puff 656 TEN YEARS OF ILLUSIONS



SEMINAR TO THE ENGLISH DEPARTMENT
VICTORIA UNIVERSITY
1996
10 TEN YEARS OF ILL USIONS

Illusions began in 1986 with a blockbusting attack on Pakeha ideology by Russell Campbell. Starting with a reference to Donna Awatere, there is a correlation of "Rewi's Last Stand", "Broken
Barrier" and "Utu" entitled 'In order that they may become civilized'. In Illusions 25 in 1996, Campbell is still in the same vein talking
about the representations of the New Zealand male, the Kiwi bloke.

Campbell is a stalwart in the journal, the editor for the first part of the decade discussed (1986‑96), and a contributor over the period. The great value in his contribution as writer and editor, it seems to me, is that he is running a clear line where the rights of women and ethnic minorities are firmly flagged. He fits within the traditions of political correctness over the period with Awatere, Cheryl Smith and Leonie Pihama in their review of "The Piano", Trish Laing's work in health studies, Irihapeti Ramselen's work in cultural safety and the work of Geoff Fougere and Rosemary Novitz on "The Piano". He does not fit with Martin Blythe's writing on "Rewi's Last Stand", "Broken Barriers" and "Utu", nor obviously with John O'Shea's angry response to Campbell's work in Illusions 2, nor with recent work done in the American Anthropologist on "The Piano" and certainly not with Francis Pound's position in "The Space Between". And not with Karl Stead.

In some respects Campbell does conform to the writings of others. For example, he is the perfect embodiment of what Blythe calls the atavistic Pakeha. Blythe and Francis Pound could be cast as the 'Awkward Auks'; their very Auckland view (are they inheritors of C. K. Stead's legacy?) makes it virtually impossible for them to think in a Wellington context and Illusions is a Wellington context or structure or frame; only rarely are contributors found outside of Wellington. The problem is that Pound and Blythe are intelligent. They are keen. By comparison, Campbell, MacDonald or myself might be cast as country boys, believing too easily in the sophistries of the Capital City.
It is not enough, though, to simply draw attention to Campbell's political correctness and then to an Auckland‑Wellington divide. Campbell's project ‑ and I think we can call his work in Illusions I (1986), 7 (1988), 25 (1996) as a project ‑ is vaguely millenarian: he wants a new deal, a new dawn, a new society for men and woman. And he sticks to this raw vision for the entire decade. In 1988, for example, he aligns himself with Jock Phillips (1987), Sheila Rowbotham (1973) and Chris Wainwright (1976):

This is not to argue that the reshaping of the male image which takes place in SleepingDogs"and to some extent in subsequent films represents a radical departure from a f xed macho norm. It is, rather, a reworking, with new emphases, of contradictions long evident in the Kiwi bloke stereotype. In his recent book A Man's Country (Penguin, 1987), Jock Phillips contends that the self‑image of pakeha men (he specif cally excludes Maori) has been created from the intersection of two conflicting traditions, that of the frontier and that of urban respectability, the itinerant swagger versus the Protestant minister. Hence the loner, the hard‑drinking muscular man of the bush, can appear under another guise as the temperate goodfamily man of the quarter‑acre section. Social developments in recent decades have however ‑ so Phillips argues ‑placed the traditional rough‑hewn image in either of its manifestations in jeopardy: this is (the title of his f nal chapter) "the bloke under siege ".

"Sleeping Dogs" and its successors participate in the trend of redef ning pakeha male identity which is occurring The unprecedented growth of a professional urban middle class (the stratum from which most f lmmakers are drawn) has, as Phillips points out, opened up many new specialized occupations and reduced the relevance of a rural‑based mythology. The vast increase in the numbers of working women has altered traditional patterns offamily structure and childrearing The anti‑war and counter‑culture movements of the late Sixties and early Seventies helped shift social perceptions. But perhaps the most signif cant influence has been the critique
of male values launched by the women's movement and its accompanying challenge to male prerogatives.

In 1973 Sheila Rowbotham, in 'Woman's Consciousness, Man's World', suggested that women and men were "moving towards a new world together but development is an uneven and painful process .... The generalization of our consciousness of our own subordination enables them to discover a new manner of being men." The invitation to redefine male identity was taken up by theorists of men's liberation, who contended that men as well as women were oppressed by sex‑role stereotyping "Our masculinity is our burden, " wrote Christopher Wainwright in "Male Oppression: Emotions, Sex and Work", his contribution to Learning About Sexism in New Zealand (1976). "Some of us are beginning to realize that we do not know how to be passive, dependent, non­aggressive, inner oriented, emotional, empathetic, sensitive and nurturing "

But men cannot become passive and dependent without subverting the structuring of sexual difference upon which male‑dominated
society rests. At the historical moment at which the traditional
masculine mould begins to lose its appeal, the task of patriarchal ideology becomes twofold: on the one hand to reaffirm the validity of macho values, warning about the consequences of
their abandonment, and on the other to show men how they can expand their possibilities, can be "different", without relinquishing male power and the symbolism attached to it. This is the task which "Sleeping Dogs" and much of contemporary NZ cinema sets itself.

(From Campbell, Russell 'Smith & co.: the cinematic redefinition of pakeha male
identity' Illusions 7,1988)

In and around the dichotomy ‑ let us call it that for the time being ‑fall writers like Ian Wedde, a non‑contributor to Illusions despite being Wellington based, prolific (33 entries in the VUW library) and a commentator on the arts. Ann Hardy whom I will spend some time discussing later Laurence MacDonald, a later editor of the journal
and a contributor; and one or two others. By and large, most contributors fall into one side, that of political correctness on race and gender with occasional swipes, jeers and asides or deliberate ignorance or structured silences around those who would criticize that political correctness. There is, for example, no debate with the likes of Karl Stead.
This is echoed by Paul Maunder in Illusions 2 (1986) in 'Searching for a third world culture in Aotearoa'. Apart from giving a general political depth to Russell Campbell's work, Maunder is virtually the only commentator over the decade to talk about Marx.

one takes an overview of writingfor the local theatre since 1970, it is obvious that profound changes have occurred in the milieu that the progressive author inhabits. Picking up on the cultural flowering that took place amongst poets, composers and painters in the 1960s, the theme for playwrights in the Seventies was a simple nationalist one: we should have our own writers writing plays about ourselves. "This is us" was the raison d'etre. Of course the "us" tended to be white, petit bourgeois and heterosexual male in orientation, and carried on the basic depressive flavour of the Sixties ‑ the battle against puritanism, suburbia and Mum and Dad who have somehow made life impossible. As in other areas of life however, two groupings within society in particular ‑ women and the tangatawhenua ‑ have stated in recent years with great clarity: this is not "us". Both have developed ideological frameworks of potency and while the white petit bourgeois male has difficulty enough grappling with his sexism, the demands of the tangatawhenua are even more stringent and wide‑reaching in their implications. For they challenge the basis of a colonial culture and turn nationalism on its head ‑ indeed threatening to take away the mandate of the Pakeha writer. It has thrust the writer who is concerned with operating within the progressive culture into a post‑colonial situation.

What the goal of this situation is, is as yet hard to foresee; but either it is to find a unified cultural image (which would have to accept the idea of Maori sovereignty) or it is to find a double culture, both strands of which are bicultural, but coming from
different bases, one Maori, the other Pakeha; and these two strands would be dialectically linked.

While the vulgar Marxist would say that this proposition is premature, for the economy remains pakeha‑dominated, the more sophisticated view would argue that in some periods an element of the so‑called superstructure, while remaining related to the economic base, can move ahead under its own dynamic. I think the latter view is currently the correct state of affairs, partly because the tangatawhenua, a minority in population terms, has to wage its struggle largely in cultural terms.

Now intellectuals from amongst the tangatawhenua have given the Pakeha writer who wishes to pursue this search very stringent conditions under which to operate. Firstly they say: leave our stories and our culture alone ‑ that is our taonga, our treasured possession. Secondly they say, don't bother yourself with our problems; we'll solve them. Look to your own problems and f nd your own solution.

Both these conditions, while on the surface valid enough, become in practice something of a Zen puzzle. Firstly because one way to come to grips with oneself as colonist is to look at the process of colonization which unfortunately involved both peoples; and secondly because the obvious problem with the pakeha is his or her mono‑culturalism with all its attached
arrogance.

(From 'Searching for a third world culture in Aotearoa' Illusions 2,
1986)

Looking back, Maunder seems reasonable, plausible and historically as well as politically correct. This is a mere five years after the Springbok Tour of 1981, the most moving event in their lives for some commentators in the early Illusions. But he is asking a lot of writers and artists.
In each of these plays one sees that the basic problem for the Pakeha writer faced with the task of writing in a 'post‑colonial" framework is that of coming to terms with his or her individualism, in the sense of individualism as part of the capitalist, bourgeois and puritanical mode. It involves guilt, aggression, and possession, and when instititutionalized, terror and alienation. It is a very powerful combination as has been proven historically. Yet that is the key syndrome that the pakeha writer has to penetrate in the journey towards discovering and understanding the communal modes of the tangatawhenua. The tangatawhenua can argue that the latter are their own business and possession, and are rightfully wary of the pakeha approach towards them, for as we have seen, distortions occur, and the means of production are still more accessible to the pakeha. Yet if the pakeha won't simply go away (which seems doubtful) then he or she has to have somewhere to head towards. In this sense, the above writers are playing a vanguard role in the task facing pakeha society.

And yet there is an almost genre of writing styles which begins with an assertion of the oppressive conditions one finds oneself in and the general insufferableness of the situation. Jo Seton introduces her
work, 'Glamour and romance: the patriarchal feminine in
"Constance"' Illusions 4, (Summer 1987).

~. .

It is something of a commonplace among local feminists that New Zealand cinema is largely about (and created by) New Zealand men. Few films are made with female protagonists, fewer still are made byfemale directors.
The following feminist analysis of Bruce Morrison's "Constance" (1984), a male directed film about a female character, is part of a larger project. It is written in the belief that the increasingly more complex New Zealand cinema merits closer critical attention than the superficial treatment it is normally accorded.

Feminist film criticism has grown rapidly more sophisticated in its short history, moving away from sociologically‑based critiques of 'images of women' towards an interest in semiotic and structuralist/post‑structuralist concerns with textual and meaning
production and psychoanalytical concerns about the unconscious of patriarchy. Thus it avoids the naive idealist assumption that film 'reflects' or 'distorts' reality, focusing instead on 'reality' as it is constructed by the subject's positioning within the dominant ideology of patriarchy.

Far from marginalizing cinema as an artistic or, worse still, recreational activity, in the sense that our society does render those terms as ephemeral to its concerns, feminist film criticism recognizes the powerful role as a creator of cultural symbols and myths, as a vehicle for ideology (in the Althusserian sense of 'lived reality) that f lm plays. Given such power, a feminist analysis of cinema is a vital part offeminist cultural politics.

The f rst act of a feminist critic is "to become a resisting reader rather than an assenting reader, and, by this refusal to assent, to begin the process of exorcising the male mind that has been implanted in us", writes Judith Fetterley. The post‑structuralist assertion that no f nal set of meanings reside inherently in a text is useful here. Meaning, and to some extent the text itself, are instead created in the act of reading or reception. This has been immensely liberating for criticism and has rendered the whole area of reading/viewing a site of intense political debate.

However, let us not get too carried away with this new‑found liberation. A text still establishes preferred subject positions and preferred readings. Feminist criticism looks at this in terms of the manifestations of patriarchal ideology and refers to its own reading of texts as 'reading against the grain'. The notion of meaning as 'constructed' informs the feminist analysis of how 'woman' is constructed as a sign in patriarchal discourse.

‑

A feminist 'reading against the grain' of dominantfilm texts aims to challenge preferred readings by uncovering the hidden structures and ideological operations at work. It aims to expose the processes whereby 'woman' is constructed, as myth, and as a fxed/closed signifier within the textualprocesses of meaning construction.
McDonald find a tinny kind of sexism in Jackson's work (see Illusions 25).

By and large, in Illusions the beast does not bite back. The exception to this would be John O' Shea's response to Russell Campbell in Illusions 2. Exactly why this is so difficult to work out but it may be worth casting around to find examples where there is head‑on collision between their detractors and the white males. Probably this is best seen in the visual arts where Francis Pound, Rangi Panoho, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku and others have been slugging it out over the use of the koru by Gordon Walters.

Does the adoption of a politically correct stance block out opportunities for analysis? Certainly if one reads Francis Pound (1992, 1994), then one wonders. Basically the argument is that Gordon Walters appropriated the koru. This charge is bought by Rangi Panoho in an article he wrote for the Headland's collection (Barr (ed.), 1994). Pound who seems to want to save Maori art and Pakeha artists who do it argues that Walters, the Dutch artist Theo Schoon and A. R. D. Fairburn reinvigorated Maori art firstly through their discovery and championship of Maori cave paintings and that through their work most notably that of Walters in Te Ao Hou for which he did a lot of art work and of which his wife Margaret Orbell was the editor. This was reinforced and consolidated in an exhibition by Walters at the New Vision Gallery, after a 15‑year period of withdrawal in 1966.

Headlands came to Wellington in 1994 but this debate did not surface in Illusions until Alan Brunton's 'Tilting the Plato‑Kant axis' of 1996 in Illusions 25. Brunton is talking about a clash between, essentially, Panoho and Pound at Under Capricorn held at the Wellington Festival of the Arts in 1995.

This is an interesting case of an Auckland row boiling over into Wellington. It also shows how isolated and non‑national Illusions is. Pound himself says this debate has
... tended to be cony ned to the publications of a handful of people, both Maori and Pakeha connected with the University of Auckland:
could be likened to a flightless bird. It's a film without wings. It never soars, or flaps, or even nosedives.

It fossicks around in some familiar undergrowth. A hefty bloke with plenty of stubble and huge gumboots pulls over in his farm wagon to pick up a dead opossum, flings it over his shoulder, wryly smiles, "dog tucker". A raunchy ballad is sung to a Maori strum over beers in the Dargaville pub. These moments come easily, but "Arriving Tuesday" is to go a bit further than to capture mere glimpses of some cultural idiosyncrasies. It loads itsef up with the contentious issues of contemporary New Zealand, particularly the ever‑increasing rift between Maori and pakeha, and turns inside out to become a search for "a sense of place ".

... A woman's search for a sense of place is inherently different to a man 's. The woman traditionally draws her security from her mate's property and social position.

It would be high relief to see this tradition usurped, but this is a stab at romance. A heterosexuality New Zealand style. This is a relationship unexamined, uncomplicated and mildly arrogant towards any feminist awakening. It attempts to exist in its own vacuous state a little out of reach of the vipers of scrutiny. Maybe this explains its deadness, this utterly blank encounter between two people.
(From Jacqueline Clarke 'Fossicking in the undergrowth: "Arriving Tuesday" illusions 7, 1988: 2‑3)

Clarke, like Campbell, is telling the chaps off. This is expected. It is part of the rhetoric. The zany comedy that Jacqueline Clarke finds
absent in Riddiford's work is referred to by Reid Perkins in his
article 'Fun and games: the influence of the counter‑culture in the films of Geoff Murphy' in Illusions 2 (1986). This zaniness overlaps with an irreverence for authority ‑ a film attitude shared later by
Peter Jackson who gives it full vent in "Braindead" and then tweaks it into more conventional shapes including strong roles for women in "Heavenly Creatures" of 1995. And yet both Campbell and
"Constance" is a classic piece of patriarchalfilm, strongly reliant on myths about women, and teaching its protagonist her place' in no uncertain terms. It very clearly demonstrates that 'woman' is a sign in patriarchal discourse. The film concerns itself with the difference between cinematic illusionism and 'reality' and with one woman's failure' to fully recognize and maintain this difference. Sounds self‑reflexive and feminist? Far from it. It's an intensely misogynist film 'blaming' its protagonist, Constance Elsworthy, for the very act of misperception and misreading that patriarchy continually demands of woman, namely its insistence that woman 'recognizes' as her 'true self the patriarchal construction 'woman'.

The above is an informing premise, if not a manifesto, for much that follows. It echoes the political correctness of Campbell but opens out, as the issues of elusions roll by, into a sophisticated critique which is not impaired in its excellence by having a feminist point of view or lens. Judith Dale's work is the most sustained over time. In
fact, given the change in editorship from Campbell to MacDonald in 1991, there is a sense in which feminist writings give continuity to
the Illusions project.

Male whacking ‑blunt, automatic ‑is pretty regular, especially if the male is a director who has dared to define a woman. Given Campbell's problems with the Pakeha male, Jacqueline Clarke on Richard Riddiford's 'Arriving Tuesday' Illusions 7 (1988) is fairly predictable on males, Kiwi or Pakeha (the two are used interchangeably), males especially if they try to define the local culture and the local woman.

This is a New Zealand film. Goats on the front lawn, "Pelicans at the Gluepot" poster, everything short of a jar of vegemite on the bench reeks of New Zealand. Richard Riddiford works hard to come up with a local product. He wants it to be authentic, unsophisticated, honest ... kiwi culture mate. It's a portrait of this land that features a dab of kauri forest, slapped in with some artistry in the backblocks, and a smattering of some real Maori to add a spiritual texture. "Arriving Tuesday" is so weighted to its responsibility for creating New Zealand culture that for one thing it
product. After its completion, it is a useful but somewhat pallid guide to that same audio‑visual experience. Hence Nicholas Ray's caustic remark, "If it were all in the script, why make the film? "

(From Lawrence McDonald 'Slovenly white trash' Illusions 13, 1990: 30) Similarly his work on "Once Were Warriors" (Illusions 25, 1996) is engaging and interesting without plugging any particular line.

There is, of course, consciousness and self‑consciousness. Between the earnestness of Russell Campbell and the die‑hard cynicism of
Francis Pound or Martin Blythe there is some excellent work in Illusions particularly by Judith Dale, Lawrence McDonald, Ann Hardy and, latterly, Alan Brunton. Dale is more impressive with essays such as 'Stripping off of Illusions 7 (1988). Here she does several things which others seem to have found too difficult. She acknowledges the sometimes paralysing effect of closeness in such a small society.

As the most conventionally proportioned stripper it is appropriate that Lavinia is used for the sequence where the actor playing that part must re‑enact a bracketed vignette of ordinary sexual harassment and oppression. In the role of aspiring actress she is subjected to the "casting couch" come‑on of her audition under a spot that isolates her and identifies us inescapably and most uncomfortably with the male voice of the casting director from the lighting box behind us. Since I've seen this actor before, and since the play with so much undressing and dressing‑up asks one to think about the meaning of clothes and of nakedness, I think of Jennifer Ward‑Lealand both as Lavinia and Nina but also as a person, a woman, an actor, confronting me acting my part ‑ woman, audience, view‑er, act‑or.
(From Judith Dale 'Stripping off Illusions 7, 1988)

Judith Dale also manages to 'walk the talk' a little more than others. For example she discusses "Bouncers" and "Steaming", two other plays happening at the same time. In clean (i.e. without, in the main, jargon), intelligent language she deals with positions and gets on top
and no such opinion is recorded before 1986. (Francis Pound 1994 The Space Between: 1 13)

Pound goes on to suggest that these people who include his colleague Ngabuia Te Awekotuku, herself objecting to Colin McCahon's painting of Tainui and Tuhoe words, have "imported the rhetoric of an American debate whole and intact completely uncritically and without any regard for the particularities of local circumstance, or the specificities of different historical times" (ibid).

Francis Pound has obviously missed Illusions from its beginnings in 1986 with Campbell's acquiescence in the crude nationalism (cf. Blythe) of Awatere which runs without too much elaboration into the work of Te Awekotuku and Panoho.

Part of the reason for this kind of debate never resurfacing after O'Shea retaliated against Campbell in Illusions 2 of 1986 was that under McDonald's editorship the whole thing, with the exception of articles by Campbell on Kiwi males became more subtle and sophisticated. Part of this is to do with McDonald's work as editor, the real benefits of which can only be seen, I would argue, in Illusions 24 and 25. He is meticulous in presentation and seems to like essays that consider all the angles. As a contributor too he moves a long way from merely saying the right thing. His essay on James Beaumont in Illusions 13 of 1990 shows his style.

There is a fundamental difference between the published scripts of stage plays and published screenplays. The success of a scripted stage play can to some degree be measured by the number of national and international productions its publication generates. The possibility of multiple productions and periodic revivals is the principal motive for publishing the scripts of stage plays, rather than any purely literary purpose. Screenplays, by contrast, are published much less frequently. This is not just because "remakes" in the cinema bear only a superficial resemblance to the original (compare. for example. Godard'.s "A Bout de `So?~ffle" to McBride's execrable "Breathless'7. Before production begins, a screenplay is a blueprint or guide to the making of a celluloid audio‑visual

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of them. She is, In some ways, too honest. She dithers where others might snap into a politically correct line. Among other things she, like Ann Hardy, is not about to be drawn into a Lita Barne stand‑off as Juliet Batten and others do when Barrie seems to tale pejoratively about feminism as a critique when discussing Barbara Kruger In the mid‑eighties. Dale is also prepared to support other local feminists, as with:

The ultimately most necessary feminist enterprise is the Reconstruction of gender ‑gender understood as culturally and historically constructed, de‑constructed in order to dislodge the hegemony of its assumptions. As Simone de Beauvoir said long ago, one is not born a woman, but becomes one; or, from Virginia WoolJ7s Orlando, "there is much to support the view that it is clothes that wear us and not we them. " The feminist critic Mary Jacobus reiterates this as "Can we say the same of language ‑ that words speak us and not we them ‑?" In a discussion offeminist enterprises in the theatre we must read the language of dress and cross‑dressing with particular attention.

The last issue of Illusions, No.12, contained an article by Ann Hardy discussing feminist film making in New Zealand. She suggests that for the most part these movies lack the "eroticism and ambiguity" of Freud's child‑state of 'polymorphous perversity" which, she argues, feminist filmmakers could well access to counter the "division and opposition ... [which] pervades our whole culture and translates into film ‑ where ... men look and women are looked at, where women are almost completely eroticized and sexualized, but not for themselves, rather as objects to be enjoyed by the gaze of men. " The "symptomatology of the ills of New Zealand society as it relates to women" presented in many films by women where "traces of the Erotic [are] all but obliterated" leads Hardy to lament that this "de‑construction of a situation ... a look at the forces of anger and alienation ‑ offers nothing to replace them. "

New Zealand woman dramatists have begun to odder some alternative images of women. The components of an historical or realistic play, however, such as Renee's Wednesday To Come",
cannot do other than reflect the divisions and oppressions of social history, even while it might want to recover the strongly lived lives of individual woman.

The sort of reading proffered by the "images of women" school is confined for the most part to looking for what can be achieved by naturalistic means. How might a more radical, more energized and empowering feminist theatre engage with a positive eroticism, or ‑to quote Ann Hardy on films again ‑ "try and get in touch with that original state of polymorphous perversity, where ... there is just a possibility that women could make new identities which resemble nothing that has ever gone before "? Hardy moves on to see in some few New Zealand movies traces of the Erotic and the Imaginary as an incipient expression of Helene Cixcux's feminist project of "writing the body". But it is difficult to perceive how something like that can be realized in an art form ‑ cinema ‑ where on the one hand various forms of realism tend to dominate, and where on the other, "It is the male gender unified by a common sense who assumes the subject position. "
(From Judith Dale 'Digger and Nudger try harder, and related endeavours' Illusions 13, 1990:32)

As might be expected, Illusions has been a talking post (and sometimes a silent space) for various things. Matthew Aitken's 'Narrative technique and narrative structure in 'Vigil' of Illusions 4 (1987) is a good example of technical matters. Barry Barclay and my own commentary on him feature strongly. Try as I might though, I could not get a piece on 'Te Rua' past the editor despite several revisions. Also note the silence around Gaylene Preston.

Ann Hardy got the feel of Illusions right, I think, in the title of a paper in Illusions 4 of 1987 ‑ 'In and out of the wild zone'. Just as you need to do in the bush, the communication must be clear and free of obfuscation. I believe the journal has done that rare thing, it has grown steadily in stature. For all that one senses that McDonald is trying to change direction ‑ his recent sources of criticism on "The Piano" is interesting, for example ‑ it shows and promotes a
generative kind of criticism. It may be that we could well do with a
revisiting of films ‑ Miro Bilbrough's third viewing in eight years of Vincent Ward's "In Spring One Plants Alone" in Illusions 7 of 1988 might well be the shape of things to come: Illusions and the tricks of memory over a decade say

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,. .
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