In JFK (1991), Oliver Stone’s controversial film about the assassination of former U.S. President John F. Kennedy, a conspiracy investigated by reporter Jim Garrison is depicted as the cause of the monumental event. Stone was highly criticised, as Roger Ebert documents, by a journalistic “Old Guard” for his liberal use of fact and fiction, for intertwining truth with myth. Similarly, All The President’s Men (Pakula 1976) can be criticised for giving “the impression that the two journalists almost single-handedly brought down President Nixon’s administration,” (Toplin 1996, 180). Inherent, and ultimately detrimental, to these criticisms is an acknowledged reliance upon a fact-fiction binary, where we communally agree upon a single iteration of a series of facts, to the exclusion of all others, and affix the label of history.

I will argue that films such as JFK and All The President’s Men belong to a genre of media whose primary goal is not the conveyance of fact, but rather the exploration of information in an affective mode.  Information affect then refers to the movement of discourse beyond a purely representative truth/fiction binary, and instead to a discussion of information-agency, information-becoming, which treats as of primary importance the potentiality of information, not the actuality. I intend to use Derrida’s discussion of critical discourse in ‘Structure, Sign and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences,’ as a methodological base for expanding cinematic discourse into information-affect. Secondly, I will document the rise of information-affect in the aforementioned films, and finally progress to current media exploring the movement beyond fact-fiction binarism in television programming surrounding the 2008 United States Presidential election. It is my hope that in this progression we can see the value of fictional cinematic discourse in “factual” political history, as a new means of disecting information.

Beyond Representation

As mentioned above, JFK suffered critique based on its varying degrees of veracity. Plainly put, critics argued that its mixture of fact and fiction undermined the truth it attempted to depict, thus implying that the goal of such an artform is to achieve the greatest possible representation of reality. This viewpoint relies upon an inherent binarism implicit in representative media between fact and fiction as mutually exclusive concepts, upon the belief, as Janet Staiger notes (2000, 217), that “we might be able to represent that event with some verisimilitude.” Robert Toplin makes another valid point, in his discussion of All The President’s Men, that (meta-)fictional or not, Hollywood films have the potential to vastly alter and shape the history that people remember (1996, 191). Historians have little sway in this arena, because as Woodward himself noted, “[a] movie has special power … because the history it portrays ‘becomes the story that people know and remember’” (Toplin 1996, 191).

Critical discourse which relies upon a factual binarism, however, ultimately hinders its critical abilities. Postmodern discourse has already clearly accepted the denial of “a clearly sustainable distinction between history and fiction” (Staiger 2000, 216), and Laura Hutcheon notes that challenging such a distinction does not undermine the reality of the event, but rather the textual re-socialisation of it (Staiger 2000, 216). However, Staiger still seems to rely upon a representational methodology for understanding the diegesis of JFK, as is evidenced by her final conclusion: it is the “reading strategies of the viewers who recognize that the movie is a subjective version of the past,” readers who “have learned the rules of representation” (2000, 217). Her imposition of a singular narrative upon JFK is limiting, and by applying an affective methodology, we can see JFK not as a singular, subjective representation crafted by a single individual, but as an information-becoming, a site where information is not fixed but fluid.

“Language bears within itself the necessity of its own critique.” (Derrida 1972, 254)

In discussing ethnography, Derrida in ‘Structure, Sign and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences’ notes that the ethnologist “accepts into his discourse the premises of ethnocentrism at the very moment when he is employed in denouncing them” (1972, 252). He proceeds to elaborate that in the evolution of discourse, it is wise to employ a Levi-Straussian preservative methodology which conserves “in the field of empirical discovery all these old concepts, while at the same time exposing here and there their limits, treating them as tools which can still be of use. No longer is any truth value attributed to them” (1972, 254). In this method, the engagement with history is playful, concepts, narratives and tropes of the past are employed merely as tools of discovery, to engage with information, rather than trap it within a singular discourse.

This preservative methodology alters the entire discussion of information. No longer are we torn between dueling truth and fiction, but we treat both as tools and components in the analysis and critique of a certain event, a certain structure, a certain piece of information. Furthermore, Derrida/Levi-Strauss note that there can be no totally original, constructed language, syntax, criticism. The myth of the engineer (Derrida 1972, 255-256) highlights the non-existence of wholly original methodology. Instead, all criticism must come from an antiquated heritage which is either broken or ineffective. Thus, as we enter a new era films such as JFK and All The President’s Men are not flawed representations of historic past, but rather films which broach a new form of discussion, which engage with information-becomings and the power of potential multi-histories.

JFK and All The President’s Men

JFK and All The President’s Men both engage with information affect. While JFK acts as a laser, piercing through the fog of a fact/fiction binarism, and thus engaging with information-affect as a post-representational dialogue, All The President’s Men creates such a detailed depiction of a moment in time that it conveys information through a visceral intensity which threatens and undermines the overarching validity of the truth.

As is seen in the clip above, Stone crafts JFK in a unique style, intercutting fictional film footage and, more prominently, a scripted voiceover, with the famed archival footage from the assassination itself. The film opens with a factual, radio/television broadcast from Dwight D. Eisenhower over film credits. As the footage of former President Eisenhower fades up, the voice of Martin Sheen (recently known for playing a President himself, and a regular of political films) fades in, continuing the intertwining of fact and fiction. The following montage intercuts a wide range of archival footage creating an historic narrative voiced by the fictional actor. As we approach the end of the clip, the assassination day dawns, and the fictitious narration cuts to create greater affective veracity.

Staiger notes that the narrativizing of historical events is as old as the Bible, but goes on to note that for many the issue with docudramas lies in the erosion of the distinction between fact and fiction (2000, 211-215). Again, however this issue points to the notion that the “goal” of docudramas lies in some aspiration to the truth. Stone’s film illustrates from the outset the ludicrousy of this notion. From the outset, the film cuts to and from images, “blurring, obfuscating, bludgeoning the viewer” (Staiger 2000, 211). It does not intend to craft an exhaustive, factual investigation into the assassination but rather to return potentiality to this historic event, to posit the information in a clearly variable mode instead of a defined and exclusive one. In fact, the notion that Kennedy’s assassination was clearly explained is as fiction as Stone’s film, as polls have shown that only 16% of the American people believed Oswald acted alone. In fact, “the J.F.K. killing has been fiction for a long time” (Staiger 2000, 220).

Similarly, Pakula’s All The President’s Men engages with a fictional representation of real events. All The President’s Men also uses a mixture of archival footage, however these images of validity are almost always framed, as Nixon’s acceptance speech is viewed not directly but through the mediation of a television set in the news office. Thus, the film does not assimilate representational truth within a fictive medium, as JFK does, but rather uses the material as a tool to craft an immaculately accurate universe within which an event is allowed to play out.

“[All The President's Men] demonstrates a commitment to authenticity throughout. With careful attention to detail, the filmmakers intelligently recreated the physical and mental environment in which the two newspaper reporters worked in the federal capital.” (Toplin 1996, 180-181)

Authenticity was of foremost concern during the creation of the film. During the writing stages, the journalists were invited to comment and assist in the creation of the screenplay, while the design and production emphasised a strong sense of realism. In fact, Pakula spoke of wanting the film to have “immediacy,” to “bombard viewers with so many authentic-looking details that viewers would feel as if they were present at the scene of history when watching the picture” (Toplin 1996, 186-187). While this seems to be purely an attempt to represent history most effectively, in fact Pakula’s desire for immediacy represents an attempt to relive history most affectively. As a fiction film, its very nature is defined by non-truths, and yet through its factual narrative and, more importantly, its affective setting, All The President’s Men creates such an immediate world that the line between fact and fiction erodes, and for good reason. The accuracy of the representation is not of primary concern, for Pakula, Redford, or us. Rather, of fundamental importance  is the ability to be present in history and to allow the information to play itself out within an affective experience.

In the above clip, as Bradlee tells an anecdote regarding Lyndon B. Johnson, the camera takes in the entire news room. As Toplin notes, the film’s touted authenticity is largely enacted through the set design for the Washington Post offices. After meticulous research, they constructed a 35,000-square-foot reproduction of the Post’s offices, and completed the design with an abundance of authentic materials, including 1972 calendars, Post-specific letterhead and cartons of paper, and authentic reporters notes. In fact, during the Watergate break in, the filmmaker “used $100 dollar bills in sequential order, just as the real burglars did, and they used the same model walkie-talkies” (Toplin 1996, 189). In other scenes, the filmmaker used accurately dated newsreels playing in the office television set to further create an immediacy to the environment. The use in this instance of such detailed and accurate setting within a factually-based narrative lends an air of authenticity to what is ultimately a fiction film. This synthesis reiterates the affective power of meta-narratives, as the film succeeds in being an extremely powerful morality tale whose conveyance of information is not bound by fact/fiction binarism.

Sarah Feylin

Modern media has created a plethora of intersection points where the binarism of fact/fiction collapses. From the presidential campaign of fictional character Stephen Colbert (based on real comedian Steve Colbert), to the rise in comedy news programs such as The Colbert Report and The Daily Show, political “reality” is becoming an increasingly contentious ontological space. In particular, the last several weeks of the 2008 United States Presidential election have created an almost surreal intersection between political history and fictitious comedy. With the nomination of Sarah Palin as the Republican Vice-Presidential nominee, the world has been struck by an amazing portrayal from satire giant Saturday Night Live (SNL), in the figure of Tina Fey. As Ed Pilkington notes, the “boundary between political reality and comic fantasy has become so blurred it is almost impossible to remember where the one ends and the other begins.” It seems like great hyperbole, but as Pilkington notes, it is not so far from the truth: quotes attributed to Sarah Palin have come in fact only from Tina Fey (take the infamous “I can see Russia from my house,”) while other extended meaningless rambling which seems like it could only be comedy is in fact a direct transcript of Palin-as-Palin interviews.

The above skit compares segments from (1) the SNL skit representation of the Palin-Katie Couric interview and (2) the actual Palin-Couric interview. In this segment, the initial comic representation seems, at times, satiric and exagerrated: her grammar is ferocious, she has meaningless sentence construction, and seems to just rally off issue after issue with no actual causal relationship between them. However, scarily, with very few exceptions, including a Barack Obama slight and a more baffled ending, differences in the actual transcripts are minor. Fey clearly plays Palin as slightly more foolish, but she needs little assistance.

This clip depicts Gov. Palin’s actual appearance on the show, and in fact portrays a literal, although momentary, intersection between Palin-as-Palin and Fey-as-Palin. A fictional press conference, the sketch plays on the astonishing physical similarities between the two women, as well as the immensely popular appeal of Sarah Palin – though which version remains to be seen. Several other quizzes and challenges have arisen in response to the ongoing gag, and SNL has created sketch versions of most of Palin’s public appearances. The enormous success of this series has to be accredited in no small part to the limited press access the McCain campaign has allowed to Sarah Palin, who has only conducted three in-depth interviews (Charlie Gibson, Katie Couric, and Sean Hannity). In an absence of a factual narrative, media has created a fictional one with a startling degree of accuracy. Akin to JFK and All The President’s Men, the borders between the two have eroded, and there is the very real chance that, as a public figure, the United States knows more about Fey-as-Palin than Palin-as-Palin. Similarly, public dissatisfaction with the lone-gunman theory and Nixon’s escape from justice due to a timely pardon from successor Gerald Ford have denied the public a factually closed narrative. It is thus in instances such as these three cases document, where factual narratives are inconclusive, or where we “still think we might be able to represent that event with some verisimilitude” (Staiger 2000, 217), that the binarism between fact/fiction may be more easily broached, and that where representative discourse may give way to affective discourse.

The JFK conspiracy is still today a popular theory amongst the wider population. Nixon’s fall never truly sated public hurt and offense at the betrayal of the highest office, and in fact his resignation never acknowledged guilt of any kind. Both of these meta-narratives appear to remain open, for the time being, and as such films which engage with their affective information do so in a manner which engages the potentiality of information, and which creates a fractured, fragmented, and multiplicitious social narrative. As we can see, with the fictionalization of Sarah Palin, the movement away from pure, representative “truth” appears to be permanent. In fact, it is the natural evolution of our discourse, to take, as Derrida noted, the tools of truth and of fiction, and to use both to their greatest extent in order to explore John F. Kennedy, Watergate, and Sarah Palin to their greatest extent. Perhaps a commonly accepted narrative will join the canon of history, but, if only for Tina Fey’s sake, we can certainly hope not.

Works Cited

Derrida, Jacques. 1972. ‘Structure, Sign and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences,’ The Structuralist Controversy. London: Johns Hopkins University Press. 247-272.

Staiger, Janet. 2000. ‘Cinematic Shots: The Narration of Violence,’ Perverse Spectators: The Practices of Film Reception. New York and London: New York University Press. 210-228.

Toplin, Robert Brent. 1996. ‘All the President’s Men,’ History by Hollywood: the use and abuse of the American past. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. 179-201.

Films Cited

All The President’s Men, Alan J. Pakula, 1976.

JFK, Oliver Stone, 1991.