
As Morin writes, “[E]ach one was able to be more real than in daily life, but at the same time more false.”
Crucially, their deception is not malicious, but simply a side effect of the narrative structure of Chronicle of a Summer. Even as they attempt to validate their claims, their words will, nonetheless, contain an aura of “untruth.” At the same time, the self-conscious nature of their honesty is tied to their desire to accurately explain themselves. Despite—and because of—the complexities of their emotions, they want to be understood. Marceline relates, more than once, the traumatizing details of her experiences during the Holocaust because she wants people to recognize her story. It is here that “subjective” authenticity shines.
As the film repeatedly demonstrates, our personal experiences, politics, and phobias color our interactions, the way we tell our stories, and how we react to others. In the end of the film, the directors play a rough cut for the participants and offer a platform for feedback. One woman, Maxie, argues that no one onscreen is being honest; she declares that they are acting for the camera. In response, Marceline insists on her sincerity: when she was speaking, “it felt true to [her].” Chronicle of a Summer explores whether or not there exists a significant difference between something feeling true and being true, particularly if the story itself intuitively captures the essence of the message the participant is trying to convey.
In his “Kinok Manifesto,” Dziga Vertov wrote, “Partial fragments of truth… must be elaborated into an organic collective, which, in turn, constitutes thematic truth.”
Both Morin and Rouch arrange these “fragments of truth” these conversations and stories and arguments, to sustain a broader thematic truth: the golden ideal of authenticity does not exist.
As Morin explains, “We wanted to get away from comedy, from spectacles, to enter into direct contact with life. But life itself is also a comedy, a spectacle.”
It is impossible to fully scrub away contrivance, ostentatious behavior, or uncomfortable intimacy. It is impossible to scrub away emotional impurities and, somehow, attain the cleanliness of “real life.” As Chronicle of a Summer illustrates, we belong to the spectacle. We are the spectacle. This is the film’s most honest revelation.
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