This article focuses on a cycle of late 1960s true crime films depicting topical
mass/serial murders. It argues that the conjoined ethical and aesthetic
approaches of these films were shaped within and by a complex climate of
contestation as they moved from newspaper headlines to best-sellers lists to
cinema screens. While this cycle was central to critical debates about screen
violence during this key moment of institutional, regulatory and aesthetic
transition, they have been almost entirely neglected or, at best, misunderstood.
Meeting at the intersection of, and therefore falling between the gaps, of
scholarship on the Gothic horror revival and New Hollywood’s violent
revisionism, this cycle reversed the generational critical divisions that
instigated a new era in filmmaking and criticism. Adopting a historical
reception studies approach, this article challenges dominant understandings of
the depiction and reception of violence and horror in this defining period.
Britain's Chief Rabbis were attempting to respond to the new religious climate, and deployed a variety of tactics to achieve their aims. This book presents a radical new interpretation of Britain's Chief Rabbis from Nathan Adler to Immanuel Jakobovits. It examines the theologies of the Chief Rabbis and seeks to reveal and explain their impact on the religious life of Anglo-Jewry. The book begins with the study of Nathan Marcus Adler, Chief Rabbi from 1845, and it then explores how in 1880 Hermann Adler became Delegate Chief Rabbi on his father's semi-retirement to Brighton. In the pre-modern era, and for a while after, rabbis saw themselves and were seen as the heirs of the rabbinic tradition, whose role first and foremost was to rule on matters of religious law. The book argues that the Chief Rabbis' response to modernity should be viewed in the context of Jewish religious responses that emerged following the Enlightenment and Emancipation. It sketches out a possible typology of those responses, so that Chief Rabbis can be placed in that context. Chief Rabbis were members of the acknowledgement school, which contained a number of different theological currents: romantic, scientific, aesthetic and nostalgic. Hermann Adler was the Chief Rabbi during his time, and his religious policies were to a great extent motivated by his religious ideas. Joseph Herman Hertz's theology placed him in the traditional group within the acknowledgement school, although he was influenced by its scientific, romantic and aesthetic branches.
performance philosophy and in particular the idea that ‘performance thinks’ to suggest that performance also ‘cares’ in creating singular human connections not easily obtainable through cognitive processes. The epistemic and ontological aspects of care are emphasised in this section.
The conclusion of the chapter argues that within the framework of performance philosophy, care ethics reaches its radical potential as a critical theory. As an aestheticapproach care ethics can challenge the hegemony of normative theory as it simultaneously confronts non-caring political
, seeking evidence of individuality
whilst accepting that, as Andrew Sarris (1968: 36) put it, ‘All directors,
and not just in Hollywood, are imprisoned by the conditions of their
craft and their culture’. In this chapter I trace the development of his
dominant themes and aestheticapproaches as he negotiates this kind of
‘imprisonment’, the restrictions which I articulated in Chapter 1, to
assert his individual voice as a director.
In the opening section, I trace the development of this voice in
several of his productions from the 1970s, placing their concern with
This chapter moves away from Manhattan to explore the competing memorial projects at sites connected to Anders Breivik’s attacks of 22 July 2011 in Norway. It compares and contrasts the aesthetic approaches to memorialisation used by the Norwegian state and civil society actors, while arguing that memorialisation is a security practice in both contexts. Heideggerian and phenomenological geography is used to explore the reclaiming of post-terrorist space and place by civil society actors at Utøya island.
In her first feature, Chocolat, the director's early experiences
made her sensitive to certain issues and spurred her interest in themes that
she continued to explore in subsequent films: oppression and
misappropriation, exile and racism, alienation and transgression. This
chapter summarises the principal aspects of the director's biographical
and professional background, with reference to the wider historical context
and to French cinema production in general. It proceeds with an outline of
the director's thematic and aesthetic approach and highlights the
recurrent features of her work. Location and space emphasise a sense of
displacement and function as metaphors for the process of potential
exclusion of the individual (body) from society. But the metaphor also
evokes an inner sense of exile and longing, a feeling of foreignness that is
played out at the level of the individual and of the individual's body
through relations of desire, fear and rejection.
This chapter uses Sarah Turner’s Perestroika (2009) as a springboard for exploring the contemporary intersections of ‘art cinema’ and ‘artist’s film’ in the British context. Part essay film, part psychogeography, Turner’s experimental narrative blurs the boundary between documentary and fiction, turning a train journey on the Trans-Siberian Railway into a philosophical reflection on the relationship between interior and exterior reality. I argue that Perestroika opens a space for reflecting on contemporary viewing contexts. In his review in the Guardian newspaper, Peter Bradshaw stated that ‘it is the kind of film that is arguably better viewed on the wall of an art gallery’, while also acknowledging that the film’s raw affective power derives from the cinema setting. In its association of content to context, Bradshaw’s comment raises broader questions related to the ‘art cinema’/‘artist’s cinema’ dichotomy. What is this ‘kind of film’ that seems awkwardly positioned between two institutions – the cinema and the gallery? How does the hybrid aesthetic approach in Perestroika force us to evaluate viewing contexts in relation to the different traditions it encompasses? In analysing these questions, the chapter draws on notions of immersive experience and haptic vision (Marks, 2002) that locate the film between narrative and abstraction.
This is the first book-length study of one of the most significant of all British television writers, Jimmy McGovern. The book provides comprehensive coverage of all his work for television including early writing on Brookside, major documentary dramas such as Hillsborough and Sunday and more recent series such as The Street and Accused. Whilst the book is firmly focused on McGovern’s own work, the range of his output over the period in which he has been working also provides something of an overview of the radical changes in television drama commissioning that have taken place during this time. Without compromising his deeply-held convictions McGovern has managed to adapt to an ever changing environment, often using his position as a sought-after writer to defy industry trends. The book also challenges the notion of McGovern as an uncomplicated social realist in stylistic terms. Looking particularly at his later work, a case is made for McGovern employing a greater range of narrative approaches, albeit subtly and within boundaries that allow him to continue to write for large popular audiences. Finally it is worth pointing to the book’s examination of McGovern’s role in recent years as a mentor to new voices, frequently acting as a creative producer on series that he part-writes and part brings through different less-experienced names.
with an outline of the director’s thematic and aestheticapproach,
and highlights the recurrent features of her work. The following chapters
provide detailed analysis of each of her feature films. The works are
grouped in thematic rather than chronological order so as to bring forth the
issues that appear central in Denis’ approach as a whole. Chapter 2 ,
‘Screening exile’ (Chocolat, Man No Run, S’en fout
la mort, Contre
to rescue the text from the ‘ignominy’ of the grotesque, and ‘saves’ the
work by pointing to a supposedly quasi-ethical purpose embodied
in the text (‘representing the real’) and simultaneously downplaying
the significance of the (grotesque) aestheticapproach taken. Ruskin’s
recuperation of Dickens that I discuss in the first chapter is a key
example of such a move.
I have therefore sought in this study to preserve the possibility
of the grotesque outside this kind of interpretation, and to avoid
the temptation of reading the contemporary grotesque as being