Lives in a Korsakow film proffer themselves as a profound proposition in relation to cinema. Cinema and video are technical media, which is to say that they consist of a technological apparatus for the indifferent recording of what falls within view. They are indifferent because they do not care. A camera does not speed or slow in anticipation of what is there, nor complain because the view is too dark or light. This indifference is most deeply marked in its rhythmic consistency — ‘metronomic’ does not come close — established and then enshrined through the standardisation protocols of international convention.
Technical media occupies time the way a twentieth century army invades territory. This is no guerilla activity, minor tactic or smooth flow but industrial, rigid and fixed. Thirty seconds on that video camera is thirty seconds on this one, and every other one. This is why cinema is, in the first instance, a temporal rather than spatial media. And why, barring technological misadventure, a twenty eight minute film will be a twenty eight minute film all the time and everywhere, on every screen. Technical media’s temporal indifference is also preserved after these moments of capture and repeated in the industrial segmentation of our day by the radio and television broadcast, and the constancy of the record, CD, projector, cassette, and DVD player.
Cinema becomes then principally a temporal rather than a spatial medium. Obvious but always forgotten (for instance the edit is an intervention – the only possible – in time, its use to create a spatiality or to maintain continuity of space is secondary and at best parasitical to time) as this temporal writing and rewriting gets reduced to being merely narrative’s handmaiden. As if. Time though, no matter how quickly one cuts, or what to, is inexorable.
Korsakow offers an alternative temporality to this constancy (a constancy that can regarded as a joy or a prison) through an attribute which constrains how often its individual clips can be played. These are simply known as lives. If a clip is selected by a user while a Korsakow film plays this counts as a life, and once the set number of lives has been reached that clip will never appear again. This means Korsakow films shrink as they are viewed, they consume themselves (much like Gibson’s famous collaboration Agrippa) in the very moments and activities of their being watched. A performative combustibility. This inverts cinema’s existing relation with time as in Korsakow a film’s temporality is no longer sovereign.