Reflexive stasis, scale reversal and the myth of modern cinema

This chapter looks at three films whose Portuguese urban settings offer a privileged ground for the re-evaluation of the classical-modern-postmodern categorisation with regard to cinema. They are The State of Things (Wim Wenders, 1982), Foreign Land (Walter Salles and Daniela Thomas, 1995) and Mysteries of Lisbon (Raúl Ruiz, 2010). In them, the city is the place where characters lose their bearings, names, identities, and where vicious circles, mirrors, replicas and mise-en-abyme bring the vertiginous movement that had characterised the modernist city of 1920s cinema to a halt. Curiously, too, it is the place where so-called postmodern aesthetics finally finds an ideal home in self-ironical tales that expose the film medium’s narrative shortcomings. Intermedial devices, whether Polaroid stills or a cardboard cut-out theatre, are then resorted to in order to turn a larger-than-life reality into framed, manageable narrative miniatures. The scaled-down real, however, turns out to be a disappointing simulacrum, a memory ersatz that unveils the illusory character of cosmopolitan teleology. In my approach, I start by examining the intertwined and transnational genesis of these films that resulted in three correlated visions of the end of history and of storytelling, typical of postmodern aesthetics. I move on to consider intermedia miniaturism as an attempt to stop time within movement, an equation that inevitably brings to mind the Deleuzian movement-time binary, which I revisit in an attempt to disentangle it from the classical-modern opposition. I conclude by proposing reflexive stasis and scale reversal as the common denominator across all modern projects, hence, perhaps, a more advantageous model than modernity to signify artistic and political values.

Women’s Popular Cinema in Greece: the case of Olga Malea

This thesis examines the film comedies directed by Olga Malea and released between 1997 and 2007 in Greece, in order to make a claim for the study of women’s popular cinema in Greece and beyond. Women’s popular cinema refers to films which are thematically associated with women’s cinema while operating in popular forms, such as genre. Olga Malea and her work make for a useful case study, in that they encapsulate the relationship between these two broad categories of women’s cinema and popular cinema. In addition, this thesis claims that the two categories inflect one another in interesting ways, and their intersections act as a productive framework for the analysis of women’s cinema as popular cinema, effecting a popularisation of usually marginalised themes. The introduction to this work primarily outlines the theoretical frameworks for the argument that follows, namely: women’s cinema and feminist theory; discussions around popular cinema; and considerations about authorship. The concept of national film cultures and its possible meaning in relation to Greece is also alluded to as a contextual factor. Each subsequent chapter advances the argument for women’s popular cinema through close textual analysis of the films in chronological order of their release. In particular, the analysis identifies recurrent strands and motifs in the director’s oeuvre, such as tensions between tradition and modernity, and the pervasive nature of patriarchy in informing national gender discourses. Having established the argument that women’s popular cinema is productive in popularising women’s cinema itself, the thesis concludes that, in the work of Olga Malea, its themes are conceived of, represented and perceived as prominent in the country during the period examined – and one can finally address women’s cinema as popular.

Non-cinema: the location of politics in film

Philosophy has repeatedly denied cinema in order to grant it artistic status. Adorno, for example, defined an ‘uncinematic’ element in the negation of movement in modern cinema, ‘which constitutes its artistic character’. Similarly, Lyotard defended an ‘acinema’, which rather than selecting and excluding movements through editing, accepts what is ‘fortuitous, dirty, confused, unclear, poorly framed, overexposed’. In his Handbook of Inaesthetics, Badiou embraces a similar idea, by describing cinema as an ‘impure circulation’ that incorporates the other arts. Resonating with Bazin and his defence of ‘impure cinema’, that is, of cinema’s interbreeding with other arts, Badiou seems to agree with him also in identifying the uncinematic as the location of the Real. This article will investigate the particular impurities of cinema that drive it beyond the specificities of the medium and into the realm of the other arts and the reality of life itself. Privileged examples will be drawn from various moments in film history and geography, starting with the analysis of two films by Jafar Panahi: This Is Not a Film (In film nist, 2011), whose anti-cinema stance in announced in its own title; and The Mirror (Aineh, 1997), another relentless exercise in self-negation. It goes on to examine Kenji Mizoguchi’s deconstruction of cinematic acting in his exploration of the geidomono genre (films about theatre actors) in The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums (Zangigku monogatari, 1939), and culminates in the conjuring of the physical experience of death through the systematic demolition of film genres in The Act of Killing (Joshua Oppenheimer et al., 2012).

Regulation of the neural circuitry of emotion by compassion meditation: effects of meditative expertise

Recent brain imaging studies using functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) have implicated insula and anterior cingulate cortices in the empathic response to another's pain. However, virtually nothing is known about the impact of the voluntary generation of compassion on this network. To investigate these questions we assessed brain activity using fMRI while novice and expert meditation practitioners generated a loving-kindness-compassion meditation state. To probe affective reactivity, we presented emotional and neutral sounds during the meditation and comparison periods. Our main hypothesis was that the concern for others cultivated during this form of meditation enhances affective processing, in particular in response to sounds of distress, and that this response to emotional sounds is modulated by the degree of meditation training. The presentation of the emotional sounds was associated with increased pupil diameter and activation of limbic regions (insula and cingulate cortices) during meditation (versus rest). During meditation, activation in insula was greater during presentation of negative sounds than positive or neutral sounds in expert than it was in novice meditators. The strength of activation in insula was also associated with self-reported intensity of the meditation for both groups. These results support the role of the limbic circuitry in emotion sharing. The comparison between meditation vs. rest states between experts and novices also showed increased activation in amygdala, right temporo-parietal junction (TPJ), and right posterior superior temporal sulcus (pSTS) in response to all sounds, suggesting, greater detection of the emotional sounds, and enhanced mentation in response to emotional human vocalizations for experts than novices during meditation. Together these data indicate that the mental expertise to cultivate positive emotion alters the activation of circuitries previously linked to empathy and theory of mind in response to emotional stimuli.

The Life of Galileo and Brechtian television drama

Bertolt Brecht's dramaturgy was as influential upon the development of British drama on television between the 1950s and the 1970s as it was in the theatre. His influence was made manifest through the work of writers, directors and producers such as Tony Garnett, Ken Loach, John McGrath and Dennis Potter, whose attempts to create original Brechtian forms of television drama were reflected in the frequent reference to Brecht in contemporary debate concerning the political and aesthetic direction and value of television drama. While this discussion has been framed thus far around how Brechtian techniques and theory were applied to the newer media of television, this article examines these arguments from another perspective. Through detailed analysis of a 1964 BBC production of The Life of Galileo, I assess how the primary, canonical sources of Brecht's stage plays were realised on television during this period, locating Brecht's drama in the wider context of British television drama in general during the 1960s and 1970s. I pay particular attention to the use of the television studio as a site that could replicate or reinvent the theatrical space of the stage, and the responsiveness of the television audience towards Brechtian dramaturgy.

The new Brazilian cinema

In the second half of the 1990s, Brazil experienced a cinematic boom. Many of the new films were received enthusiastically by audiences and critics and released worldwide. This passionately argued and illuminating book provides the first comprehensive critical account of what is known as the 'Renaissance of Brazilian cinema' and demonstrates just how thought-provoking and inspiring Brazilian cinema has become. Contributors: José Carlos Avellar - Ivana Bentes - Stephanie Dennison - Verônica Ferreira Dias - Carlos Diegues - Amir Labaki - Maria Esther Maciel - José Álvaro Moisés - Laura Mulvey - Lúcia Nagib - Luiz Zanin Oricchio - Fernão Pessoa Ramos - Lisa Shaw - Robert Stam - João Luiz Vieira - Ismail Xavier.

Back to the margins in search of the core: "Foreign Land"'s geography of exclusion

The crisis of the national project in the early 1990s, caused by a short-lived but disastrous government, led Brazilian art cinema, for the first time, to look at itself as periphery and re-approach the old colonial center, Portugal. Terra estrangeira/Foreign Land (Walter Salles & Daniela Thomas, Brazil/Portugal, 1995), a film about Brazilian exiles in Portugal, is the best illustration of this perspective shift which provides a new sense of Brazil’s scale and position within a global context. Shot mainly on location in São Paulo, Lisbon and Cape Verde, it promotes the encounter of Lusophone peoples who find a common ground in their marginal situation. Rather than as a former empire, Portugal is defined by its situation at the edge of Europe and by beliefs such as Sebastianism, whose origins go back to the time when the country was dominated by Spain. As a result, notions of “core” or “center” are devolved to the realm of myth. The film’s carefully crafted dialogue combines Brazilian, Portuguese and Creole linguistic peculiarities into a common dialect of exclusion, while language puns trigger visual rhymes which refer back to the Cinema Novo (the Brazilian New Wave) repertoire and restage the imaginary of the discovery turned into unfulfilled utopia. The main characters also acquire historical resonances, as they are depicted as descendants of Iberian conquistadors turned into smugglers of precious stones in the present. Their activities define a circuit of international exchange which resonates with that of globalized cinema, a realm in which Foreign Land, made up of citations and homage to other cinemas, tries to retrieve a sense of belonging.

Cinema Novo, Glauber, Herzog

This chapter compares the trajectories of Glauber Rocha and Werner Herzog in the light of the Cinema Novo.

Back to the margins in search of the core: foreign land's geography of exclusion

The crisis of the national project in the early 1990s, caused by a short-lived but disastrous government, led Brazilian art cinema, for the first time, to look at itself as periphery and re-approach the old colonial centre, Portugal. Terra estrangeira/Foreign Land (Walter Salles & Daniela Thomas, Brazil/Portugal, 1995), a film about Brazilian exiles in Portugal, is the best illustration of this perspective shift aimed at providing a new sense of Brazil’s scale and position within a global context. Shot mainly on location in São Paulo, Lisbon and Cape Verde, it promotes the encounter of Lusophone peoples who find a common ground in their marginal situation. Even Portugal is defined by its location at the edge of Europe and by beliefs such as Sebastianism, whose origins go back to the time when the country was dominated by Spain. As a result, notions of ‘core’ or ‘centre’ are devolved to the realm of myth. The film’s carefully crafted dialogues combine Brazilian, Portuguese and Creole linguistic peculiarities into a common dialect of exclusion, while language puns trigger visual rhymes which refer back to the Cinema Novo (the Brazilian New Wave) repertoire and restage the imaginary of the discovery turned into unfulfilled utopia. The main characters also acquire historical resonances, as they are depicted as descendants of Iberian conquistadors turned into smugglers of precious stones in the present. Their activities define a circuit of international exchange which resonates with that of globalized cinema, a realm in which Foreign Land, made up of citations and homage to other cinemas, tries to retrieve a sense of belonging.

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.

The Phantom Carriage (1921)

The reputation of The Phantom Carriage (Körkarlen) as one of the major films of Swedish silent cinema is in some respects securely established. Yet the film has attracted surprisingly little detailed discussion. It may be that its most striking stylistic features have deflected or discouraged closer scrutiny. Tom Gunning, for instance, in making the case for Sjöström’s Masterman, argues that ‘Körkarlen wears its technique on its sleeve, overtly displays its unquestionable mastery of superimposition and complex narrative structure. Mästerman tucks its mastery of editing and composition up its sleeve, so to speak’. This article makes an argument for a different evaluation of The Phantom Carriage, bringing a critical and interpretative understanding of the film’s style into conversation with the historical accounts of film form which predominate in the scholarship around silent cinema. It suggests that the film achieves ‘mastery of editing and composition’ with a flexibility and fluidity in the construction of dramatic space that is in itself remarkable for its period, but that Sjöström’s achievements extend well beyond his handling of film space. Specifically, it discusses a segment which is in several respects at the heart of the film: the first meeting between the two central characters, David Holm (Victor Sjöström) and Sister Edit (Astrid Holm); it spans the film’s exact mid-point; and at almost twelve and a half minutes it is the longest uninterrupted passage to take place in a single setting. The chapter argues that the dramatic and structural centrality of the hostel segment is paralleled by its remarkably rich articulation of the relationships between action, character and space. We show how Sjöström’s creation of a three-dimensional filmic space - with no hint of frontality - becomes the basis for a reciprocal relationship between spatial naturalism and performance style, and for a mise-en-scene that can take on discrete interpretive force. The argument also places the hostel sequences within the film as a whole in order to show how relationships articulated through the detailed decisions in this section take on their full resonance within patterns and motifs that develop across the film.

The politics of slowness and the traps of modernity

This chapter re-evaluates the diachronic, evolutionist model that establishes the Second World War as a watershed between classical and modern cinemas, and ‘modernity’ as the political project of ‘slow cinema’. I will start by historicising the connection between cinematic speed and modernity, going on to survey the veritable obsession with the modern that continues to beset film studies despite the vagueness and contradictions inherent in the term. I will then attempt to clarify what is really at stake within the modern-classical debate by analysing two canonical examples of Japanese cinema, drawn from the geidomono genre (films on the lives of theatre actors), Kenji Mizoguchi’s Story of the Late Chrysanthemums (Zangiku monogatari, 1939) and Yasujiro Ozu’s Floating Weeds (Ukigusa, 1954), with a view to investigating the role of the long take or, conversely, classical editing, in the production or otherwise of a supposed ‘slow modernity’. By resorting to Ozu and Mizoguchi, I hope to demonstrate that the best narrative films in the world have always combined a ‘classical’ quest for perfection with the ‘modern’ doubt of its existence, hence the futility of classifying cinema in general according to an evolutionary and Eurocentric model based on the classical-modern binary. Rather than on a confusing politics of the modern, I will draw on Bazin’s prophetic insight of ‘impure cinema’, a concept he forged in defence of literary and theatrical screen adaptations. Anticipating by more than half a century the media convergence on which the near totality of our audiovisual experience is currently based, ‘impure cinema’ will give me the opportunity to focus on the confluence of film and theatre in these Mizoguchi and Ozu films as the site of a productive crisis where established genres dissolve into self-reflexive stasis, ambiguity of expression and the revelation of the reality of the film medium, all of which, I argue, are more reliable indicators of a film’s political programme than historical teleology. At the end of the journey, some answers may emerge to whether the combination of the long take and the long shot are sufficient to account for a film’s ‘slowness’ and whether ‘slow’ is indeed the best concept to signify resistance to the destructive pace of capitalism.