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6 The publicity of unchaste sexuality In the early twentieth century, the questioning of the classical theories of publicity in theater served the cause of both chaste and obscene nudity. In the war of the chaste nudes, enterprising individuals used both the purity of immobile artists and the lack of publicity in performances to avoid the threats from Article 330 of the Penal Code. During this period the first challenges to publicity developed from new theories of consent at performances. Their arguments laboriously sought to legitimize a specific form of
3 The invention of interior publicity The major crusade by the courts of the second half of the nineteenth century to annex an ever-increasing number of private spaces to the public world left no choice for the population than to hide systematically in the only places where they could indulge in sexual behavior without fear of being condemned. These places were private spaces where the public could not penetrate because they were both inaccessible and invisible from the outside. There, those who indulged in sexual activities in the presence of others did not
Hurd agreed with Thatcher's premise that press and media coverage was the oxygen that succoured terrorism. In order ‘to isolate the terrorists from the communities within which they operate’, they had argued that terrorists must be starved of that oxygen. 3 This oxygen of publicity was the other side of the economics of truth. Both imagined a relationship between the press, the public and the government, and who does, or doesn't get to speak for whom. Thatcher used the phrase at a speech to the American Bar
importance of sustaining public enthusiasm, winning the sympathy of neutral nations and subverting enemy morale. Central to this process was the press. By the end of the war ‘a great historical divide’ had been passed in the spheres of government opinion manipulation and propaganda. 2 Therefore, to appreciate India Office war publicity waged through
2 British landscapes in pre-Second World War film publicity Paul Moody A romanticised concept of pastoral life was widely established in British culture by the start of the twentieth century, having been popularised by, among others, the pre-Raphaelites as an ‘idealised medieval vision’1 since the late 1800s, and used as shorthand for the essence of the British national character, the pedigree of which was located in the ‘green and pleasant fields’ of the (mainly English) countryside. This conflation of land and identity circulated through popular, commercial
did not mean only political and administrative reform. He was alert to the potential power of the press and believed that publicity and public accountability would have to assume a central place in the future governance of India. 7 During the Montagu-Chelmsford administration attempts to influence newspaper reporting were more thoroughgoing than ever before. Montagu, the son of
16 The ‘oxygen of publicity’ and the suffocation of censorship: national newspaper representations of the British broadcasting ban (1988–94) Max Pettigrew The Northern Ireland conflict was conducted through a combination of war, words and silence.1 Besides the obvious physical aspect of the conflict, discursive and censorship battles were inseparable aspects too. This chapter examines a crucial period in which the conflict shifted into the peace process. It was also a period that saw direct censorship over the British broadcast media. Whereas indirect censorship
humanitarian campaigns that all mixed fundraising, awareness and education. This period was indeed a laboratory for aid agencies to develop and adapt their communication practices, with blurred lines between publicity and propaganda, promotion, identity, and reputation. The paper first examines the creation of humanitarian films in the 1920s that resulted from competing communication strategies among organizations. It then reflects on the use of humanitarian cinema, both as a mean to advertise, as well as to make public claims. The paper continues by exploring the
In studio publicity, trade papers, reviews, articles, and educational materials, Joseph L. Mankiewiczs Julius Caesar (1953) was described and accepted as a faithful and mostly pleasing adaptation of Shakespearean drama to the Hollywood screen. As Variety accurately predicted, it achieved four Oscar nominations, one award for art direction and set decoration, high grosses, a hit soundtrack album, and several subsequent revivals. With the content more or less given, contemporary discussion focussed closely on how the verbal had been visualised, on how theatre had been turned into cinema – in short, on the film‘s style. It is with contemporary and subsequent readings of the film‘s style that this article is concerned, where, following David Bordwell, style is taken to mean ‘a films systematic and significant use of techniques of the medium’. But whereas Bordwell analyses film style directly in terms of an aesthetic history he considers to be distinct from the history of the film industry, its technology, or a films relation to society, I explore interpretations of one film‘s style that are heavily invested with socio-political meaning. If, in Bordwell‘s organic metaphor, style is the flesh of film, these readings of style explicitly dress that flesh in socio-political clothing. This analysis of Julius Caesar, then, is not another contribution to debates about adaptation, theatre on film, or Shakespeare on screen, but about the politics of film style.
Leni Riefenstahl was one of filmmakings most contentious directors. The power of her epic documentaries, Triumph of the Will (1935) and Olympia (1938), have cemented her place in film history. More criticism has been written about Riefenstahl than any other director, except perhaps Hitchcock and Welles. Publicity surrounding the publication of an illustrated book marking her centenary reawakened debates about Riefenstahl‘s career in film and her involvement with the Third Reich. In this article, I focus on one of the key films which emerged from that relationship, Triumph of the Will (Triumph des Willens), which I discussed at length in my interview with Riefenstahl. Her recollections were sharp and I was intrigued by some of her answers, not for what new insight they offered, but for how they reaffirmed how she wished others to interpret her films and motivations. In particular, I was interested in the way she considered Triumph of the Will to be a realistic portrayal of the Nazi‘s 1934 Nuremberg Rally and the events surrounding it, and her role as a filmmaker in shaping that representation.