The Bridge is a devastating study on the suicidal allure of San Francisco’s renowned Golden Gate Bridge. Using candid footage that captures the experiences of both tourists and victims, the film juxtaposes the bridge’s legendary status with its lesser -known, infamous function as a vehicle for self-prescribed death. In the wake of the suicides, Eric Steel interviews the victims’ friends and families in an attempt to capture the people that his viewers, otherwise, can never know. Throughout the film, Steel’s own participation as an observer of his subjects’ deaths illuminates the complex relationship that persists between those with a camera, and those behind its lens. The sequence with photographer Richard Waters, in particular, illustrates this complicated relationship.
The theme of “intervention” pervades the film through interviews with the victims’ friends and families, as well as with the witnesses involved. Each individual responds differently to the suicides; some appear to feel guilt, while others seem relieved that the victims are now free from their misery. In addition to recording this broad scale of emotions, the film uses the interviews as a means to explore the limits of an individual’s subjective sense of duty. The interview with Waters, for example, traces the transition from inactive observer to interfering rescuer. In the sequence, Waters retells his own experience with a bridge jumper, and reflects back on the moment where he decided to abandon his camera and step in to help his subject. His statements capture the camera lens’ tendency to detach the photographer from his subject, indicating that it is ultimately up to the person behind the lens to break its gaze.
The interview with Waters illustrates the dangerous barrier that can occur between the camera lens and reality if a photographer does not occasionally remove his gaze from the viewfinder. Had Waters not chosen to drop his camera and rescue the girl, she would have successfully jumped off of the bridge. The fixation of the photographer with capturing his image is an addiction that can be dangerous to both the survival of the subject (in the case of The Bridge), as well as to the post-traumatic survival of the photographer for having done nothing to change the documented event’s outcome.
The sequence opens with a long shot of Waters standing on the bridge taking photographs. The resulting photos are intercut with the video footage, emphasizing Waters role as a photographer and illustrating how he sees the bridge through his camera lens. Steel’s “looking in” at Waters’ own “looking in” of the bridge creates a multi-dimensional effect that calls attention to both men’s roles as observers of tragedy with the potential to change what their footage will record. The first still of Waters’ photographs is a classic landscape shot, capturing the scenic view of the bridge from its steep railings and asserting the bridge’s primary role as a legendary construction. However, this conventional image will be sharply contrasted in Waters’ other photos, showing a girl’s apparent attempt to jump.
As Waters walks away after snapping his photograph of the landscape, the camera turns to a petite, hooded figure walking ominously toward Waters’ abandoned position. At another spot on the bridge, he continues to take photographs from the railing. His multiple stills of the bridge’s shadowy reflection on the water below interrupt the camera’s tracking shots of the hooded figure walking along the bridge railing. Soon, she reaches her destination, and both Waters and the anonymous girl now appear in the same frame. They are no longer separated from one another, the presence of both of them in the same space represents each one’s ability to both interact with and affect the other’s mode of action. As Waters momentarily walks out of the frame, another still photograph presents itself while he begins a voiceover narration of that day’s events. As Waters begins to describe how he watched the girl climb effortlessly over the bridge rail, Steel presents his accompanying candid footage of the event. Waters’ narrative voiceover complements the visual storytelling performed by Steel’s footage, again emphasizing both men’s roles as observers. However, as Waters’ role as a photographer is challenged by his presence as a spectator, Steel briefly abandons his post as recorder, allowing some of Waters’ still shots to tell the story for him. The arrangement of the still photographs acts as a visual, chronological timeline, and each photograph is a node that captures a moment’s exact event. As each still shot moves to the next, the narrative story of Waters’ is complemented with his photographic documentation of it. It is not until Waters removes himself from behind his camera lens that Steel regains his post as recorder. While Waters makes the conscious decision to step in, Steel chooses to record, preserving the continuous loyalty to the camera lens that he demonstrates throughout the film.
Waters describes his initial reaction to the girl climbing over the bridge rail as one of disbelief. His photographs of her climbing over the rail and then standing on the ledge illustrate his momentary detachment from the reality of the situation. The still images exhibit his removal from his subject, at this point he has chosen to stand aside in order to photograph what we see displayed on the screen. From behind the camera lens, the event appears to be an interesting opportunity for a photo. However, as the girl begins to stand closer to the edge, Waters removes himself from the obstructive gaze of the lens and inserts himself in the “picture” to change its course of action. In regards to his delayed intervention, Waters says, "When I was behind the camera, it was almost like it wasn't real because I was looking through the lens.” This barrier created by the lens, between those who document and the subjects they document, is not necessarily present in all documentaries. However, both the photographic products of Waters and Steel bring this controversy of the photographer’s power to either record or intervene in his subjects’ lives into focus.
Following Waters’ narration of his rescue of the girl, more of his stills depict the girl’s arrest and detainment by bridge officials. After photographing the girl being taken away by bridge officials, Waters states that the girl turned back to look at him. Whether her glance was done in gratitude or in anger, Waters is still unsure. Either way, the brief eye contact between the two left a haunting impression on him. This emotional vestige is representative of Waters’ decision to take action, stressing the cause and effect relationship that would have been vastly altered had Waters not intervened. Had he stood by while the girl jumped, that intimate connection to her (established through eye contact) would have never occurred.
In his interview, he continues to discuss the ethical dilemma of photographers who undertake the task of documenting tragedy or social injustice. As he states, “As crazy as it sounds, I think of myself like a National Geographic photographer must feel. When he’s behind the camera filming, and there’s a big tiger running at him, and his footage is so great he forgets that in a couple of seconds that tiger’s going to be on top of him. But it’s like you’re behind that camera and you don’t really think about what’s going on and that’s where I had to separate [that mode of thinking as a photographer] and actually act to do something to help her.” Unlike Waters, who decides to stop the girl, Steel makes no onscreen effort to step out of his role as filmmaker or even position himself on the bridge with his subjects. He remains behind the lens at a substantial physical distance from the bridge. It is only when his camera enters the homes of the victims’ families and friends that the film makes a posthumous effort to emotionally approach the victims.
Much like the bridge that holds an allure for jumpers, the camera lens, too, offers a captivating prospect for photographers and filmmakers alike to release themselves from reality. In their decision to document truth, they can often be removed from it. Their roles as documenters challenges their ethics, one can either remain behind the lens in the event of tragedy to capture the despair that unfolds before them, or they can forsake the lens and try to change that event’s outcome. It is only when photographers and filmmakers step out from behind the viewfinder and position themselves in front of the camera, with their subjects, that those who document tragedy can attempt to prevent it. The Bridge demonstrates this capability, and in effect, illustrates the complex relationship that persists between a photographer and the perception of his subject, as seen from behind the camera lens.
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