Issue 48 Winter 2010/11

Transcription

Issue 48
Winter 2010/11
ISSN 0268-1951
mej
media education journal
2
contents editorial
Issue 48, Winter 2010/11
2 Editorial
3 Something old, something new?
13 The distributor’s tale
16 Fast and furious feminism
24 School in the media
27 The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
33 Reviews:
– The Media Student’s Book
– British Cinema in the 1970s
– Studying British Cinema (3 titles)
– Neo Noir
– Studying The Devil’s Backbone
– The New Film History
MEJ
The Journal of AMES (Association
for Media Education in Scotland)
is published twice yearly.
Editorial address: 24 Burnett Place
Aberdeen AB24 4QD
email:<[email protected]>
<www.mediaedscotland.org.uk>
Editor: Des Murphy
Editorial group: Des Murphy and Liz
Roberts
Thanks to: Douglas Allen
Typesetting: Roy Stafford
Printed by: Thistle Reprographics,
55 Holburn Street, Aberdeen AB10
6BR
AMES is a registered Scottish
Charity, number SCO29408
Teachers may reproduce material from
this journal for educational purposes
only. Written permission is required
for any other use. All text © AMES
2010 and individual contributors.
Images of Azur & Asmar (cover and
pp13-15) © Soda Pictures, Death Proof
(pp16-23) © The Weinstein Company,
Goodbye Mr Chips © Warner Home
Video, Election © Paramount (both
p25), The Class © Artificial Eye, The
Wave © Momentum (both p26), Boy in
Striped Pyjamas (pp27-32) © Disney,
Don’t Look Now (p34) © Warner Home
Video. Scans of book covers/websites
© the publishers concerned. Other
rightsholders given with images or
unknown.
The views expressed in the journal
do not necessarily reflect the views
of AMES as an organisation or of the
institutions where contributors work.
I
n this issue, Rick Instrell has extended his
study of social semiotics and multimodal
literacy (“Something Old, Something New:
Something Excellent?”; MEJ 43, Summer
2008) from the still image to the moving
image, specifically to television advertising.
The concept of multimodal literacy is
essential to the new approach to literacy
(or literacies) recognised by the Curriculum
for Excellence. The third part will appear in
MEJ 49.
Kate Gerova’s “Producer’s Tale” is a sad
one, of a film thought by many who saw
it to be one of the finest examples of fulllength animation for some years, Michel
Ocelot’s Azur et Asmar (the English title
being extended to ‘The
The Princes’ Quest
Quest’). It
is set in Europe and North Africa in the
middle ages and deals with such themes
as tolerance and respect for other cultures.
Despite universal plaudits, it failed to
find an audience and led to a significant
financial loss for Soda Pictures, the British
distributor which took a risk on it. It is
not unusual for a film which failed at the
box office to find a successful after-life
on video and hopefully this could be the
case with the DVD, which is suitable for
both primary and secondary, and in areas
such as RME, French, English and Media
Literacy.
In her article on Quentin Tarantino’s
Death Proof
Proof, Lorraine Teviotdale tackles
the accusations of misogyny which the
film has attracted, leading to feminist
protests in Glasgow and Liverpool. While
not exonerating Tarantino completely
from the charge, she argues that the
film foregrounds women battling against
tyranny collectively rather than fighting it
alone.
We return to the theme of media
representation of education and schooling
with Tom Brownlee’s ‘Please Sir’, which
tackles the frequently hostile coverage
of schools and teaching in the news and
current affairs media. With regard to the
fictional media, he notes how film and
television reinforce the ‘good teacher’ (aka
‘teacher hero’) discourse embodied in a
number of films from Goodbye Mr Chips
(1939) to Dangerous Minds (1995) and
references a recent film which critiques this
discourse, Entre les Murs/The Class (2009).
And finally an article on how teachers
might approach a recent film, The Boy in
the Striped Pyjamas, which Liz Roberts
considers suitable even for students in the
early stages of secondary school despite
its subject matter – how the son of a Nazi
concentration camp commandant befriends
a boy of his own age in the camp and the
fateful series of events that follow.
-----------------------------------------The SQA is currently undertaking a revision
of course structures and qualifications to
bring them into line with the Curriculum
for Excellence. Media Studies (which, at
the time of writing is to be referred to as
”Media”) is part of this process and AMES
has representation on both the QDTs
(Quality Design Teams) and the Subject
Working Group. One of the problems with
the whole process is that each subject
area is firmly in its own ‘silo’, and there is
no opportunity for interaction with other
subjects in which the study of the media
might feature. In fact, any (indeed every)
subject can involve a degree of engagement
with the media, but in some there is a
greater focus – English in particular but
also Art, Drama, Social Subjects, Computing
and Technology. It is important that the
SQA take account of this cross-curricular
dimension to ensure sufficient account is
taken of media and to avoid unnecessary
overlapping, so that something coherent
emerges from this process.
AMES is producing a position paper on
these matters which will be published in
the next edition of The Media Education
Journal. It is essential that the wider
profession engages in this debate and
makes its views known to the SQA.
-----------------------------------------In issue 49 of The Media Education Journal
we shall be renewing our co-operation with
Glasgow University’s Department of Film
and Television Studies to produce articles
on a range of topics. The copy deadline is
the third week in March.
media education journal 48
3
Something Old, Something
New, Something Excellent? –
Part 2
Rick Instrell
In memory of Frank Gormlie
Introduction
n part 1 of this paper (MEJ
MEJ 43, Summer
2008, 9-16), I addressed the problem of
how we might teach multimodal literacy.
I believe the key lies in the academic
discipline of multimodal social semiotics,
but alas its key texts are often couched in
a forbidding language of contested jargon.
One of its leading proponents, Theo van
Leeuwen, argues that we should view
social semiotics not as a self-contained
theory but as an interdisciplinary
form of enquiry which offers ways of
formulating questions that encourage us
to investigate, hypothesise, test and make
our own conclusions (van Leeuwen, 2005:
1). What follows is an outline of my own
conclusions formed by the tough journey
through the literature and by means of the
more agreeable dialogue and debate with
colleagues.
I
In part 1, I took up the New London
Group’s challenge of producing a
language for this field of enquiry which
was simple but sophisticated, motivating
and flexible (New London Group, 1996).
I identified three key elements: rhetoric,
multimodality and critical literacy.
I wish to expand the notion of rhetoric
beyond the simple definition of ‘the art
of persuasion’. In addition rhetorical
studies examine how, in any form of
communication, representations are
designed by the writer(s) to construct
meaning for its readers. Thus a rhetorical
study is concerned with the relationship
between writer, audience, and the form
and content of the text.
All communication forms have rhetorical
templates which are not fixed but can
be used and adapted by the author(s).
This means that we should see any
text as being formed from “regulated
improvisations” (Bourdieu, 1977, quoted in
Bearne, 2009: 157). One type of template
is the range of rhetorical structures
which guides the selection, portrayal and
organisation of content – for example,
design, narrative, genre or discourse. A
second type of template is the variety
of rhetorical devices which enhance
communication in the medium and
which are implemented via modes and
intermodal relationships.
A mode is “a socially shaped and culturally
given resource for making meaning”
(Kress, 2010, p79). For example, film
can be seen as the deployment of the
resources of image and audio and their
intermodal interaction. Each mode can be
divided into submodes – hence moving
image audio could be divided into speech,
music and sound. Each submode has a set
of variables e.g. music has volume, pitch,
rhythm, timbre, melody, harmony and so
on. Modal substitution can come into play
when a particular medium cannot deliver
a mode. Thus the silent page in a graphic
novel can render sound as speech bubbles
and made-up words (KERRANG!!!).
Two kinds of critical literacy are involved
in multimodal pedagogy. The first is
textual and considers how well the
form and content of the communication
delivers its meaning and fulfils its purpose.
The second is contextual and considers
issues surrounding the sources, audience
and social contexts of the communication.
These literacies are important to both
the analysis and appreciation of texts as
well as to their design, production and
circulation.
Social semiotics
Media studies in its early days was heavily
influenced by structuralist semiotics and
its concern with the underlying structures
of texts as well as the denotation and
connotation of signs within texts. Usually
the aim was to understand the ideological
work of these structures and signs. Social
semiotics draws on this critical tradition
but shifts its concerns towards analyses of
the motivations and use of signs in their
social settings, and how they achieve their
effects within these settings. Because of
the ease with which we can now produce
digital texts across different media it is
my belief that multimodal social semiotics
complements the critical approach whilst
providing a more complete foundation
on which to base the next generation of
media courses.
All work in multimodality has been
influenced by Michael Halliday’s three
functions of communication: the
ideational (or representational), the
interpersonal (or reader-engagement) and
the textual (or compositional) (Halliday
and Matthiessen, 2004). As Halliday’s
original terms would cause difficulties in
a high school setting I will use the terms
in brackets. Quite simply, a multimodal
analysis examines how the composition
of a text is motivated and designed to
engage the reader and deliver its meanings
and effects (i.e. the representation).
The composition is (usually) a cohesive
ensemble of modes and intermodal
4
relationships structured in order to project
unified coherent messages to the reader.
In summary, a full multimodal analysis of
a text requires:
1. a description of the social context of
the communication i.e. the sender and
receiver and their social settings;
2. a technical annotation/transcription of
the communication;
3. an analysis of the rhetorical structures
and their communication functions;
4. an analysis of the modal and
intermodal elements and their
communication functions;
5. a textual critique which evaluates
how, and how effectively, its
composition engages the reader to
deliver intended meaning and effect;
6. a contextual critique which evaluates
the effect of the communication in its
social settings.
My hope is that this list will be a relief to
those new to the idea of multimodality.
For it seems to me it represents what
we have been doing already in our best
lessons, albeit often implicitly. What
multimodal social semiotics does is give us
an explicit methodology for course design
and holistic assessment which can be
adapted to any age and stage.
In the first part of the article I tried out
concepts from multimodal social semiotics
on relatively simple media texts: print
advertisements. I now wish to see whether
the method adopted in the analysis of
print ads can be extended to a more
complex moving image text. Apart from
the complexity I am interested to see
whether the method can be extended to a
time-based rather than a page-based text.
I intend to perform a full analysis of the
text including its social, institutional and
audience contexts. This is necessarily a
lengthy process so I intend to use a short
text: the 30-second ‘Derek the Cuckoo’
television ad made by the Leith Agency
for AG Barr in the Scottish launch of its
energy drink Irn-Bru 32 in 2006.
Something old, something new, something
blue and orange . . .
Social contexts
We first have to consider the source of
the ad. AG Barr manufactures Irn-Bru, a
fizzy drink that, in Scotland, rivals PepsiCola and Coca-Cola. It is distinctive from
the international brands in that it is
orange in colour and has a reputation as
a hangover cure. Irn-Bru ads are aimed
primarily at teenagers, are distinctively
funny and cheeky and, unlike most ads,
live long in the memory. The adverts in
print and on television project the brand
image of ‘likeable maverick’. Irn-Bru
occupies a unique place in Scots’ lived and
intertextual culture. In the words of the
ads, “It’s phenomenal!”
Irn-Bru 32 is an energy drink which was
launched in 2006 as a rival to the market
leader Red Bull which had over 80% of
the Scottish market. Red Bull is popular
amongst hard-living young adults but
surveys showed that many people didn’t
like its taste. Irn-Bru 32 was designed to
have the taste of Irn-Bru with the caffeine
effect of Red Bull. The ‘32’ tag refers to
the fact that the Irn-Bru taste is made
up of 32 flavours (the recipe is reputedly
locked in Swiss bank vault) and that each
can contains 32g of caffeine per 100ml.
latest versions of these codes can be
downloaded at their website. In 2006
the script clearance was handled by the
Broadcast Advertising Clearance Centre
(BACC) which was replaced by Clearcast
in 2008 (www.clearcast.org.uk). Because
of the edgy nature of Irn-Bru ads, the
Leith Agency regularly refers their scripts
for pre-production clearance and the
script for Derek the Cuckoo was cleared.
The ad was shot by Glasgow-based tv ad
producers Mallinson Television Productions
(www.mtp.co.uk) and starred Brian
McCardie as Derek.
To sum up, the Leith Agency had the
challenge of inscribing the client’s wishes
and target audience appeal into the ad.
At the same time, given the ‘edgy’ nature
of Irn-Bru ads, they had to anticipate and
undermine potential complaints from the
non-target audience.
The brief for the Leith Agency was to
create a powerful brand campaign which
would stay true to the brand proposition
but which would “make a noise” and
would shake Red Bull’s domination. The
product message was that Irn-Bru 32
offers “great-tasting mental stimulation”.
Barr wanted the product to be central
to the ad storyline as well as being
distinctively Scottish, humorous and
cheeky. The target audience was ‘work
hard, play hard’ 18-30 year-olds who have
various points in their lives where they
need an energy boost, for example, at
work, in traffic, studying or after partying
at weekends. Because of the older target
audience the Barr logo was removed from
Irn-Bru 32 cans to avoid the connotations
of children’s drinks such as Cream Soda
and Red Kola (Adams, 2007).
Technical transcription
The principal modes for any moving
image text are image and audio so a
transcription should detail the image
and audio tracks. Derek the Cuckoo
has been transcribed frame by frame
with a description of the visuals and
audio. Shots are numbered from 1-19
and representative frames have been
selected for each shot. Where there is
significant change of action in a frame
(e.g. Derek’s entry in frame 4) they
are labelled a and b. You should view
the ad and study the transcript now.
The ad can be viewed on YouTube and
at MTP’s site (www.mtp.co.uk) It can
also be downloaded for a small fee at
www.visit4info.com.
The Leith Agency was thus charged with
devising a campaign with visual and aural
impact which would deliver the new
product message in an entertaining way
to the target audience whilst being true
to the old brand image. A cross-media
campaign was devised which involved
print, billboards, web, radio and tv. I will
concentrate on the television ad.
Genre and Narrative
The ad is a 30 second soft drinks
commercial. I would argue that IrnBru has created its own genre with a
succession of memorable ads. Fortunately
it is possible to study the Irn-Bru genre in
detail by going to the website www.irnbru.co.uk and a pleasurable exercise
for pupils would be to study these and
identify the characteristic narrative
structures and iconography of the genre.
A key determining factor in advertising is
the fact that it exists within a system of
regulation which is a compromise between
dominant social norms and the demands
of the advertising industry. In the UK, the
Committee of Advertising Practice (CAP
www.cap.org.uk) sets broadcast and nonbroadcast advertising codes. Advertising
agencies routinely refer scripts for advice
and clearance based on CAP codes. The
Rhetorical structures
The ad employs a mini-narrative with a
problem-solution structure much used in
advertising. Problem: it’s 4.10 pm and a
student is unable to study, instead gazing
vacantly into empty space. Solution: Derek
explodes into the library and provides the
great-tasting solution: Irn-Bru 32. This
delivers the product message and links
5
6
7
8
9
the product to the target consumer. The
ad then adds a typical Irn-Bru spin by
featuring an unresolved confrontation
between Derek and the librarian.
Discourse
A discourse can be regarded as a coherent
set of meanings in the form of images,
words or sounds which presupposes an
audience with the knowledge to make the
message understandable. The ad fuses the
Glasgow ‘hard man’ discourse with the
Irn-Bru discourse of likeable rebelliousness
to comic effect, and it would be quickly
and pleasurably decoded by the target
audience. Laughter is the common human
response to incongruity and such comic
touches abound. For example:
• the first appearance of the librarian
in frame 2, head off-frame, stamping
books behind a photograph of her
giving a ‘shush’ gesture;
• Derek’s ‘explosion’ through the books
(frame 4);
• Derek’s cuckoo costume as he bobs up
and down as if he has emerged from a
cuckoo clock (frame 6);
• Derek’s use of Glasgow patois/patter
(“Well get this doon yer piehole clever
clogs”) (frame 7);
• the librarian’s concern for silence
rather than the damaged books (frame
14);
• Derek’s threatening ‘C’mon’ gesture
accompanied by the incongruous
“Cuckooo” (frame 18);
• the cuckoo call and falling feathers in
the closing pack shot (frame 19).
Style
The filmmakers only have 30 seconds to
communicate the message in the form of
a mini-narrative so they have opted for
continuity editing based on the Classic
Hollywood style. This is a set of techniques
which are designed to make the technical
construction of the film ‘invisible’ i.e. to
make the inherent discontinuity of film
appear ‘continuous’. In Classic Hollywood
the plot is more important than the style
i.e. its prime motive is storytelling.
the direction of the look maintained
• match on action: the same action is
carried on across two shots
• connecting sounds: same sound carried
across cuts
• overall tonality remains the same from
shot to shot within a scene.
• participants/actions being centred in
the frame
• redundancy: being given the same plot
information through images, acting,
speech, music and/or sound.
(Bordwell and Thompson, 2010: 310-333)
Rhetorical devices
Image submodes include the elements
that are included in the frame e.g. image
contents, body language, movement,
lighting, colour and so on. Audio can be
divided into sound, music and speech and
each of these can be analysed in terms of
a number of variables. For example speech
can be analysed in terms of volume,
perspective, pitch, language, accent,
register, roughness, pace, intonation and
so on.
Modal rhetorical devices
There are many modes/sub-modes to
attend to in a moving image text. The
question then arises: how do you know
which modes to consider? The answer
to this is to remember that what we
seek is a holistic understanding of how
I will concentrate on the use of colour in
this ad. Colour is important in ads as it
is often seen to be essential to associate
particular colours with brands, training
the consumer eye to pick one product
out from an array of competing products
on supermarket shelves. As examples,
Fig. 2 outlines the use of such techniques
in ‘Derek the Cuckoo’:
Feature
Example in ‘Derek the Cuckoo’ ad
Connecting sounds
The ticking clock in shots 1-3
Establishing shot
and shot/reverse shot
Shot 4 establishes where the student and Derek
are as well as an 180˚ line between them in the
plane of the screen. Shots 5-12 alternate shot/
reverse shot.
Shot 13 when the librarian intervenes is a new
establishing shot with a new 180˚ line at right
angles to the plane of the screen. Then follows
another sequence of shot/reverse shots of Derek
and the librarian.
The transitions between shots are all cuts which
is typical of a sequence which takes place in real
time.
Eyeline match
In shot 7 we see the student look right offscreen (to Derek’s right hand) and in shot 8 we
see Derek offering the can in his right hand.
Match on action
In shot 13 we see the librarian’s back as she
walks into the foreground and in the next shot
we see her from the front still walking forward.
The same action is carried across the cut and
‘hides’ the cut.
Overall tonality
The overall lighting tonality of the backgrounds
remains the same from shot to shot and gives
the impression of continuity across 18 shots.
Centring
Participants and actions are centred in every
frame.
The techniques are:
• establishing shot: shows the setting
and the 180º line between two
characters (the camera will stay on
one side of this line)
• shot/reverse shot: cutting back and
forth between characters (sometimes
using over-the-shoulder shots)
• eyeline match: shot A: someone
looking; shot B: what is looked at with
rhetorical structures orchestrate modal
elements into a cohesive and coherent
whole. Thus we should attend to those
modes/submodes that are most salient and
contribute most to overall meaning and
effect.
Fig 2: ‘Continuity editing’ techniques as used in ‘Derek the Cuckoo’
10
think of the purple of Silk Cut or the gold
of Benson and Hedges or the purple of
Cadbury’s.
In the ad, shots 1-5 are dominated by
bland beige and white tones which is
disrupted in shot 6 by Derek’s entry,
dressed in a bright blue cuckoo suit with
an orange beak and ‘32’ logo emblazoned
on his chest. The blue and orange of the
suit is rhymed in the final shot as an
Irn-Bru 32 can bursts into the orange
background frame. The lettering on the
can in shot 19 is a tall sans serif which
carries connotations of ‘standing tall’ after
imbibing a refreshing drink. Thus colour
is used representationally to signal the
product and its invigorating properties.
It is also used to surprise and engage the
reader – what on earth is this blue and
orange intruder? Finally colour is used
in the composition of the text – bland
colours are associated with shots that
signal boredom and authority, and vibrant
colours symbolise the stimulation of IrnBru 32. Thus we see that colour is used to
fulfil all three communication functions.
Intermodal rhetorical devices
In the previous section we saw that
meaning and effect come from the
individual colour schemes and their
interrelationships. So as well as analysing
how individual modes function we
need also to consider how modes work
together. In the previous article I argued
that it was better to use the more
general term resonance rather than
anchorage to describe the relationship
between modal elements as this carries
a sense of a textual relationship which,
if detected by the reader, may resonate
with and impact them cognitively and
emotionally. At its simplest we might think
of modal elements having three basic
interrelationships:
1. alignment
2. complementarity
3. contradiction/tension.
(Jewitt, 2009: 25-26)
These intermodal relationships can
exist simultaneously or sequentially.
An example of a simultaneous
complementarity interaction is the image
of Derek speaking as we hear his voice
on the audio track. Simultaneous aligned
interaction occurs with the image of Derek
bursting through the books accompanied
by the sound of destruction (frame 5).
Sequential contradiction occurs in the
audio track when the initial quiet of
the library is disrupted by Derek’s entry
(frames 3 to 4). Another example of
sequential contradiction occurs between
shots 18 and 19. Derek threatens the
librarian and we cut to the pack shot
which immediately defuses the threat as
the sound of a cuckoo clock signals the
essential silliness of the situation. It’s
almost as if the ad anticipates potential
critics by saying “Only joking . . . “.
Each of these examples of intermodal
resonance can be seen to fulfil one or
more of the communication functions.
Textual critique
I think this analysis shows that the Leith
Agency and MTP made a very effective
ad which met the brief and delivered the
brand and product messages to the target
audience. We have seen how each of the
three communication functions is realised:
1. Composition (use of continuity editing,
colour contrasts, sound)
2. Reader-engagement (use of surprise,
humour, intertextual knowledge)
3. Representational (use of problemsolution mini-narrative, use of
Glasgow accent and hard man
stereotype, use of Irn-Bru genre
markers of colour and comic tone).
Irn-Bru ended 2006 with a 9.5% market
share of the energy drink market whilst
Red Bull’s share dropped from 81% to
70%. LVQ (www.lvqresearch.com), a
qualitative and quantitative research
company, carried out post-launch research
and found that:
•
•
•
53% of respondents had spontaneous
advertising awareness
76% understood the main message
communication (energy/stimulating
drink)
81% enjoyed the ad (Irn-Bru’s highest
ever rating).
(Adams, 2007)
The only mystery is how the creatives
managed to transform the notion of a
Glasgow ‘tough cookie’ into ‘one tough
cuckoo’. Alas the magic of the creative
process – much like the unique flavour of
Irn-Bru – is probably beyond analysis!
Contributors to this issue
Douglas Allen has lectured in General/Social Studies and
Media Studies and is currently Lecturer in Psychology at
Motherwell College. He has been an Associate Lecturer in Arts,
Film & Television History with Open University since 1986.
Mary Birch teaches English and Media Studies at Harlaw
Academy in Aberdeen
Tom Brownlee is Head of Media and RE at Richard Hale
School in Hertford, where he teaches A Level Media Studies. He
has written extensively about the subject for Media Magazine
and the Media Education Journal and is a former editor of the
MEJ
MEJ.
Rick Instrell is a freelance CPD provider and a bfi associate
tutor. He is a former convener of AMES Management
Committee and is currently researching the multimodal aspects
of mathematical communication.
Kate Gerova started out in corporate PR before becoming
involved in film marketing and distribution. She joined Soda
Pictures in 2005 as Head of Publicity and is now Head of
Distribution. Soda Pictures is an independent film distributor
with an eclectic catalogue of films ranging from award winning
foreign language to smaller niche titles.
www.sodapictures.com
Des Murphy is a freelance media education consultant and
CPD provider, secretary of AMES, editor of the Media Education
Journal and an Associate Tutor of the British Film Institute.
Liz Roberts taught Media Studies at Aberdeen College where
she was Team Leader and Curriculum Manager, teaching
SCOTVEC Media modules, HND and NQ Media Studies. She is
a setter for the Reading the Media Paper for Advanced Higher
English and a member of AMES Management Committee.
Lorraine Teviotdale teaches English at Dyce Academy in
Aberdeen.
11
Contextual critique
The ad raises questions about the role of
advertising and its influence on individual
and collective behaviour and values. Is it
likely that one ad will have an effect on
behaviour? Or is it the cumulative effect
of ads which affects our behaviour? What
is the role of advertising in a capitalist
consumer society? Should the state step in
and ban the advertising of allegedly harmful
food and drink? Or should we resist such
moves towards a ‘nanny state’? To what
extent should advertising be regulated?
Who should do the regulation?
As we have seen, the Leith Agency
anticipated adverse reaction and tried to
undermine it comically. The Advertising
Standards Authority (ASA: www.asa.org.uk)
received 34 complaints including from
the Scottish Violence Reduction Unit
of Strathclyde Police and the Clinical
Director of Glasgow Royal Infirmary’s A&E
department. Overall the complainants
objected to the targeting of young people
and felt that the language, theme and
tone of the ad was violent, aggressive and
offensive and might encourage anti-social
behaviour, aggression and disrespect (ASA,
2007: 1).
AG Barr replied that they believed “the
maverick and irreverent theme of the
ads was well-established; that the public
understood them in that context and that
consequently their potential to cause
offence was reduced.” BACC said that they
cleared the ad as they “believed that a man
dressed in a cuckoo costume was clearly
a ridiculous figure and that anything in
his language or actions was consequently
unlikely to be taken sufficiently seriously to
cause offence” (ASA, 2007: 2).
The ASA investigated the ad under CAP
(Broadcast) TV Advertising Standards Code
rules 7.3.1 (Mental harm – children), 7.3.7
(Use of scheduling restrictions) and CAP
(Broadcast) Rules on the Scheduling of
Advertising 4.2.3 (Treatments unsuitable for
children). They rejected the complaints as
they considered “the tone was sufficiently
humorous and the Glasgow stereotype
sufficiently recognisable to avoid the ads
themselves causing an increase in violent
behaviour in children” (ASA, 2007: 4).
Whatever one’s opinion, it seems to me
that the creators of ‘Derek the Cuckoo’ have
given a masterclass in creative advertising
practice, allowing us to see how the highconcepts of clients can be successfully
translated into a multimodal ensemble with
individual and social influence.
Conclusion
It is my belief that the principles of
multimodal social semiotics give a
powerful holistic way of understanding
all communication, whether it be in
mathematics and the sciences (O’Halloran,
2008), expressive arts (O’Toole, 1994),
computing (Martinec and van Leeuwen,
2009) or literature and media. What
impresses me about the ideas is that they
enrich and rearrange my own thinking
within my own disciplines of mathematics,
media studies and computing as well
as allowing me to see the connections
between them. For curriculum designers
this should allow a common set of
concepts and a common language to
be used across disciplines and enable
disciplinary boundaries to dissolve. Clarity
in the communicative aspects within
any discipline simplifies both course
construction and the devising of holistic
assessment instruments. If the Scottish
Government is serious about a policy of
“multimodal literacy across learning”
within the Curriculum for Excellence it
should consider implementing these ideas.
I leave the final words to our feathered
friend: “Wakey, wakey! It’s pure mental
stimulation so it is.”
Bibliography
Adams, P. (2007) ‘We thought we were
hard enough so we came and had a go: the
Launch of Irn-Bru 32’. Edinburgh: The Leith
Agency.
Advertising Standards Authority, 2
August 2006, ASA Adjudication on AG
Barr. Accessed on 6/11/2010 at http:
//www.asa.org.uk/Complaints-and-ASAaction/Adjudications/2006/8/AG-Barrplc/TF_ADJ_41596.aspx
Baldry, A. and Thibault, P.J. (2005)
Multimodal Transcription and Text
Analysis, London: Equinox.
Bateman, J.A. (2008) Multimodality and
Genre: a Foundation for the Systematic
Analysis of Multimodal Documents. London:
Palgrave Macmillan.
Bearne, E. “Multimodality, literacy and
texts: Developing a discourse” in Journal
of Early Childhood Literacy
Literacy. 2009, vol 9(2)
156–187.
Bordwell, D. and Thompson, K. (2010) Film
Art: an Introduction (9th ed.). New York:
McGraw-Hill.
Bourdieu, P. (1977) Outline of a Theory of
Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Donald. J. and Renov, M. (eds.) (2008) The
Sage Handbook of Film Studies. London:
Sage.
Halliday, M. and Matthiessen, C. (2004) An
Introduction to Functional Grammar (3rd
ed.). London: Arnold.
Instrell, R. (2008) ‘Something Old,
Something New, Something Excellent?
– Part 1’ in Media Education Journal, 43,
Summer 2008, 9-16.
Jewitt, C. (ed.) (2009) The Routledge
Handbook of Multimodal Analysis. London:
Routledge.
Kress, G. (2010) Multimodality: a Social
Semiotic Approach to Contemporary
Communication. London: Routledge.
Kress. G. and van Leeuwen, T. (2006)
Reading Images: the Grammar of Visual
Design (2nd ed.). London: Routledge.
Machin D. (2007) Introduction to
Multimodal Analysis. London: Hodder
Arnold.
Martinec, R. and van Leeuwen, T. (2009)
The Language of New Media Design: Theory
and Practice. London: Routledge.
New London Group (1996) “A Pedagogy of
Multiliteracies: Designing Social Futures”.
In Cope, B. and Kalantzis, M. (2000)
Multiliteracies. London: Routledge.
Also accessed 6/11/2010 at
wwwstatic.kern.org/filer/
blogWrite44ManilaWebsite/paul/
articles/A_Pedagogy_of_Multiliteracies_
Designing_Social_Futures.htm
O’Halloran, K.L. (2008) Mathematical
Discourse: Language, Symbolism and Visual
Images. London: Continuum.
O’Halloran, K.L. (ed.) (2004) Multimodal
Discourse Analysis: Systemic Functional
Perspectives. London: Continuum.
O’Toole, M. (1994) The Language of
Displayed Art
Art. London: Leicester University
Press.
Royce, T. (1998) “Intersemiosis on the
page: a metafunctional interpretation of
composition in The Economist magazine”,
in Joret, P. and Remael, A. (eds.) Language
and Beyond. Amsterdam, Editions Rodopi
BV.
Unsworth, L. (ed.) (2008) Multimodal
Semiotics: Functional Analysis in Contexts
of Education. London: Continuum.
van Leeuwen, T. (1999) Speech, Music,
Sound. London: Palgrave Macmillan.
Sound
van Leeuwen, T. (2001) Introducing Social
Semiotics. London: Routledge.
van Leeuwen, T. And Jewitt, C. (eds.) (2001)
Handbook of Visual Analysis. London: Sage.
Ventola, E., Charles, C. and Kaltenbacher, M.
(eds.) (2004) Perspectives on Multimodality
Multimodality.
Amsterdam: John Benjamins.
Williams, R. (2008) The Non-Designer’s
Design and Type Books (deluxe edition).
Berkeley CA: Peachpit Press.
Thanks to Gordon Liddell for comments.
12
Association for Media Education in Scotland
AMES is the subject association for media studies, media education and related disciplines. Its
objectives are to promote media literacy, to support media teachers and to raise the status of media
education.
AMES is a grassroots organisation set up by classroom teachers to promote media education on a
national level while also providing support and advice to media teachers themselves.
AMES is active in lobbying and negotiating with education planners at all levels in Scotland.
Membership of AMES will enable you to have a say in the future direction of media education in
Scotland. To join, contact Des Murphy at the address on Page 2. Members of AMES receive free copies
of the bi-yearly Media Education Journal and the AMES newsletter.
AMES is a non-profit organisation and registered charity and is funded through membership
subscriptions and subscriptions to the Media Education Journal. It holds a yearly conference in May/
June at which the AGM takes place. As a charity, AMES is overseen by OSCR and examined by an
Independent Examiner.
AMES’ website is at www.mediaedscotland.org.uk
AMES’s website has been substantially updated and in the near
future we hope to add the facility for AMES members to download
AMES’s resources such as the back catalogue of MEJ issues from MEJ
32 onwards and selected articles from earlier issues. In addition we
hope to provide a mechanism by which members are invited to share
resources, schemes of work etc. which would also be downloadable.
Please check back for updates on:
http://www.mediaedscotland.org.uk
13
Azur and Asmar (The Princes’ Quest)
– The Distributor’s Tale
Kate Gerova
A
small group of very dedicated film
education professionals regularly,
and rightly, bemoan the lack of variety of
films for young people. Half Term October
2010 brings a depressingly familiar slate
of movies: the biggie, Despicable Me,
the one that no-one can remember the
title of apart from the Owl bit (Legend
of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole);
Alpha & Omega; Ramona & Beezus, an
American live action starring Selena
Gomez and Easy A, which was given a
15 thereby avoiding the lower end of
the teen market. The three animated
films in this list have several things in
common: all English language; all fronted
by ‘celebrity’ led voices and while all, are
I’m sure, entertaining, well produced and
certainly widely distributed with their big
US studio marketing budgets – they do all
blend into a sameness. There is a certain
homogeny at play; kids films follow one
path. Film distribution is a lot of things,
but one thing it isn’t is rocket science,
so thus – if something has worked well
before then it’s likely that the formula will
be repeated. That’s the simple justification
for the many, many talking animal movies
out there.
Cannes, 2007, away from the red carpet
crowds I ventured into a market screening
of a French film called Azur & Asmar by
the celebrated animator Michel Ocelot It
was a screening filled with buyers, critics,
journalists and school children. Azur &
Asmar tells the story of two boys brought
up together in the same household, one
privileged and one not, who are told the
same story about the Djinn fairy waiting
to be released from her underground
prison. Separated while still young the
boys grow up and each vow to go on a
quest and find the princess. It’s a kids’
movie so it has a happy ending though
perhaps not the one that everyone is quite
expecting. It’s funny and moving but it’s
the unique animation itself that stands
out: a visual feast of jewels on screen in
a rich and wondrous style. Tellingly, as
we spilled out from the cinema it was
clear – kids & industry professionals alike
had found the film dazzling. As a film
distributor you are always looking for that
gem, maybe something that someone has
overlooked and you have to trust your
instinct that others will like the film too.
Of course I already had views on children’s
cinema ranging from the opinionated
(Kes, why isn’t it compulsory viewing in
secondary schools) to the spectacularly
naïve (subtitles, what’s the problem?)
but even I could see a foreign language
feature with some bits in Arabic (unsubtitled so you could identify with feeling
like a foreigner like Azur does) and with
no recognisable voice cast was going to
have challenges in the market place. The
film, however, had already performed
fantastically well in France with a
box office in the millions and lots of
associated promotions and merchandise.
Crucially, the sales agent, Wild Bunch,
were prepared to do a reasonable deal
on the title making it easier to take a
risk. Sales agents, particularly in Europe,
acknowledge that the UK is an almost
impossible territory for children’s films
theatrically. The European film community
consistently develops and funds children’s
films which in turn drives a healthy
domestic market. There is not a lack of
children’s product; arguably there is a lack
of audience in the UK.
There were three key areas to the success
of the film in the UK: Soda Pictures, the
distribution company I work for, which
decided that it was a film it wanted to
back; 2) the UKFC which put up half
the P&A (Prints and Advertising); and
3) Michel Ocelot who was to be directly
involved in the UK release.
Part of having the UKFC funding support
meant that we’d be able to spend more
on the marketing which is vital when
competing against films released from
the studios; it would also mean that
we’d try and ‘break out’ the film from
the independent sector so as well as
playing the film in the usual regional
Michel Ocelot
14
film theatres, the film would also go
to multiplexes. There are few foreign
language films playing in multiplexes
and practically no foreign children’s
films (no-one was releasing them). It
was clear that to make the film truly
accessible it would need to be dubbed into
English (apart from the Arabic which we
were contractually forbidden to dub). It
would also open up the film to Englishspeaking audiences worldwide, potentially
making an expensive dubbed version an
asset recoupable against sales in other
territories.
Films from the Studio Ghibli stable have
all been dubbed. Spirited Away
Away, the first
feature from Hayao Miyazaki to make a
significant impact in the UK theatrical
market, was released in two formats, the
original version and the dubbed, with the
former attracting a core adult audience
which helped boost the film to the top of
the box office. We were positioning Azur
and Asmar as a family title and felt that
releasing it in the original version as well
would be counter intuitive to making the
film as universally accessible as possible.
Personally when I think of a dubbed
version it conjures up watching telly as a
child in hotel rooms in Europe, trying to
make sense of familiar characters with a
soundtrack that I can’t understand and
worse know doesn’t reflect the actual
character’s voice and mannerisms. So it
was hugely important that Michel Ocelot
could oversee the English dub alongside
the project manager, George Roubicek.
To dub a film is an extraordinary process
of lip synching and finding the correct
rhythm for speech in translation. Although
some adults can mimic children, the
young Azur and Asmar were played by
two young brothers who not only got the
voices and speech exactly right but also
brought to their roles the kind of rivalry
that only siblings understand. This process
went well beyond the effort involved in
a standard UK theatrical release; this
was watching a film in production. The
level of commitment demonstrated in
making sure the dub was sympathetic
to the original was at the heart of trying
to offer something new in the landscape
of children¹s cinema. The dub felt like
a Herculean effort, taking around six
months, mainly due to the need to fit
in with Michel’s schedule, and involving
some arduous and nail-biting work in the
last month concerning the final synch.
Timing is everything
We avoided a Christmas release because
of all the big seasonal films scheduled;
the promotions in place at that level cover
national magazines, retail stores, food
outlets and TV advertising. The budget to
release a Pixar movie is in the millions
and, despite having a healthy release
spend, we couldn’t compete. In addition,
at Christmas time there is competition
from other leisure activities – panto,
theatre, ice-skating, winter wonderlands
etc. – and so we set a release date of
February half-term 2008. We did have
the support of the exhibitors with a lot
of the independent sites being fully on
board; however, the multiplexes needed
more convincing. Not only did they know
that our spend was lower than the studios
but also the film itself was unique and
didn’t fit into the traditional mould of a
children’s film. When Up was released a
year ago there was a lot of press about
it being a risk because the storylines
revolves around an old man. I think Up is
a truly fantastic film, stunning, moving
and already a classic. But a risk? Not
by my definition of one which which
is trying to convince an industry that
non-mainstream film can work for kids.
When you don’t have an unlimited budget
then you have to be creative about what
you do; we knew that the film tested
positive with audiences from the launch
at National Schools Film Week so we
embarked on a series of ‘word of mouth’
screenings. Part of the strategy was also
to get journalists on board as champions,
especially the ones who had spoken about
the importance of diversifying children’s
cinema.
We also ran our own promotions and
used a marketing spend to advertise in
Primary Times as well as key upmarket
national press and an entry-level TV
campaign. We understood that we had to
appeal to parents as well as children and
achieve ‘pester power’. But you cannot
underestimate how porous a big multimillion campaign (and ours was not) is;
how persuasive it is in reaching children
and adults and giving a stamp of approval
that indicates you are already familiar
with the characters, storyline and themes.
Whether people go to see films because
of the voice cast is yet to be scientifically
proven but what a famous voice cast can
give you is interview air-time. Although
we certainly had interest for Michel Ocelot
and he did some interviews these were
aimed at adults so we missed out on the
shows targeted at younger viewers. And
yet conversely some publications didn’t
15
want to interview him because he ‘just’
did children’s films.
Overall by the time the theatrical
campaign was launched we had changed
the name to Azur & Asmar: The Princes’
Quest (TPQ) to make it more accessible to
parents; made our own English language
trailer and dubbed the feature; spent
a significant amount on print and TV
advertising and watched the film receive
4 star reviews from magazine and paper
press. We were set for an opening date of
8th February.
The loner
All those polled in the day after the
release (both adults & children) rated
TPQ excellent; it scored unusually highly
in terms of enjoyment as well as the key
questions of “would you recommend it to
a friend” which produced a resounding
yes vote. Sadly, the selection sampled was
tiny because audiences just didn’t come.
Some exhibitors had decided to only give
the film two early shows because they
felt the film would perform better to a
younger audience. Crucially the opening
weekend coincided with the first really
sunny spell after the winter and thus we
have an indication of how seasonal film
distribution is. If you open your film on the
first warm, sunny and dry weekend of the
year you can expect your film to tank. The
exhibitors decide on a Monday morning
whether a film is ‘held over’ beyond the
Thursday after the Friday opening. It’s
not arbitrary: the films making the least
amount of money are off because in their
wake comes another dozen films the
following Friday that are probably going
to perform better than yours. TPQ was
the loner in the playground, the film that
none of the other films wanted to hang
out with. Where did it go wrong? We
knew we had a film that audiences and
critics enjoyed, that we spent the money
marketing it to the right target audience
and that it was playing in a number of
cinemas across the UK.
Ultimately it’s just hard to make films like
TPQ work; if that wasn’t the case then
other distributors would release them
as well. We have become a nation with
so much to do, so many leisure choices
that you have to spend millions to shout
the loudest and modest budgets with
critically led films simply don’t carry
enough weight. We tried to release an
arthouse film (however accessible) in
a commercial climate and we couldn’t
compete. We know from the emails about
the film, the praise we get from education
officers and our own DVD sales that the
film is popular and well liked. However,
to get more films like this into cinemas,
audiences have to come out for it and,
simply, they don’t. Because there has been
a lack of evolving children’s cinema in the
last 20 years then this homogenised state
we’ve gotten used to, of American voicetalent-led animation, means audiences
seem less willing to take risks on films
they are not sure of. And I get why: I like
American voice-talent-led cinema myself:
it’s fast moving, witty, funny, with great
characterisation and great scripts. The
gags are a little samey and once I’ve seen
one animated villain I do feel like I’ve seen
them all but films generally are appealing
to the widest audience possible.
The failure of TPQ was heart-breaking. We
are a small company that takes real pride
in the films we release and the journey
could have easily ended there. Instead
we have brought some more children’s
films into the market doing very small
theatrical runs and releasing them on
DVD where they find a home with both
parents and education officers. It’s a lower
risk strategy and retains some balance
in the market place. We are in early
discussions about a potential travelling
children’s film festival to bring some old
classics to a cinema screen in a bid to
grow audience development but without
such an expensive outlay. There has to be
a different model for children’s cinema; it
can co-exist with studio blockbusters and
offer a choice but to not make room for
it all would be a huge loss to sustaining
a balanced and developed cinema for
children.
For more information on the Soda
slate of children’s films go to
www.sodabubbles.co.uk
16
The Fast and Furious Feminism
of Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof
Lorraine Teviotdale
T
hroughout his films, Tarantino has
created strong female characters who
can confidently operate within a man’s
world: Mia Wallace in Pulp Fiction (1994),
Jackie Brown (1997) in her titular role,
Beatrix Kiddo/The Bride in Kill Bill Vol.
1 (2003) and Kill Bill Vol. 2 (2004), and
‘The Girls’ in Death Proof (2007). On the
other hand, many of these characters
are fetishised to some extent – in the
way they are dressed and/or shot by the
camera – presumably for the gratification
of the male viewer. And to counteract his
numerous competent female protagonists,
there are several weaker, victimised
characters who are portrayed as passive
and unintelligent such as Melanie Ralston
in Jackie Brown and Lee Montgomery in
Death Proof
Proof.
Like its predecessors, Death Proof grounds
itself firmly within the male domain
straight from the outset, in its montage
sequence of cars set against fetishised
female body parts. However, Death Proof
differs from the earlier films in that it
foregrounds women battling against
tyranny in groups rather than fighting
it out alone. Thus, it should have been
Tarantino’s most feminist film to date
but during his appearance at the film’s
premieres in both Glasgow and Liverpool,
he was met by feminist protestors.
Their main source of irritation was most
likely his decision to create an action
figure doll of himself named ‘Rapist No.
1’ as promotional material for Robert
Rodriquez’s Planet Terror (2007) but
nevertheless, criticism of Death Proof on
internet blogs and in feminist journals
would suggest that the film is ambiguous
in its feminist subtext.
Death Proof is set in the present although
it pays homage to the 1970s through
various visual markers and film references.
This may be significant when taking into
consideration the background of its two
main genres: grindhouse and slasher. Both
cater to a predominantly male audience
and are traditionally the most sexist
and misogynistic film genres in terms of
content; and both went through changes
in the seventies which increased these
elements. With the introduction of the
VCR, grindhouse has all but disappeared
and the genre has developed into
pornography but, ironically, it started out
as a travelling show which presented films
at the opposite end of the spectrum.
The modern era of the grindhouse/
exploitation film has its roots in 1920s
America whereby pioneers Louis Sonney
and Florence Reid (also known as actress
Dorothy Davenport) screened films
intended to sustain America’s moral purity.
Their travelling theatres warned of the
evils of crime, sex and drug addiction,
showing low-budget movies then lecturing
on the subject themselves. Changing
economics of the 1960s and 70s, however,
forced these theatres to push the barriers
in order to provide the viewing public
with something that television could
not. Hence the era of exploitation sleaze
with which grindhouse is most commonly
associated. Eddie Muller and Daniel Faris
capture this macabre phenomenon in the
‘Sintroduction’ of their book, Grindhouse:
The Forbidden World of ‘Adults Only
Cinema’:
“Lots of lonely guys – the proverbial
raincoat crowd – slouched in their
seats watching nasty little items
like The Defilers, The Curse of her
Flesh, and Invitation to Ruin. With
hardcore sex still strictly forbidden
on public movie screens, brutality
became a substitute adrenaline
rush. The unsettling combination
of sex and violence made the
mid-sixties to early seventies the
most perverse period in grindhouse
history.” (Muller and Faris, 1996: 8)
Similarly, the slasher film is one which,
throughout history, has appealed to
a predominantly male audience. In
1960 Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho set the
precedent for all slasher/horror movies. As
Carol Clover notes in the introduction to
her book, Men, Women and Chainsaws:
“. . . its elements are familiar: the
killer is the psychotic product of a
sick family, but still recognisably
human; the victim is a beautiful,
sexually active woman; the location
is not-home, at a Terrible Place; the
weapon is something other than a
gun; the attack is registered from
the victim’s point of view and comes
with shocking suddenness.” (Clover
1992)
In the 1970s, however, The Texas
Chainsaw Massacre (Tobe Hooper, 1974)
and Halloween (John Carpenter, 1978)
17
established a new pattern which was
followed through the 1980s, creating
a female character, ‘the final girl’, who
is portrayed as morally superior to the
sexually active victims who have been
violently murdered by the killer. As Andrew
Butler explains:
“There’s a pattern to the victims:
anyone who has had sex is fair
game, as are people who smoke or
drink. Anyone separated from the
others is also dead meat. Finally
there are just one or two victims
left, usually a virtuous female (a
clean-living virgin) who makes a
last stand and appears to defeat the
killer, although often it’s revealed
that she has the wrong man, or that
he hasn’t died after all.” (Butler,
2002: 67)
Although the inclusion of the final girl
would seem like a balancing of gender
representation within a genre which is
“spectacularly nasty towards women” [1],
the message remains firmly patriarchal
in its promotion of feminine values. In
discussion of his horror novel Carrie
(1976), Stephen King describes the
seventies as a time of discomfort for men
as the Women’s Liberation Movement
fought to change many societal
inequalities such as abortion, gender
stereotypes and sexist oppression:
“writing the book in 1973 and
only out of college three years, I
was fully aware of what Women’s
Liberation implied for me and
others of my sex. The book is, in its
more adult implications, an uneasy
masculine shrinking from a future of
female equality.” [2]
With women’s burgeoning sexual
confidence and new possibilities of
independence through equality, the
slasher film of the seventies responded
by providing women with a pivotal role.
However, the ‘final girl’ can almost be
seen as on side with the villain, as a team
which annihilates any sexually liberal
or hedonistic female modes of thought
to restore the patriarchal order. Perhaps
then, Tarantino has set himself the task of
changing the role of the ‘final girl’ from
the upholding of patriarchal values to the
embracing of all choices open to women
in a liberal society; from working mothers
to sexually confident ‘ladettes’ to gunwielding stuntwomen.
The film was originally part of a twomovie special named Grindhouse (April
2007), appearing alongside Robert
Rodriguez’s Planet Terror
Terror. Due to low
box-office takings the films were
separated and re-released; Death Proof
in September 2007 followed by Planet
Terror in November. Death Proof is a film
of two halves where the starring female
cast is, in turn, split into two groups: the
first is a set of confident, sassy, smarttalking girls who boast that they call the
shots within their relationships. They meet
their untimely death at the hands of the
misogynistic Stuntman Mike who smashes
into them with his death proof car after a
night out swigging shots. The second set
of girls is on vacation from a film shoot
where each has a different role. They
are out to enjoy themselves as they pick
up their New Zealander friend, real-life
stuntwoman Zoe Bell.
‘The Girls’ constitute two groups of
confident, successful, independent women
who rely on men for nothing other than
sexual pleasure. Like the Sex and the City
characters, they spend much of their time
talking trivialities about sex although in
Death Proof we never actually meet the
male love interests, therefore the men
become the sex objects in a sense. The film
foregrounds female friendship but goes
further than Sex and the City and other
post-feminist works in its representation
of female identity, featuring a diverse
range of racial background amongst its
cast.
The first group of girls consists of Jungle
Julia, Butterfly and Shanna. Jungle Julia is
a black American DJ with her own record
label whose success is reflected in the
advertising billboards for her show which
are dispersed all over Austin, Texas. Each
time the girls drive past one there are
whoops of approval as they celebrate her
fame. She appears confident in her power
over absent love interest, film director
Chris Simonson, although we later see in
her texts that she is the one chasing him
and that she is upset when he fails to
show up. This is one of the few instances
where any passivity or weakness is shown
in the female characters. Despite this, she
seems comfortable with her sexuality as
she boasts of her promiscuity: “Black men
and a whole lotta motherfuckin’ white
men have had a lotta fun adorin’ my ass”.
Butterfly seems to be of Mexican descent.
We are not given any detail about her
job but she displays extreme confidence
with regards to her sex life. She boasts
that she took a man home to her place,
restricted him only to foreplay and then
threw him out, thus assuming complete
control of the situation. Boasts such as,
“I was straddling him”, highlight this
sense of her control and dominance. Her
dominatrix style is further reinforced in
the scene outside the Texas Chili Parlor
when she agrees to make out with a man
but negotiates the terms beforehand to
ensure that she retains control of the
situation. She also prizes female friendship
over male company which is evident when
Julia asks her who she wants to come back
to the ranch to which she replies, “[Just]
us girls.” Her only real weakness is shown
during her exchange with Stuntman Mike
whereby he manages to flatter her into
providing his lapdance.
Earlier on in the film Julia reveals that
she has set up a dare for Butterfly. She
had told listeners on air that she would
be out drinking with a sexy friend that
evening and advised her male audience
that the first one to approach Butterfly
quoting a verse from the Robert Frost
poem, ‘Stopping By Woods on a Snowy
Evening’, would be the lucky recipient of
a lapdance from her. The only ‘get out
clause’ for Butterfly was that the man had
to be the first to approach her so that,
as Julia states, “if some kinda cute, kinda
hot, kinda sexy, hysterically funny but not
funny looking guy comes up then maybe
you did it earlier; maybe you didn’t”,
leaving the choice with her. Unfortunately,
the only man who approaches her is
Stuntman Mike and what follows is a
scene where he tries to reduce both
of their characters to typical gender
stereotypes.
He asks, “Do I scare you?” to which she
nods. “Is it my scar?” he asks, to which
she replies, “It’s your car”. He then makes
her laugh passing it off as his mother’s
car and attempts flattery stating, “You
saw my car and I saw your legs,” implying
stereotypical values such as her interest
in his car and by extension his wealth
and/or manhood whilst she is reduced
to an object of admiration. Julia then
tries to get rid of him claiming Butterfly
has already performed the lapdance,
accidentally misnaming him as Stuntman
Burt. His anger at her blasé attitude
towards him is evident as he snarls “Mike”
giving a hint at the insidious nature of his
character. He then turns back to Butterfly
and explains why he doesn’t believe her
since she looks slightly miffed at the
lack of male attention, saying, “There are
few things as fetching as a bruised ego
18
on a beautiful angel”, resorting again
to flattery. Butterfly is still frightened
and refuses again but then Mike plays
his winning card. In a monologue which
echoes Jungle Julia’s earlier sentiment, he
goads her saying he will file her “under
Chickenshit” in his little black book. To
the confident, sexually-liberated Butterfly
this is too much to bear and she therefore
succumbs.
The lapdance scene is significant as it
would seem Tarantino is referencing
feminist film theory from the second
wave: In her influential essay, ‘Visual
Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’ (1975),
Laura Mulvey asserts that Hollywood
depicts and reinforces the patriarchal
order via the pleasures of scopophilia
(sexual pleasure derived from looking
at erotic objects [3]), voyeurism (sexual
interest in or practice of spying on people
engaged in intimate behaviours [4]) and
narcissism (self affirmation through
identification with the male hero) in
the gaze of the cinema spectator. With
reference to the first two cinematic
pleasures, Mulvey suggests there are
three types of gaze within film: initially
the gaze of the camera and crew as the
action is filmed, then the diegetic gaze
between on-screen characters, and finally
the extra-diegetic gaze of the cinema
audience. As Terri Murray explains:
“All three kinds of look are
predominantly masculine or
associated with the male. Females
are objectified by camera as the
object of desire. The audience
identify with the male hero/
protagonist’s desire for the female
(voyeuristically). In a world ordered
by sexual imbalance, says Mulvey,
pleasure in looking has been ordered
along an active/male and passive/
female divide.” (Murray, 2007: 20)
In addition, the female character’s main
function is as scopophilic spectacle, an
Screen shot 1
image of male desire in both the hero
and cinema spectator’s eyes. Thus, as
the female character is generally seen as
passive and irrelevant to the plot, only
gaining significance by inspiring the male
hero, the spectator can, in turn, only
experience narcissistic pleasure through
identification with the male hero who
controls and drives the narrative. Terri
Murray provides an explanation of the
term narcissism which derives from Greek
mythology:
“Narcissus was a beautiful youth
who fell in love with his own
image reflected in a pool. He pined
away, rooting himself to the spot,
becoming the flower that bears
his name. The film spectator can
likewise become enthralled by a
fantasy of his own omnipotence,
attractiveness and/or prowess. Much
of the pleasure of cinema revolves
around the vicarious pleasure of
living ‘through’ our heroes whilst
remaining oblivious to the realities
of our real lives.”
Therefore, in the cinematic sense,
narcissism is inspired in the male
spectator who gains an inflated sense
of himself through association with the
onscreen image of the idealised male
hero. Murray suggests that, for the male
spectator, the protagonist becomes “his
screen surrogate, giving him a satisfying
sense of omnipotence.” Whereas, “women
have to ‘cross dress’ when they go to the
cinema” as they also have to identify with
the central male figure through lack of an
active female presence.
In applying this to Death Proof
Proof, all three
types of Mulvey’s ‘gaze’ within the
lapdance scene are unarguably male, and
Butterfly is certainly viewed as scopophilic
spectacle. She still, however, appears
comfortable with the situation, positively
enjoying her effect on Stuntman Mike
and revelling in the attention. In addition,
almost all the other characters seen in
the background are female, and they are
giggling and dancing along supportively
rather than showing any jealousy or
disdain (Screen shot 1: 00:38:34).
The lapdance sequence foregrounds
Butterfly as owning the scene although
this is problematic in feminist terms as
the camera is undoubtedly male: initially
the camera takes Mike’s point of view and
focuses on Butterfly’s bottom, then frames
her in a mid shot crawling provocatively
towards him. The camera then jumps
between Mike’s and the other spectators’
point of view as Butterfly allows Mike
to rub his hands over her midriff. A
rotating track shot then centralises
both characters before Butterfly’s body
obscures Stuntman Mike’s in a long
shot whereby she dominates the screen.
Next, there are several jerking cuts in the
film before it jumps straight to the next
scene. Although this is a stylistic device
typical of grindhouse film, it is also a
quirky means of preventing the spectator
from viewing the climax of the lapdance
which is, presumably, nudity, to some
extent at least. In his postfeminist essay,
‘Laisse tomber les filles: (Post) Feminism
in Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof ’,
Jeremi Szaniawski describes this cut in the
narrative as a “perverse, yet clever exercise
of spectacle fulfilment and frustration.”
As the male viewer is expecting female
nudity, his need for gratification is denied.
A humorous allusion to Mulvey’s theory,
perhaps?
After the lapdance Butterfly and her
friends laugh at the fact Mike is giving a
lift to Pam, a young pretty female from
the bar. Jungle Julia comments, “Looks like
you got Mike laid,” endowing Butterfly
with more power than Mike by suggestion
that the female interest he has acquired
only comes from his association with
Butterfly.
It is questionable as to how far any
viewer could identify narcissistically with
Stuntman Mike, regardless of gender, as
he is portrayed as repellent: both visually
(greasy-haired, badly scarred) and by his
manners (he is framed in an extreme close
up shot in the bar eating a greasy pizza
with his fingers). The first image we see
of him is from Butterfly’s point of view
and shows him as a shady character in
a black car. Eerie music is played in the
background which further alienates the
viewer from him. The first shot we get
from his point of view depicts him as a
voyeur as he secretly watches the girls
19
from his car, and as scopophilic spectator
when he views photographs he has
previously taken of them. As Stuntman
Mike removes one of the photos he has
stuck to the sun visor in his car, he flips
open the mirror and his eyes are framed in
the centre of two photographs, reinforcing
his role as voyeur (Screen shot 2: 00:14:
14).
Granted, he may gain some kudos from
his ‘chat-up’ abilities (with Butterfly)
and in his evil intelligence (the way he
has created a death proof car). He is also
quietly confident and has no interest in
others’ opinions of him. For example, he
ignores the comments made by two drunk
men in the bar who are mocking his looks
and manners. He also calmly says, “I can
hear you” and, “I can still hear you,” when
Pam, Butterfly and Julia ridicule him in
the car lot, which may endear him to the
viewer through his lack of vanity alongside
the actual comedic effect. However, the
real extent of his psychotic nature is soon
revealed as he drives Pam home, quickly
reducing her to a bloodied mess in his
death proof car.
Thus, Mike becomes the villain and the
audience now clearly identify with the
women, as is necessary within the slasher
genre. Despite this identification, however,
Terri Murray argues that the “generic
and narrative conventions of horror/
slasher films indicate that the pleasure
on offer conforms to the phallocentric
pleasures of patriarchal cinema”. She
outlines the typical plotline as similar to
the “patriarchal pattern established in
Psycho”:
“[Such films] position the
female character as victim, the
male antagonist as dangerous
or threatening, and virtually
omnipotent. They encourage
audience identification with the
male killer/monster through the use
of point of view shots. They turn
female victims into a) scopophilic
spectacle, by including gratuitous
female nudity, and b) objects for
the voyeuristic/sadistic impulse, by
turning her into an object of guilt
over which the male killer asserts
violent control. Conventionally, the
female’s sexual agency, depicted
as promiscuity, is the ‘crime’ that
‘justifies’ her violent punishment.”
(Murray 2007: 38)
Death Proof adheres to this pattern.
Although Tarantino avoids female nudity,
Screen shot 2
the lapdance scene can still be said to
turn Butterfly’s character into ‘scopophilic
spectacle’. This could also be the act which
“turns her into an object of guilt” and thus
justifies “the male killer [asserting] violent
control” over her and the other girls in the
first half.
The second group of girls are on three
days’ vacation from the film set where
they all work. Kim is a stuntwoman who
carries a gun, justifying this means of
protection over pepper spray she asserts:
“[If a] motherfucker [tries] to rape me,
I don’t wanna’ give him a skin rash, I’m
gonna’ shut that nigger down”. She is
passionate about cars and car chase
movies but displays more reserve than Zoe
in her attempts to talk her out of playing
‘Ship’s Mast’ (a dangerous game whereby
two belts are tied to both front doors of
the car then, while the car is speeding,
the passenger climbs out onto the bonnet
and grabs hold of the belts as the driver
continues to increase the speed).
Abernathy is a make up artist on set and
is in a relationship with the film director
although she is mocked by the others
for withholding sex from him. She is a
single mother, yet this is alluded to only
once, very briefly, when Kim and Zoe try
to stop her coming with them to test
drive the Challenger. When she asks why
she has to be left behind “while the cool
kids get to go out and play”, Zoe simply
replies, “You’re a mum”. Having promised
not to nag during the dangerous game,
Abernathy is seen in a close-up which
reveals her emotions evolving from anxiety
to exhilaration as she gradually lets go of
her concerns to enjoy the thrill of Ship’s
Mast.
Lee is a successful model and actress but
is playfully mocked by the other girls for
her naivety. In one of the most surprising
points of the story, she gets left behind
as collateral so her friends can test drive
the Dodge Challenger. Lee is the most
stereotypically feminine character: she
is beautiful, soft-natured, naive, and is
dressed in a cheerleader’s outfit. Perhaps
this is significant as justification of why
she has to be left behind to allow the
others to go off and enjoy masculinetype fun. Nevertheless, this is the most
problematic strand of the plot in terms of
its ‘girl power’.
The girls drive into Lebanon, Tennessee to
meet Zoe Bell, a stuntwoman who plays
herself (and who was also, incidentally,
Uma Thurman’s stunt double in Kill Bill
Bill).
She is also passionate about cars and
car films and proves just how much of a
daredevil she is during the game of Ship’s
Mast. We hear her discuss all the classic
car movies and she has the girls’ day out
planned, having spotted an advert for
a “1970 Dodge Challenger with a 440
engine and a white paint job”, just like the
one in the film Vanishing Point (Richard C.
Sarafian, 1971).
The Ship’s Mast sequence shows onscreen
women in unfamiliar territory: that of
partaking in thrilling, dangerous fun
for escapism, a realm normally reserved
for men. The girls use their charms (in
particular Lee’s) to persuade the male car
owner, Jasper, to lend them this collector’s
item and then use it for their own
excitement and pleasure. Unfortunately,
their game turns sinister as Stuntman
Mike slams his Charger into their
Challenger from behind in a sequence
symbolic of anal rape. He chases them,
consistently charging them as he shouts,
“You wanna get hot? Suck on this for a
while”, and eventually flings Zoe from
the bonnet. Kim’s gun is fundamental in
the battle here as she shoots him in the
arm, causing him to flee. Thanks to Zoe’s
skill in dangerous stunts she survives the
crash and then mounts the passenger door
cowboy-style as they set off to “get him”.
The girls then turn the tables on Stuntman
Mike, the anal rape motif being repeated
as they ram his Charger while Kim yells,
“You don’t like it up the ass do you, you
20
in the mainstream Hollywood slasher
movie but in a revised image which
represents various facets of modern day
feminism.
The final girls in Death Proof are far from
clean-living virgins, although Abernathy’s
lack of a sex life was discussed and since
her character, like that of Butterfly, is
the focus of Stuntman Mike’s voyeuristic
photographing, she could be seen as
morally superior to Butterfly, who is
sexually active and performs the lapdance
which advertises her sexual availability.
Secondly, the women in the first group are
more bitchy towards each other and other
women, as is apparent when Julia calls
Pam a “skinny fake blond bitch”. Moreover,
they show a need for male approval which
is clear when Butterfly succumbs to Mike’s
flattery, also rendering them weak. One
possible message to be taken from the film
could be the need for women to group
together in order to overcome sexism
rather than compete against each other.
Screen shot 3
Screen shot 4
Furthermore, the camera in the first half
undoubtedly adopts the Mulveyan male
gaze. In the opening sequence the original
group of girls is depicted as a series of
fragmented body parts: the first shot
is of Shanna’s feet on a car dashboard
(Screen shot 4: 00: 01 :1); the second is
of Stuntman Mike’s car soaring down the
highway, the camera then tracking slowly
up Jungle Julia’s body lingering on her
bottom (Screen shot 5: 00.02:51) before
giving way to a close up of Butterfly’s
crotch (Screen shot 6: 00:0 3:13).
Screen shot 5
The women, therefore, are depicted as sex
objects before any information is given
on their characters. According to Graeme
Turner, this is a typical convention used in
Hollywood film in its representation of the
female:
Screen shot 6
redneck lunatic bastard?” They eventually
force his car offroad and Mike is heard
screaming, pathetically trying to apologise
to the girls. Hardened to his cries, the
girls then circle their prey and take turns
physically assaulting him until he is finally
floored, emasculated (Screen shot 3: 1:
45:16).
Ironically it is Abernathy, the mother of
the group, who delivers the final, fatal
blow as she kicks Mike full in the face.
Both groups of girls display dominant
female characteristics, but why did the
latter group succeed in their fight against
male dominance where the former failed?
There is no clear answer to this question,
although there are several differences
between the first and second half of the
film which depicts the second group as
more empowered. Firstly, the second group
of girls can be compared to the ‘final girl’
“Particularly in Hollywood film since
the adoption of colour, the female
is shot in a different way to her
male counterpart. There is more
emphasis on individual parts of the
body, even to the extent of cropping
out the head or face . . . Hollywood
has turned the female form into a
spectacle, an exhibit to be scanned
and arguably possessed by the
(male) viewer.” (Turner 1993)
The women are not spared this voyeuristic
scrutiny even in death; their bodies are
again fragmented as Julia’s leg is ripped
from her body and Butterfly’s face is
rubbed off by a tyre. The scene is replayed
21
three times in slow motion, ensuring the
viewer takes in all the details. This is in
stark contrast to the camera technique
in the second half of the film which, on
the whole, avoids fetishised images of
the girls’ body parts. There are only two
exceptions to this: the long shot displaying
Abernathy’s feet hanging out of a car
window (which the creepy Stuntman Mike
touches and licks); and in the tracking mid
shot which follows the ‘final girls’ as they
walk towards their victim, focusing on
their legs and bottoms as they prepare to
‘kick ass’ (Screen shot 7: 01:44:24).
Screen shot 7
The fetishised female images alongside
the gory deaths of the first group of girls
have provoked a feminist backlash against
Death Proof to the point where Tarantino
was met by protesting feminists on his
visit to the UK to promote the film. One
feminist writer, Emma Wood, declares:
“Watching Grindhouse, I felt
fundamentally depressed: who
would seek out this experience
as entertainment? What is more
depressing is the fact that such
films seem to be part of a wider
trend towards the mainstream
depiction of women as highly
sexualised bait and prey . . . I found
some images in Death Proof
Proof, such as
that of a trapped woman pleading
for her life, genuinely distressing.”
(Wood 2007)
I felt that the killing of the first group
of girls is a technique to ensure that
the audience’s sympathies lie with ‘The
Girls’. Without this incident Stuntman
Mike’s come-uppance would not be
nearly as satisfying. It also conforms to
the pattern within the typical slasher
movie in order to manipulate audience
identification and fulfil their expectations.
With reference to the “depiction of
women as highly sexualised bait and
prey”, as previously mentioned, this is
prevalent only in the first half of the film
and is essential in portraying the sleazy
chauvinism of Stuntman Mike’s character.
Can we assume that Quentin Tarantino is
deliberately alluding to Mulvey’s feminist
film theory? Regardless, Wood continues:
“Some [of the women get revenge,
but only] after a number have been
bloodily dispatched. It has similarly
been claimed that the depiction
of ‘strong, independent women’ in
Tarantino’s earlier film Kill Bill is
feminist and empowering. But Kill
Bill is about a woman who embarks
Screen shot 8
upon a revenge-killing spree in
which she murders a fair number
of innocent people. By that logic,
Aileen Wuornos was a ‘strong,
independent woman’. Of course,
Uma Thurman looks a lot better
than Charlize Theron in Monster so
maybe that helps.”
In the first two cases above – The Girls
in Death Proof
Proof, The Bride in Kill Bill – the
audience is on the side of the women
as they have both been mistreated.
Conventionally, such sympathy allows for
the use of violence as it is used in revenge.
I would argue that, to a certain extent,
Aileen Wuornos is depicted in a similar
way. Indeed, she is not presented in an
attractive manner, neither to men nor
women. She is also a lesbian which may
further alienate her from the male viewer;
however, her story is told in such a way
as to gain sympathy for her character and
deals with difficulties faced by women.
Although she may not have been described
as a ‘strong, independent woman’, the
film at least explains the reasons behind
her behaviour and actions. It is difficult
to compare the biographical character
of a real-life murderer with caricatured
versions within a fictionalised slasher/
action movie.
The criticism of Lee being left as collateral,
however, is harder to argue against. In
the article, ‘‘6 Movies that didn’t realize
they let the villain win’,’’, Jacopo della
Quercia (2010) highlights that, despite
having decimated Stuntman Mike, the
male aggressor still prevails as Lee’s fate
is left unknown and the final shot of her
character would suggest she is likely to be
raped by Jasper (Screen shot 8: 1:24:15).
Abernathy talks Jasper into allowing
the test drive by suggesting Lee works
in the porn industry; bizarrely, the girls
all find this hilarious and never discuss
Lee’s safety. Furthermore, Jasper is played
by Jonathan Loughran, who also plays a
potential rapist in Kill Bill Vol. 1. Quercia
points out that, “He basically plays the
same character here, right down to his
trademark pre-rape “heh heh”. How, then,
can Tarantino’s film promote ‘girl power’
if the death of one misogynist can only
be brought about by the gratification of
another in a situation instigated by the
women themselves?
Another problematic area for female
scholars is that of female violence on
screen, as it is seen as a typically male
attitude that women need to become
masculinised in order to gain equality
in a man’s world. In most cases it also
functions as an empty discourse of false
liberation. Lisa Coulthard (2007) questions
“whether these contemporary images of
violent women are anything more than
an attempt to expand the mostly male
audience of action films to a new female
consumer population.” However, the
violence in Death Proof appears justified
22
as it is used exclusively to bring down
the aggressor. The women are fighting
against oppression, sexism and misogyny
and in killing their male aggressor the
order within the film has been restored.
This is also the world of film and therefore
a certain amount of screen violence is
expected as visual spectacle, particularly
in Tarantino films. Moreover, Death Proof
might be seen as a postmodern film and
therefore has as one of its aims, the
intention to explode myths surrounding
stereotypes. Wood herself asserts:
“Women coexist with a fear of male
violence so deeply embedded that
it is largely subconscious. We police
our lives, whether we realise it or
not, in accordance with this fear,
which is a powerful agent of social
control of women.”
Surely then, by suggesting that women
are capable of retaliating against their
aggressor, the use of violence in this
instance is instrumental in aiming
to combat such fear. In post feminist
terms this suggestion has the effect of
deconstructing stereotypes and blurring
distinctions between the genders. This
technique is abundant throughout the
narrative of Death Proof as the girls
consistently adopt male traits, most
obviously when Marcy assumes the role
of a man during a role play sequence. As
Szaniawski comments:
“The situation is fictionally
rehearsed among the girls, as Marcy
(Marcy Harriell), Jungle Julia’s
friend, impersonates the part of
Barry. The embodiment of the male
fantasy through the body of the
otherwise utterly feminine Marcy
has a double effect. First, the female
character taking on the attributes of
a man evokes the interchangeability
of gender, a postfeminist dimension
of the film upon which its finale
will be based. Thus, traits and
Screen shot 9
characteristics typically associated
with the male, including the bet
and the will to prove oneself, but
most conspicuously Marcy’s taking
on the part of the fictitious ‘Barry’,
are embodied by female characters.”
(Szaniawski, 2008: 173)
Finally, Wood expresses concern over the
advertising methods used to promote the
film. The billboard features, in her words:
“a woman’s arse in very short shorts
shimmying around.” It is important to note
here that this was not the original poster
for the film as, when it appeared alongside
Robert Rodriguez’s Planet of Terror
Terror, the
Death Proof poster featured Stuntman
Mike’s car as its central image with
silhouettes of women framed against the
moon in the background. Due to its lack
of box office success, I believe Tarantino
changed the focus of his advertisement
in order to draw in the unsuspecting male
viewer. Although many women may find
this image demeaning I would argue that
in this context it has the same effect as
the advertising poster for Basic Instinct
Instinct,
featuring the infamous Sharon Stone
‘crotch shot’. Terri Murray explains its
effect on the male cinema spectator:
“. . . men are so blinded by their
appetite for pornographic voyeurism
that they rush out to pay for it,
failing to recognise that they’ve
been had. In this case, men pay to
see a film that deconstructs their
sexist myths and exposes their
voyeuristic lust for narcissistic
power. And the fact that the socalled ‘pussy shot’ worked as bait
for the male viewer just proves all
the more that heterosexual male
voyeurs are not as clever as they
imagine.”
The negative response to the film by UK
male journalists would certainly seem
to reinforce this: James Christopher
(2007) talks of his contempt for the film’s
“appalling dialogue – mostly about the
sexual predilections of the women and the
various men they’ve slept with”. Likewise,
Peter Bradshaw (2007) describes the film
as full of “long stretches of bizarrely
inconsequential conversation between the
babe avengers which are a big comedown
from the glorious riffs from Reservoir
Dogs and Pulp Fiction”, but urges us to,
“check out that head-on collision scene
. . . which does indeed offer a lethal
roar of entertainment.” With the male
voyeur in mind, Abernathy’s fatal blow
in Death Proof
Proof’s finale becomes all the
more meaningful as it is also aimed at the
screen/spectator. As detailed by Jeremi
Szaniawski:
“As the film’s final close up
celebrates Abernathy’s stretching
skills before smashing her boot on
the image, we no longer know who
is the target of her strike. Tarantino
plays with our expectations and
sensations in a game that is both
sly and brilliant. At first, the
spectator will have been given the
opportunity to distance him-or
herself from the characters and then
to sympathise and identify with
them (Stuntman Mike included).
As Abernathy’s boot covers the
entire surface of the screen, the
viewer can no longer doubt that
the “correction” is addressed not
only to Stuntman Mike, but also
to the audience . . . This scene
hints at the Mulveyan definition of
traditional narrative cinema that,
according to her, positions the male
spectator as the scopophilic voyeur
of the female who is his erotic
object of contemplation. Here,
however, the female strikes back
with a vengeance, to the literal and
metaphorical voyeur’s dismay.”
This scene is cleverly juxtaposed with
Stuntman Mike’s killing of Pam where
Pam’s low angled point of view shot
frames him in an ominously elevated
position of power (Screen shot 9: 00:46:
51). The tables are well and truly turned
here as the camera assumes a worm’s eye
view of Abernathy’s raised boot, bestowing
her with the glory of the revolutionary,
poised to overthrow the tyranny of sexism
(Screen shot 10:1:45:23).
Disconcertingly however, Szaniawski
questions whether the viewer feels more
unease at the first group of girls being
reduced to pulp or at Mike’s subjugation
by ‘the final girls’ and suggests it may be
23
greater in the second instance. Perhaps
this is because the audience is immune
to violence against women due to the
patriarchal tradition within Hollywood and
particularly within the slasher genre. There
are few occasions where the women get to
turn the tables and relish the opportunity
to beat their male stalker to a pulp.
Perhaps then, the grindhouse/slasher
genre is not such an unusual platform for
a feminist film, given Hollywood film’s
continued fondness for the ‘male gaze’.
By merging these two particular genres,
Tarantino has taken a medium which is
grounded in patriarchal traditions and
completely turned it on its head. To what
extent, then, does he promote ‘girl power’
yet also alienate feminists in his film
Death Proof
Proof? The film features strong
female characters with an unabashed
attitude towards their own sexuality
which is clearly considered a fundamental
right, rather than a privilege. It
foregrounds female friendship and depicts
women having fun together rather than
vying for male attention. It also presents
strong, independent women who are
unafraid of male aggression and who are
willing and able to defend themselves.
Without doubt, the film clearly promotes
‘girl power’; however, many of the women
are dressed in a style which invites ‘the
male gaze’ and the camera openly mimics
this during the first half of the film, thus
presenting the women as sex objects.
In addition, four of these women are
brutally murdered in a sequence which
foregrounds the power of the male
villain. In defence of the film, the level
of its perceived sexual exploitation and
misogyny may be a requirement of these
genres in order to adhere to the specified
formula and expectations inherent in
each. On the other hand Tarantino may
Screen shot 10
be drawing attention to these issues in
order for his characters to overcome them.
Although the question of what happened
to Lee Montgomery is the missing link
in terms of clarity, the overall message
of the film is one of female victory and
empowerment. In blurring the boundaries
between the moral values and sexual
attitudes of the victims and the “final
girls”, Tarantino subverts the patriarchal
ideology of the traditional slasher film and
ensures his audience identify solely with
the female characters, both victims and
victors.
Notes
1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
Scopophilia
2. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
Voyeurism
References
Bradshaw, Peter (2007) ‘Death
Death Proof
Proof’, The
Guardian, September 21.
Butler, Andrew M (2002) The Pocket
Essential Film Studies, Harpenden: Pocket
Essentials.
Christopher, James (2007) ‘Death
Death Proof
Proof’,
Times Online, May 22.
Clover, Carol (1992) ‘Introduction:
Carrie and the Boys’ in Men, Women
and Chainsaws, Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press
Coulthard, Lisa (2007) “Killing Bill.
Rethinking Feminism and Film Violence” in
Interrogating Postfeminism, Durham NC:
Duke University Press.
Muller, Eddie and Farris, Daniel (1996)
‘Sintroduction’ in Grindhouse: The
Forbidden World of ‘Adults Only’ Cinema,
New York: St Martin’s Griffin
Murray, Terri (2007) ‘Feminist Film Studies:
An Introduction’ in Feminist Film Studies,
Leighton Buzzard: Auteur Publishing.
Quercia, Jacopo della (2010) http:
//www.cracked.com/article_18733_6movies-that-didnt-realize-they-letvillain-win.html
Szaniawski, Jeremi (2008) ‘Laisse tomber
les filles: (Post) Feminism in Quentin
Tarantino’s Death Proof’ in Marcelline
Block (ed) Situating the Feminist Gaze
and Spectatorship in Postwar Cinema,
Newcastle Upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars
Publishing.
Turner, Graeme (1993) Film as Social
Practice, (2nd edition), London and New
York: Routledge
Wood, Emma (2007) ‘Is Tarantino
Really Feminist?’ on The f word
– Contemporary UK Feminism, http://
www.thefword.org.uk/reviews/2007/11/
is_tarantino_re_1
AMES Conference 2011
Breaking Barriers:
Changing Literacies in the Scottish Curriculum
Saturday 14 May 2011, Abertay University
Further information at www.mediaedscotland.org.uk
24
“Please, Sir”
Representations of school in the media
Tom Brownlee
B
eginning with news and current affairs
it is worth noting that television
and newspaper coverage of schools is
commonly hostile, depicting your average
secondary school as a stereotypical
blackboard/whiteboard jungle. David
Cameron’s widely reported comments
shortly after the General Election appear
to reinforce a negative perception of
widespread failure – teachers are losers.
“I’ve got a six-year-old and a four-year-old
and I’m terrified living in central London,”
he said in an interview with a
Sunday newspaper. “Am I going
to find a good secondary school
for my children? I feel it as a
parent, let alone as a politician.”
(‘David Cameron is ‘terrified’
about finding a good London
state school for his children’
Daily Telegraph, July 11, 2010)
This can be explained from a
number of perspectives such as
news values and/or the political
ideologies of certain newspapers.
News often centres on incidents
or events which are based around
conflict. Children behaving well
in calm and orderly classrooms
and subsequently passing their
exams aren’t things that are
newsworthy. A stabbing or ‘crime
waves’ of text or cyber bullying,
say, are highly likely to make the news
pages since they are both dramatic and
negative while at the same time fitting the
agenda of certain news media. However, if
that is all the casual reader learns about
the behaviour of pupils, even if they are a
tiny minority, then that is likely to become
the accepted picture of school life. Reports
from conservative press like the one above
fit with this idea that schools are part of
‘broken Britain’, to echo the Conservatives’
slogan of the past few years. There is an
underlying ideology at play here: we need
to go back to the ‘good old days’.
On the day of media reports of Cameron’s
admission of ‘terror’ about his children’s
educational future, BBC’s Panorama,
the corporation’s flagship current affairs
programme, ran an expose of ‘bad’
teachers under the provocative title ‘Can I
sack teacher?’ (http://bbc.co.uk/i/s8kpv/)
The tone and direction of the programme
is signalled from the outset. It opens
with a piece to camera by Jeremy Vine
whose linking voiceover is peppered with
rhetorical questions: “What happens when
your child’s teacher is underperforming
and you complain about it? We spend
billions on our school system, but are we
ignoring the real problem?” which guide
and anchor a montage of clips of aggrieved
parents, arch critic Chris Woodhead, and
a prevaricating head teacher. This not
only sets the agenda for the rest of the
programme but it also seems to accept
the framework established by the ruling
political and press elite. In the context
of spending cuts, the thrust of the
programme can be seen as endorsing the
need to radically reform a failing education
system. Unlike the movies, there appears
to be no prospect of a messiah figure to
emerge from the classroom.
From ‘bad teachers’ to ‘good
teachers’
It is clear then that school-based
stories, documentaries and news
reports provide a rich source of
material for students interested
in representations, ideology and
genre. If dramatic tension is
fuelled by conflict, then schools
provide it in spadefuls: a locus
for gender and racial divides;
students versus teachers;
liberation versus repression;
bully versus victim; individual
versus the system, as well as
the struggle to understand.
The classroom thus can act
as a stage, or a battleground.
Crucially, the secondary school
sector plays a key part of that
transitional period known as
coming of age, one of life’s
turning points that we will all
encounter and have to find a way
to negotiate. As Peter Bradshaw comments
on the subject:
“School is something that cuts to
the heart of us all. It was when we
experienced life as social beings for
the first time and when, in most
cases, we were the most scared
in our lives – a fact to which we
devote, in adult life, a great deal of
subconscious energy to suppressing
25
and forgetting. It is most intense
when the pupils are in their late
teens . . . No wonder that for many
people school was the most vivid
period, perhaps the only real period
of their lives.” (Guardian, 2008).
In a Media Magazine article (‘The Good
Teacher’, 2005) the writer notes that
film representations often construct
the ‘good teacher’ either as a hero,
someone whose first priority is his or
her students, or as a maverick, battling
against overbearing school authorities.
In earlier versions this individual was a
popular, rather charismatic figure, such
as Mr Chips (Goodbye, Mr Chips, 1937),
Mr Keating in Dead Poets Society (1987)
or the eponymous Coach Carter (2006).
Interestingly, their female equivalents
– Miss Gruwell in Freedom Writers (2008)
or the Miss Watson character in Mona
Lisa Smile (2003) – are more likely to
be depicted as nurturing figures who
conscientiously prepare their lessons.
Theirs is a caring, ‘whole person’ pedagogy,
rather than the freewheeling efforts of the
male protagonist. These gender differences
apart, it can be argued that audiences
enjoy rebels or anti-heroes who, like
Dewey Finn in School of Rock (2003), ‘stick
it to The Man’.
Mainstream school dramas like Dead Poets
Society and Coach Carter often establish
the teaching area as a form of stage, with
teacher as lead protagonist and students
as chorus. Conventionally, the ‘good
teacher’ delivers expressive subjects such
as art, sport, music or drama. These films
treat cultural texts, whether literature
(Dead
Dead Poets Society
Society, Freedom Writers
Writers), the
poetry of an ageing white rock musician
(Dangerous
Dangerous Minds
Minds) or fine art (Mona Lisa
Smile) with reverence, part of a canon
whose status and value as wellsprings of
creativity remain unquestioned. Education
is depicted as a means of achieving
liberation or enabling self expression,
but within certain culturally approved
boundaries. The message in all of them
is: with hard work + talent + teacher
guidance you too can achieve your dreams.
Society under the microscope
Schools can provide a microcosm of
current or future society – a living
laboratory for examining issues such
as racial tension, class injustice, dull
conformity, questioning of ‘hidden
curriculum’ – the norms and values
transmitted through the syllabus,
classroom codes and in the corridors. In
many ways a secondary school provides
the perfect location for a TV drama with
its hierarchy, multi-strand stories, inside/
outside dichotomy (what teachers say
in the classroom contrasts starkly with
staffroom banter) and the associated
interpersonal intrigues. Over the past three
decades we have thus seen Grange Hill,
Teachers, That’ll Teach ‘Em and Waterloo
Road as home grown British examples of
the genre.
In the hands of some writers and
directors, school-centred drama offers
an opportunity to send up and satirise
powerful institutions, people and ideas.
Alexander Payne’s fiendishly black comedy
Election (1999) is essentially an allegory
exposing the apathy, mendacity and
cynicism underpinning the US political
system. Ostensibly a teen movie, Election
tackles a range of targets with relish,
from the high school pecking order to the
sham of electoral politics. Fittingly, for
a film that revolves around the fate of a
Robert Donat as the popular ‘Mr Chips’.
stolen election, it was released the year
that George W Bush ‘won’ a hotly disputed
Presidential election. And refreshingly for
an MTV movie it doesn’t offer idealism or
false hope for a harmonious future.
More recently two European films have
also offered quite contrasting challenges
to conventional representations of school
life:
The Class (Cantet and Bégaudeau, 2008)
Based on a book of the same name, Entre
les Murs (Between the Walls
Walls) or The
Class as it is titled in Britain, has to be
understood within the context of postcolonial, modern multicultural France.
The classroom and staffroom scenes in
Laurent Cantet and François Bégaudeau’s
improvisational film are shot ciné vérité
style, with the camera work resembling
that of an observational documentary: the
camera and editing favour neither students
nor teacher.
Lesson content and even teacher authority
Chris Klein in the Omaha High School that is the setting for Alexander Payne’s adaptation of Tom Perrotta’s novel, Election.
26
in a practical way in order to engage his
bored and cynical charges. What begins
as series of minor rules – such as standing
to attention when answering a question
– is followed by the creation of a name,
a motif, a salute and the chanting of a
unifying slogan. His initial surprise at his
students’ enthusiasm for the new regime
is replaced by excitement as he discovers
his own potency and the power of the
collective will.
The classroom in multicultural France . . .
are contested by the first and second
generation immigrant students whose
identities and loyalties as members of the
French republic are in tension with the
curriculum. For added authenticity several
of the students, parents and teachers
were recruited from the neighbourhood.
“I wanted to show a microcosm of
the world”, says Cantet, “where issues
of equality or inequality regards to
opportunity, work and power, cultural and
social integration and exclusion - play out
concretely”. (Guardian, 2008) While a sort
of narrative does develop in the final third
of the film, there is thus none of audience
pleasing slick montages, star turns, stirring
speeches or happy ever afters that we find
in the above mentioned MTV produced
high school melodramas, such as Coach
Carter and Freedom Writers. Instead we
have a series of encounters with no clear
winners, losers or narrative resolution.
The Wave (Dennis Gansel, 2008)
Based on a real-life experiment, The Wave
(Die Welle) serves as a warning of how
simple psychological mind tricks played
by unscrupulous leaders can transform
disaffected or impressionable people into
fascists. The original experiment took place
in a high school in Palo Alto, California
over 40 years ago in which social studies
teacher, Ron Jones, instituted a series of
disciplined, team building activities as
a means of exploring group psychology.
Within a short space of time it had spun
out of control with its participants turning
into an American version of Hitler Youth.
This is the pretext of The Wave, which
transposes the story to a contemporary
west German school, part of a society
which has rejected dictatorship in favour
of democracy. In The Wave ambitious
teacher Rainer Wenger (whose name
echoes Hitler’s favourite romantic
composer and philosopher, Wagner) wants
to demonstrate the nature of autocracy
The film plays on many of the unwritten
laws of the playground: the need to be
a part of something, the psychological
peer pressure to conform, the power of
togetherness and common goals. Beyond
that, of course, if a teacher can manipulate
a classroom so easily, one wonders what
an unscrupulous politician might achieve
with the backing of the media. As well
as exploring universal issues such as the
dangerous attractions of excessive hero
worship and group conformity, the film
connects with two key periods in the
country’s past: Nazi Germany of the 30s
and 40s and the unification of West and
East Germany in the early 1990s. One of
the most loyal adherents to The Wave is a
student from former East Germany – Tim
- whose desire to gain a sense of pride and
identity appear to have been answered
by this new movement. Ultimately, Tim is
left disappointed, but for those critics who
advocate greater classroom discipline as an
antidote to our troubles, questions remain
...
Bibliography
Bradshaw, Peter, (September 2008), ‘Sex,
Violence and Classroom Action’, Guardian
Online at: http://www.guardian.co.uk/
education/2008/sep/09/schools.movies
Helsby, Wendy (2006), Understanding
Representation, Palgrave MacMillan
Dee, Johnny (September 2008) ‘Follow the
leader’, the Guardian Online at:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2008/
sep/13/drama/print
Stewart, Colin, et al (2008), Media and
Meaning, Palgrave MacMillan
(2006)’The Good Teacher’, Media Magazine
Film Education resources on the following
films: The Wave, The Class, Mona Lisa
Smile, Clueless, Coach Carter
Carter, The Chorus,
Etre et Avoir
Avoir, Spellbound and Freedom
Writers
http://www.filmeducation.org/
McInnes, Rob (2008) Teen Movies, Auteur
Panorama: ‘Can I sack teacher?’
http://bbc.co.uk/i/s8kpv/
Jürgen Vogel as Rainer Wenger, the ‘radical’ teacher provoking a fascist response.
27
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
Liz Roberts
A
s I sat down to write this article,
ever ready for distraction from the
task in hand, I flicked through the new
brochure from Aberdeen’s Picturehouse,
The Belmont, and discovered that The
Boy in the Striped Pyjamas (Miramax
Films, director Mark Herman, producer
David Heyman) is featured in their
National Schools Film Week programme
in November 2010. John Boyne’s novel
of the same name is also a favoured text
for younger secondary school pupils,
its brevity, deceptively simple style
and language, and relevant ‘message’
commending it to teachers and pupils
alike. But such categorisation does
not mean that the film or the novel is
restricted to the audience for children’s
films and books. Indeed, as a fable, the
truth it contains has relevance for a much
wider audience. I first saw the film as part
of last year’s Aberdeen University WORD
Festival with an audience whose ages
ranged from octogenarian to twelve, and
that it clearly had impact and resonance
for the whole age range was evident from
the questions at the end to John Boyne,
who was closely involved in the film’s
production.
What follows are some suggestions for
approaches to the film that teachers can
adopt. Since this is not a film restricted to
secondary years one and two, for a more
mature and experienced group it could be
instructive to pair it with Pan’s Labyrinth
or Empire of the Sun (see MEJ Issue 42)
or to compare the novel with its film
adaptation, particularly the techniques for
conveying point of view to a reader and
a film audience. Appended is a handout
distributed to teachers at a CPD session
earlier this year. For the purposes of this
article, however, the following is designed
to amplify that resource with additional
material originally provided in the
face-to-face context of a live workshop
session. It goes without saying that the
extracts chosen for closer analysis are not
prescriptive and that other excerpts may
be equally valid for analysing technique
once the film has been viewed in its
entirety.
engagement (like that of so many others)
was established by their identification
with the real Anne Frank, and perhaps
Bruno and Shmuel, creations of John
Boyne’s imagination, will enable today’s
pupils to connect emotionally with an
event that is becoming increasingly
distant, albeit still within living memory.
(NB The section numbers below refer to
the sections in the handout printed at the
end of the article.)
3 and 4. Adapting the Novel
In his question and answer session John
Boyne said that he had no reservations
about the transfer of his novel from page
to screen. He appreciated that the cinema
audience expected a dramatic ending,
which the film delivers, and was content
that a key motif, the two boys holding
hands, survived the transfer. What is lost,
however, is Bruno’s entirely subjective
point of view, since the novel tells, while
the film, by its very nature, shows. Unlike
Bruno, we understand what we see, we
interpret the sinister smoke in the sky, the
cause of which he seems unaware, and
the emotional impact of the music score
also influences our understanding.
1. Establishing the Context
It is essential that pupils have a basic
knowledge of the Holocaust (see The
Holocaust – historical background)
before viewing the film. Just how much
younger pupils can take in – to grasp such
enormity can be deeply upsetting – is up
to the teacher to judge, but without this
information the double perspective of the
film cannot be appreciated nor the tragic
irony of its ending.
2. Defining the Genre
Before allocating the film to a genre
(see Cinema’s response) there is a key
question to be addressed, particularly
with older pupils: can – or, indeed,
should – the Holocaust be represented in
film? How can realist cinema represent
the camps or actors play the victims?
Does the Holocaust defy imaginative
comprehension?
In a recent BBC Radio 4 discussion on
‘Fictionalising the Holocaust’ a Jewish
academic expressed his doubts: “. . .
imagination is not necessarily the best
way to represent the Holocaust”. On the
other hand, how can a terrible collective
experience like this be understood
without a character or characters with
whom we can identify? My own children’s
Boyne responded calmly to the reaction
of one member of our audience, who
declared himself unconvinced by film’s
pivotal conceit, the sustained innocence
of Bruno, and who also asserted the
impossibility of the circumstances of
the meetings of Bruno and Shmuel, by
replying that the work is a fable with
an interpretation wider than the tale
itself, conveying a greater truth. If we
willingly suspend disbelief and accept
that these two small boys could have met
undetected and become friends, untainted
by prejudice and hatred, then we have
a filmic version of the Holocaust which
renders its essence rather than its scale, a
scale which defies comprehension.
28
establishes a sombre note, confirmed
when the dark background becomes a
Nazi banner, the atmosphere underscored
by a solo piano. Breaking the mood, we
hear and see a ‘squadron’ of four small
boys playing at war, imitating fighter
planes, weaving through the pavement
cafes and the pedestrians. Their innocent
exuberance is reinforced by the moving
camera and their child’s view of war as
adventure and fun is set alongside the
rounding up of Jewish civilians, of which
they are unaware, caught up as they are
in their war game.
The poster image for The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
5. Themes
For those teaching the film in preparation
for the Film and Television Drama section
of the Higher English Critical Essay paper,
an exploration of themes is required. A
cautionary note, however: the DVD cover
states confidently (or misleadingly!) that
the film is a ‘timeless story of innocence
lost.’ Not so, I would contend, since the
poignant truth is that neither Bruno nor
Shmuel loses trust and innocence. In
Bruno’s case, his puzzlement – ‘Dad’s a
good man. How can he be in charge of a
horrible place?’ – briefly shakes his trust
in his father, but this is restored when he
believes the propaganda film about the
camp. And Shmuel, ignorant of the true
purpose of the camp, goes to seek his
missing father, who, we surmise, has been
exterminated along with the rest of his
family.
6 and 7. Binary Oppositions and
Representation
Boyne identified as his inspiration for
the novel both the similarities and the
contrasts between two small boys,
separated by the barbed-wire fence and
belonging to two different worlds. He had
also read widely about the Holocaust but
the irony that struck him most forcibly
was that of the children of the Auschwitz
Commandant living in close proximity to
the doomed children in the camp. From
there it was but a brief imaginative leap
to construct a scenario where the two
boys could meet.
Pupils could also identify other contrasts/
oppositions: for example, between the
Berlin house and life and the Auschwitz
house with its threatening aspect and
atmosphere, or the before and after
representation of Gretel, from little girl to
Nazi mädchen.
8 and 9. Narrative
Two theories of narrative are applied here,
but for less experienced pupils it may well
be challenging enough simply to apply the
enigma code – its frequent applications
in the course of the film, from Bruno’s
endless, unsatisfied curiosity and the
tensions created to the final enigma of
the joint fate of the two boys resolved
only in the final moments.
10. Key Scenes for Analysis
Film language is so instantly accessible
that the complexity of its construction
can easily be overlooked. But by taking
relatively short extracts and analysing
them closely the pupils’ awareness of the
interplay of the technical, cultural, sound
and (to a lesser extent) written codes is
extended.
For this purposes of this article I have
elaborated on the commentary given
to teachers in the handout where extra
information may be helpful.
i. The opening section lasts for just over
eight minutes but divides easily into
three parts for the purposes of analysis.
The setting is wartime Berlin, although
the entire film was shot in Hungary and
this Berlin section in Budapest. This is a
city at war, certainly, but the cafe culture
of an earlier city merges easily with the
trappings of war – soldiers and sailors
– and the Nazi iconography of banners
and uniforms.
But before the scene begins we see,
against a black background, a quotation
from John Betjeman, that most English
of poets: ‘Childhood is measured out by
sounds and smells and sights/ before
the dark hour of reason grows.’ This
Their running figures are contrasted with
interior scenes of careful preparation
within a large house. A sense of order
and precision is established by serried
ranks of gleaming glasses and cutlery
and the well-drilled servants going about
their duties. In one room a pretty fairhaired girl is absorbed in playing with
her dolls. A fashionably dressed young
woman, carrying a large dress box,
leaves a chauffeur driven car and hurries
inside. On the walls are heavy landscape
paintings, probably nineteenth century,
and the furniture is large, ornate and old.
The impression, both inside and out, is of
a society as yet untouched by the reality
of war.
One of the small boys, schoolbag on back,
approaches the house, sees the signs of
preparation (flowers , many loaves of
bread) and is puzzled, his blue eyes wide
with curiosity: ‘What’s going on?’ It is his
enigma and ours. Then his mother, the
young woman we saw moments before,
explains that his father, a soldier, has
received a promotion and the preparations
are for a party to celebrate.
It is useful to pause here, a few minutes
in, to discuss the effect created by the
moving camera, the different angles,
the warm lighting, the editing between
exterior and interior shots, the sound and
the music. Would the effect be different
if the solemn prologue were absent? How
has it conditioned our response?
The middle section takes us into the heart
of this small, united family. There is an
impression of cosiness in the grouping
– father, mother and Gretel on the sofa
and, significantly, Bruno on the chair
facing them. Already he seems isolated,
in a small way, from this group, both
physically and in his less than enthusiastic
reaction to the move. But there is a clear
connection in the way that Bruno and
Ralph, his father, are dressed in knitted
pullovers of similar pattern; this is the
29
only time we shall see Bruno’s father out
of uniform. Ralph describes his role as
that of a soldier and we connect with
Bruno’s idealised view of war and of his
father’s part in it.
The decision to have the characters talk
in unaccented English (RP in fact) and not
in the conventional ‘German English’ of
most other films of the genre removes a
potentially distancing effect and involves
us more closely with this family group.
The most important aspect to discuss
here is representation: it is only the
representation of Bruno that remains
unchanged until he dons the striped
pyjamas at the end.
The final section, the party, is where the
first discordant note is struck. Initially,
however, the establishing shot is of the
house lit up, its interior full of elegant
people, diegetic dance music creating
a festive atmosphere. Bruno and Gretel
descend the staircase to join their mother
and grandparents, he in smart clothes,
hair slicked to the side, and she in party
frock with her hair in ringlets. The music
abruptly changes to ‘Deutschland über
Alles’ as a transformed Ralph, now in full
SS uniform, comes down the staircase to
cries of ‘Heil Hitler’ and Nazi salutes from
the guests. Alone among the celebrations,
Bruno’s paternal grandmother, resplendent
in velvet and old family jewellery, voices
her disapproval and is hushed by her
son: ‘You should be careful.’ The clash of
values between old and new Germany
is encapsulated here, although Bruno’s
grandfather, seemingly an old military
man, is clearly a Nazi.
The diegetic sound track now features
a sentimental wartime love song, sung
by a brilliantined young man, voicing
the sentiments of those parted by war.
Against the phrase ‘till we meet again’
Bruno’s grandmother smiles up to him
on the balcony, bars in front of him and
the shadow of bars behind. This is a
significant moment: Bruno will never see
his grandmother again, his fate and hers
are sealed, and the bars and barriers are
similarly prophetic.
Bruno (Asa Butterfield) and bars, a sinister foreshadowing.
iii. The new home is a set constructed for
the film. Its atmosphere is sinister and
unwelcoming, expressed through lighting
and lack of colour as well as architectural
features, coupled with the echoing
sound. The symbolism of bars continues,
angles are accentuated and the sense of
a house of secrets is compounded when
the door of the meeting room is closed
in Bruno’s mother’s face, excluding her
from the activities within. It is a moment
reminiscent of Kay’s (and our) exclusion
from Michael Corleone’s world at the end
of The Godfather
Godfather.
iv. The fall from the swing: Pavel, Bruno’s
rescuer, is a camp inmate selected to work
in the Commandant’s house and is typical
of the doctors, lawyers and professors
of the Jewish middle class forced into
servitude in the camps. Our objective
point of view understands and interprets
what Bruno does not, the sinister column
of smoke rising from the camp chimney,
but his dazed situation after his fall is
shared by the audience, which sees Pavel,
the doctor, through the same haze as
Bruno does, the camera angle skewed.
v. Bruno meets Shmuel: one extra point
to note here in the final shot/reverse shot
sequence of the two boys is that Shmuel’s
view of Bruno has ‘lost’ the intervening
wire fence, presumably to emphasise
Bruno’s freedom rather than Shmuel’s
captivity.
vi. The cellar: the shot of the tumble
of bodies of Gretel’s abandoned dolls
is doubly sinister in that this initially
horrifying discovery has its parallel in the
real horrors of the gas chamber.
vii. Friendship betrayed: it is worth asking
pupils why they think that this scene is
warmly lit and Shmuel backlit, thereby
giving a quality of radiance to the scene
with the glasses. One suggestion (not
mine, sadly, but that of an observant
colleague) is that it imbues the little boy
with a Christ-like aura; certainly Bruno’s
betrayal of his friend has obvious parallels
with Peter’s denial of Jesus.
The propaganda film that Bruno sees is
based on the Nazi film Führer Gives the
Jews a City
City, in which Theresienstadt is
portrayed as an ideal camp. This was,
of course, a fabrication and it is clearly
only Bruno who believes its lies and
consequently has his faith in his father as
a good man restored.
ii. The train sequence requires little
elaboration other than noting the
ironic significance of Gretel’s prayer for
other children and the claustrophobic
crowding of the family into the sleeping
compartment, prefiguring the bunks
Bruno sees when he finally goes inside the
hut in the camp.
A chilling atmosphere in the new home
30
than Schindler’s List
List, for example, which
ends with the affirmative words ‘He who
saves one life, saves the world entire’ as
consolation for the audience?
Something nasty in the cellar – Bruno’s alarming discovery
viii. Shmuel: this extract is simply a still
and the frame has to be frozen in order
to show his shaven head with the shadow
of the barbed wire across it. The Biblical
parallel is clear here if you accept the
analogy with the betrayal of the previous
extract. Even without it, this is an
effective image.
that at the first screening, when it
became clear that the film was going
to defy the convention that the heroes
escape death at the last moment, there
was a real sense of shock.
ix. The big adventure: When I recently
saw the National Theatre of Scotland’s
production of Peter Pan, in which the
Darling boys, still in their striped pyjamas,
join Peter and the Lost Boys in Neverland,
where death could be just an ‘awfully big
adventure,’ I was struck by the similarities
with this scene. These demeaning camp
garments were designed to rob the
inmates of their identity, individuality and
dignity, but do somehow connect with the
cosy, reassuring garments of childhood,
certainly in Bruno’s understanding. These
two ‘lost boys’ believe in their adventure,
their quest to find Shmuel’s missing
father.
This scene confounds audience
expectations; indeed, John Boyne said
Conclusion
In his essay on Schindler’s List
List, ‘Witness’,
published in Sight and Sound (1994),
Simon Louvish writes that survivors of
Auschwitz have likened their experience
to that of being ‘on another planet’,
and one can understand why. But it is
precisely because Auschwitz was real,
and not ‘another planet’, that a film like
this is so important. Our identification
with Bruno and Shmuel enables us to see
through the historical facts to the people,
and through the fiction to the reality of
what happened.
At the end of the novel John Boyne
writes: ‘Of course all this happened a
long time ago and nothing like that could
ever happen again’. I recently visited the
Two boys in striped pyjamas
It is worth discussing with pupils why
this is the only end possible. Is it braver
Imperial War Museum in London and,
as always, steeled myself to view the
permanent Holocaust exhibition. This is
both a sobering account of organised evil
and an affirmation of the ability of the
human spirit not only to survive but to
emerge from such horror and to testify
that the justification for survival is to tell
the truth, so that it may never happen
again.
This is the survivors’ hope and, while
Boyne’s final words may be deeply
ironic, to have seen and studied The Boy
in the Striped Pyjamas is surely doubly
worthwhile, because at the heart of this
finely crafted film is this important truth.
Shmuel (Jack Scanlon) with his crown of thorns?
31
HANDOUT for The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas
1. The Holocaust – historical
background
• This can be defined as the statesponsored destruction of Jews and other
groups deemed inferior (homosexuals,
gypsies, the mentally or physically
disabled) in Nazi Germany between
1941 and 1945.
• Approximately six million Jews were
murdered during the genocide in
concentration and extermination
camps.
• This anti-Semitism was based on a
concept of an ‘Aryan’ (pure-bred,
Germanic) race threatened by Jews.
As soon as the Nazis came to power in
1933 the persecution of Jews began.
• The Wannsee conference was held
in Berlin in 1942 to organise the
systematic extermination of Europe’s
Jews (‘The Final Solution’) when
relocation became impractical.
• Auschwitz death camp was opened in
May 1940 near Krakow in Poland (then
part of the German Reich) and was
liberated by Soviet troops in January
1945. This date is now marked every
year by Holocaust Day on 27 January.
• Despite physical evidence, documentary
records and first person testimony, there
are individuals and groups who deny
the Holocaust.
2. Cinema’s response
Films have attempted to encompass this
all but unimaginable horror by focusing on
a microcosm – a character or a group of
characters, with whom the audience can
identify – to represent the millions who
died.
In terms of genre, Holocaust films can
be defined as a sub-genre of war films.
Examples include:
•
•
•
•
Sophie’s Choice (dir. Alan J Pakula),
where the central character is a
Holocaust survivor living in America,
but there are flashbacks to her life in
the camp.
Schindler’s List (dir. Steven Spielberg),
about Oskar Schindler’s crusade to save
hundreds of Jews working in his factory.
The Pianist (dir. Roman Polanski, whose
own family perished in the Holocaust),
about the survival of a Polish pianist, a
Jew, in the Warsaw ghetto.
Life is Beautiful (dr. Roberto Benigni),
about a father’s attempt to protect his
son from the horror of the camp by
turning it all into a game.
What distinguishes the film, The Boy in
the Striped Pyjamas, from these is the
maintaining of a point of view, that of the
eight-year-old Bruno, who cannot, or will
not, abandon his belief in his father, and
thus cannot comprehend the evil intent of
the camp, the anti-Semitism underlying it,
and his father’s role as camp commandant.
The impact of the film depends on the
greater level of understanding of the film
audience, while the filmic techniques
– mise en scène, music, camera work and
editing – influence their response. Thus the
audience have an objective response, while
Bruno’s subjective, limited point of view is
both naive and, at the same time, ironically
enlightening.
3. The novel
The inspiration for John Boyne’s novel,
published in 2006, which has been
translated into many languages, was his
reading about the Holocaust. One key fact
that stuck with him was that the family of
the notorious Auschwitz camp commandant
lived with him there.
4. The film
This has to compress but extract the
essence of the novel – the meeting and
friendship between two small boys, each of
them unaware, to different degrees, of the
larger situation.
Key changes from the novel in the film:
•
•
•
Bruno is one year younger
There are fewer meetings between the
boys
The ending in the book –
“And then the room went very dark
and somehow, despite the chaos that
followed, Bruno found that he was
still holding Shmuel’s hand in his own
and nothing in the world would have
persuaded him to let it go . . .
Nothing more was ever heard of Bruno
after that . . .
Several days later . . . one of them [the
soldiers] discovered the pile of clothes
and the pair of boots that Bruno had
left near the fence . . .
It was as if he had just vanished off the
face of the earth and left his clothes
behind him.”
The film’s ending is much more specific and
dramatic – as it has to be. But it took risks
with the expectations of the audience, who
are used to a last minute rescue, a deus ex
machina arriving in the nick of time to save
the hero.
But there was no rescue for the millions
who died in the Holocaust and so the film is
true to John Boyne’s intent – no “feel good”
ending, but a sober reflection on what
happened – and what could happen again.
5. Themes
• Innocence betrayed – Bruno (and
Shmuel to some extent)
• Innocence corrupted – Gretel, who
abandons her dolls and her childhood
and is indoctrinated with race hatred.
• Fathers and sons
o Bruno’s trust and pride in his father,
his brief doubts assuaged
o Shmuel’s love for his father
o Bruno’s grandfather’s pride in his
son – a man “making history”.
• Exploration of friendship between
opposites, who also share so much
– age, an adventurous spirit . . .
6. Narrative – binary oppositions
Levi-Strauss based his theory of narrative
on the pairing/contrast between opposites.
Thus:
Bruno
German
Free
Confident
Clean
Well nourished
Cherished
Shmuel
Jew
Imprisoned
Frightened
Dirty
Starving
Neglected
But Bruno is also contrasted with Gretel,
his grandmother with his grandfather, his
father with his mother, their past happy life
in Berlin with their new life in Auschwitz
...
7. Representation
• Bruno is dressed throughout in
schoolboy garb – shirt, shorts, knitted
v-neck pullover (apart from his smart
suit at the party and the funeral).
His hair is shiny, well cut; he exudes
health and privilege. His manner can
be occasionally autocratic: he may be
untouched by Nazi ideology but he is
still a child of the German upper class.
• Shmuel is always in the dirty striped
pyjamas, far too big for his slight
frame. Shaven-headed, gap-toothed,
his big eyes have seen too much and
his manner is tentative, conciliatory,
dejected, accepting of his situation but
always afraid.
What unites them, however, is that they
are both little boys, exactly the same
age, who love games, adventure
...
8. Narrative – Barthes
The enigma code operates here on two
levels:
32
• Bruno is fascinated with the forbidden.
He wants to solve his personal enigma
– the ‘farm’.
• The audience is aware of the true nature
of Bruno’s ‘farm’ and of the fate of its
inmates, but are involved in the larger
enigma of what will happen to Bruno
and Shmuel.
9. Narrative – Todorov
• The equilibrium of the film is established
by the opening sequence: the happy,
secure family life in Berlin. But this is a
fragile state and is already threatened
by the wider circumstances – the War
– and by Bruno’s father’s promotion.
• Disruption: The family leaves Berlin,
Bruno his home and friends, for the new
posting. The contrast between the two
homes signifies the change, and the
disequilibrium in Bruno’s life is primarily
his loneliness, his lack of friends.
• The attempt to repair the disruption is
marked by Bruno’s finding a new friend,
Shmuel.
• The resolution, the new equilibrium, is
the culmination of their friendship. Their
“big adventure” –to try to find Shmuel’s
father, ends in the only way it can.
10. Key scenes for analysis
[Timings are given as guidance]
i.
The opening does more than establish
character, setting and situation (Who?
Where? What?); it creates a civilised
world which is in total contrast to the
barbarity of what is to come. This is
a microcosm but stands for a much
larger question – how could a civilised,
cultured nation espouse such cruelty?
Notable here is the use of lighting,
music and mise en scène. The final
frame, of Bruno behind the bars of the
staircase, is portentous. [00.00-08.05]
ii. The train sequence has added
resonance, given the association that
trains/cattle trucks have with the mass
deportations of Jews. Here, inside
this train to Auschwitz, there is a
cosy family scene, but Bruno’s striped
pyjamas prefigure his fate, and there
is an atmosphere of menace at the
end, largely due to the combination
of camera position and sound. [10.1210.50]
iii. The new home is in the midst of lush
rural scenery but is in stark contrast to
what they have left. Outside, there is
the brutal modernist architecture, the
imperial eagle on the gate, the security
fence; inside, symbolic colours and
more bars signify the transition from
Berlin to ‘Outwith’ (Bruno’s name for
the camp in the novel; in the film it has
no name). Bruno’s mother’s exclusion
from this new world is shown, as she
and we are not allowed to enter the
sinister meeting room. [11.42-14.13]
iv. The fall from the swing is both
factually and symbolically important.
Finding the tyre in the outhouse also
reveals to Bruno a window on to the
forbidden territory. His rescue by
Pavel (some subjective camera work
giving us genuine point of view) is also
significant: this shuffling prisoner was
once a doctor and briefly his persona
changes. The colour – increasingly
drained of warmth (“desaturated”)
– makes even the kitchen cold and
clinical. Note here that Bruno is not an
idealised character: his attitude to Pavel
is that of master to servant. He may
not know why Lieutenant Kotler treated
Pavel like a slave, but some of this
attitude has clearly rubbed off. This is
more obvious in the film than the novel.
[24.00-27.35]
Bruno’s meeting with Shmuel is a scene
of oppositions.
Steadicam footage of Bruno navigating
the wooded area and stream
accentuates his energy and freedom.
The scenery is verdant, nature full of
life (reinforced by the sound effects).
Suddenly, there is the fence and beyond
it trodden earth instead of grass,
ugliness for beauty, concrete sleepers
piled up and, almost indistinguishable, a
boy in striped pyjamas. The shot/reverse
shot of the first conversation shows
both boy and background, and the
impact is in the contrast. [30.00-33.50]
vi. The cellar: The internal consistency of
the film is partly due to the symbolism
– bars, stripes, fences, which unite
the sequences, foreshadowing events.
The sense of menace in this scene
culminates in a discovery which is both
mundane and horrifying and which has
its counterpart in the final moments
of the film. Here it is the dark shadows
that connote menace (a device as old as
cinema itself). [34.40-35.15]
vii. Friendship betrayed: The theme of
this extract is lies and betrayal. Bruno
lies and betrays his friend (in a quasiBiblical moment); the propaganda film
which Bruno sees is also a lie but one
that he is happy to believe, in contrast
to the cynical audience whose reaction
is mirth and satisfaction. The lighting at
the start is warmer than before, and the
array of glasses refers back to the start
of the film, making Bruno’s betrayal the
more unexpected. [55.00-1.01.46]
viii. Shmuel: A guilty Bruno has been
revisiting the meeting place but Shmuel
(beaten up by Kotler but, as with all
the violence in the film, off-screen)
has not reappeared until now. This
short extract reveals Shmuel Christlike, the barbed wire shadow on his
shaven head like a crown of thorns, his
martyrdom confirmed by his wounds,
his forgiveness also Christ-like. As
with all filmic decisions, this similarity
is deliberate – nothing is random.
[1.02.20-1.02.25]
ix. The big adventure: Camera (handheld) and slow motion build up the
tension here, compounded by the music
and sound effects (thunder clap) in
establishing a feeling of dread. The
excitement of the two boys embarking
on this quest (“Let’s go and find your
Dad”) is in contrast with this, but the
audience knows that it is a fateful
decision when Bruno adopts his friend’s
identity and becomes another boy in
striped pyjamas. The stepping stones are
a reminder of the propaganda film – but
this is reality. Editing increases tension,
as does the eye level camera giving the
boys’ point of view. Colour by now is
almost monochrome and the relentless
rain compounds the sense of doom. The
inevitable happens, and afterwards the
door of the gas chamber remains closed,
black, the door literally of a tomb. The
camera zooms out revealing rows of
striped pyjamas, symbolising the dead.
[1.14.34-1.26.44]
It is worth discussing this ending with
students. Is it what they expected? Is
it fair to involve us with characters for
whom there is no happy ending? Why is
it essential that Bruno and Shmuel die
together, hand in hand?
11. Audience and institution
The film was produced by BBC Films,
Heyday Films and Miramax, a division of
the Walt Disney Company. Miramax was
founded by Harvey and Bob Weinstein
in 1979 and distributed mainly arthouse and foreign films. It was acquired
by The Walt Disney Company in 1993.
It continued to be operated by the
Weinsteins until 1995 and had more
creative and financial independence
than any other division of Disney
It was brave enough to distribute
films that didn’t necessarily give the
audience the expected happy ending,
but left them with food for thought.
Miramax had already had a success
with Life is Beautiful, an Italian film
about the Holocaust, and this may have
influenced their involvement in The Boy
in the Striped Pyjamas, which shared
the Audience Choice Award at the 2008
Chicago International Film Festival with
Slumdog Millionaire.
33
reviews
The Media Student’s Book
Book,
(5th ed), Gill Branston with
Roy Stafford, Routledge
2010, £24.99, 462pp. ISBN
9780415558426
It’s true what they say – the
older you get, the faster
‘time marches on’. When the
5th edition volume under
review reached my hands, I
had to check that it wasn’t
just last year that I was
heaping praise on the 4th
edition. But indeed it was
many moons ago – 2006 to
be exact – that the aforesaid
volume was reviewed, so
with technology advancing
at an exponential rate, it is
appropriate that a revised
and updated volume of such
a key work should appear.
But what’s this? Over
one hundred pages slimmer
than the previous edition?
A sign of the credit crunch
in material terms leading to
a diminution in academic
quality? Of course not! The
authors appear to have
managed the impossible
– to expand their frame
of reference and issues
addressed, whilst coming
in with a more compact
product. A thoroughgoing reorganisation and
reworking of the material
(including creative use of
the internet) is the trick up
their sleeves. “It has fewer
chapters than the previous
edition, but this has given
us a chance to go into key
concepts and debates in
more detail,” they promise.
(p.3)
As the authors explain in
their Introduction: “Writing
this edition we’ve been even
more aware of huge recent
changes in the media – and
the other – worlds that we
all navigate.” (p.1) This is of
course the world of global
media such as the internet,
interactive media such as
mobile phones, and the
new form of media studies
involved in Web 2.0 and
Media Studies 2.0 – though
the authors rightly table
their scepticism of this
approach’s central claim that
students are “empowered
users (not audiences) of
media.” (p.2). The authors
assert that there is still a
case for a printed textbook
in this hi-tech world, but
one re-shaped “to give it
a closer relationship to the
expanded accompanying
website.” (p.2) [www.mediast
udentsbook.com]
So what is the book’s
structure now? Part I
Key Concepts has the
fewest changes, still
leading with narrative,
genre, representation and
ideologies, but morphing
two previous sections
– industries and institutions
- into a newly titled ‘Media
as business’; promoting
‘Globalisation’ from a
debate to a key concept;
and re-working and moving
‘Audiences’ and ‘Advertising’
to the debates section.
The old Part III Debates
is promoted to Part II and
the three debates expand
to seven – new media,
the future of television/
ownership, regulation/free
market, advertising/celebrity,
news, documentary/reality,
audiences/users.
The old Part II Media
Practices becomes Part III
under a new title ‘Research
methods and references’,
retaining only the one
chapter on research, and
dispensing with the three
others covering production
(organisation and
techniques) and distribution,
which are transferred to the
website.
The structure of each
chapter of Part I remains
the same – pages of
exposition followed by an
equal number of pages of
case studies of appropriate
media products (revised old
favourites such as TV crime
fiction, cinematic horror,
images of migration, and
some new such as Slumdog
Millionaire and Bollywood.)
The attractively designed
pages continue to offer extra
goodies – ‘break-out’ boxes
in yellow for key concepts,
thinkers and discussion
points; ‘explore boxes’
offering a range of activities
and research; marginal notes
with key terms, definitions
– and jokes!; URLs for
online resources available
on the website; and endof-chapter references and
further reading. The book
ends with a useful sixteenpage Glossary and helpfully
detailed thirteen-page Index.
As up-to-date as it is, the
volume has already been
hit by the curse of media
writing – the fast pace
of change that outdates
everything eventually – and
here coverage of the UK
Film Council has become
suddenly obsolescent due
to recent government axeswinging. However thanks
to the book’s flourishing
MSB5 Blog on the website,
everything is now open to
instant amendment, update
and interactive debate.
Web resources are
especially impressive and
include a mixture of some
updated PDF ‘old favourites’
– e.g. narrative studies of
Psycho, Japanese horror,
Pulp Fiction, science
fiction, the western genre
– some transfers from the
4th edition textbook – e.g.
a history of UK TV – and
some new features – e.g.
a case study of the media
and swine flu from New
Zealand’s Donald Matheson,
an analysis of a clip from
Let the Right One In and
copious information on the
rise of Asian cinema.
As in previous
editions, the authors are
commendably modest about
their aims, emphasising they
are not presenting a syllabus
but a companion piece for
anyone studying the media
at any level – or a ‘toolbox’
as they promote it, to be
dipped into to help explore
the riches of the media. As
such, the new edition is still
a masterpiece of compact
erudition, information
and stimulation to further
research, which can be
unreservedly recommended
to any media student or
teacher.
Douglas Allen
Don’t Look Now: British
Cinema in the 1970s, Paul
Newland (ed), Intellect
2010, £22.50, 280pp. ISBN
9781841503202,
Way back in the distant
mists of time – also known
34
The gloomy mise en scène of a Venetian hotel in Don’t Look Now.
as the 1970s – film studies
involved hiring your film
from a London distributor,
threading your reels
delicately on to a rickety
projector, and hoping you
could survive the experience
with your celluloid intact.
From a radicalised BFI
Education Department came
weighty mimeographed
tracts extolling semiotics,
structuralism, Godard and
everything that was right
about continental cinema
and Hollywood auteur and
genre cinema.
At some point, from
amidst this heady brew,
there emerged a significant
paper by Alan Lovell with
the intriguing title ‘British
Cinema: The Unknown
Cinema’. It correctly
diagnosed that apart from a
few traditional works by the
British film establishment
(upholders of good taste
and the documentary realist
tradition) and slightly
more left-field works like
Raymond Durgnat’s A
Mirror for England (1970),
most of British cinema was
a ‘lost continent’, as film
historian Julian Petley was
to put it in 1986.
Lovell’s paper was a
challenge to European
cineastes like Truffaut, who
found the words ‘Britain’
and ‘cinema’ incompatible; it
heralded a concerted attempt
to explore and reclaim this
lost territory. Aided by new
theoretical developments
such as Gramsci’s Marxism,
which put popular culture
on the map and the primary
source researches of film
historians, the trickle of
interest became a torrent
such that Lovell was able
to square his circle with a
1997 anthology contribution
entitled ‘British Cinema:
The Known Cinema’. Now
hundreds of academics are
creating hundreds of British
cinema courses around
the hundreds of books and
articles which have poured
forth over the past forty
years.
This review seeks to
cover only a small sample
of the most recent batch to
add to the roll of honour.
Don’t Look Now, which
takes its title of course
from my – and many
other people’s – favourite
film of the 70s, consists
of the papers presented at
the ‘British Cinema in the
1970s’ conference at the
University of Exeter in July
2007. For me the book got
off to a bad start with its
jacket blurb claiming that
it “uncovers forgotten (sic)
but richly rewarding films”
such as Don’t Look Now.
Any survivor of the 70s like
myself has never forgotten
the first outing of the film
when it was double-billed
with a troublesome low-
budget horror film (another
‘forgotten’ film perhaps? For
the record it was entitled The
Wicker Man!). And to find
a well-known author and
volume you grew up with
– Tom Nairn’s The BreakUp of Britain – introduced
to an obviously youthfully
unaware audience as “. . . a
book entitled . . .” confirms
there will be something of a
generational problem with
this volume. Even my oldfashioned sense of clear and
grammatical expression was
assaulted in the opening
paragraph with the strange
pairing of a couple of
sentences, with a redundant
‘but’.
However things settle
down after this tentative
start as editor Paul Newland
challenges the familiar
prejudices which have seen
the 1970s written off as
the ‘new doldrums’ decade,
promising that his volume
will go “some way towards
challenging the assumption
that British cinema of the
1970s remains unworthy
of our attention.” (p.15)
With this of course comes
the notion that even the
notorious Confessions of . .
. and related soft-porn films
are worthy of an academic
makeover, as they now
“operate as rich historical
documents which can tell
us much about the shape of
the country and its people
during the decade.” (p.16)
I found respected film
historian Sue Harper’s
keynote address very
interesting, partly because
she articulates the problem
I was experiencing when
film historians of a certain
age re-visit their cinematic
past – “this meeting is
tricky, because the history
we study is also our own . .
. it is our young selves that
we go out to meet, albeit
in a shadowy form.”(p.28)
Primarily however she
raises vital questions such
as the perennial problem of
periodising by decade (when
exactly were ‘the 70s’?
Harper proposes 1968-79,
by the way); and she sets
an agenda of ten key issues
to focus on, from familiar
concepts of authorship,
narrative and audience to
the relationship with TV and
the avant-garde.
Subsequent contributions
concentrate on ‘Individuals
and the Industry’ (Stanley
Baker, Glenda Jackson),
or linger ‘On the Margins
of British Cinema’ (BFI
Regional Film Theatres,
Steve Dwoskin’s art films
about his disability, Anthony
Simmons’ indie films, and
black cinema), or experience
‘Anxiety and Alienation,
Deviance and Desire’
(apocalypse, horror, male
anxiety, sex and drugs and
rock’n’roll) or take a joint
look at ‘British Cinema and
Television’ (sitcom films, The
Likely Lads and advertising)
and summing up ‘British
Films and Filmmakers’ (O
Lucky Man, The Ruling
Class, Don’t Look Now and
the films of Barney PlattsMills).
I was obviously keenest
to see what the academics
made of the film Don’t Look
Now, explored by Andrew
Patch from the angle of
Roeg’s authorial use of
editing and colour. I was
both pleased and frustrated
in equal measures to find
that there were no new
35
insights from the university
world that we haven’t
arrived at in NQ/Higher level
classes – they just use bigger
words to articulate it! (“. . .
red becomes a connection
between two disparate
bodies, a dyadic relation
that positions both bodies at
opposite ends of a chromatic
spectrum . . .”[p.262])
A similar disappointment
came with the intriguing
pairing of opposites
promised by the title ‘Hovis,
Ovaltine, Mackeson’s and the
Days of Hope Debate’. What
transpired was a perfectly
acceptable piece on TV
advertising nostalgia with
only one paragraph making
passing mention of the
1975 Loach and Garnett TV
drama series which surely
is one of the neglected 70s
gems which should be reevaluated.
Every chapter is followed
by a useful page or so
of notes and references,
and the index is fairly
comprehensive at twelve
pages. Overall I found the
book wanting in coherence
– suffering I suspect from
‘Conference Syndrome’
whereby a lot of academic
kites are flown and pointsearning research generated,
some of which hit the mark
others which do not. Anyone
seeking a more satisfactory
volume on the 70s might
benefit more from the 2008
anthology edited by Robert
Shail, Seventies British
Cinema (BFI)
Further down (or up?) the
academic chain, school and
Studying British Cinema:
The 1960s, Danny
Powell, Auteur 2009,
£18.99, 250pp. ISBN
9781903663882
The 1990s, Eddie
Dyja, Auteur, 2010,
£18.99, 295pp. ISBN
9781906733025
1999-2009, John
Fitzgerald, Auteur, 2010,
£18.99, 230pp. ISBN
9781906733117
FE teachers should get more
out of the Auteur series,
with the three volumes
under review written by
practicing educationalists,
“aimed explicitly at those
coming to British cinema
for the first time – either
as student or teacher – and
assuming little in the way
of prior knowledge.” as
the back cover of Powell’s
volume puts it. The author
faces the unenviable task
of trying to encapsulate the
60s without resorting to the
‘list’ approach which tries
to cram in every film. His
solution works well. After a
strong Introduction in which
he outlines the cultural,
political, economic and
social contexts of the 60s,
he settles on a pattern of
one key film per chapter that
illustrates the 60s issues,
changes or genres flagged
up earlier, with other titles
offered as recommended
viewing.
The chosen films (and
issues they encapsulate)
are a good representative
selection – Peeping
Tom (sex, violence and
censorship), Saturday Night
and Sunday Morning (the
northern working class
New Wave), Billy Liar (the
transition from post-war
austerity to the Swinging
60s), A Hard Day’s Night
(the pop music revolution),
Goldfinger and The Ipcress
File (new spy heroes in a
post-imperial world), Darling
(the permissive society),
The Knack (Swinging
London), Blow Up (Britain
as an international cultural
centre), If . . . . (youth
rebellion) and The Italian
Job (the gangster Brit-flick).
The book is rather let
down by a somewhat slim
one page Bibliography,
and a sometimes less than
helpful three page index.
Worst however – as so
often it seems with Auteur
– is the lack of thorough
proof-reading, with the
volume getting off to a bad
start with three errors in
the first few pages of the
Introduction (mis-dating A
Kind of Loving on p.11; misspelling John Osborne on
p.14; mis-titling Saturday
Night and Sunday Morning
on p.15) and ending with a
mis-dating of Poor Cow in
the brief Conclusion.
The other two volumes
follow broadly the same
pattern of exposition. The
90s has ten chapters, each
with an opening contextual
section followed by analysis
of two films with helpful
key statistics, synopsis and
discussion. The choice of
films is again good and
representative – The Crying
Game, Much Ado About
Nothing, Trainspotting, Lock
Stock and Two Smoking
Barrels, High Fidelity, Fever
Pitch, The Full Monty,
Brassed Off
Off, Four Weddings
and a Funeral, The World
Is Not Enough, Billy Elliot
Elliot,
Ratcatcher Secrets and
Ratcatcher,
Lies, Land and Freedom,
East Is East
East, Babymother,
Babymother
Shakespeare in Love, Sense
and Sensibility, Notting
Hill and Chicken Run.
An excellent selection,
reminding us what a
rich cinematic period the
post-Thatcher years were,
with new technology,
multiplexes, lottery funding,
globalisation and cultural
diversity helping to produce
“something of a renaissance
after the nadir of the 1980s”
as author Dyja puts it (p.5).
The 1999-2009 volume
approaches its mixed bag
of films in less depth,
focusing – after a strong
contextualising Introduction
– on the conceptual issues
in each chapter – Hollywood
co-productions (Wallace and
Grommit and Harry Potter
Potter),
‘new heritage’ cinema
(from Richard Curtis to Ian
McEwan), feminist realism
(Andrea Arnold, Lynne
Ramsay et al), migrant
cinema (Dirty Pretty Things,
The Last Resort
Resort), authorship
(Michael Winterbottom and
Shane Meadows), black
and Asian identity (from
Bullet Boy to Bend It Like
Beckham), the Neo-Colonial
film (The Last King of
Scotland), Dystopian Britain
(28
28 Days Later
Later, Children of
Men) and the Horror revival
(Dog Soldiers, Eden Lake).
Full marks to Auteur for
bringing out this volume
– one of the first attempts
to address the Noughties
in cinema. Along with the
other two volumes reviewed,
36
it makes for a good
intelligent read, and can be
thoroughly recommended
as an introduction to British
cinema, hopefully pointing
the interested reader towards
the standard academic works
of recent years by John
Hill, Robert Murphy, Tony
Aldgate, Jeffrey Richards,
Sue Harper, James Chapman,
Charles Barr and Sarah
Street.
Douglas Allen
Neo Noir
Noir, Mark Bould,
Kathrina Glitre, Greg Tuck,
(eds.), Wallflower Press,
2009, £16.99, 267pp. ISBN
9781906660178
Our trio of film academics
from Bristol’s University of
West England are keen to
flag up from the start the
difficulty of their task – to
establish the notion that
there is a genre, ‘neo-noir’
and to conduct an initial
study of it.
“Genre is messy;
genres mutate. They
are not rigidly-defined
pigeonholes into which
examples can be neatly
placed, but baggy and
broad, errant and loose.”
(p.2)
The authors remind us
of the slippery heritage
of the original ‘‘film noir’
genre, the only genre to
be ‘constructed’ by critics
after the event rather than
emerging from the film
industry production and
distribution offices, where
genre allowed the money
men to mass produce and
package their products in
easily identifiable units for
their audiences.
Despite such difficulties,
the authors seek to delineate
a revival of the film noir
genre from the late 60s
– an initial cycle that lasted
till the mid-70s (say from
1967’s Point Blank to 1976’s
Taxi Driver
Driver), followed by a
second cycle (from 1981’s
Body Heat to the present.).
A look overseas reminds the
authors that noir is in fact a
transnational phenomenon,
with ‘dark’ works thriving
from France to Hong Kong
and Korea, following
conventions so strongly
established in popular
culture that self-aware
pastiches have emerged such
as Dead Men Don’t Wear
Plaid (1982).
There is even a nominee
for ‘British noir’ in the form
of director Mike Hodges,
who provides a preface
for the book, and whose
works Get Carter (1971)
and Pulp (1972) are seen
as home-grown examples
of the genre. One of the
essays ‘British Neo-Noir and
Reification’ elaborates on
this theme through the 1998
and 2002 works Croupier
(Mike Hodges) and Dirty
Pretty Things (Stephen
Frears – though I found
no mention of him in the
chapter or index, a disservice
to a director whose 1971
debut Gumshoe was an allout homage to the original
noir era.)
Other contributors follow
up the international angle.
Ginette Vincendeau turns
her considerable knowledge
of French cinema to ‘The
New Lower Depths: Paris in
French Neo-Noir Cinema’,
tracing the concept from
the ‘poetic realism’ of the
1930s to concentrate on the
dark batch of crime films
and urban dramas from the
early 1990s (L.627) to the
mid 2000s (The Beat That
My Heart Skipped). The
national cinemas dealt with
in the chapter ‘The Shadow
of Outlaws in Asian Noir:
Hiroshima, Hong Kong and
Seoul’ are self-evident, with
the works of Takeshi Kitano,
John Woo and Chan-Wook
Park among the many under
discussion.
As you would expect
from a genre which
constantly featured the
‘‘femme fatale’ ensnaring
the weak-willed male in her
praying mantis-like mantrap, gender is a recurring
issue in any exploration
of neo-noir. Linda Ruth
Williams extends her
exploration of the erotic
thriller in ‘A Woman
Scorned: The Neo-Noir
Erotic Thriller as Revenge
Drama’ where 1987’s Fatal
Attraction is only the tip of
the iceberg when it comes
to ‘women’s revenge’ films.
Sharon Stone is another
classic case study as a noir
femme in ‘Neo-Noir’s Fatal
Woman: Stardom, Survival
and Sharon Stone’; whilst a
whole tradition comes under
the microscope in ‘Fatality
Revisited: The Problem of
“Anxiety” in PsychoanalyticFeminist Approaches to Film
Noir’.
The issue of whether noir
can be funny is given a test
run in the essay ‘Laughter
in the Dark: Irony, Black
Comedy and Noir in the
Films of David Lynch, the
Coen Brothers and Quentin
Tarantino’. (The answer is,
yes, of course it can, in
the master-works of these
auteurs such as Wild at
Heart Fargo, Reservoir Dogs
Heart,
and Pulp Fiction.)
Some of the technical
elements which contribute
towards neo-noir
noir are
analysed in three chapters
where the titles speak for
themselves – ‘Under the
Neon Rainbow: Colour
and Neo-Noir’, ‘AudioNoir: Audiovisuality in
Neo-Modernist Noir’ and
‘Paranoia and Nostalgia:
Sonic Motifs and Songs in
Neo-Noir’. Titles plucked
from other chapters give
a flavour of the range of
individual films studied
– ‘The End of Work: From
Double Indemnity to Body
Heat’, ‘The Thin Men:
Anorexic Subjectivity
in Fight Club and The
Machinist’, ‘Memento:
Pasting Ourselves Together
through Cinema’; while the
Max Payne video games
(subject of a 2008 film) also
come under study in ‘From
Lonely Streets to Lonely
Rooms: Prefiguration,
Affective Responses and the
Max Payne Single-Player’.
The book is a box of
constant surprises, reacquainting you with a
number of familiar films
– some forgotten and
others well remembered
– and introducing you to
a few unfamiliar treats
– for example, the 2007
The Lookout which had
inexplicably passed me by.
Academic trappings are a
mixed bag – while each
chapter has copious notes
and reference book lists, the
index is a slim three pages
and the filmography is
merely an eleven page list of
film titles, making it difficult
to track down mention
of any film that catches
your interest. Otherwise an
impressive volume from the
cream of (mostly) British
universities’ film studies
academics.
Douglas Allen
Studying ‘The Devil’s
Backbone’, James Rose,
Auteur 2010, £8.99, 112 pp,
ISBN 9781906733094
This slim volume would
make an intelligent
companion piece to any
study of the Spanish/
Mexican film The Devil’s
Backbone, directed by
Guillermo del Toro (2001).
The film is essentially a
Spanish horror film and the
writer, James Rose, has an
impressive background in
analysing this type of genre,
having written for a number
of international journals as
37
well as being the author of
Beyond Hammer: British
Horror Cinema Since 1970.
Rose begins with
exploring Guillermo del
Toro’s childhood and
early filmmaking career.
Although del Toro’s first
attempts when just eight
years old dealt with the
usual interests of little boys
– fights with monsters using
plastic toys – very soon
the subject matter deals
with more macabre subjects
– much of which appears
to heavily influenced by his
Grandmother. (There is in
fact a section entitled ‘Del
Toro’s Grandmother’)
Although I knew
something of del Toro’s
background and the
importance of religious
iconography in his work,
I found this section
particularly enlightening.
The film has clearly has
a strong biographical
element. Although del Toro’s
grandmother had a strong
influence, so too did other
family members. Rose quotes
an interview in which del
Toro he recalls his Uncle
(who, perhaps one might
feel, a little irresponsibly)
told his young nephew that
when he died, he would
come back and let Guillermo
know,“if there’s something
out there” (page 9)
Having inherited his
uncle’s bedroom and
possessions, del Toro began
hearing noises, including his
uncle’s sighs. Like the young
protagonist, Carlos, in The
Devil’s Backbone, del Toro’s
curiosity was far stronger
than his sense of fear. He
decided to investigate the
source of the noise and
realized that it was, “. . .
an honest-to-goodness
disembodied voice floating
about half a foot from my
face . . .” (p 9). Clearly this
belief in the supernatural
permeates the film and the
viewer’s belief in it, is taken
as a ‘given’.
Subsequent chapters deal
with narrative, character,
themes and motifs with
a detailed scene analysis.
These are both interesting
to the reader of Guillermo’s
work as well as being
particularly useful to
educators studying the film
with a view to guiding
students in analytical tasks.
Rose begins the Narrative
section by analysing del
Toro’s assertion that the
narrative needed “to be
constructed on a rhyme”.
In light of this, Rose looks
at the sense of narrative
repetition – the doubling up
of both events and images
(two women, two recitations
of poetry, two characters
who drown in the cistern,
and so on). This is the type
of construct that comes
from more than the casual
first watching of the film. It
might be argued that even
teachers or students with
their ‘film analysis’ hats
on would not necessarily
observe all these recurrences
on first viewing. Rose asserts
that this sense of narrative
repetition creates parallels
and connections between
certain characters, allowing
them to be seen – and their
actions understood – from
a different perspective. This
hypothesis is developed
in the next section. Rose
also looks at the use of
flashback in the film as well
as presenting a thorough
analysis of the opening
montage – again, material
useful for both student and
teacher alike.
Also in the Narrative
section, Rose goes on to
examine both context and
location in the film. Like its
sister film Pan’s Labyrinth
(2006), also directed by
del Toro, the Spanish Civil
War is the backdrop for
the plot. However, unlike
Pan’s Labyrinth, there are
relatively few allusions to
the war. Although the war
is visually present in the
symbol of the unexploded
bomb in the centre of
the orphanage grounds,
Rose suggests that the
violence of the Civil War
which the audience only
glimpses through the
brief introduction of the
International Brigade during
the course of the film is
literally being played out
within the confines of the
school. In essence, the school
becomes a microcosmic of
the ravages of the theatre of
war playing outside its walls.
Inside what is essentially a
Republican stronghold – the
school takes in orphans of
Republican sympathisers
– the bullying, Nationalist,
characters of Jacinto and, to
a lesser extent, Jaime, try to
destroy both the people and
the fabric of the school. The
school becomes the stage
for a war of sorts, sustaining
violence in the form of
physical attacks, explosions
and murder.
Rose also looks at the
physical location of the
school, remotely situated
in the middle of the vast
Spanish plain and distant
from the nearest hub of
civilization, the village.
Rose suggests that although
this isolation is viewed by
the characters in the film
as a negative aspect, its
sheer remoteness grants it
an immunity from the Civil
War as it would be unlikely
that the Nationalists would
move that far out to find
Republicans. It might, of
course, be suggested that
the remote location of the
school is consistent with
the setting of most horror
or ghost genre – from the
magnificent, unassailable
Gothic castles in cinematic
adaptations of Bram Stoker’s
Dracula to the remote abode
of Eel Marsh House in the
forthcoming film adaptation
(2011) of Susan Hill’s Woman
in Black. In del Toro’s film,
the desert substitutes for the
arguably more atmospheric,
impassible high mountains
or the unpredictable mists
engulfing the landscape
– but ultimately the result is
the same. No one can hear
you scream.
The next section of Rose’s
critique deals with character
analysis and particular
reference is given to the
concept of the ‘doubling’
up of characters referred
to in the Narrative section.
Rose examines contrasts and
parallels between various
characters as well as analysis
of the main ones. In perhaps
the spirit of the Levi-Strauss
conception of binary
opposition, Rose presents a
grid of contrasting attributes
of the various couples:
Carlos is ‘living’ whilst Santi
is ‘dead’; Carlos is ‘whole’
whilst Santi ‘fragmented’
and so on.
The next section entitled
‘Elements, Themes and
Motifs’ at first reading
appears to be something of
a miscellany of ideas – the
‘left-overs’ of commentary
that cannot be neatly
categorised. Rose does not
define categorically what
makes an element/theme/
motif and how each might
be different. However,
defining these concepts is
perhaps a monumental task
beyond most writers. I found
this the most interesting
section and so was quite
prepared to accept the
all-embracing title. Rose
examines del Toro’s use
of sound both to enhance
the viewer’s experience
of particular parts of the
narrative as well as add a
dimension to the character
presented on the screen. In
this section the themes of
Waiting and Entrapment are
38
examined as are the symbols
of the Bomb and the Cistern.
A recurring element
or motif which Rose also
spends some time discussing
in this section, is that of
Amber. Amber is seen
both as a dominant tonal
colour in the film as well
as symbol of entrapment.
Just as amber is created as
a result of an insect trapped
in the substance so too is
Santi’s body trapped within
the dirty amber water of
the cistern. Rose argues that
amber as a colour permeates
the film and is the signifier
of death. This is as true of
the early appearance of the
dead child as a silhouette
against a burning amber
light, to the ‘dead’ lovemaking of Carmen and
Jacinto later in the film.
Santi’s death is frozen
in time and so too is the
relationship between Carmen
and Jacinto which is loveless
and expedient.
As well as renewing
my desire to see and
study this film again, I
personally found that
Rose’s book afforded new
facts both about del Toro
and the Spanish Civil War.
The biographical aspect
regarding Guillermo’s uncle
has already been discussed
in the opening paragraphs
of this review. As regards
historical fact, I had
previously carried out some
research into the complex
nature of the Spanish Civil
War through the study of
Pan’s Labyrinth. Perhaps
like many people, I was
aware that the International
Brigade and other antifascist groups attracted
Europeans, and writers
such as George Orwell and
Laurie Lee documented
these experiences either
in an autobiographical or
a fictional manner. I also
knew that the conflict
attracted many socialist
and left-wing groups
from which individuals
volunteered to fight in
what they considered a
‘just’ war. (Ken Loach’s
1995 Land and Freedom
I feel is a convincing
cinematic portrayal of one
such individual and his
experiences) However, I had
neither been aware that the
Brigade’s call reached 55
different countries nor, more
surprisingly that Chinese
troops also fought in the
Brigade. Del Toro gives
credence to this fact in the
village scene where the
character, Casares, witnesses
the execution of nine
Republican soldiers, one of
whom is Chinese.
I believe this book to
be an accessible text both
for student and teacher.
Explanations of terminology
are woven into the analysis
in a light-handed manner
and the writer demonstrates
a scholarly grasp of his
material. This little book
– 120 pages in a ‘reduced B
format’, so it’s small enough
to fit in a pocket or small
bag – is part of a series of
short study-guides and their
brevity and user-friendly
nature should make them
a popular choice for the
classroom.
Mary Birch
The New Film History
– Sources, Methods,
Approaches, James
Chapman, Mark Glancy and
Sue Harper (eds), Palgrave
Macmillan, 2009 (pbk),
£19.99, 272 pages, ISBN
9780230594487
In their introduction to this
set of essays the editors
state that their intention
is to provide “a close up
rather than a long shot: it
presents the fruits of current
research in a series of self
-contained case studies
that are nevertheless linked
by common themes and
methods.” I immediately
liked the focus (not a
historical panorama but a
number of individual case
studies), its contemporary
character and the freestanding nature of the case
studies.
But first the editors have
to justify the inclusion
of the word “New” in
their title. This they do by
differentiating between
traditional film histories
(which go back as far as
1926 - Terry Ramsaye’s A
Million and One Nights)
where the emphasis was
on film as an art form
and thus on films viewed
as “masterpieces” and
the filmic text was foregrounded at the expense
of context. Another, more
recent, tradition concerned
itself with “the idea of film
as a reflection or mirror
of society”, thus veering
to the opposite extreme of
privileging context over text.
It is the gradual convergence
of these disparate views
over the last twenty years
or so that has permitted
the emergence of the
“New Film History”, which
combines both approaches
by considering “how film
style and aesthetics were
influenced, even determined,
by economic, industrial
and technological factors.”
What distinguishes the
new from the old is a more
sophisticated methodology
and a recognition both of
the central importance of
primary sources and of films
as cultural artefacts, where
style, visual and aural, has
equal status with context.
So, it is texts within
contexts that form the
substance of this set of
essays, which is organised
in four sections - History,
Authorship, Genre and
Reception, with three or four
essays in each. The range is
wide, encompassing British,
American and Swedish films
across nine decades, from
Hitchcock’s 1929 Blackmail
to Weir’s Master and
Commander – the Far Side
of the World in 2003.
For my particular close
up I have chosen the
contributions from the
three editors, the first of
these being Sue Harper’s
examination of 1970s British
Cinema, the fruits of a
Major Research Grant from
the Arts and Humanities
Research Council. So what
were we watching in that
decade of important cultural
change when the advent
of colour television had
a major effect on cinema
attendance and a hardup Hollywood withdrew
American finance from the
British film industry? At
the very start of the decade
four American financed
British costume films drew
large audiences – Oliver!,
Anne of the Thousand Days,
Cromwell and The Lion in
Winter. Americans were still
willing to invest in British
historical films – after
all, we did have authentic
historical settings and there
was the added safeguard of
US producers in charge. The
decade also included The
Railway Children (1971), The
Go-Between (1972), Barry
Lyndon (1976) and Death on
the Nile (1979) and, indeed,
many more.
Apart from practical
reasons, Harper persuasively
cites other factors that could
account for the presence
and popularity of costume
films during this decade
with British audiences,
who may well have been
using history as “a means
of symbolic displacement
from contemporary struggles
about class and gender” or
as “nostalgic escapism.” If
there is nothing particularly
novel in such a view, Harper
follows it up with a more
39
interesting suggestion:
were some of these films,
notably Ryan’s Daughter
and The Devils (both 1972),
paradoxically a means of
both “driving through new
ideas in a memorable form”
and inviting audiences “to
recognise that the past was
different, but that they could
still enter it – that it was
dead and still living”?
If examining the
history of British film by
examining historical films
in a particular historical
period resembles a set
of Russian dolls, so be it
– for this is an essay both
scholarly and accessible,
which has perceptive things
to say about film, audience,
institution and society.
Later in this History
section James Chapman
considers “History, Politics
and National Identity” in
Peter Weir’s Master and
Commander – the Far Side
of the World. As an admirer
of Weir’s work, I found it
interesting to view this film
through a different prism,
the notion of “This Film
is England”, rather than
considering its place in the
director’s oeuvre. In 2003,
Master and Commander was
one of four “gigantic epics”,
all far from contemporary
society in various ways, the
others being Cold Mountain,
The Last Samurai and
The Return of the King,
the final part of The Lord
of the Rings trilogy. All
were blockbusters, all coproductions, but Weir’s film
emphasised characterisation
and authenticity over
spectacle and special effects.
As a “well made film” it was
seen in some reviews as old
fashioned, even as a kind
of Star Trek, with Aubrey
and Maturin as “an early
nineteenth century Kirk and
Spock”! And whereas Star
Trek was interpreted as a
Cold War allegory, Master
and Commander did present
France as the foe, the villain,
at a point where France had
opposed the US-led invasion
of Iraq.
Since the film was
completed months before
the Iraq crisis, Chapman
sensibly maintains that
any such contemporary
references could not have
been intentional, adding that
the politics of the film have
more in common with the
propaganda films of World
War II which presented
Britain “as a defender of
democracy and freedom
against continental tyrants
and dictators.” The main
change from the novel,
which takes place during
Britain’s war with the
United States in 1812-14,
is to set the action in 1805,
when France and Napoleon
Bonaparte were the enemy.
Besides its being a classic
example of Hollywood
re-writing history, in this
case for obvious reasons,
Chapman presents a more
subtle explanation:
“. . . the ideological
project of Master
and Commander
also necessitated the
change. The film can
be seen as a revival of
the tradition . . . that
had been dormant for
several decades: the
projection of an AngloAmerican world view in
which common bonds
of culture and politics
unite the two nations.”
Much better then to
have France as the enemy
in a film which “represents
a combination of British
cultural capital and US
dollars”, directed by an
Australian!
This essay is firmly
based in the approaches
of the New Film History
but is also illuminating
in its examination of the
relationship of the two main
protagonists, Aubrey and
Maturin, as representing
“different archetypes of
masculinity” - the man
Alfred Hitchcock on the set of Blackmail with Anny Ondra
of action and the man of
science, and in its view of
the film’s “representation
of the codes of duty and
patriotism” and ability to
present a version of history
which “accorded with
popular tastes.”
The third editor, Mark
Glancy, contributes an essay
to the Reception section of
the book, focusing on Alfred
Hitchcock’s Blackmail and
contrasting the film’s initial
reputation with its later
standing as a key work by
the ‘master of suspense’.
Since the topic of Reception/
Audience is often one that
teachers find difficult, both
to research and teach, it is
fascinating and instructive
to trace the progress of
Blackmail from its initial
release, when the novelty of
talking actors was quickly
superseded by complaints
(notably from Scotland!)
about “ultra-English”, “tootoo-frightfully propah”
accents, and when there was
no discussion of the film’s
dark side (particularly, the
rape scene) even though this
may have been important to
the actual audiences.
Since Hitchcock’s
elevation to the status of
“the world’s most studied
director”, whose films are
“the most discussed, debated
and scrutinised within
film ftudies”, Blackmail as
originally viewed has been
“lost to successive waves
of criticism” and modern
readings will certainly see
more, both literally and
figuratively, than that first
audience did. But Glancy’s
point, that to research this
audience (about which
he acknowledges much is
unknowable) is to reveal
not only “a popular film
culture that had a strong
sense of national pride”
which enjoyed Britain’s
participation in the “talkie
revolution”, but also a
film that was fresh, less
immediately recognisable
as the work of Hitchcock as
auteur and more as the work
of an essentially British
director, seen at the time as
“a great asset to the British
film industry.”
I have cherry-picked just
three of the fifteen essays
for closer inspection, but
among others are studies
of Gone with the Wind
(1939), Gallipoli (1981),
Now, Voyager (1942) and
The Wicker Man (1973)
in a volume which, taken
as a whole, has a unity of
purpose and perspective
despite the diversity of
films discussed. To read it
is not only to be informed,
stimulated and impressed by
the details of the scholarship
involved, but also to be
entertained by the liveliness
and freshness of the case
studies.
Liz Roberts
mej
Extra copies of the
current journal and
issue 47 are available
at £8.00 per copy. We
also have back copies
of earlier issues at
£2.00 per copy. The
complete set covers
more than 20 years
of debate, theory and
practice. See page 2
for contact address.

Issue 48 Winter 2010/11

Transcription

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