Search

I present here a conversation featuring Sonal Jain and Mriganka Madhukaillya who form the Desire Machine Collective (DMC), Guwahati, and I, as a film historian, query them on ironic histories informing a mythic love triangle of contemporary Indian history—the Indian nation, Bombay cinema and the region of Kashmir. DMC did extensive research and documentation in Kashmir during the production of their video installation Nishan I. While working on Nishan I, DMC stumbled upon a number of cinema halls that have remained closed ever since 1989 when Islamic doctrinaires enforced a ban on the showing of Bombay and imported cinema in the Valley. Subsequently these halls came to be used by the occupying Indian military forces as barracks, interrogation centres and ammunition dumps. The conversation presented below takes up their experience of Kashmir, Bombay cinema and the workings of the nation-state during the making of Nishan I. What we get running through DMC’s ruminations about the fate of cinema in Kashmir and the logics of work such as Nishan I is a perception about the manner in which the senses become disciplined, furtive and strained in the presence of military disciplinary regimes and how such a phenomenon spells the death of cinema in the lives of the people in many senses beyond the literal closing down of cinema halls. Disciplinary regimes spell the end of organic pleasures that went into the making of cinema as a celebration of the potentials of life as such.

Alan Clarke’s Scum, originally made for the BBC’s Play for Today series in 1977, has become a cause célèbre in the history of film censorship. Although the film had already been scheduled, it was eventually banned and only broadcast in 1991, a year after the director’s death. How the decision was reached remains unclear but there is no denying that the film was deemed too controversial both by the Home Office and the newly-appointed BBC One controller Bill Cotton. Scum is set in a borstal, the name given to institutions for young offenders (a system that was to be abolished in 1982), and depicts life under a daily regimen of violence, bullying and racism. In response to the censoring of the original TV version, director Alan Clarke and screenwriter Roy Minton decided to re-shoot the film two years later for cinema release. Starting with a comparison between the two versions we will examine the different modalities of production and reception related to the two different media (television and cinema). Then we will analyse what makes the representation of a sensitive question such as living conditions in a borstal acceptable or not, considering the degrees of fictionalisation of the representation. Le film d’Alan Clarke Scum, réalisé en 1977 dans le cadre de la série BBC Play for Today, est devenu un cas célèbre de censure exercée par la chaîne publique britannique. Alors que sa diffusion sur le petit écran était déjà programmée, le film fut finalement censuré et ne put être retransmis qu’en 1991, un an après la mort du metteur en scène. Les circonstances précises de cette interdiction restent obscures mais il ne fait pas de doute que le téléfilm fut jugé trop polémique à la fois par le Home Office et Billy Cotton qui venait d’être nommé Contrôleur à la BBC One. De fait, Scum se situe dans un « borstal », nom donné aux institutions pour jeunes délinquants (institutions qui seront abolies en 1982) et dépeint la vie de ces jeunes soumis à un régime quotidien de violences, de brimades et de racisme. En réponse à la censure touchant le téléfilm, Alan Clarke et le scénariste Roy Minton décidèrent deux ans plus tard de tourner à nouveau le film cette fois pour le grand écran. Partant d’une comparaison des deux versions, nous examinerons les différentes modalités de production et de réception respectives aux deux média (télévision et cinéma) puis nous analyserons comment la représentation d’un sujet aussi sensible que la vie dans un « borstal » est traitée, ce qui la rend acceptable ou non selon son degré de fictionnalisation.

For thousands of years, man has watched stories told through flickering images, be they in front of a campfire or displayed on a television. Performance modes and styles have changed, but the human need to entertain and be entertained has remained a constant of our species. The performing arts are both the oldest forms of human expression and the greatest contemporary source of new cultural memes. Primitive man and the hippest club-goers both loved music and dance, although it is hard to tell whether they would appreciate each other's art. In this chapter, we will review the most significant people in the performing arts. We start from the era before recorded media and continue through the present day. We will analyze trends in classical and popular music, for clues as to which of these cultural streams is likely to dominate historically. We do the same for broadcast and visual media, studying the history of film, radio, and television as a guide to the future of communications. Before Recording Technology Sunday preachers can be thought of as early America's most prominent class of performing artist. The rigors of the six-day workweek and the strictures of the Christian Sabbath left little time for secular entertainment, but spellbinding ministers drew large crowds for Sunday worship. In his autobiography [Franklin, 1818], Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790) [35] estimated that more than 30,000 people attended a sermon by George Whitefield (1714–1770) [1258] in Philadelphia.

The year was 1917, in a crowded cinema in Penang, Malaysia. A policeman stood silently in the aisle,scrutinizing the movie on screen while glancing at the raucous audience. He is the Censor, the person authorizedon behalf of the Commissioner of Police, to approve or otherwise, the exhibition of cinematographic films to thepublic. This paper traces the historical development of film censors in Malaysia, from the time film first arrivedin Malaya in 1898, the legislation that controlled and censored the content of films which then leads to theappointment of policemen as Censors, and the development of the system which sets the foundation of filmcensorship for more than a century, until today, in Malaysia. Historically, the current system and policies of filmcensorship in Malaysia was a legacy by the British since late 18th century.

The history of film censorship in the United Kingdom has been well covered at national level, and several authoritative accounts published. However less attention has been paid to the bodies who still have the final say, the local licensing authorities, and there has been little analysis of their own records. This study looks at primary sources in two councils that were active censors during the 1950s and 1960s. It shows how councils such as Manchester were at the forefront of the move towards more liberal censorship of films in those decades, and were ahead of the British Board of Film Censors in their approach to film in areas such as educational films, depiction of nudity and "adult" story-lines and language. Other councils like Sale, just to the south of Manchester, attempted to 'hold back the tide' of X-films and the BBFC had to steer a course between these opposing tendencies as well as taking account of public and political opinion.As well as shedding new light on the local licensing process at the time, the study reveals some discrepancies in a standard reference. This research was originally carried out in 2002 for an Open University project and thus pre-dates the Licensing Act 2003.

Acknowledgements Introduction 1. A Brief History of Film History 2. Film as an Art Form 3. Film and Ideology 4. Film as a Historical Source 5. Film as a Social Practice 6. A Historical Sociology of Film Conclusion Glossary Notes Further Reading Index

Written at the beginning of the twenty-first century, Japanese critic and film historian Yomota Inuhiko’s observation about the interchangeability of the East Asian metropolises of Tokyo, Seoul, and Hong Kong through a shared consumption of “nostalgia/familiarity” rings true.2 What is debatable is whether such an observation would have had equal resonance two or three decades ago, when the cityscapes of Hong Kong, Seoul, Taipei, Singapore, and Tokyo in the 1960s and 1970s would have been more distinct from one another. However, over the intervening decades, interconnected socio-economic, cultural, and political factors—ranging from the emergence of urban middle classes across most East and many Southeast Asian societies, to the emergence of civil societies in previously authoritarian societies such as South Korea and Taiwan—have facilitated the emergence of the kind of commonality across urban East Asia that Yomota makes reference to in the above comment. Just as someone from Hong Kong would be overwhelmed by a sense of deja vu upon visiting Tokyo or Seoul, a person from Tokyo travelling to Hong Kong or Seoul would be struck with the same feeling. Before setting foot in a place, we are forced to associate with all sorts of images about that place. At the end of a labyrinth of copies of copies, we finally arrive, tired and exhausted, at the actual city, but it is no longer a heart-pounding adventure, but a simulation of an adventure — a “hyperreal” experience, to borrow Umberto Eco’s term. As long as we are in the midst of the structure of deja vu, we can no longer visit “real” unknown places anywhere on this earth.1

Cinema and film form an integral part of the culture of any period of the 20th century. The thematic preoccupations of film, music, fashion, art and literature can all offer important contributions to our understanding of any given historical period. Just as the film historian must strive for a rigorous methodology which acknowledges issues of historical research, the political and social historian should not ignore important cultural indicators. However, despite their importance as social and cultural texts, all film must be interpreted cautiously. Anyone can interpret a film and see within it relevant themes, political motivations, ideological messages and easily identifiable characters and narrative. It is also easy to ally particular films with particular social moments. Yet the relationship between film and culture is rarely as straightforward as it first appears. Any study of film must consider carefully the experiences of audiences and the implications of popular taste. Box office figures, letters to popular magazines and critical reviews all allow an insight into popular taste, but recovering the experiences of audiences is difficult and many of the surviving sources of material which can be used to document popular taste are frequently sparse and uneven.

Roughly halfway through Terence Fisher’s Kill Me Tomorrow (1957), a low-budget Renown film shot in London and starring Pat O’Brien as a reporter needing cash to fund his son’s eye operation, the hero discusses with the leader of a diamond-smuggling racket how much they would pay him to take the blame for a murder he saw them commit. This key scene, where morality cedes to money, is set in a dimly lit coffee bar, already a short-hand site for youthful anomie, deviancy and promiscuity. The nefariousness of the setting is underlined by the presence of a singer-guitarist: as the plot negotiates its major development, the camera diverts our attention onto Britain’s first rock’n’roll star, Tommy Steele, singing snatches of ‘Rebel Rock’ to a young and enthusiastic audience. While O’Brien exchanges his good name for the sake of his son’s health, Tommy is engendering teenage obstruction and ingratitude. ‘Are you ready, rebel?’ he sings, before presenting his strategy of non-cooperation: ‘If they’re gonna ask you nice, / Make them have to ask you twice. / Have a heart of ice / When you’re at home.’ The first film appearance of a British Rocker is simultaneously the focus for teenage energy and the voice of anti-parental rebellion. This fresh if uneasy relationship between the cinema and the teenager that Fisher’s February release narratively illustrates had, on a broader scale, already been musically brokered with the January announcement that Steele would star imminently in a semi-biographical feature film.1 The British pop music film was about to be born.

Silencing Cinema: An Introduction D.Biltereyst & R.Vande Winkel PART I: CENSORSHIP, REGULATION, AND HEGEMONY All the Power of the Law: Governmental Film Censorship in the United States L.Wittern-Keller American Morality Is Not to Be Trifled With : Content Regulation in Hollywood after 1968 J.Lewis When Cinema Faces Social Values: One Hundred Years of Film Censorship in Canada P.Veronneau Inquisition Shadows: Politics, Religion, Diplomacy, and Ideology in Mexican Film Censorship F.M.Peredo-Castro PART II: CONTROL, CONTINUITY, AND CHANGE Film Censorship in Germany: Continuity and Changes through Five Political Systems M.Loiperdinger Seeing Red: Political Control of Cinema in the Soviet Union R.Taylor Prohibition, Politics, and Nation Building: A History of Film Censorship in China Z.Xiao Film Censorship during the Golden Era of Turkish Cinema D.K.Mutlu PART III: COLONIALISM, LEGACY, AND POLICIES The Censor and the State in Great Britain J.Petley British Colonial Censorship Regimes: Hong Kong, Straits Settlements, and Shanghai International Settlement, 1916-1941 D.Newman 'We do not certify backwards': Film Censorship in Post-Colonial India N.Bose Irish Film Censorship: Refusing the Fractured Family of Foreign Films K.Rockett PART IV: CENSORSHIP MULTIPLICITY, MORAL REGULATION, AND EXPERIENCES Nollywood, Kannywood, and a Decade of Hausa Film Censorship in Nigeria C.McCain The Legion of Decency and the Movies G.D.Black Blessed Cinema: State and Catholic Censorship in Post-war Italy D.T.Gennari Film Censorship in a Liberal Free Market Democracy: Strategies of Film Control and Audience's Experiences of Censorship in Belgium D.Biltereyst

The research aims to review to review determine the effect and its impact raised by motive - a motive the ada in the hearts period travel time history of film short against cinematographer-filmmaker as principal especially filmmakers left path (indie). The used platform theory research hearts singer adopts from theory commodification media vincent mosco. Singer helped shift theory understanding the motive filmmakers working hearts differences fundamental basis of political pressure economic happens under with demands regime. The method used is descriptive qualitative research methods. Data collection techniques through observation of the environment of an independent film live and in-depth interviews with speakers including mr. Yang prayer orangutan direct contact 'with realm of research. Coupled with study to review the literature references adding insight research. And that was concluded change appears motif among indie film cinematographer it is true the situation is closely linked to the mainstream industry, konstilasi politics, and the orientation of capitalism. Necessary their one thing is clear and systematic regulation from the government to the future movement of currents sidestream (indie) more with good operates professionally arranged, the air so that the contribution of indie cinema film land for progress can feels good to yourself indie filmmakers as well as those of its main industries.

This means montage. There can be no doubt that the narrative of an individual fate, unfolded in ninety minutes, can convey historical material only at the price of dramaturgical incest. The fictional threat displaces experience from the film. In the history of film, montage is the "morphology of relations" ("die Formenwelt des Zusammenhangs"). Then there is also the artificial opposition of documentary and mise-en-scene. Mere documentation cuts off relations: nothing exists objectively without the emotions, actions and desires, that is, without the eyes and the senses of the people involved. I have never understood why the depiction of such acts (most of which have to be staged) is called fiction, fiction-film. But it is equally ideological to assume that individuals could determine history. Therefore, no narrative succeeds without a certain proportion of authentic material, i.e. documentation. Such use of documentation establishes a point of reference for the eyes and senses: real conditions clear the view for the action.

This chapter surveys the ways in which the history of film exhibition has been conceptualized and elaborated by film historians, with special attention paid to the possibilities of an expanded current historiographical approach that includes small film technologies, in particular, portable film projectors. Like theatrical exhibition, the portable projector exemplifies the nineteenth-century marriage of mechanical movement, chemistry, and projected light. Yet, the portable projector is a distinct iteration of these technological foundations, leaving behind the theatrical armature of the movie house and emulating more the other small, audiovisual technologies that together reshaped cultural life in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Charting a neglected area of film and media history, this chapter considers the dynamics of portability for a history of seeing movies, concluding with some larger research questions posed as directions for future work. Keywords: film; motion pictures; projectors; exhibition

O presente trabalho pretende analisar o filme Sullivan’s travels (1941), de Preston Sturges, enquanto obra que se insere dentro do género da screwball comedy. Contudo, uma análise mais profunda irá revelar que Sturges consegue criar um filme em que vários géneros se cruzam, criando uma atmosfera interessante em que o espectador viaja pelo mundo do cinema através da personagem de J. L. Sullivan. Acima de tudo, este trabalho tem como objetivo tentar perceber de que forma a viagem empreendida por Sullivan (e também por Sturges), analisando momentos específicos do filme, tenta fazer passar a ideia central da obra: a importância de fazer filmes, o amor pelo cinema e, principalmente, fazer as pessoas rir.

Foreword B.Peucker Acknowledgments Note on Contributors Introduction A.Dalle Vacche PART I: EARLY CINEMA The Artist's Studio: The Affair of Art and Film L.Nead Cezanne and the Lumiere Brothers A.Dalle Vacche The Medium is a Muscle: Abstraction in Early Film, Dance, Painting N.Andrew PART II: FILM THEORY Vertov and the Line: Art, Socialization, Collaboration J.MacKay Quoting Motion: The Frame, the Shot, and Digital Video T.Lundemo Malraux, Benjamin, Bazin: A Triangle of Hope for Cinema D.Andrew Poetic Density, Ontic Weight: Post-Photographic Depiction in Victor Erice's Dream of Light S.Dixon PART III: VISUAL STUDIES, ART HISTORY, FILM Of the Face, in Reticence N.Steimatsky Remapping the Rural: The Ideological Geographies of Strapaese L.Pucci PART IV: PAINTERS AND FILMMAKERS Artistic Encounters: Jean-Marie Straub, Daniele Huillet, and Cezanne S.Shafto Two-Way Mirror: Francis Bacon and the Deformation of Film S.Felleman PART V: FILM, MUSEUM, NEW MEDIA A Disturbing Presence? Scenes from the History of Film in the Museum I.Christie Elegy, Eulogy, and the Utopia of Restoration-Alexander Sokurov's Russian Ark J.Szaniawski Museums as Laboratories of Change: the Case for the Moving Image F.Penz Right Here...Right Now...Art Gone Live! G.Hogben Index

Siegfried Kracauers "Theorie des Films" ist meist als normative Systematik des Mediums rezipiert worden. Eine kritische Rekonstruktion seiner Reflexionen zum Film vor dem Exil macht es möglich, den phänomenologischen Ansatz in seinem späten Filmbuch sichtbar zu machen, die in dem unvollendeten Geschichtsbuch noch klarer werden. Kracauer sieht Film als eine Erweiterung der Möglichkeiten der Fotografie, den Betrachter mit dem Alltagsleben der Erdenbewohner vertraut zu machen. Als Entfremdungsform des Blicks zielt Film darauf, eine Wiederaneignung und Nähe zur Realität hinter den Bildern zu ermöglichen. Wie alle historischen Dokumente und Konzepte müssen auch bewegte Bilder einer kritischen Prüfung ihrer Gültigkeit unterzogen werden., Siegfried Kracauers "Theory of Film" has been widely received as a normative systematic approach. Reconstructing the reflexions on the medium before he went into exile helps to realise the phaenomenological traces of his late book on the film, which are further developed in his last unfinished book on history. Kracauer takes the film as an extension of photography, which enables the viewer to understand better the everyday life of people of the world. A means of alienation, film points toward a reclaiming of and a nearness to reality behind the pictures. Like all historical documents and concepts moving pictures demand a critical assessment of their validity.

As the history of film and film theory has repeatedly shown, the relationship between cinema and psychoanalysis is a fruitful one. However, the Israeli TV serial drama BeTipul (2005–2008)2 and its American adaptation In Treatment (2008–2010) are the first TV series to be entirely restricted to the conversation between therapist and patient.3 This chapter will discuss how the narrative of In Treatment focuses on the patient–doctor relationship as a forbidden trope and on how the therapist, Dr. Paul Weston (played by Gabriel Byrne), is caught up in conflicts as a result of his incipient transference love. He feels something for his patient, but he knows that he shouldn’t. This “dark” love story constitutes the linchpin and principal subject of the first season of In Treatment.

In December of 1903, American movie audience members, many who previously had been exposed to moving pictures solely through “penny dreadfuls” shown on Mutoscopes or Kinetoscopes in nickelodeons, stared in amazement at a film that, unbeknownst to them at the time, was destined to make film history. As anyone who has taken an introductory film history course well knows, the film that these astonished audiences witnessed was The Great Train Robbery. Produced by movie pioneer Thomas Edison and directed by a young film director named Edwin S. Porter, The Great Train Robbery, which was once described as “a textbook on how to rob a train,” was constructed of 20 separate shots and incorporated techniques (e.g., construction through the use of shots; cutting between shots rather than complete scenes; rear projection; panning shots) that audiences had never before seen. The action of the film was shot at over a dozen different locations, both indoors and outdoors, and included such innovations as a close-up of a character’s shooting directly at the camera (and the audience). In the opinion of film historian Robert Sklar, “no movie before it contained such a variety of scene or swift movement from place to place. For the first time, a motion picture demonstrated the speed and spaciousness required of a storytelling medium.”2

The bachelor thesis focus on the definition of information (the importance of information in general, information in books), then it will consider the characteristics of the film and its historical significance from the perspective of the viewer. As the subject of examination, on which the thoughts and findings will be demonstrated, is chosen the important English King- Henry VIII., who has been depicted in many movies and about whom there were written many books as well. Primarily the bachelor work focus on the historical accuracy of the movies and books, the comparison of the importance of both the media (what information value both media provide). The bachelor thesis also aims on the general perception of movies and whether the examined work are quality and accurate source of information. In conclusion, there will be the comparison of the information value of these two selected media.

Voice over can be use to frighten movie audiences. From the film lecturer before 1914 to the 1970s Horror movies, voices accompanying images can create a gloomy atmosphere. Contrast between suspenseful images and a whispering voice can generate fear. With examples taken from Lang, Hitchcock, Tourneur, and unknown directors, we will show that voice over creates fear since a long tradition. But each time it evolves in a different way., Les voix over de narration peuvent servir à effrayer les spectateurs de cinéma. Depuis les bonimenteurs-conférenciers des salles d'avant 1914, jusqu'aux films d'horreur des années 1970, en passant par les films des années 1930 et 1940, les voix placées sur des images peuvent créer une atmosphère lugubre. Le contraste entre une voix susurrée et des images pleines de suspens, est générateur d'angoisse. Des exemples tirés de films de Lang, Hitchcock, Tourneur, ou de cinéastes bien moins connus, permettent de vérifier que les voix over s'intègrent dans une longue tradition mais qu'elles évoluent constamment.

Although stereoscopic cinema was invented very early in the history of film, it did not become the standard for cinematic representations. With the latest digital wave of stereoscopic 3D cinema many shortcomings of earlier technologies have been eliminated, but debate remains about the aesthetic principles of stereoscopy. This article explores and evaluates basic approaches to aesthetic design in stereoscopic films.

Film historians interested in film as a business will welcome the publication in the HJFRT of both Glancy's (1992) and Jewell's articles on the respective performances of the MGM and RKO studios during the classical Hollywood period. The history of film as a business explicitly acknowledges film as a commodity - albeit with unique characteristics - within the general framework of commodity production. Further, within capitalist economies, the commodity 'film' is generally produced by business organisations operating within a context of rivalry in the pursuit of profit. Certainly, in both American and British markets, the major domestic players were vertically integrated, suggesting the prevalence of monopoly power and practices. They were strategic outfits. That is, they developed plans and organisational structures based upon and congruent with a set of long term objectives. These in turn informed and guided activity and behaviour at an operational level. Accordingly, the size, scope, and internal organisation of the businesses - including both the hierarchical arrangement of authority and the throughput processes - were the consequences of strategic thinking.

D.S.C.H. Shostakovich on DVD-ROM. Colchester, England: Chandos Multimedia CT-IAN 50001/CHAN 55001, 2000. [Requires IBM PC with 266MHz Pentium or higher with Windows 95/98/ME or higher, or Macintosh Power PC with MacOS 7.5 or higher; Quick Time 4.0 (included) or higher; 32MB RAM; 8X or faster DVD-ROM drive; 10MB of available hard-disc space; SVGA monitor/display card with 800x600-bit color (Mac 32K colors); 16-bit sound card and speakers, Mouse; and 28.8kbps modem or higher for Web links. $48.] The first of the six principal sites I visited on D.S.C.H. Shostakovich, the initial volume in Chandos's multimedia "Cultural Heritage Series," was the "Film Archive," which offers thirty-three clips of footage relating to Dmitry Shostakovich and/or his works between 1934 and 1974. There is a lot of very rare and fascinating material here, including a conversation (with subtitles) between Shostakovich and impresario Vladimir Nemirovich-Danchenko during a 1933 rehearsal for the composer's second opera, Lady Macbeth of Mtsansk, followed by a scene from the first Moscow performance of that opera. Near the end, this section offers scenes in color, taken from a Russian documentary on Shostakovich, from a rehearsal in 1974 of the composer's first opera, The Nose. Initially we see fragments of the rehearsal with such figures as conductor Gennady Rozhdestvensky, who brought this scathing, avant-garde work back to the stage after it had lain buried for more than forty years, the composer's son Maxim, and Shostakovich himself. But the clip ends with an extended section of the opera during which the film's director suddenly cuts to and holds a close-up of the attentive composer, whose usually placid, somewhat scowly faced demeanor suddenly--and very movingly--gives way to a long grin as he takes obvious delight in the antics of his own creation. One needs no more than a single moment such as this to justify the existence of this CD-ROM. But there are other jewels as well. As one other example, a clip of Shostakovich performing the finale of his First Piano Concerto, around the same time as Lady Macbeth, reveals pianism so relentlessly driven that one wonders at times whether the film is running at the proper speed. Even more stunning, however, is the second clip, labeled "Bazar: Fragments from a Cartoon-film by M. Tsekhanovsky with Music by D. Shostakovich." There's a much larger story here, which can be learned only by reading the Russian of the title card, which indicates that this fragment in fact comes from an unfinished cartoon opera, in black and white, based on Pushkin's satirical tale "The Tale of the Priest and His Servant Balda [or Blockhead]." Shostakovich began working on this with the animator Mikhail Tsekhanovsky in 1933, ultimately producing fifteen pieces that became his op. 36, dated 1936. I had never dreamed that any of this film survived, much less with Shostakovich's score. But the brilliance, in the two-and-one-half-minute fragment offered here, of Tsekhanovsky's multi-plane, highly rhythmic animation, which features quite grotesque drawings of characters and animals, combined with Shostakovich's often shrill and hysterical music, have made me more than eager to track clown whatever else might rema in of this aborted masterpiece, which film historian Jay Leyda suggests (Kino: A History of the Russian and Soviet Film [New York: Collier Books, 1960], 809) might have changed the course of animation in the Soviet Union had it been finished. And therein lies one of the major problems I have with this multimedia project. A work such as The Tale of the Priest represents major unexplored territory in Shostakovich's oeuvre, and one would think that anyone interested enough in the composer to explore the many offerings on this CD-ROM would like to know as much as possible about this unique cartoon opera, including how much of it survives. (I, for one, would gladly trade most of the political speeches also included in the "Film Archive" for even one extra minute of the cartoon, presuming more exists. …

Much of what has happened during the past three decades of American avant-garde film history is a result of the explosion of creativity that characterized the 1960s and early 1970s.1 Not only did a remarkable number of interesting filmmakers emerge during this moment, but filmmakers who had been productive during the 1950s and 1960s found a new audience. The American film society movement, energized by Amos Vogel's Cinema 16 in New York and Frank Stauffacher's Art in Cinema in San Francisco and Berkeley, spread across the nation during the late 1940s and the 1950s, and began a transformation in American film awareness that culminated during the next decade, producing a very wide range of interesting avant-garde films, plus an abundance of what Gene Youngblood (1970) called “expanded cinema” (that is, multimedia presentations and happenings that expanded the use of motion pictures beyond the movie theater), as well as the beginnings of what came to be called “video art.” Much of the creative energy of this moment was devoted to rebelling against conventional American society and in particular against the social standards that had come to seem “normal” during the 1950s and early 1960s. This rebellion took two general forms, evoking the traditional distinction between the Apollonian and the Dionysian in Greek art. Keywords: avant-garde film; personal cinema; recycled cinema; found-footage film; feminist cinema; ethnic cinema; hand-made cinema; cinema and place; devotional cinema; meditative cinema

Notes on Contributors. Acknowledgements. Part 1 Mapping Cinema Experiences. 1 New Cinema Histories (Richard Maltby). 2 Reimagining the History of the Experience of Cinema in a Post-Moviegoing Age (Robert C. Allen). 3 Putting Cinema History on the Map: Using GIS to Explore the Spatiality of Cinema (Jeffrey Klenotic). 4 What to do with Cinema Memory? (Annette Kuhn). Part 2 Distribution, Programming and Audiences. 5 Social Class, Experiences of Distinction and Cinema in Postwar Ghent (Daniel Biltereyst, Philippe Meers and Lies Van de Vijver). 6 Distribution and Exhibition in The Netherlands, 1934-1936 (Clara Pafort-Overduin). 7 Patterns in First-Run and Suburban Filmgoing in Sydney in the mid-1930s (John Sedgwick). 8 From Hollywood to the Garden Suburb (and Back to Hollywood): Exhibition and Distribution in Australia (Mike Walsh). 9 Hollywood and its Global Audiences: A Comparative Study of the Biggest Box Office Hits in the United States and Outside the United States Since the 1970s (Peter Kramer). 10 Blindsiding: Theatre Owners, Political Action and Industrial Change in Hollywood, 1975-1985 (Deron Overpeck). Part 3 Venues and their Publics. 11 'No Hits, No Runs, Just Terrors': Exhibition, Cultural Distinctions and Cult Audiences at the Rialto Cinema in the 1930s and 1940s (Tim Snelson and Mark Jancovich). 12 Going Underground with Manny Farber and Jonas Mekas: New York's Subterranean Film Culture in the 1950s and 1960s (Peter Stanfield). 13 Searching for the Apollo: Black Moviegoing and its Contexts in the Small-Town US South (Arthur Knight). 14 Film Distribution in the Diaspora: Temporality, Community and National Cinema (Deb Verhoeven). Part 4 Cinema, Modernity and the Local. 15 The Social Biograph: Newspapers as Archives of the Regional Mass Market for Movies (Paul S. Moore). 16 Modernity for Small Town Tastes: Movies at the 1907 Cooperstown, New York, Centennial (Kathryn Fuller-Seeley). 17 Silent Film Genre, Exhibition and Audiences in South India (Stephen Putnam Hughes). 18 The Last Bemboka Picture Show: 16 mm Cinema as Rural Community Fundraiser in the 1950s (Kate Bowles). Index.

Autorka dokonuje krytycznej rekapitulacji wskazówek metodologicznych dotyczących pisania historii kina kobiet w anglojęzycznej literaturze przedmiotu, odnosząc je do specyfiki kinematografii środkowo- i wschodnioeuropejskiej. Projekt dyskursu historii kina kobiet wpisuje w postulaty ponowoczesnej historiografii i nowej humanistyki, poszukującej tradycji grup mniejszościowych oraz krytycznie odnoszącej się do historii tradycyjnej. Problematyka kina kobiet w dyskursie historii kina powinna, zdaniem autorki, objąć także doświadczenia edukacyjne i zawodowe kobiet, związki biografii zawodowej i prywatnej oraz publiczne i wyobrażone wizerunki reżyserek. The text constitutes a critic recapitulation of the methodological indications on writing the history of women’s cinema in British and American subject literature in regard to Central and Eastern cinematographies. The project of discourse of women’s cinema history is compatible with postmodern historiography and new humanism searching for tradition of minorities and being critical to traditional history. Women’s cinema issues in the discourse of film history should, according to the author, include also educational and professional experiences of female directors, gender connections between their career and private life and public and imaginative female filmmakers‘ images.

Presents a brief history of film music in the United States, along with a bibliography of reference sources, major monographs, and periodicals. A list of twenty-five selected film music recordings on compact disc is also included.

In this paper, we present the results of the case study of the first Malaysian animated film entitled Hikayat Sang Kancil (1983) or The legend of the Mousedeer. Basically our aim is to establish understanding regarding the visual conventions (cinematic elements, animated characters and visual metaphors) that are employed by the animator, Anandam Xavier. In order to make inference about the conventions, we approached mix methods, content analysis and compositional interpretation. To add more depth to the study, we also gathered information through interview with two animation pioneers of Filem Negara Malaysia, Goh Meng Huat and Hassan Abd Muthalib. Our analysis reveals that HSK not only features anthropomorphic animals with local style but also contain latent visual metaphors. These elements in a way help create a look of the animation. We hope that the findings will provide valuable source of reference for creative societies especially film historian, animator and art & design students in Malaysia.

For over a decade, the Hawaii International Film Festival has been the world's premier showcase for significant new films from Asia and for American films that, in whatever ways, contribute meaningfully to the enrichment of mutual understanding between Asia and America. Of all the exemplary features of the Hawaii Festival – the fact that all screenings are free to the community, for example – none has proved worthier than the annual Symposium in which we are all presently engaged. I have had the pleasure and privilege of participating in three of these events. There is no way I can exaggerate their importance to my own education in Asian cinema (this also means my education in cinema, as every Asian nation, like every Western one, has participated in its own way in the international history of film). The first was in 1985. At that time, I possessed little special knowledge of Asian films or the conditions of their production beyond what was expected of any conscientious American professor of film study. This was more than we were expected to know about Martian cinema, but not much more. Apart from the Apu trilogy and perhaps one or two other films by Satyajit Ray, few among us, in 1985, knew the work of any “serious” Indian directors or were familiar, except by hearsay, with the vast subcontinent of the Indian commercial cinema. Other than martial arts films, few of us had seen a single film from Hong Kong, Taiwan, or mainland China.

1960 was a watershed year in the history of film in America. I think of the release of Psycho in 1960 as marking the definitive end of the classical era of American movies. 1960 was the year the French “New Wave” broke on American shores. Perhaps not entirely coincidentally, 1960 also marks the emergence of what has been called “cinema-verite.” (This term is hopelessly inadequate, of course, yet I persist in the habit of using it. I find alternatives such as “direct cinema” no less inadequate and far more misleading. These days one is far less likely to fall into the error of supposing that cinema-verite films are guaranteed to be truthful than the error of taking them to be “direct,” that is, unmediated.) Cinema verite, of course, is a form of documentary film, or a method of making documentary films, in which a small crew (often a cameraperson and sound recordist, sometimes only a solitary filmmaker) goes out into the “real world” with portable synch-sound equipment and films people going about their lives, not acting. Jean Rouch, collaborating with the sociologist Edgar Morin and taking instruction from the great French Canadian cameraman Michel Brault, made Chronicle of a Summer in France simultaneously with the earliest cinema-verite films in America, such as the Drew Associates productions, of which Primary is perhaps the most famous. Nonetheless, for a number of reasons, I think of cinema-verite as an essentially American phenomenon, not a European one.

Autorka poszukuje w tym artykule argumentów, uzasadniających sensowność pisania dziejów kinematografii ograniczonych do regionu Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej. Do tej pory nie podjęto się takiej próby. Najczęściej powstają syntezy kina światowego, które jedynie w ograniczonym stopniu uwzględniają sztukę filmową Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej, z kolei monografie poświęcone kinematografiom narodowym rezygnują z uwzględniania kontekstów zewnętrznych. Na dzieje zróżnicowanych kinematografii regionu można spojrzeć na trzy sposoby: respektując narodowe odrębności, postrzegając kino Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej jako składową kina europejskiego, wreszcie jako zjawisko lokalne z własną, wewnętrzną swoistością. The author searches for arguments that would confirm the sense of writing the history of a particular region such as Central and Eastern Europe. There have not been any attempts so far. There are usually syntheses of the world cinematography that include the Central and Eastern European cinematographic art only to a limited degree. On the other hand, monographies on national cinematographies do not take into account the external contexts. There are three ways to look at the different cinematographies of the region: respecting national differences, viewing Central and Eastern European cinema as a constituent of the European cinema, and as a local phenomenon with its own internal characteristics.

When writing of the death of Joan of Arc, Thomas De Quincey (1847) declared that despite the female gender failing to distinguish themselves in the arts and history, there was one thing they could do that surpassed even the achievements of the Masters; women could ‘die grandly’, as grandly as any man. Certainly the violent death of females has been a staple of cinema and television over the last century especially at the hands of psychotic strangers or mythic monsters, giving many of the victims ever more graphically eroticized deaths which are perversely grand. These murders are often highly sexualized and it is a convention that most female victims will be young and/or attractive; film director Dario Argento states: ‘I like women especially beautiful ones. If they have a good face and figure, I would much prefer to watch them being murdered than an ugly girl or man’, and Schoell a film historian notes: ‘Other filmmakers figured that the only thing better than one beautiful woman being gruesomely murdered was a whole series of beautiful women being gruesomely murdered’ (cited in Clover 1992:32). These comments reveal that in the years since De Quincey’s declaration, female death retains its potential to distinguish the victim allowing her to die spectacularly. But it is a feminized death; it is a death closely associated with another form of feminized trauma, the trauma of rape, and in certain contexts in film, not only are murder and rape concomitants, they are conflated.

Indian film historian Ashish Rajadhyaksha had once famously and perhaps apocryphally quipped that all Indian films may be divided into two categories – Bombay cinema and Satyajit Ray – the former a cinema for the masses, the latter an art cinema of limited commercial appeal of which Satyajit Ray was the great exemplar. More recently, this mass-class/commercial-art binary is being re-written by the popular press, and by fans and bloggers as ‘hat-ke’ versus ‘KJo.’ ‘Hat-ke’ literally means ‘off-center’ and ‘KJo’ is short for the Bollywood Director Karan Johar. These terms name divergent tendencies in Hindi cinema in the last decade and as such can shed light on the disintegration of film form and the segmentation of movie publics currently ongoing in the film industry. ‘Hat-ke’ refers to a growing body of films that are made on smaller budgets by new production corporations like Adlabs, Pritish Nandy Communications and UTVfilms. They feature lesser-known stars and match formal innovation with utterly contemporary – often risky – subject matter. The ‘hat-ke’ film usually plays well in the multiplexes in India's many urban centers and is favored by a younger, cosmopolitan spectator. Though more commercially oriented than art cinema, ‘hat-ke’ films share the vision of the art film movement that attempted to capture reality more authentically by creating an alternative to the mass product emanating from the industry in Bombay. In other words, they bear a morphologic affinity with what Rajadhyaksha calls the ‘Ray’ film.

The free cinema movement that began in the 1950s aimed to achieve the closest approximation to reality without undue artifice in the filmmaking process. Aided by the development of the lightweight camera that also synchronises sound, the free cinema movement was able to lead to the emergence of a documentary practice that professed a distinct aesthetic. The late film historian Erik Barnouw asked whether the free cinema camera serves as observer or provocateur, and concluded that it is neither. Instead, Barnouw observes that both cinema verite and direct cinema achieve their impact ‘by inquiry, rather than protest. In both these genres, documentarists were trying to throw light on dark places, while avoiding editorializing’ (1993, p. 262). Such an approach is rather different from the somewhat earlier documentary practice of, say, Jill Craigie, as discussed in the previous chapter, where commentary, protest, and commitment to an ideological position are paramount in her films’ exploration of particular subject matters. What-ever the rhetoric of the direct cinema movement, the aesthetic choices made to privilege observation and inquiry over argu-ment and protestation signal yet another approach through which to invigorate feminist politics or instil a feminist ethics in film culture and documentary practice.

When sensation novels became popular during the 1860s the literary industry was quick to recognize a lucrative line of business, so much so that twenty years later Vizetelly could promote a whole series of French “detective” novels by marketing them as “French sensation novels.” Publishers of books and periodicals were able to swarm the market with countless, readily available titles that supplied a strong demand for riveting stories full of shocking revelations. The plot of sensation novels hinged on a limited set of narrative functions and plot developments that the reader could easily grow accustomed to: despite the variations of each specific title and the interpolations deriving from a mix of genres such as the sensational-bildungsroman of Bound to John Company, most narratives repeated a successful formula. I am deriving the term narrative functions from Vladimir Propp’s formalist analysis of oral history and Russian folklore. With this formalized view I do not mean to diminish the contribution that each individual author gave to the genre with their choice of subject and specific stylistic features. I only want to note that sensation novels, like many forms of popular literature, tended toward a standardization of narrative and character development. Riveting scenes and heart-wrenching conflicts migrated from one novel to the other and constituted a sort of koine, a common language, of late Victorian sensationalism in popular literature.

Although from the earliest days film music in Europe benefited from the close involvement of established composers of concert music, who often brought to their commissions a level of imagination and originality scarcely to be expected in the highly pressurized conveyor-belt production of film scores in Hollywood, this should not be taken to suggest that the European situation was particularly wholesome. In the UK, for example, the stigma attached to commercial composition blighted critical perceptions of a number of composers who worked regularly in film; those who simultaneously attempted to forge careers for themselves as symphonists, such as William Alwyn, Malcolm Arnold and Benjamin Frankel, inevitably suffered from an establishment view that they were somehow prostituting their art when they entered the film studio, or (even worse) that their concert works were merely pretentious film music. Although both Alwyn and Frankel wrote many fine symphonies, their concert music was destined to remain far less familiar than their film scores, and it was only posthumously in the 1990s that their serious compositions were widely recorded. Before Benjamin Britten (whose early career in documentaries is examined in Chapter 7) quit film work and embarked wholeheartedly on his concert-music career, he wrote to his publisher in December 1937 about the inclusion of his music in a forthcoming radio series devoted to film scores to say ‘I have about ten volumes of film music to my credit (if it be credit!) … I think this is worth bothering about because it is quite good publicity, & I'm always being told that I should bother about that kind of thing!’ (Mitchell and Reed 1991, 535–6).

In his short but provocative discussion of the pros and cons of filming opera, Bela Balazs drew a clear distinction between the straightforward filmic preservation of theatrical opera productions (which he viewed as ‘very useful in improving the musical taste of the public’) and the exciting possibility of a film opera ‘intended and directed and composed for the film from the start, [being] a new musical form of art with new problems and new tasks’ (Balazs 1953, 275). Echoing the opinions of commentators in the 1930s, he dismissed the notion of filming pre-existing stage works in a realistic cinematic style as completely incompatible with the highly stylized idiom of operatic acting and singing. Balazs nevertheless advocated a degree of flexibility of direction and, above all,mobile camerawork in order ‘to loosen up the old-fashioned rigidity which is scarcely tolerable even on the stage to-day’, and praised Rene Clair for his ability to parody in effective cinematic terms the ‘grotesquely unnatural character of stage style’ by such fluidity of directorial technique (Balazs 1953, 276). Balazs's mention in this context of Clair, whose bold and imaginative ideal of the ‘musical film’ was examined in Chapter 2, suggests that certain fundamental aesthetic considerations inform an understanding of the pleasures and pitfalls of reworking both highbrow and middlebrow music-oriented dramatic forms on celluloid. Although Clair's ‘musical film’ quickly gave way to the more commercially minded ‘film musical’, these parallels persisted, especially when film musicals were based directly on stage works.