up as activism. Each of his films has been a piece of crafted
drama with a range of distinctive attributes related to narrative andphotography, acting as a baseline for Stone’s auteur brand. However,
what is striking in the second period of his career is the way in which
those core elements of the auteur brand did not merely become retroactive career artefacts for a media narrative that views his auteur
heyday as belonging to the past. Instead, Stone’s auteurism acted as
a platform for a political discourse that retained as much urgency
and purpose as films such
Pornographe , this text explores the
hyperreal through a self-reflexive attention to the process of image
creation, but at the same time, the reader is made attentive to the way the
hyperreal, so carefully maintained in its ambivalence in Bonello’s
film, here collapses into the horrifying brutality of the real. Having
exhausted the possibilities of photography, Hélène B. buys a video
camera and attempts to create herself in film
Memory and identity in Marie Redonnet’s fiction of the 1990s
, or, at the very least, of elaborating a fuller, more cohesive and
enduring sense of self than that which originally exists. This, as will be
seen, is because of its ability to preserve, and even to produce memory.
Memory and identity in Redonnet’s ﬁction
The range and diversity of creative acts carried out by the characters
is, at times, bewildering, but certain forms crop up again and again. In
Candy story and Villa Rosa, (self-)portraiture is a common pursuit, whilst
photography, and its correlative of ﬁlm-making, feature in the texts Rose
Mélie Rose, Candy
development of photographyandfilm had
important effects on the staging and impact of royal and princely voyages.
Organisers initially had some difficulties in managing these ‘new’ media.
Some photos were taken during Crown Prince Albert’s 1909 exploratory voyage, but they were not really destined for public
circulation. 12 Media coverage (through long newspaper articles)
was mainly limited to the prince’s homecoming, which was celebrated with
photographyandfilm making. In the late 1960s this
included picking up on the dynamic image making associated with ‘Swinging
London’. And we saw how in the development of television advertising the
hybridizing and indigenizing of US practices contributed to the development
of a distinctive British tradition. While this tradition had its roots in interwar developments in sponsored documentary film making and the traditions
of press advertising in Britain, it was stimulated by the appropriation and
reworking of US influences as well. The movement of US practices eastwards
The loss of clothes in werewolf stories may be terrifying or liberating, but either way it marks an ontological boundary crossed.
This ‘conceptualization of lycanthropic metamorphosis as a process of dressing and undressing’, as Hannah Priest puts it in another article, persists into modern film.
In a classic werewolf movie such as John Landis's An American Werewolf in London ( 1981 ), the transition ritual enables the
In this book, George Legg provides a new interpretation of the Northern Irish Troubles. From internment to urban planning, the hunger strikes to post-conflict tourism, Legg asserts that concepts of capitalism have been consistently deployed to alleviate and exacerbate violence in the North. Through a detailed analysis of the cultural texts, Legg traces the affective energies produced by capitalism’s persistent attempt to resolve Northern Ireland’s ethnic-national divisions: a process he calls the politics of boredom. Such an approach warrants a reconceptualisation of boredom as much as cultural production. In close readings of Derek Mahon’s poetry, the photography of Willie Doherty and the female experience of incarceration, Legg argues that cultural texts can delineate a more democratic – less philosophical – conception of ennui. Critics of the Northern Irish Peace Process have begun to apprehend some of these tensions. But an analysis of the post-conflict condition cannot account for capitalism’s protracted and enervating impact in Northern Ireland. Consequently, Legg returns to the origins of the Troubles and uses influential theories of capital accumulation to examine how a politicised sense of boredom persists throughout, and after, the years of conflict. Like Left critique, Legg’s attention to the politics of boredom interrogates the depleted sense of humanity capitalism can create. What Legg’s approach proposes is as unsettling as it is radically new. By attending to Northern Ireland’s long-standing experience of ennui, this book ultimately isolates boredom as a source of optimism as well as a means of oppression.
The issue of ethnicity in France, and how ethnicities are represented there visually, remains one of the most important and polemical aspects of French post-colonial politics and society. This is the first book to analyse how a range of different ethnicities have been represented across contemporary French visual culture. Via a wide series of case studies – from the worldwide hit film Amélie to France’s popular TV series Plus belle la vie – it probes how ethnicities have been represented across different media, including film, photography, television and the visual arts. Four chapters examine distinct areas of particular importance: national identity, people of Algerian heritage, Jewishness and France’s second city Marseille.
Monstrous Media/Spectral Subjects explores Gothic, monstrosity, spectrality and media forms and technologies (music, fiction's engagements with photography/ cinema, film, magic practice and new media) from the later nineteenth century to the present day. Placing Gothic forms and productions in an explicitly interdisciplinary context, it investigates how the engagement with technologies drives the dissemination of Gothic across diverse media through the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, while conjuring all kinds of haunting and spectral presences that trouble cultural narratives of progress and technological advancement.
Jean Cocteau, the first French writer to take cinema seriously, was as old and young as cinema itself; he made his first film in 1925 and completed his last film when he was 70. This book first deals with the issue of the type of film maker that Cocteau was: as a auteur, as a collaborator, as an experimenter, and as a theorist. It takes the pulse of Cocteau's cinema by examining in detail his ground-breaking first film Le Sang d'un poète', and argues that the film offers a vision of the potential of film for Cocteau. The book traces the evolution of realism and fantasy in Cocteau's work by introducing a main element, theatre, and assesses the full gamut of Cocteau's formal inclinations: from the legend and fantasy of L'Eternel retour to the spectacular fairytale of La Belle et la bête; from the 'film théâtral' of L'Aigle à deux têtes to the domestic melodrama Les Parents terribles which 'detheatricalises' his original play. In Le Testament d'Orphée, all the various formal tendencies of Cocteau's cinema come together but with the additional element of time conceived of as history, and the book re-evaluates the general claim of Cocteau's apparently missed encounter with history. The book considers whether the real homosexual element of Cocteau's cinema surfaces more at the most immediate level of sound and image by concentrating on the specifics of Cocteau's filmic style, in particular camera angle, framing and reverse-motion photography.