MARCH 7, 2008 - VOL. 1, ISSUE 5

Communication is constantly being streamlined. The English language itself is particularly adept at reshaping and molding words into new concepts. Adding modifiers before or after a word changes its meaning quickly and efficiently. "Fat-free meal" would take a sentence to describe in other languages. Still, we are never satisfied. As words become visualized, the importance of legibility rises. We tell ourselves that we need to get things fast, and misreading a sign for "push" when we are clearly supposed to pull causes us undue embarrassment and lost time. Our language has streamlined so well, and so visually, that words are often no longer necessary. Universal symbols often stand in the written word's place. One need only to walk down an airport terminal to see my point. We haven't completely abolished type for generic images, however. For that, the ubiquitous typeface of Helvetica has emerged as the standard for the same reasons symbols abound.

Helvetica is a simple, highly legible sans serif that simultaneously means business, while remaining friendly enough not to impose or dictate. It is the font of directions, of labels, of corporations, of governments, of anything that needs to appear neutral or modern. Helvetica was designed not to offend, but like anything that garners notoriety and popularity, seeing something enough times is an offense in itself. This is where Helvetica the film takes its conflict. Gary Hustwit's documentary is not a forty-three minute industrial film or institution-produced instructional video for students. It does not assume its audience is a room of experienced designers, perhaps merely design-conscious. Like all documentaries, there is a logical narrative, and Hustwit gives us the history of the film's subject while juxtaposing designers in favor of the font, and those against.

It is, unremarkably, a conventional documentary. Rife with talking heads, never-ending insertions of Helvetica examples, the movie is wrapped up in a digestible but staid pace. It is, remarkably, the neutral documentary, the universal and unimposing film that follows the design function of its star font. Designers discuss Helvetica as if it is a stamp, a commanding force that begs to be used in a particular way. It is the standard bearer of modernism that for all its implementations as a business-casual logo, Helvetica is highly demanding in the way it is used in design. One graphic artist reminds us how hideous it looks in small sizes or certain letter spacing or certain character weights. It dictates to the designer how it wants to be seen, often imprinted on a large canvas of empty space. Hustwit's Helvetica is entirely clean, entirely formed, almost ready-made in its structure, as if using standard documentary filmmaking to mimic the standard typeface.

Standard is standard for the simple reason that it works. We are comfortable with it and wonderful things can be done within its reach. Helvetica has been used and reused, yet it hangs around as a benchmark for the same simplicity. Helvetica is so standard, however, that it often becomes monotonous and boring. Consider, though, that the typeface is not exactly dynamic either. Each character is uniformly constructed, spaced evenly with its black curves and lines held firmly in the containing white space. A pattern emerges in the letters as a pattern emerges in Hustwit's film. Establishing shot of a new city, talking head, talking head, examples of the designer's work, examples of signage, more cutaways to public implementations of Helvetica, talking head, some white space with a song, and on it goes to the next letter. I am exaggerating in its stoic adherence to this formula, but not by much. This is Helvetica and Helvetica, unmoved, as if the distinction between film and font have blurred.

The imagery of the film works in much the same way. We are inundated with the various incarnations of Helvetica that it becomes sickening. Transit signs, company logos, foreign languages, public works advertisements, commercial advertisements, all thrusting its message on us so we can get it and move on, unfortunately we most often move on to more of the same. Helvetica keeps us locked in, not allowing us any breathing room, reminding us in the space of its eighty long minutes that we cannot escape. Only occasionally do we get a respite in looking at work that reacts to the Helvetica boom.

The typeface was originally used in the 60s to streamline the graphical hodgepodge of the previous decade, solidifying Amalgamated Monstrosity Corporation, with its bland but stately serif logo, into AmalCo, emblazoned in modernism. This is essentially designer Michael Beirut's example, and it works perfectly to put the font into the context of its time. It felt so refreshing, so modern, that even NASA used Helvetica to write the name of the country on its space shuttles. Yet the application became another example of how Helvetica dictates its own use, how it forces a certain conformity in putting strong letters against that large empty (and often white) canvas.

Today, the typeface takes on different meanings. Where Helvetica once signaled a bright shift in corporate perception, its stranglehold on signage and advertisements and word processing is often scorned for another subverted connotation: conformity. Handwritten, humanist expressionism came about in the 90s, utilizing a different form of simplicity. Letters were sized and stretched from one character to the next, words were written to make shapes, and anything but Helvetica became the norm. Hustwit shows us a few shots of the artwork of a Pixies album, then another album where a man's body is etched and scarred with words.

It is a powerful image, but it is no different than Helvetica. We make the mistake that a typeface should reflect the tone of the surrounding work. A flyer in a school should be fun, therefore the dreadful Comic Sans is used. We forget that the font is the work, it is apart of it, and the lettering brings its own assumptions and meanings to the piece. Handwritten characters are as much indicative of conformity as Helvetica. It is the standard for “indie,” for reaction to what we perceive as the font of business and instruction.

Helvetica is versatile, and though it can dictate its space on the page, and it can act as the looming voice of imposing instruction in the train station, it doesn't have to be. Hustwit's Helvetica is long and monotonous but there is skill in toying with its form and structure. The tested documentary organization works to the movie's advantage, because Hustwit uses it as a good designer would use Helvetica. We have seen this before, it feels constructed and focused, yet it breathes, and somehow it still seems modern and refreshing. The film is a visual representation of its subject, a symbol, that lets us get the message quickly, so that we can move on.