can be theorized as well. After all, as Willemen notes, "There is a theory of cinema

implicit in the dig of the elbow into the ribs just as much as there is in Metz's work"

(237). Derived from a number of recent studies, what follows is an exploration of that

theory of cinema. I hesitate to use the term definition when speaking about cinephilia

because, as suggested earlier, it is a rather slippery concept; it means too much and

nothing at all. Mary Anne Doane provides one way to think about this term. It may be,

she argues, "definable only negatively, as that which resists systematicity, rationalization,

programming, and standardization" (Emergence 229). Here is another way: by analogy.

The theorists who have informed my understanding of cinephilia have characterized it by

thinking about what it is like, exploring its affinities with other disruptive modes of

spectatorship. While they are responding to different aspects of the cinephiliac moment,

what ties all these figures together is their recognition of a lightning flash in a visual

image.

 For Paul Willemen, who started the conversation about this alternative theory of

cinema over a decade ago, cinephilia is related to a sense of revelation sparked by

cinematic excess. More than anything, cinephilia evokes the indexicality of the medium.

The cinephile shares Andre Bazin's faith in the ontology of the photographic image.

"[W]hat people like Bazin want you to relate to in their polemic," Willemen argues, "is

precisely the dimension of revelation that is obtained by pointing your camera at

something that hasn't been staged for the camera" (243). But even in the most controlled

production circumstances, the cinephile believes that something of the real can appear on

screen inadvertently. That is because cinephilia is sparked by moments that exceed their

representational or symbolic functions. It directs our attention to those sites "where the