I often reflect on the smiley face represented by the symbols :), a simple combination of a colon and a closing parenthesis. Individually, these characters carry no meaning, but together, they form something recognizable: a friendly face. This phenomenon is an example of pareidolia, the human tendency to impose meaning onto seemingly meaningless stimuli. From seeing faces in places from clouds to buildings, pareidolia reveals a cognitive quirk in how we search for patterns.
From Pareidolia to Apophenia: Our Need for Meaning
Pareidolia belongs to a broader phenomenon called apophenia: the tendency to perceive meaningful connections between unrelated things. It’s not inherently good or bad but a byproduct of how our brains evolved to recognize patterns critical for survival. Sometimes, this pattern recognition goes to extremes, as when conspiracy theorists connect unrelated events into grand, unfounded narratives. These tendencies highlight how deeply ingrained our need to construct meaning truly is.
In cinema, apophenia manifests most clearly in our relationship with narrative. We instinctively construct stories using fragmented images, sounds, and emotions. This tendency is so pervasive that films which resist conventional storytelling often provoke confusion or dismissal. Common reactions to such works include, “It was boring,” “Nothing happened,” or “It was poorly written.” These criticisms underscore how much we value narrative coherence, even when it may not be essential to a film’s power or purpose.
The Power of Films That Resist Story
Yet, some of the most profound cinematic experiences I’ve had came from films that challenge the necessity of narrative. There is a long tradition of filmmakers who prioritize visual and sensory experiences over storytelling.
Artists like Stan Brakhage, Maya Deren, James Benning, and Michael Snow create works that explore pure pattern and sensation, referred to by some as cinema pur. Films like Leviathan (2012) and other works from the Harvard Sensory Ethnography Lab expand this approach into visceral explorations of the natural world, immersing viewers in sound and movement rather than plot.
Seeing Life in Cinema’s Fragments
While these works are valuable and deeply impactful, my primary interest lies elsewhere. I am most drawn to films that abandon narrative without abandoning fictional recreation of the human experience. These films retain characters, dialogue, and emotions but refuse to be constrained by a single, propulsive story. Much like our own lives, they contain events, entertainment, and profound moments, but no overarching narrative defines them. We create stories for ourselves, but no one is writing our lives.
Examples of this approach can be found in the works of filmmakers like Éric Rohmer, Chantal Akerman, John Cassavetes, Hong Sang-soo, Terrence Malick, Tsai Ming-liang, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Andrew Bujalski, and Lynn Shelton among many others. Their films offer a kind of emotional and experiential resonance that transcends traditional storytelling. Discovering their work has profoundly altered my perspective, not just on cinema but on life itself.
Seeing my own experiences reflected on screen without the need for an overarching narrative has been transformative. These films present life as it is: fragmented, inconsistent, yet deeply resonant. By removing the compulsion to manufacture a larger story, they offer an even more profound connection. They allow us to sit with life’s moments as they are, finding meaning not in a constructed arc but in the raw and honest presentation of experience. This approach, paradoxically, can feel more authentic than tightly structured narratives, as it mirrors how we actually process and live our lives.
Reconsidering the Role of Narrative
This raises a question: how “essential” is narrative to cinema? We’re often told that stories are fundamental to human existence, and many argue that film itself cannot exist without narrative. This mindset has led to a glut of movies that prioritize plot above all else, often to the detriment of other cinematic possibilities. Critics and casual viewers alike frequently judge films by their storylines. Reviews often begin with plot summaries, and films are marketed based on their narratives.
But if films can reflect our lives with greater honesty and provide profound, life-altering experiences without narrative, why are such works relegated to the fringes of avant-garde and art cinema? Why are they dismissed as “niche” or inaccessible? These films liberate us from the exhausting need to assign meaning to every moment, inviting us instead to embrace life as it is. Yet, we seem hesitant to embrace them, clinging instead to the comfort of narrative coherence. Could it be that we’re coddling ourselves with narrative, unwilling to confront the reality that our lives, like these films, may not require a larger meaning to be beautiful, impactful, and whole?
The Smiley Face Revisited: A New Way to See
The smiley face 🙂 is a testament to our capacity to find meaning in the meaningless. At first glance, it imposes a kind of narrative: two unrelated symbols brought together to form a cohesive and recognizable image. But it also serves as a reminder of our ability to assign meaning where none inherently exists. This duality mirrors our relationship with narrative in film and life.
In one sense, narrative can be like the smiley face: a preconstructed symbol we rely on to make sense of disconnected parts. But just as we don’t need a colon and parenthesis to represent happiness, we don’t need narrative to find depth and resonance in film or in our own lives. Perhaps by stepping away from preconstructed symbols of meaning, we can define our own, embracing the fragments and patterns of life without forcing them into a single arc.
Films that resist narrative invite us to do just this. They offer an alternative: a way of experiencing meaning that doesn’t rely on a predefined story, but instead emerges naturally from the raw materials of life — its moments, emotions, and connections. In this way, they teach us to see beauty in the fragments, to embrace the spaces between symbols, and to find our own understanding without the need for a larger, imposed structure.
Willy Evans 