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Focusing on the mid-1960s to mid-1970s, this chapter considers performances in films that reflect a vision of independent cinema with complex links between independent production companies and major studios, and with an approach to narrative and visual style that often questions dominant representation and its conventions. The chapter features a detailed case study of BBS, one of the era’s most celebrated independent production companies, and the ways its practices encouraged collaboration between actors and directors. It examines the BBS-produced/Columbia-distributed Five Easy Pieces (Rafelson, 1970), focusing on the role the film’s star, Jack Nicholson, played in the production process. It provides an overview of actors’ involvement in filmmaking during the period, paying particular attention to the ways they became hyphenates and/or contributed materially to the production process. It looks at the extent to which influences from exploitation film and art cinema found their way into Hollywood cinema through actors and their companies. It shows how actors affected the themes in the era’s films, encouraged genre experimentation, and fostered a new realism that depended on new stars and new approaches to performance.

Christopher Brookmyre is a Scottish crime writer whose comic novels provide a sardonic and sometimes snarling commentary on popular culture and modern life. This is particularly acute in the detective novels set in Scotland, in which Brookmyre satirises the influence of business practices in organisations such as the National Health Service. Brookmyre is known for his fast-paced plotting, dark humour and unusual book titles, many of which are based on popular phrases, cliches and sayings such as Quite Ugly One Morning (1996) and All Fun and Games Until Somebody Loses an Eye (2005). Brookmyre’s American counterparts in terms of style are Elmore Leonard and, as he has admitted himself, Carl Hiaasen.

Frederick Forsyth is a British thriller writer whose first novel, The Day of the Jackal (1971), became an international bestseller. Like Forsyth’s later novels, it blends well-researched set pieces based on real events, real technical details, and real people, with fictional plotlines. This combination of real and imaginary gives Forsyth’s books an air of documentary authority, especially when delivered in his characteristically plot-driven style. Forsyth is also well known for his right-wing political views, in particular his opposition to Britain’s membership of the European Union, and his advocacy of constitutional monarchy.

Edwin Cannan was appointed founding Professor of Political Economy at London School of Economics (LSE) in 1907, having taught at the School from 1895. He had earlier made his mark as a historical scholar of economics, most notably in editing an edition of Adam Smith’s Lectures in 1896 and then in 1904 editing a new edition of Smith’s Wealth of Nations that remained the standard work of reference until 1976. His sceptical, not to say combatively liberal, approach to economic analysis was a major factor in the creation of a distinct LSE style during the interwar years, conveyed to generations of students in his lectures on the principles of economics.

John Myatt is an artist who is much sought after and admired for his works, many of which are commissioned and labelled ‘genuine fakes’. He has achieved prominence and fame as a media identity, largely through the Sky TV series Mastering the Art. In January 2017, John Myatt very generously agreed to participate in an international workshop on art fraud organised by the editors of this book and held at the Royal United Services Institute in Whitehall, London. The workshop proceedings were all recorded, including the edited version of the session at which John Myatt spoke and responded to questions from the audience of scholars and practitioners. This chapter is the transcript of this talk. The session was chaired by Duncan Chappell and the session’s background screen slide was the Myatt painting, now on the cover of this book, in the style of the famous American Pop Artist Roy Lichtenstein.

For the last three decades of the twentieth century the Lambert Puppet Theatre was effectively the national children’s theatre of Ireland. Not tied to any specific educational programme (apart from the Safe Cross Code for crossing the road) it was able to offer quality entertainment to the young and the not so young. Emerging at a time when live puppet theatre was almost forgotten, Eugene Lambert (1928–2010) created a style of puppet theatre with a particular Irish flavour, frequently using techniques belonging to the more popular tradition of the Christmas pantomime. This chapter provides context for a discussion of puppet theatre in Ireland, before offering a considered view of the Lambert family’s work and its distinctive contributions to Irish theatre.

Making waves with its Expressionist-inspired, visually stunning shows, Dublin-based Co-Motion Theatre Company debuted in 1985 to became one of the most successful independent companies of the late 1980s and early 1990s. A little more than a decade later, though, Co-Motion bowed to financial and administrative pressures, wrapping up in 1997. Drawing its roots from the style and interests of Co-Motion Theatre Company, Co-Motion Media appeared on the Dublin theatrical landscape in 2015.

Robert Sherwood’s play The Petrified Forest was a star vehicle for Leslie Howard, who not only starred in it but also co-produced the stage version at the Broadhurst Theatre in New York in the first half of 1935. Thereafter, the play was faithfully adapted to the big screen and released as a Warner movie in February 1936, with both Leslie Howard and Humphrey Bogart reprising their stage performances. Focusing mainly on Howard’s subtle and naturalistic underplaying, this chapter explores how an element of theatricality was retained despite a lack of emphatic gestures and facial expressions. It also considers the reasons for Bette Davis’ subdued performance and how underplaying contributed to her development of a more polished acting style, more fully utilized by Warners after 1936.

The Depression impacted heavily on Warners in 1933, making it almost impossible to retain high-salaried stars and produce big-budget prestige pictures based on stage plays. Yet the company did not sever its Broadway connections. Having recruited numerous Broadway performers, the studio capitalized on its investment with lucrative all-star musicals, such as Gold Diggers of 1933. Meanwhile, Ruth Chatterton’s films maintained production of prestige star vehicles. Analysis of two scenes from her melodrama Lilly Turner (1933), based on a 1932 stage play, reveals a subtle underplaying that enabled this star of the American stage and screen to utilize her naturalistic acting style. An examination of the film’s critical reception, however, shows that greater praise was afforded to Chatterton’s supporting cast, notably Guy Kibbee and Frank McHugh.

During the mid-1920s, Warners recruited Broadway’s biggest stars, including John Barrymore and Al Jolson. Barrymore was at the height of his acting career when he starred in Warners’ 1924 photoplay of Clyde Fitch’s Beau Brummel. This play, written for Richard Mansfield in 1890, was radically revised to accommodate Barrymore’s distinctive star image and acting style, enabling him to showcase his versatility by using classicism, naturalism and expressionism. It was Mansfield’s Don Juan, however, that became Barrymore’s box-office hit in 1926, partly due to its synchronized soundtrack of music and sound effects. Of course, Jolson’s movies proved even more profitable, notably The Jazz Singer (1927) and The Singing Fool (1928), as did many Broadway-themed talkies, such as Tenderloin (1928) and Gold Diggers of Broadway (1929).

This chapter suggests that despite gothic’s tendency to reinstate order, disturbances resonate at a narrative’s ending. Motivated by a cyclical return of the repressed, gothic has a propensity for transgression, and for critiquing repression. The chapter explores the life–death quality of cinema, and the subtleties of style and tone that formulate a specifically ‘cinematic gothic.’ Sigmund Freud’s ‘The Uncanny’ helps to articulate the dualities of public and private, or external and internal, suggesting the haunting return of something that should have remained hidden. Horror upsurges from within—devastating boundaries between self and ‘other’ and preconceived concepts of ‘home.’ Cinematic devices help to ignite gothic concerns, such as the doppelganger and split self, excess, fantasy /reality boundaries, or the persistence of the past within the present.

During a diplomatic mission to Adrianople (today’s Erdine) in 1675, members of the Levant Company recorded their observations of two festivals as well as an audience with sultan Mehmed IV. Using the lens of their own culture, the English both condemned and admired the activities and their architectural settings. Architects back home shared this “imperial envy” and used the Ottoman and other living empires as models for the idea of a new British nation with its own national style.

The introduction reviews the reception of Said’s Orientalism in early modern studies and situates the volume within the critical discourse about Orientalism by early modernists across disciplines. The authors propose to re-engage with the Saidian concept of Orientalism and suggest that the Orientalism of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries constitutes a distinct historical chapter, characterized by its rhetorical multiplicity and dialectic quality. Early modern Orientalism is best understood as an open, creative, and flexible discourse, as a style of thought rather than a system of knowledge. The authors then demonstrate how the chapters of this interdisciplinary collection relate to the proposed dialectics of early modern Orientalism and to each other, creating dialectic effects among themselves.

Diana Taylor considers the influential work of Jesusa Rodriguez and Liliana Felipe who, when they fell in love in Mexico City in 1979, brought together two distinct but related histories of violence in the Americas. While Felipe speaks of the Argentine dictadura (dictatorship) and Rodriguez refers to Mexico’s dictablanda (‘soft power’), Taylor shows that behind the very obvious difference in style, each of these forms of governance has served to usher in and bolster neoliberal economic policy. Since shutting down their cabaret space, El Habito (The Habit), in 2005, Rodriguez and Felipe have entered a different, some would say darker, period of their collaborative performance work. This chapter explores the impact of the shift to savage neoliberalism on their career-long performance activism.

This chapter aims to show how a Korean theatre company, Sinhyup played a pivotal role in shaping a theatre culture in Korea during the period of the Korean Civil War (1951–1953). The Korean word ‘Sinhyup’ means ‘a New Theatre Society’. It was the only theatre company to produce the work in times of the Korean War. For this, I will argue how this theatre company is positioned in the context of Korean theatre history particularly in the 1950s. Then I will explore how the Sinhyup worked as an entertainment troupe and how it helped to spread an anti-communist ideology throughout the performances. I will also show how Western translated plays—which the Sinhyup introduced and performed during the war, such as Hamlet,—contributed to shaping a new trend of Korean theatre at that time, in relation to a new style of acting.

There seems to be the idea that everything has been written on John Williams, because he is such a famous film composer. Yet, this is not true at all, since academic studies of his work are rare. Moreover, when discussed critically, if not academically, the take on Williams’s work is often oversimplified if not prejudiced. On the other hand, the stylistic influence of Williams’s work on contemporary scoring has also been overstated by fans and favourable critics. The use of big orchestras and dense sound textures is actually the only thing that contemporary mainstream Hollywood composers such as Hans Zimmer seem to have inherited from him, certainly not Williams’s leitmotivic, symphonic, and classical-hollywood-sounding style. This chapter aims at defining Williams’s contribution to contemporary scoring in fairer terms. The essay surveys Williams’s career in terms of his revival of the musical style and repertoire of Hollywood’s Golden Age, and compares his style with the general style of mainstream contemporary film music.

The author went to Korea determined to take inspiration from their working methods for creating a mise en scene and performance analysis. He found his hosts were very familiar with the latest artistic trends (postmodernism, postdramatic practice, among others), concerned not to miss out on the next American or European critical wave. They had seen Wilson, Lepage, and Suzuki, who had all made stops in Seoul. His Korean students, like their British or French counterparts, struggled to wield the tools of classical dramaturgical analysis. His actors quickly “found” their acting style and did not utilize the Western theoretical framework of mise en scene. The author was wary of returning to Brechtian notions of theater, to political analysis, but finally embraced them. Meanwhile, his colleagues set about ordering articles on postdramaturgy, postdramatic theater, performativity and globalization.

Born in Kharkov (present-day Ukraine) on November 12, 1937, Mikhail Berman-Tsikinovsky is a physician and playwright who has lived in the United States since 1978. He is heir to the Russian dynasty of doctor-writers, the most prominent one being Anton Chekhov. Berman-Tsikinovsky’s play Chekhov on Devon (1997) is one of his most representative works, born from his professional wisdom as a doctor and his personal experience as a Russian immigrant. Through a meta-theatrical mechanism based on Luigi Pirandello’s style, the play depicts the doctor-writer Anatoly Petrovich Chekhov, Berman-Tsikinovsky’s alter ego, who considers himself to be the historical Chekhov. The audience discovers the problems of the Slavic immigrant community in Chicago: the re-construction of a new existence abroad, the use of a different language, the homesickness, the quest for freedom, and the fight against nostalgia.

Three productions by young director Kim Hyun-Tak are analyzed and their acting style compared with Grotowski’s early productions of classics.

“Decolonizing Victorian Anthropology (Scenes of Clerical Life and Adam Bede),” addresses the relationship between anthropology and the colonial project. Eliot was perhaps the Victorian novelist most informed about developments in anthropology and natural history, and her approach to a style of anthropological fiction, articulated in an early poetics of fiction, grew from this awareness. There is an element of anthropological self-fashioning in the early fiction, the interplay of outsiders and insiders mimicking the colonial encounter. The chapter considers the influence of Lewes’s natural history on Eliot’s deployment of the participant observer convention, and John Martyn’s autobiographical writings in the construction of the Rev. Tryan in “Janet’s Repentance.” In Adam Bede, Eliot’s pastoral realism refocuses on colonial Britain, and the novel is read here as a colonial allegory advocating a style of domestic colonialism.

Lee Yeong-Seok has adapted George Orwell’s novel Coming Up for Air for two actors. The historical, cultural and generic difference is overcome by the invention of an original acting and staging style, a ‘tellacting’, which combines acting and storytelling.

One of the most significant evolutions in the globalization of belly dance has been the development of American Tribal Style Belly Dance from the environs of San Francisco. Just as Hollywood has influenced film around the world, the development of American Tribal Style in San Francisco has had a global impact. This chapter provides a historical overview of the evolution of this form through the lives of four dancers, Jamila Salimpour, who provided the impetus for its development, John Compton who created a role for male dancers, Carolena Nericcio-Bohlman, who established vocabulary for it and Paulette Rees-Denis who evolved the concept of tribal as a mode of consciousness.

The Gothic Belly Dance or the Raqs Gothique movement (GBD), as an extension of the Goth movement, is a form of resistance to the inclusiveness of the tribe of American Tribal Style (ATS). Like its predecessor American Tribal Style, it exists because of belly dance’s primary enactment as a solo improvisational form. This encourages each new generation of dancers to discover their dancing self within their social/cultural environment. Some dancers perform the history of the dance and various forms of identity by embracing the Egyptian raqs sharqi beside American Tribal and Gothic Belly Dance. Other dancers have evolved what they refer to as Fusion Belly Dance, an amalgamation of movement vocabularies that can include hip-hop, Bollywood, classical Indian dance forms and Hawaiian Hula.

Chapter 4 considers cultural developments that led Method acting to be mistakenly seen as the only emotion-based, internal approach to performance. It explores tensions created by the influence that British traditions have had on American film and theatre, and the attack on British and Anglo-American actors mounted by members of the Actors Studio starting in the late 1940s. The chapter shows that Montgomery Clift and Marlon Brando, whose performances in the late 1940s and early 1950s seemed to offer a new “American” style, were not Method actors; Clift studied with Alfred Lunt, and Marlon Brando worked with Stella Adler. The chapter also explores ways in which Elia Kazan’s and Marilyn Monroe’s connection to the Actors Studio contributed to Method acting’s visibility in American popular culture.

Maras examines the work of Warwick Thornton, a trained writer, cinematographer and director, with deep roots to Indigenous communities in Central Australia. The chapter examines key themes in his approach: including the impact of cinematography on his thinking about performance, scripting with sound and the role of the Indigenous filmmaker today. In the interview that forms the second part of the chapter, Thornton elaborates on his stylistic choices, his relationship to writing, Indigenous communities and reflects on his working methods in Samson and Delilah, as well as his earlier short films.

When David Hume wrote to Baron de Montesquieu ‘J’ai consacre ma vie a la philosophie et aux belles-lettres’,1 he was not describing himself as having two separate callings. His was a single vocation — one involving the expression of deep thought through beautiful writing.2 This vocation did not come naturally or easily to Hume. He struggled continually to reshape his approach to prose, famously renouncing the Treatise of Human Nature as a literary failure and radically revising the presentation of his philosophy in the Essays and two Enquiries. This essay will focus on Hume’s struggle between two modes of moral-philosophical composition prevalent in his day: the cold, unemotional style associated with experimental science that Hume metaphorically labels anatomy’ and the warm, rhetorical style which he labels ‘painting’.

American playwright Tony Kushner is best known for his two-part Pulitzer Prize-winning play Angels in America: A Gay Fantasia on National Themes (1993). Angels in America thematizes the Reagan administration’s response to the AIDS epidemic in the 1980s as a literal and metaphoric exposition of the corruption within the American legal and political system. The work moves between long, didactic political arguments between characters on the state of the American legal and political system to fantastical scenes in which glittering angels come crashing through New York apartment and hospital ceilings to deliver messages to sick mortals. Kushner’s dramatic style is flamboyant and playful as well as politically engaged and instructive. The Brechtian imperative that learning should be enjoyable is realized in Kushner’s merging of complex political and philosophical ideas with the glamour and ironic humour of a drag performance.

Amitava Kumar’s review of The White Tiger (2008) offers a provocative, if misplaced, critique of Aravind Adiga’s Man Booker Prize-winning novel. He dismisses its characterization as ‘utterly cartoonish, like the characters in a bad Bollywood melodrama’, and finds Adiga’s ‘presentation of ordinary people […] not only trite but offensive’ (Kumar 2008). Kumar’s objection is Adiga’s apparent assumption that he can ‘authentically’ represent the inner thoughts of a Bihari villager called Balram, the novel’s first-person narrator. However, Kumar’s confession that he projects his own personal anxieties as a novelist onto The White Tiger may explain why he seems to misread the parodical style that informs Adiga’s characterization and which, in a review of Adiga's more recent novel, Last Man in Tower (2011), Peter Carty has described as an aspect of the ‘Dickensian breadth’ of Adiga’s prose (Carty 2011). It is the melodramatic tendencies of Adiga’s novels—a rhetorical tactic typical of the nineteenth-century novelist and especially, as Juliet John has shown, in the portrayal of his villains (John 2003, pp. 1–2) that are here skilfully imitated to buttress the satirical edge of Adiga’s social commentary through the first-person narrative of his own villain, Balram Halwai.

Historians writing about the 1798 French invasion of Egypt style Napoleon Bonaparte as the grand sultan (Sultan Kebir) and conqueror of Egypt.1 By contrast, Ottoman Sultan Se lim III (1787–1807) has been viewed as weak, indecisive and incapable of implementing his visionary reform agenda, in a general condemnation of Ottoman feebleness that marks most of the well-known narratives. The Bonaparte invasion inaugurated an interventionist school of both British and French imperialism, a fumbling towards imperial methods, driven by their great power rivalries with Russia and later Prussia, but equally committed to a civilizing mission and the preferential markets represented by the sprawling Ottoman Empire.

This letter links several objects that I want to examine in the context of Mary Robinson’s burgeoning career as an author in the late 1780s and early 1790s. Robinson’s transformation of herself from washed-up actress to one of the most successful and prolific authors of the 1790s—“the English Sappho,” to invoke one of the soubriquets applied to her by the London press—may be said to reach critical mass with the publication of her Poems of 1791. My aim in this chapter is to examine that book along with two of its contents: the frontispiece portrait engraved by Thomas Burke from the1783 “Contemplation” portrait by Reynolds, the picture he refers to in the postscript to his letter; and the penultimate poem in the volume, Ainsi va le monde. In comparison to the other poet-celebrities that I consider in this study, Alexander Pope and Lord Byron, relatively little of Robinson’s correspondence survives, and the 1790 letter from Reynolds thus stands as critical documentary evidence pointing to Robinson’s involvement in the design of her forthcoming collection. The language of his letter suggests that the sixty-seven-year-old Reynolds, his eyesight failing and no longer “much in the habit of going out,” yet retains a vivid sense of the feints and parries required to refashion a public image in London’s commercial venues for art and literature—the necessity of flattering while forbearing to do so, for example, and the utility of the playful bribe composed in the high style.

The white heat of the Paris clinics helped in many ways to create a new ‘modern’ style of medicine: one that blended medical and surgical ideas, was research and teaching intensive, and which was, in other words, an early version of the phenomenon that we would now describe as ‘academic medicine’. An important feature of this new trend was the extent to which ‘specialist’ knowledge and practices could be rapidly developed. Take the career of Pierre-Joseph Desault, for instance, a man who began his professional life relatively inauspiciously as a barber-surgeon but who would go on to found famous centres for academic surgery, first at the Charite then at the Hotel Dieu in late eighteenth century Paris.3 At the College of Surgery, Desault oversaw the building of a grand surgical amphitheatre that allowed students to observe and be instructed on live surgeries.4 A similar innovation on the wards, where Desault insisted that surgical students be placed in charge of wards—caring for patients and maintaining records—was an enormously important step, one that opened a new world of practical opportunities for would-be practitioners just as their elevation in status itself symbolized the ascendant status of academic surgery as a whole.

This chapter argues that Alexandra, Princess of Wales, followed a fashion strategy to engage with the people by inspiring awe and admiration and to serve as a role model. With respect to spheres of influence, the notion of a fashion strategy goes beyond sartorial strategies as it constitutes a means of exerting soft power and influence by example. Examples of fashion strategies employed by the ‘fashionable princess’ are discussed in order to introduce the notion of a gender-specific (soft) power division of labour between the royal couple as they provided a differentiated identification potential. The chapter shows that Alexandra’s style served as a reference point and a medium of communication, and how gendered audiences and consumers were (re-)produced. This throws light on the relationship between the attractions of attire and the popularity of the British monarchy.

Jane Austen and Lord Byron are strange bedfellows. Perhaps even more so than Elizabeth Gaskell and George Eliot, the focus of subsequent chapters, the inclusion of Austen in this book may seem misplaced. Yet, despite the seeming incompatibility of Austen and Byron, authors and critics have commented on this unlikely couple if only to emphasise differences in the scope and style of their work and in their respective life experiences. As Rachel Brownstein suggests, Austen and Byron, close contemporaries, beg to be talked about together, and frequently have been. They seem to embody and invite and thus reinforce familiar binary oppositions: male and female, free and constrained, celebrated and obscure, self-indulgent aristocrat and saving, respectable homebody; Romantic poet and domestic novelist, careless producer of endless versions and careful rewriter, oversexed and asexual, sinner and saint; a handsome creature we have many gorgeous portraits of and a sharp little face in a sketch.1

This paper, especially written especially for our volumes following a suggestion by G.C. Harcourt, arises from a set of notes I wrote in July 2014 for my long-time friend, Thomas Ferguson, Professor of Political Science at the University of Massachusetts in Boston and a leading member of the Institute of New Economic Thinking, who asked me to prepare a point by point briefing on Pasinetti’s work in the light of a meeting with him in Milan. In the present essay the sequence is kept as in the original notes with some important additions while the text has been changed into a more discursive style.

Many literary critics have praised Kenneth Fearing’s lyrical ability to convey the consumer culture of his time. One means by which he achieved his unique style was through lexeme repetition, occasionally mimicking advertisement marketing. In later years, some critics claimed that Fearing was merely reworking his earlier, successful material. To determine if Fearing’s poetry demonstrates a stylistic change, this study undertakes a statistical analysis on Fearing’s work by looking across his six major poetry collections. I establish the hypothesis that Fearing does go through a stylistic shift and that his later work neither replicates nor imitates his earlier poetry; instead, the data reveals that Fearing did indeed develop and enter a new phase of poetic style in later years.

Hand-Made Television explores the ongoing enchantment of many of the much-loved stop-frame children's television programmes of 1960s and 1970s Britain. The first academic work to analyse programmes such as Pogles' Wood (1966), Clangers (1969), Bagpuss (1974) (Smallfilms) and Gordon Murray's Camberwick Green (1966), Trumpton (1967) and Chigley (1969), the book connects these series to their social and historical contexts while providing in-depth analyses of their themes and hand-made aesthetics. Hand-Made Television shows that the appeal of these programmes is rooted not only in their participatory address and evocation of a pastoral English past, but also in the connection of their stop-frame aesthetics to the actions of childhood play. This book makes a significant contribution to both Animation Studies and Television Studies; combining scholarly rigour with an accessible style, it is suitable for scholars as well as fans of these iconic British children's programmes.

“Me used to be angry young man,” sang Paul McCartney in “Getting Better,” evoking the literary and artistic movement that—along with rock ‘n’ roll—swept across Great Britain in 1956. Though largely supplanted by the British satire boom of the 1960s, the Angry Young Men’s (AYM) Anglophone existentialism resonated through the Beatles’ golden decade, patterning their evolution from cheery pop stars to socially conscious rock poets. While the Beatles never acknowledged any direct influence by the AYM, the band’s post-1966 turn toward avant-garde experimentalism and darker lyrical subject matter bears the imprint of central AYM figures such as Kingsley Amis, Philip Larkin, and John Braine. This essay traces the AYM’s indirect influence on the Beatles, recounting how teenaged John, Paul, George, and Ringo would have experienced the Angry Young Men in 1950s Liverpool. As Humphrey Carpenter has written, the AYM—in their disgust at the “worn out and conservative mores of the society in which they found themselves”—established the keynote of the 1960s satirists, whose tone and style the Beatles increasingly adopted. Though conventionally credited with having created the hippie ethic of the 1960s, the Beatles were just as much a musical, artistic, and cultural product of the “angry decade” of the 1950s.

Garvey uses the late career of James Mason to consider how questions of stardom, performance, and gender are inflected by ageing. Establishing the actor’s core screen persona as that of the ‘perverse patriarch’, he examines how this is deployed and modified in later films such as North by Northwest, against the ageless charisma of Cary Grant, and Lolita, where Mason is used to embody the exhausted values of an old Europe. Garvey shows how the actor’s combative image, both on- and off-screen, mellows from the 1960s onwards, and his performance style recedes towards minimalism. Mason’s acclaimed final roles, in Doctor Fischer of Geneva and The Shooting Party, are analysed as exemplars of his late career style.

Polish writer Jacek Podsiadlo’s story of a fictitious pilgrimage to Bratislava to find Egon Bondy, the one-time guiding spirit of the Prague underground, begins in the style of an epiphany: ‘And suddenly we knew that we would go to Bratislava, to Egon, the bright reference point on the gloomy firmament of our youth, who with his shiny red polka-dot tie lit up many a dark night’1 (Podsiadlo, 2008, p. 245). The story was published in 2008 and turns out to be a series of reflections about Bondy, writing, art in general, cowboys and Indians, friendship, chance and death, a neighbour with her leg in a cast, Bratislava, and the joy that can come from the unreserved admiration evoked in the story’s title: Total and realistic thanksgiving pilgrimage to the holy relics of Egon Bondy, father of our fathers and apostle of healing work, in the year of our Lord 1352 according to the Rhaeto-Romanic calendar (Podroz dziekczynno-blagalna, totalna i realistyczna do swietych relikwii Egona Bondy’ego, Ojca Ojcow naszych i apostola uzdrawiaj?acej pracy, roku Panskiego 1352 wedlug numeracji retorumunskiej).

It is illogical to conclude from his being the most financially successful filmmaker of all time that there is little or nothing of philosophical and social value in the work of Steven Spielberg. Yet, exactly because he has had such intensive popular appeal and perhaps also because when, infrequently, he has spoken of his career he has been so articulate (if not glib), Spielberg has proved anathema to widespread serious interest, achieving at best the status of a man who can be written about because he has made a number of provocative or beguiling films but never quite managed to become the sort of auteur, with the recognisable style and coherent obsessions, who merits inclusion in a directorial canon.

The success of the Los Angeles Quartet left James Ellroy with the dilemma of how to make his next project even more ambitious and epic in scope. He could not simply continue to write post-war crime novels set in LA, as noir and its birthplace had become limitations to him. In typically grandiose style, Ellroy declared that any new novels would have to be vastly superior to his preceding works: From The Big Nowhere on I formed a new covenant with myself—a covenant of consciousness. The covenant goes something like this: every book has to be conceived as bigger, better, stronger, and more stylistically evolved than the book that preceded it. (Silet 1995: 47)

This case study examines the three extant manuscript magazines produced by the Wellpark Free Church Young Men’s Literary Society, one of many similar types of clubs and societies in Glasgow throughout the nineteenth century formed for the purpose of ‘mutual improvement’. The society’s magazines provide useful tools to book historians and historians of reading. They gave members a chance to practise and develop their style, penmanship, and skills in writing essays and poetry, and an opportunity to display their artwork, offering a platform for their work to be critically assessed by their peers. Members’ contributions—along with the peer criticisms that immediately follow—offer a wealth of information on various aspects of late-Victorian life more generally. Importantly, they are also a genre that has not been previously studied.

All political speakers develop their oratorical techniques. Robert Francis Kennedy’s (RFK’s) style evolved in such a way that by the end of his short career his oratorical appeal was inseparable from his charisma and the interaction between them was strengthened by the themes which he focused upon in the circumstances of a divided country in the late 1960s. It was his charisma which ultimately became the main characteristic of his oratory. If some of the charisma was inherited from the aura of the family name, and reflected a time when, as the main chronicler of presidential elections of the time expressed it, there was — craving for heroes’ (White, 1969: 151) he nevertheless enhanced his oratory as his career progressed.

The iconic image of the criminal corpse has been closely associated in historical accounts with one legendary dissection room in early modern England. Section 1 of this fourth chapter revisits that well-known venue by joining the audience looking at the condemned laid out on the celebrated stage of Surgeon’s Hall in London. It does so because this central location has been seen by historians of crime and medicine as a standard-bearer for criminal dissections covering all of Georgian society over the course of the long–eighteenth and early–nineteenth centuries. It is undeniable that inside the main anatomical building in the capital an ‘old style’ of anatomy teaching took place on a regular basis under the Murder Act. This however soon proved to be a medico-legal shortcoming once a ‘new style’ of anatomy came into vogue during the 1790s. By then leading surgeons that did criminal dissections were being tarnished with a lacklustre reputation, even amongst rank and file members of the London Company. This meant that their medico-legal authority was increasingly dubious. It transpired that their traditions were too conservative at a time when anatomy was blossoming across Europe. As it burst its disciplinary boundaries, embracing morbid pathology with its associated new research thrust, London surgeons started to look lacklustre. A prime location of post-execution ‘harm’ that has dominated the historical literature does not then on closer inspection merit its long-term reputation for teaching and research excellence. Progressively, Surgeon’s Hall was over-shadowed by the rising prominence of provincial theatres in the North, South and Midlands of England too. There, criminal dissections served an expanding medical sector by 1800.

This brief survey of Lead’s legacy indicates that although Lead’s writings enjoyed a widespread if mixed continental reception in German and Dutch translation, English editions of her work were largely ignored by her contemporaries. During the eighteenth century she initially attracted readers generally interested either in Jacob Boehme or the doctrine of universal salvation. Afterwards she was read by several people attracted to Emanuel Swedenborg’s teachings and subsequently by certain followers of Joanna Southcott. All the same, outside these small circles her prophetic pretensions and obscure style tended to be judged harshly. Such criticism was not new. But it meant that there was greater interest in Lead’s writings among German rather than English speakers—at least until the mid-1970s. Since then, in the wake of Second Wave Feminism Lead’s reputation has undergone a remarkable ascent from the depths of disdain to the peaks of veneration.

In this interview, we ask about the collaborative origins of the sound design of The Bridge. We also explore the distinctive sound design style and its continuance across multiple directors, episodes and series. The final section of the interview investigates interactions between sound design and music through the relationship between sound designer and composer.

‘James Ellroy’ came into being with the publication of his first novel Brown’s Requiem in 1981. Before that, Ellroy was known by his name at birth, Lee Earle Ellroy. The name change marked a significant moment in his long transition from alcohol- and drug-addicted vagrant to author. Yet despite this remarkable metamorphosis, and Ellroy’s strong and powerful writing in his early novels, much of his early literary career was plagued by missed opportunities and messy compromises. Ellroy was able to find a publisher for his first novel remarkably quickly, bypassing the often long struggle aspiring writers face getting their work published. Yet he was unsatisfied in his ambitions: he had hoped he would achieve a new crime-fiction style with his early work.

The very finest of the banned Asian textiles, the type that a marquise might wear, were imported directly from India and China via the East India Companies. Both China and India had been famous for their textiles for many centuries before the first European ship ever rounded the Cape of Good Hope: India for its cottons and China as the fabled home of silk. White Indian muslins had already been appreciated by ancient Greeks and Romans for their lightness and sheer weave. In the modern period both plain and printed or painted cottons as well as cotton and silk mixes were traded to China, South Asia, the Mediterranean, the Middle East, and North Africa. The Mediterranean market in particular was thriving and some cottons would have reached Europe through the trade of the Italian merchant states, but the real influx began after the Europeans, starting with the Portuguese, established a seaborne direct trade to and from India in the sixteenth century.1

By James Ellroy’s own account, the LA Quartet was a remarkable achievement: ‘I have finished the LA Quartet. It is considered a monument of some sort—I consider it a great monument, like Mount Rushmore, and so does my dog, my wife, my agent and my current publisher’ (Duncan 1996: 74). Ellroy has never been prone to false modesty, and it would not be an exaggeration to state that the Quartet — The Black Dahlia (1987), The Big Nowhere (1988), L.A. Confidential (1990) and White Jazz (1992) — made Ellroy a celebrity crime writer and gave birth to a distinct writing style, ‘Ellrovian’ (Ellroy 2009a). The LA Quartet had three defining features which contributed to its success: a cinematic prose style, a self-referential take on noir and an epic narrative with seemingly endless capacity for continuation. Despite its name, Ellroy has not limited the Quartet series to four novels; rather he has continued to explore Quartet narratives in other formats such as short stories and interviews, culminating in his announcement in 2009 that he would write four prequels to the series.

Boulding found freedom in his new role as emeritus professor starting in the middle of 1980. The final 13 years of his life were productive and he felt at home in Colorado (more so than any other place he had lived in the United States). He believed the 1980s was perhaps the most productive decade of his life (Boulding, 1992b, p. ix). This decade, however, was about more than simply increased production of output. The quality and depth of his work during this time may have been some of his best. Part of this late creative fervor was likely the result of being 70 years old and free from the confines of both university life and professional obligations. Having already served as president of the American Economic Association and only lacking a Nobel Prize for accomplishments in economics, Boulding was freer than at any other time to let his thoughts flow. Arguably, this freedom had been building since his time at the University of Michigan when he became a rogue economist writing on topics and in a style that were too broad for the mainstream to accept (or much acknowledge). But the tone of his books and articles during his last years were more forward-thinking than his earlier work. Whereas his textbook Economic Analysis (1941a) and other books such as Ecodynamics (1978a) and Conflict and Defense (1962) were compilations of his articles and espoused theories and models about how the world functioned at those times, these later works were more about the future: issues of human betterment, power, and moderation.