160 resultados para Film and history
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Orlando (Sally Potter, 1992) is a significant filmic achievement: in only ninety minutes it offers a rich, layered, and challenging account of a life lived across four hundred years, across two sexes and genders, and across multiple countries and cultures. Already established as a feminist artist, Potter aligns herself with a genealogy of feminist art by adapting Virginia Woolf’s Orlando: A Biography (1928) to tell the story of Orlando: a British subject who must negotiate their “identity” while living a strangely long time and, also somewhat strangely, changing biological sex from male to female. Both novel and film interrogate norms of gender and culture. They each take up issues of sex, gender, and sexuality as socially-constructed phenomena rather than as “essential truths”, and Orlando’s attempts to tell his/her story and make sense of his/her life mirror readers’ attempts to understand and interpret Orlando’s journey within inherited artistic traditions.
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Digital Disruption: Cinema Moves On-line helps to make sense of what has happened in the short but turbulent history of on-line moving image distribution. It provides a realistic assessment of both the genuine and the not-so-promising methods that have been experimented in response to the disruptions that moving from ‘analogue dollars’ to ‘digital cents’ have provoked in the film industry. Paying close attention to how the Majors have dealt – often unsuccessfully – with the challenges it poses, it also focuses closely on the innovations and practices that have taken place beyond the mainstream, showcasing important entrepreneurial innovations such as Mubi, Jaman, Withoutabox and IMDb. Written by leading academic commentators and experts close to the fluctuating fortunes of the industry, Digital Disruption: Cinema Moves On-line is an indispensable guide to the changes currently facing film and its audiences.
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The meaning of the body emerges through acts of seeing, looking and staring in daily and dramatic performances. Acts that are, as Maike Bleeker argues1, bound up with the scopic rules, regimes and narratives that apply in specific cultures at specific times. In Western culture, the disabled body has been seen as a sign of defect, deficiency, fear, shame or stigma. Disabled artists – Mat Fraser, Bill Shannon, Aaron Williamson, Katherine Araniello, Liz Crow and Ju Gosling – have attempted, via performances that co-opt conventional images of the disabled body, to challenge dominant ways of representing and responding such bodies from within. In this paper, I consider what happens when non-disabled artists co-opt images of the disabled body to draw attention to, affirm, and even exoticise, eroticise or beautify, other modalities of or desires for difference. As Carrie Sandahl has noted2, the signs, symbols and somatic idiosyncrasies of the disabled body are, today, transported or translated into theatre, film and television as a metaphor or "master trope" for every body’s experience of difference. This happens in performance art (Guillermo Gomez-Pena’s use of a wheelchair in Chamber of Confessions), performance (Marie Chouinard's use of crutches, canes and walkers to represent dancers’ experience of becoming different or mutant during training in bODY rEMIX /gOLDBERG vARIATIONS), and pop culture (characters in wheelchairs in Glee or Oz). In this paper, I chart changing representations and receptions of the disabled body in such contexts. I use analysis of this cultural shift as a starting point for a re-consideration of questions about whether a face-toface encounter with a disabled body is in fact a privileged site for the emergence of a politics, and whether co-opting disability as a metaphor for a range of difference differences reduces its currency as a category around which a specific group might mobilise a politics.
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This article introduces the nine articles that comprise the 'Cities' issue of Studies in Australasian Cities. Established and emerging scholars explore cities in Australian and New Zealand film and television. Articles cover aspects of media production, reception and exhibition in particular cities, studies of various city characters and spaces, and analyses of the relationship between representations of a city on-screen and the 'real' city.
Resumo:
Although the demand for pre-service teachers to be better informed about Indigenous issues in Australia has been broadly articulated, it is reasonably new for universities to make Indigenous studies a compulsory area of study, or to define what is meant by 'Indigenous education'. This book was motivated by the growing necessity for an approach to Indigenous education that would include more than just a summarising of Indigenous history and traditional culture. It is useful for anyone with an interest in challenging their ideas about culture, identity and history in Australia.
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There has been a renaissance in Australian genre cinema in recent years. Indeed, not since the 1980s have Australian genre movies across action, adventure, horror, and science-fiction among others, experienced such prominence within production, policy discourse, and industry debate. Genre movies, typically associated with commercial filmmaking and entertainment, have been identified as a strategy to improve the box-office performance of Australian feature films and to attract larger audiences. Much of this conversation has revolved around the question of whether or not genre can deliver on these high expectations and transform the unpredictable local film industry into a popular and profitable commercial production sector. However, this debate for the most part has been disconnected from analysis of Australia’s genre movie heritage in terms of their position within Australian cinema and their reception with domestic audiences, and how this correlates to contemporary trends. As this chapter argues, genre production is not a silver bullet which will single handedly improve the Australian feature film industry’s commercial performance. Genre movies have occupied, and continue to occupy, a difficult position within Australian cinema and face numerous challenges in terms of reception with national audiences, limited production scale and enterprise structures, and ongoing tensions between culture and commerce.
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When arranging a place to meet in Brisbane, it has become almost second nature to say, “I’ll meet you outside Hungry Jack’s,” which is located in Queen Street Mall. In Melbourne, the common saying is, “I’ll meet you under the clocks,” which refers to the row of clocks above the main entrance to Flinders Street Railway Station. The saying “I’ll meet you under the clocks” is loaded with memory and history for most Melbournians—from WWII farewells to after school meetings. The clocks, and the station, have become part of the symbolic culture of the city. A feature of these two sites is the diversity of people who arrange to meet there, ranging from business people, tourists, teenagers, lovers, families to local schoolchildren. These two spaces cross boundaries of exclusion and enable people to feel as though they belong the city. While it seems appropriate for people to arrange to meet at a railway station, it is interesting that many people who meet at Flinders Street Station do not travel by train to arrive there: some walk; some take the tram and then walk; others arrive by bus. Similarly, most of the many people who arrange to meet outside Hungry Jack’s in Brisbane do not intend to enter the store...
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The film adaptation of "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead"'s constant reallocation of actor and audience roles (or subject and object positions) means that the film’s viewers are as deeply implicated in considering issues of identity, agency and determination as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are. Tellingly, one of The Player’s outbursts reveals the philosophical connections between observing and being observed in ways that are true of the theatre, but which also transcend it: ‘You don’t understand the humiliation of it. To be tricked out of the single assumption that makes our existence bearable; that somebody is watching.’ In this statement is one of the film’s main concerns; that is, the relationship between knowing the self, knowing others, and being known by others.
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This article discusses the production history and social context of the 1981 Australian film, The Killing of Angel Street, directed by Donald Crombie. The article is Part 21 in a series on the National Film and Sound Archive's Kodak/Atlab Cinema Collection.
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This paper is concerned with the ways Asia Literacy can be developed in response to the new Australian Curriculum. In particular, it addresses the learning possibilities of the Asian-Australian Literature and Publishing Project (AACLAP) available through AustLit: the Australian Literature Resource. The paper argues that the AACLAP dataset provides a broad range of resources through which to address the cross curriculum priority of the Australian Curriculum on Asia and Australia’s engagement with Asia. It contends that AACLAP has the potential to make a valuable contribution to teachers’ efforts to incorporate this cross curriculum priority in their classroom practice whilst also developing the general capabilities of intercultural understanding and the use of information and communication technology (ICT). This discussion is of particular significance to teachers of English and History, given that these disciplines are implemented in the first phase of the Australian Curriculum in schools. The paper concludes that by drawing on the broad range of texts available in the AACLAP collection as well as the Critical Anthology and the Research and Learning Trails, teachers and students will be much better positioned to develop a deeper understanding of the diversity of the Asian region and the complexities of Asian-Australian relationships.
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A short 27 mins docudrama film. The Brisbane Line is a neo noir drama-documentary depicting the forgotten history surrounding the subtropical capital of Queensland, Australia. Set in the shadows of this sunshine city's unsolved crime, the film explores gaps between fact and fiction, memory and myth and excavates Brisbane's original sin [from DVD container]. The Brisbane Line is a film noir about the 1940s police force & corruption in Brisbane. The film is a creative research output, screened at Tribal Cinemas, Brisbane on the 8th November 2011.
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Can China improve the competitiveness of its culture in world markets? Should it focus less on quantity and more on quality? How should Chinese cultural producers and distributors target audiences overseas? These are important questions facing policy makers today. In this paper I investigate how China might best deploy its soft power capabilities: for instance, should it try to demonstrate that it is a creative, innovative nation, capable of original ideas? Or should it put the emphasis on validating its credentials as an enduring culture and civilisation? In order to investigate these questions I introduce the cultural innovation timeline, a model that explains how China is adding value. There are six stages in the timeline but I will focus in particular on how the timeline facilitates cultural trade. In the second part of the paper I look at some of the challenges facing China, particularly the reception of its cultural products in international markets.
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The late eighteenth century witnessed the emergence of new technologies of subjectivity and of the literary. Most obviously, “the novel as a literary form appeared to embody and turn into an object the experience of life itself” (Park), and the novel genre came to both reflect and shape notions of interiority and subjectivity. In this same period, “A shift was taking place in the way people felt and thought about children and the accoutrements of childhood, including books and toys, were implicated in this change” (Lewis). In seeking to understand the relationships between media (e.g. books and toys), genres (e.g. novels and picture books), and modes of subjectivity, Marx’s influential theory of commodity fetishism, whereby “a definite social relation between men, that assumes, in their eyes, the fantastic form of a relation between things”, has served as a productive tool of analysis. The extent to which Marx’s account of commodity fetishism continues to be of use becomes clear when the corollaries between the late eighteenth-century emergence of novels and pictures books as technologies of subjectivity and the early twenty-first century emergence of e-readers and digital texts as technologies of subjectivity are considered. This paper considers the literary technology of Apple’s iPad (first launched in 2010) as a commodity fetish, and the circulation of “apps” as texts made available by and offered as justifications for, this fetish object. The iPad is both book and toy, but is never “only” either; it is arguably a new technology of subjectivity which incorporates but also destabilises categories of reading and playing such as those made familiar by earlier technologies of literature and the self. The particular focus of this paper is on the multimodal versions (app, film, and picture book) of The Fantastic Flying Books of Mr. Morris Lessmore, which are understood here as a narrativisation of commodity fetishism, subjectivity, and the act of reading itself.
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Like music and the news media before it, the film and television business is now facing its time of digital disruption. Major changes are being brought about in global online distribution of film and television by new players, such as Google/YouTube, Apple, Amazon, Yahoo!, Facebook, Netflix and Hulu, some of whom massively outrank in size and growth the companies that run film and television today. Content, Hollywood has always asserted, is King. But the power and profitability in screen industries have always resided in distribution. Incumbents in the screen industries tried to control the emerging dynamics of online distribution, but failed. The new, born digital, globally focused, players are developing TV network-like strategies, including commissioning content that has widened the net of what counts as television. Content may be King, but these new players may become the King Kongs of the online world.