"I don't care," said one viewer after a private screening of a new documentary, Roman Polanski: A Film Memoir, a conversation between his longtime friend, producer Andrew Braunsberg and the filmmaker while he was under house arrest in Gstaad, Switzerland, "he still had sex with a teen".
Not long ago, Andy Roddick was an early-morning Wimbledon viewer, not one of those providing the early-morning Wimbledon content.
The persuasive impact might be lost or weakened if the building being viewed is not one with which the viewer interacts.
More often than not, these films only engage one viewer at a time, rather than attempting to emulate the social aspect of going to the movies by tapping into the existing social networks of the web.
The image of her in a harness, flying towards Du Beke with arms flapping as the floor came up to greet her, is not one easily erased from the viewer's mind.
"Not one dog," he fumed to viewers, "not one truncheon".
But the link between "Solo" and its precursor is not one of quotation or allusion — the viewer who has not seen Kiarostami's movie does not miss anything essential in Bahrani's; nor is the moviegoer who spots the connection rewarded with the self-admiring frisson that comes, say, when you decode a King Hu or Godard reference embedded in a Quentin Tarantino film.
Although the new paintings he is showing from next week at London's Serpentine Gallery grew out of the magisterial, geometrically patterned stained-glass window he designed for the south transept of Cologne cathedral, unveiled in August last year, the atmosphere Richter's paintings evoke is not one normally conducive to transporting the viewer to a spiritual realm.
The film clips, thank Heaven, are not the ones viewers have seen a hundred times before.
Probably not — at least not one that could draw as many viewers as Wallstrip.
