As a crowning achievement of non-narrative film and cinematography, a technological and emotional marvel, and as a unique cinematic experience, the Qatsi trilogy continues to amaze viewers 25 years after the release of the first volume, and will continue to astound viewers for at least another 25. But as a vehicle for political philosophy, the trilogy is not only irresponsible, but dangerous.
'Koyaanisqatsi,' meaning "crazy life, life in turmoil, life out of balance, life disintegrating, a state of life that calls for another way of living," is the first film in the trilogy and sets the tone for the series. The film begins with majestic, sweeping shots of mountains, waterfalls, and clouds racing across with sky, eventually contrasting eternal, divine nature with the speed and chaos of the city. The suggestion is that man has divorced himself from his roots in the natural world and is careening towards disaster. The message is especially pertinent today, but is nonetheless a great simplification that overlooks the complex interplay between technology and nature that is required to move humanity forward in a healthy sustainable way. It's ironic that a film subtitled 'Life Out Of Balance' could portend such an unbalanced philosophy.
The third film, 'Naqoyqatsi: Life As War,' the worst of the trilogy, expands on the themes in 'Koyaanisqatsi.' Working from stock footage, 'Naqoyqatsi' is essentially an indictment of modern technology and science. The film suggests that humanity's hubris, our desire to totally dominate and control nature, will be our doom. Of course, one might be inclined to question the film's characterisation of science. As a socially constructed method of viewing the world, it might be argued that science is prone to the same prejudices and biases that muddle philosophy and the liberal arts. However, one may also be inclined to see science and technology not as monoliths, but as heterogenous practices that span many areas and disciplines, and mean very different things to different people, both practitioners and laymen. The film's universal condemnation of science may lead the viewer to question the trilogy's underlying philosophical basis: like scientology's assault on psychiatry, creationism's attack on evolution, and the general assault on reason and rationality coming from disparate bodies including conspiracy buffs, new age obscrurantists, and post-modern academics, the film's distrust of "progress" condemns modernity, while offering no realistic alternative. The Qatsi series' rejection of modernity is complete: instead of just raising legitimate and constructive questions about humanity's reliance on and use of technology, the film rejects the ideologies behind the modern age (liberalism, democracy, the scientific method). Unfortunately, if we turn our backs on progress and civilization - if we throw out the proverbial baby with the bathwater - we will be left with, at best, vacuous nothingness, and at worst a return to barbarism, insular tribalism, and permanent war.
The most politically unsettling film in the series is 'Powaqqatsi,' meaning "parasitic way of life" or "life in transition." Like 'Koyaanisqatsi,' the film is a simple dialectic, pitting traditional ways of life against the intrusion of modernity. The film begins by painting an idealistic portrait of the 'Third World' (as it was still called then). The developing world is seen as a place of lost innocence where family, community, work and worship are all integrated into a harmonious whole. While the travellers of the 19th century may have been excused for such infantile - and frankly offensive - suggestions (though the Orientalists were of course seldom so facile in their accounts), the makers of the Qatsi trilogy have no such excuse. Still, in the first half of the film we're bombarded with magnificent images: for example, the shot of a peasant hauling grain on his back down a hillside path, against a bright sun, a shimmering field of wheat, and clouds billowing in the background, neglects the fact that such backbreaking labour will leave him permanently bent, his life a short, painful struggle. Later, a child is seen crushing grains with a long stick; he may be smiling, but this is still child labour and he will never go to school.
Of course we are denied images that might lead us to question the idyllic serenity of tradional ways of life, for example scenes of female genital mutilation; sati (the burning of Hindu women after their husbands' death); tribal warfare and religious strife; children infected with parasites, malaria, HIV or just plain starving to death. Instead, the modern world (in particular modern capitalism and industry, which have been shown over and over again to be the most realistic options for improving the lives and welfare of people on a large scale) is vilified, as if the lives of peasants and serfs were joyous and free prior to the introduction of free commerce and industrialisation. The suggestion is obscene, and its embrace (which is not confined to the Qatsi triology, and is in fact distressingly prevalent amongst anti-globalism crusaders, liberal arts academics, and innocuous anti-capitalist pretenders) effectively resigns the vast majority of the world's population to continued suffering and subjugation. Indeed, the film's message is as harmful as arguments advanced by free market globalists who would destroy cultural legacies in the name of globalized capitalism.
As disingenuous as the Qatsi trilogy may be, the films are worth watching. The images are splendid and more visceral than any travelogue; coupled with Philip Glass's scores, the films are undeniably powerful. Yet, in watching the Qatsi trilogy, a viewer is reminded of the films of Leni Riefenstahl, her beautiful, sweeping celebrations of Third Reich. While the Qatsi trilogy may be slightly more ideologically palatable, one must be just as careful to guard against the intoxicating effects of its beauty.
