The body is a potential marker of monstrosity, identifying those who do not fit into the body politic. Irregularity and the grotesque have been associated with Gothic architecture and are also indicative of wayward flesh and its deformities. Through an investigation of the body and its oppression by the church, the medical profession and the state, this book reveals the actual horrors lying beneath fictional horror in settings as diverse as the monastic community, slave plantation, operating theatre, Jewish ghetto and battlefield trench. Original readings of canonical Gothic literary and film texts include The Castle of Otranto, The Monk, Frankenstein, Dracula and Nosferatu. This collection of fictionalised dangerous bodies will be traced back to the effects of the English Reformation, Spanish Inquisition, French Revolution, Caribbean slavery, Victorian medical malpractice, European anti-Semitism and finally warfare, ranging from the Crimean up to the Vietnam War. Dangerous Bodies demonstrates how the Gothic corpus is haunted by a tangible sense of corporeality, often at its most visceral. Chapters set out to vocalise specific body parts such as skin, genitals, the nose and eyes, as well as blood. The endangered or dangerous body lies at the centre of the clash between victim and persecutor and has generated tales of terror and narratives of horror, which function to either salve, purge or dangerously perpetuate such oppositions. This ground-breaking book will be of interest to academics and students of Gothic studies, gender and film studies and especially to readers interested in the relationship between history and literature.
Printing Terror places horror comics of the mid-twentieth century in dialogue with the anxieties of their age. It rejects the narrative of horror comics as inherently and necessarily subversive and explores, instead, the ways in which these texts manifest white male fears over America’s changing sociological landscape. It examines two eras: the pre-CCA period of the 1940s and 1950s, and the post-CCA era to 1975. The authors examine each of these periods through the lenses of war, gender, and race, demonstrating that horror comics are centred upon white male victimhood and the monstrosity of the gendered and/or racialised other. It is of interest to scholars of horror, comics studies, and American history. It is suitably accessible to be used in undergraduate classes.
Hayao Miyazaki , Ponyo (London: StudioCanal, 2010). 36 Studio Ghibli , ‘Gakeno ueno Ponyo’, www.ghibli.jp/ponyo/press/keyword/005001.html , accessed 3 August 2018. See also Lynley Stance and Daniel Hare , ‘Film Study: Ponyo by Hayao Miyazaki’, www.slaphappylarry.com/film-study-ponyo-by-hayao-miyazaki/ , accessed 3 August 2018
dissemination. The industrial background that led to the creation of generic cycles in the Hollywood studio era is well known and extensively discussed in historical film studies. The social and economic factors of the 1990s, however, were equally significant in bringing about a cinematic boom worldwide, and creating a new wave of screen Shakespeares along the way. Yet what Part II of the book argued is that beside this shared industrial background, certain aesthetic features characterising post-1990s adaptations in the revived new genres allow us to see them as a coherent
pedigree in philosophy, sociology and art history, among them Béla Balázs, Walter Benjamin, Siegfried Kracauer and Erwin Panofsky. They all enthusiastically elaborated on the link (or contrast) between film and the Middle Ages. 1 The central idea of early film studies – that (silent) film is a purely visual medium that opens up a new way of seeing – was based on the analogous assumption of medieval art as
Hong Kong films and film studies since the early 1990s, engaging with anxieties about the Handover, about ‘going home’ to a world both alien and familiar. In the run up to the Handover the situation appeared unique. As Ackbar Abbas observed, ‘The colonized state, while politically subordinate, is in many crucial respects not in a dependent subaltern position, but is in fact more advanced – in terms of
and upholds generic concepts – did not result in a complete dismissal of genre study. 5 Even if partly out of habit, reference to genres is still commonplace practice in all three pillars of film study (production, reception and criticism), and whether this means that genres have always been here, or that they are here to stay – or possibly neither – it makes them eminently useful in general descriptions and classifications of films. At the same time, it is also important to acknowledge that twenty-first-century film and media theory has moved beyond traditional
obvious title The Vampire Lovers. Does Le Fanu belong midway between the fantasies of Hammar Films and the sickle of revolutionary materialism? Are we to shift from art history to the less stolid virtues of film studies? On the contrary. Once more Le Fanu’s most minute verbal manoeuvres with regard to sacred texts demand the closest attention. As the inattentiveness of at least two
Beckett's novels and plays). With this in mind, I ask why Beckett chose the concept of the ‘angle of immunity’ for his exploration of perception and being. We may start by stating that ‘angle of immunity’ is a technical term in neither cinematography nor in film studies. Moreover, to name the threshold at which O's face remains invisible to E, Beckett could have chosen a number of terms other than ‘angle of immunity’, for instance ‘angle of freedom’, ‘angle of amnesty’ or ‘angle of release’. Thus, Beckett's choice calls for comment
medieval films while also emphasising their relevance for film studies and medievalism in general. In this, it makes possible a move away from the frequent critical dismissal of medieval film, which is justified by its perceived failure to measure up in terms of content to academic standards of historical veracity, or (often in terms of genre) to a sufficiently sophisticated or up-to-date standard of entertainment