‘Is the idea of British art a British fantasy?’

Interview with Tate curator Cedar Lweisohn adressing the question: 'Is the idea of British art a British fantasy. As part of the Tate project 'The Great British Art debate'.

Chaos, culture and fantasy: The television plays of Howard Schuman

The single plays of American ex-pat playwright Howard Schuman produced for British television between 1973 and 1983 have received little critical attention. Written in a distinctly un-British madcap, non-naturalistic and often pulpy 'B movie' style, they centre around caricatured, hysterical and/or camp characters and make frequent references to popular culture. This article provides a general survey of Schuman's plays and analyses his sensibility as a screenwriter, drawing extensively on material from interviews with the writer. The article's particular focus is how and why different cultural forms including music, film and theatre are used and referred to in Schuman's plays, and how this conditions the plays' narrative content and visual and aural form. It also considers the reception of Schuman's plays and their status as non-naturalistic dramas that engage heavily with American pop culture, within the context of British drama. Finally, it explores the writer's relationship to style and aesthetics, and considers how his written works have been enhanced through creative design decisions, comparing his directions (in one of his scripts) with the realized play to reflect on the use of key devices.

Otherworlds: fantasy and history in medieval literature

This book offers a new perspective on the otherworlds of medieval literature. These fantastical realms are among the most memorable places in medieval writing, by turns beautiful and monstrous, alluring and terrifying. Passing over a river or sea, or entering into a hollow hill, heroes come upon strange and magical realms. These places are often very beautiful, filled with sweet music and adorned with precious stones and rich materials. There is often no darkness, time may pass at a different pace, and the people who dwell there are usually supernatural. Sometimes such a place is exactly what it appears to be-the land of heart's desire-but, the otherworld can also have a sinister side, trapping humans and keeping them there against their will. Otherworlds: Fantasy and History in Medieval Literature takes a fresh look at how medieval writers understood these places and why they found them so compelling. It focuses on texts from England, but places this material in the broader context of literary production in medieval Britain and Ireland. The narratives examined in this book tell a rather surprising story about medieval notions of these fantastical places. Otherworlds are actually a lot less 'other' than they might initially seem. Authors often use the idea of the otherworld to comment on very serious topics. It is not unusual for otherworld depictions to address political issues in the historical world. Most intriguing of all are those texts where locations in the real world are re-imagined as otherworlds. The regions on which this book focuses, Britain, Ireland and the surrounding islands, prove particularly susceptible to this characterization.

The symbolic value of grafting in ancient Rome

Some scholars have read Virgil’s grafted tree (G. 2.78–82) as a sinister image, symptomatic of man’s perversion of nature. However, when it is placed within the long tradition of Roman accounts of grafting (in both prose and verse), it seems to reinforce a consistently positive view of the technique, its results, and its possibilities. Virgil’s treatment does represent a significant change from Republican to Imperial literature, whereby grafting went from mundane reality to utopian fantasy. This is reflected in responses to Virgil from Ovid, Columella, Calpurnius, Pliny the Elder, and Palladius (with Republican context from Cato, Varro, and Lucretius), and even in the postclassical transformation of Virgil’s biography into a magical folktale.

Medusa, Antaeus, and Caesar Libycus

Although it is well known that Lucan’s Libya is a wild and threatening place, its threat is not restricted to indigenous people, places and things, such as Hannibal, Cleopatra, the Syrtes, or the desert with its catalogue of horrifying snakes. He also associates Libya with anti-Republican Romans, above all Julius Caesar, who endangers the Republic with his excessive, animalistic energy and resembles the continent where he is trapped in the final book. Although the gods as characters are removed from the world of the Bellum Civile, Lucan allows supernatural traces to linger in particular locations such as the Gallic grove in Book 3 or Thessaly in Book 6. Libya is by far the greatest of these reservoirs of frightening myth and fantasy, which do violence to the historical credibility of the narrative, just as Libya itself is presented as the origin or conduit of a number of historical characters who assault Italy and Europe. Lucan’s two mythic narratives (Antaeus in Book 4 and Medusa in Book 9) are essential parts of the hostile Libyan landscape, but in very different ways. The male Antaeus, associated with lions, is connected with a region of solid rock where he was destroyed. The female Medusa, associated with snakes, is connected with a region of shifting sands where she left a deadly, everlasting legacy. To complicate matters further, even though Medusa’s snakes represent the annihilation of the Republican self, the logic of the narrative is undermined and there is even a sympathetic subtext. As part of Libya’s historical and mythical legacy, these stories reveal that for Lucan, historical epic is linked with Republicanism, but mythical epic is in the service of dictatorship.

‘Anything can happen in the next half-hour’: Gerry Anderson’s transnational science fiction

Gerry Anderson’s 1960s puppet series have hybrid identities in relation to their medial, geographical, and production histories. This chapter ranges over his science fiction series from Supercar (1961) to Joe 90 (1968), arguing that Anderson’s television science fiction in that period crossed many kinds of boundary and border. Anderson’s television series were a compromise between his desire to make films for adults versus an available market for children’s television puppet programs, and aimed to appeal to a cross-generational family audience. They were made on film, using novel effects, for a UK television production culture that still relied largely on live and videotaped production. While commissioned by British ITV companies, the programs had notable success in the USA, achieving national networked screening as well as syndication, and they were designed to be transatlantic products. The transnational hero teams and security organisations featured in the series supported this internationalism, and simultaneously negotiated between the cultural meanings of Britishness and Americanness. By discussing their means of production, the aesthetic and narrative features of the programs, their institutional contexts, and their international distribution, this chapter argues that Anderson’s series suggest ways of rethinking the boundaries of British science fiction television in the 1960s.

'Thou glorious kingdome, thou chiefe of empires': Persia in seventeenth-century travel literature

Bringing together a range of little-considered materials, this article assesses the portrayal of Persia in seventeenth-century travel literature and drama. In particular it argues that such texts use their awareness of Islamic sectarian division to portray Persia as a good potential trading partner in preference to the Ottoman Empire. A close reading of John Day, William Rowley and George Wilkins’ The Travailes of the Three English Brothers (1607) demonstrates how the play develops a fantasy model of how relations between Persia and England might function. The potential unity between England and Persia, imagined in terms of both religion and trade, demonstrates how Persia figured as a model ‘other England’ in early modern literature.

File Transfer Protocol

The discourse surrounding the virtual has moved away from the utopian thinking accompanying the rise of the Internet in the 1990s. The Cyber-gurus of the last decades promised a technotopia removed from materiality and the confines of the flesh and the built environment, a liberation from old institutions and power structures. But since then, the virtual has grown into a distinct yet related sphere of cultural and political production that both parallels and occasionally flows over into the old world of material objects. The strict dichotomy of matter and digital purity has been replaced more recently with a more complex model where both the world of stuff and the world of knowledge support, resist and at the same time contain each other. Online social networks amplify and extend existing ones; other cultural interfaces like youtube have not replaced the communal experience of watching moving images in a semi-public space (the cinema) or the semi-private space (the family living room). Rather the experience of viewing is very much about sharing and communicating, offering interpretations and comments. Many of the web’s strongest entities (Amazon, eBay, Gumtree etc.) sit exactly at this juncture of applying tools taken from the knowledge management industry to organize the chaos of the material world along (post-)Fordist rationality. Since the early 1990s there have been many artistic and curatorial attempts to use the Internet as a platform of producing and exhibiting art, but a lot of these were reluctant to let go of the fantasy of digital freedom. Storage Room collapses the binary opposition of real and virtual space by using online data storage as a conduit for IRL art production. The artworks here will not be available for viewing online in a 'screen' environment but only as part of a downloadable package with the intention that the exhibition could be displayed (in a physical space) by any interested party and realised as ambitiously or minimally as the downloader wishes, based on their means. The artists will therefore also supply a set of instructions for the physical installation of the work alongside the digital files. In response to this curatorial initiative, File Transfer Protocol invites seven UK based artists to produce digital art for a physical environment, addressing the intersection between the virtual and the material. The files range from sound, video, digital prints and net art, blueprints for an action to take place, something to be made, a conceptual text piece, etc. About the works and artists: Polly Fibre is the pseudonym of London-based artist Christine Ellison. Ellison creates live music using domestic devices such as sewing machines, irons and slide projectors. Her costumes and stage sets propose a physical manifestation of the virtual space that is created inside software like Photoshop. For this exhibition, Polly Fibre invites the audience to create a musical composition using a pair of amplified scissors and a turntable. http://www.pollyfibre.com John Russell, a founding member of 1990s art group Bank, is an artist, curator and writer who explores in his work the contemporary political conditions of the work of art. In his digital print, Russell collages together visual representations of abstract philosophical ideas and transforms them into a post apocalyptic landscape that is complex and banal at the same time. www.john-russell.org The work of Bristol based artist Jem Nobel opens up a dialogue between the contemporary and the legacy of 20th century conceptual art around questions of collectivism and participation, authorship and individualism. His print SPACE concretizes the representation of the most common piece of Unicode: the vacant space between words. In this way, the gap itself turns from invisible cipher to sign. www.jemnoble.com Annabel Frearson is rewriting Mary Shelley's Frankenstein using all and only the words from the original text. Frankenstein 2, or the Monster of Main Stream, is read in parts by different performers, embodying the psychotic character of the protagonist, a mongrel hybrid of used language. www.annabelfrearson.com Darren Banks uses fragments of effect laden Holywood films to create an impossible space. The fictitious parts don't add up to a convincing material reality, leaving the viewer with a failed amalgamation of simulations of sophisticated technologies. www.darrenbanks.co.uk FIELDCLUB is collaboration between artist Paul Chaney and researcher Kenna Hernly. Chaney and Hernly developed together a project that critically examines various proposals for the management of sustainable ecological systems. Their FIELDMACHINE invites the public to design an ideal agricultural field. By playing with different types of crops that are found in the south west of England, it is possible for the user, for example, to create a balanced, but protein poor, diet or to simply decide to 'get rid' of half the population. The meeting point of the Platonic field and it physical consequences, generates a geometric abstraction that investigates the relationship between modernist utopianism and contemporary actuality. www.fieldclub.co.uk Pil and Galia Kollectiv, who have also curated the exhibition are London-based artists and run the xero, kline & coma gallery. Here they present a dialogue between two computers. The conversation opens with a simple text book problem in business studies. But gradually the language, mimicking the application of game theory in the business sector, becomes more abstract. The two interlocutors become adversaries trapped forever in a competition without winners. www.kollectiv.co.uk

Postmodernism, culture and feminism: the aesthetics of space and performance in Rock Follies and Rock Follies of '77

This article discusses the aesthetic and spatial representational strategies of the popular studio-based musical television drama serials Rock Follies and Rock Follies of ’77. It analyses how the texts’ themes relating to women and the entertainment industry are mediated through their postmodern ironic mode and representation of fantastic spaces. Rock Follies’ distinctive stylised aesthetic and mode of caricature are analysed with reference to the visual intentions and ‘voice’ of the writer, Howard Schuman. Through considering the programmes’ various spatial strategies, the article draws attention to the importance of visual and performance style in their postmodern discourse on culture, fantasy, gender and subjectivity. Analysis of the spaces of musical performance, characters’ domestic environments and simulated entertainment spaces reveals how a dialectic is established between the escapist imaginative pleasures of fantasy and the manipulative and exploitative practices of the culture industry. The shift from the optimism of the first series, when the LittleLadies first form, to the darker mood of the second series, in which they are increasingly divided by industry pressures, is traced through changes in the aesthetics of space and characterisation. As a space of artifice, performance and electronic visual manipulation that facilitates the texts’ reflexive representation of culture and feminised fantasy, the studio’s unique aesthetic strengths emerge through this case study.

Imagining multicultural London: containment and excess in snatch

Snatch (Guy Ritchie, 2000) is a comic-book gangster film that can be seen to represent the backlash against perceived notions of political correctness in what is effectively a public-schoolboy fantasy of working-class life in East London. However, the film also delineates the limits of this backlash in its depiction of minorities as either contained or excess. This is highlighted through the comic-book genre itself as well as the characterization. Thus this article explores the tension between the genre, representation and Jewish identity.

Regurgitated bodies: presenting and representing trauma in 'The Act of Killing'

Focusing on The Act of Killing, this chapter examines how an “ethics of realism” operates on three key cinematic arenas: genre, authorship and spectatorship. As far as genre is concerned, the film’s realist commitment emerges from where it is least expected, namely from Hollywood genres, such as the musical, the film noir and the western, which are used as documentary, that is to say, as a fantasy realm where perpetrators can confess to their crimes without restraints or fear of punishment, but which nonetheless retains the evidentiary weight of the audiovisual medium. Authorship, in turn, translates as Oppenheimer’s unmistakable auteur signature through his role of self-confessed “infiltrator” who disguises as a sympathiser of the criminals in order to gain first-hand access to the full picture of their acts. One of them, the protagonist Anwar Congo, is clearly affected by post-traumatic stress disorder, and his repetitive reliving of his killings is made to flare up in front of the camera so as to bring back the dead to the present time in their material reality, through his own body, including a harrowing scene of the actor’s unpredictable and uncontrollable retching as he re-enacts the killing of his victims through strangulation. Finally, in the realm of spectatorship, the usual process of illusionistic identification on the part of the spectator is turned onto its head by means of disguising these criminals as amateur filmmakers, led to shoot, act within, and then watch their own film within the film so as to force them to experience beyond any illusion the suffering they had caused.

Rotational aesthetics: Michael Bay and contemporary cinema’s machine movement

Digital imaging technologies enable a mastery of the visual that in recent mainstream cinema frequently manifests as certain kinds of spatial reach, orientation and motion. In such a context Michael Bay’s Transformers franchise can be framed as a digital re-tooling of a familiar fantasy of vehicular propulsion, US car culture writ large in digitally crafted spectacles of diegetic speed, the vehicular chase film ‘2.0’. Movement is central to these films, calling up Scott Bukatman’s observation that in spectacular visual media ‘movement has become more than a tool of bodily knowledge; it has become an end in itself’ (2003: 125). Not all movements and not all instances of vehicular propulsion are the same however. How might we evaluate what is at stake in a film’s assertion of movement as an end in itself, and the form that assertion takes, its articulations of diegetic velocity, corporeality, and spatial penetration? Deploying an attentiveness towards the specificity of aesthetic detail and affective impact in Bay’s delineation of movement, this essay suggests that the franchise poses questions about the relationship of human movement to machine movement that exceed their narrative basis. Identifying a persistent rotational trope in the franchise that in its audio-visual articulation combines oddly anachronistic elements (evoking the mechanical rather than the digital), the article argues that the films prioritise certain fantasies of transformation and spatial penetration, and certain modes of corporeality, as one response to contemporary debates about digital technologisation, sustainable energy, and cinematic spectacle. In this way the franchise also represents a particular moment in a more widely discernible preoccupation in contemporary cinema with what we might call a ‘rotational aesthetics’ of action, a machine movement made possible by the digital, but which invokes earlier histories and fantasies of animation, propulsion, mechanization and mechanization to particular ends.

The new Hollywood, 1981–1999: special/visual effects

The emergence and development of digital imaging technologies and their impact on mainstream filmmaking is perhaps the most familiar special effects narrative associated with the years 1981-1999. This is in part because some of the questions raised by the rise of the digital still concern us now, but also because key milestone films showcasing advancements in digital imaging technologies appear in this period, including Tron (1982) and its computer generated image elements, the digital morphing in The Abyss (1989) and Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), computer animation in Jurassic Park (1993) and Toy Story (1995), digital extras in Titanic (1997), and ‘bullet time’ in The Matrix (1999). As a result it is tempting to characterize 1981-1999 as a ‘transitional period’ in which digital imaging processes grow in prominence and technical sophistication, and what we might call ‘analogue’ special effects processes correspondingly become less common. But such a narrative risks eliding the other practices that also shape effects sequences in this period. Indeed, the 1980s and 1990s are striking for the diverse range of effects practices in evidence in both big budget films and lower budget productions, and for the extent to which analogue practices persist independently of or alongside digital effects work in a range of production and genre contexts. The chapter seeks to document and celebrate this diversity and plurality, this sustaining of earlier traditions of effects practice alongside newer processes, this experimentation with materials and technologies old and new in the service of aesthetic aspirations alongside budgetary and technical constraints. The common characterization of the period as a series of rapid transformations in production workflows, practices and technologies will be interrogated in relation to the persistence of certain key figures as Douglas Trumbull, John Dykstra, and James Cameron, but also through a consideration of the contexts for and influences on creative decision-making. Comparative analyses of the processes used to articulate bodies, space and scale in effects sequences drawn from different generic sites of special effects work, including science fiction, fantasy, and horror, will provide a further frame for the chapter’s mapping of the commonalities and specificities, continuities and variations in effects practices across the period. In the process, the chapter seeks to reclaim analogue processes’ contribution both to moments of explicit spectacle, and to diegetic verisimilitude, in the decades most often associated with the digital’s ‘arrival’.