On location : the imagined private interior in public life

This paper reveals the interior landscapes of selected contemporary Australian films, such as The Caterpillar Wish and Bad Boy Bubby, to develop a number of thematic influences on the manner in which domestic and private lives are constructed through filmic imagination. The research uncovers the conditions that contribute to particular scenographic representations of the humble interiors that act as both backdrop and performer to subtle and often troubled narratives. Such readings are informed by the theoretical works of writer Gertrude Stein, among others, who explore the relationships between the scenographic third dimension and the fourth dimensional performance in the representation of narrative space. A further theoretical thread lies in Giuliana Bruno’s work on the tension between private and public filmic space, which is explored through the public outing of intensely private spaces generated through narratives framed by the specificities of found interiors. Beyond the interrogation of qualities of imagined filmic space is the condition whereby locations, once transformed by the event of movie making are consequently forever revised. These altered conditions subsequently reinvest the lives of those who return to the location with layered narratives of occupation. Situationally, the now reconverted interior performs as contributor to subsequent private inhabitation, even if only as imagined space. The possibility here is that the qualities of the original may be superimposed and recontextualised to invest post-produced interiors with the qualities of the other space as imagined. This reading of film space explores new theoretical design scenarios for imagined and everyday interior landscapes.

Wolf Creek by Sonya Hartnett

Australian screen classics are seminal for a range of reasons: whether it is a particular title’s popularity and impact upon popular culture, its cultural and textual meaning, or what the film tells us about the social, political and cultural climate from which it emerged. Wolf Creek (Greg McLean, 2005) is undoubtedly an Australian screen classic. The film was an impressive low-budget breakout success, which played a big part in the renaissance of contemporary Australian genre cinema by opening doors for genre filmmakers targeting international markets in ways that haven’t been seen in Australia since the 1980s. Wolf Creek has become the quintessential Australian horror movie. It has captured collective national fears and anxieties about the Australian outback – the isolation, the repressive desolation, the idea that the landscape itself is your enemy. It challenges traditional representations of Australian masculinity and the “ocker larrikin” to show a negative image of the rural ocker which dominated Australian screen in the 1970s and, to lesser extent, the 1980s.

Review : "For the Term of His Natural Life" -- Norman Dawn

Synopsis and review of For the Term of His Natural Life (Norman Dawn, 1927). Includes cast and credits. For the Term of His Natural Life was one of the last Australian silent films, and also one of the most significant in the history of Australian cinema. At the time of its production, controversy raged over its depiction of convict life, its scale and cost (which was reported to be around 50,000 pounds at a time when most Australian films had budgets of less than 2,000 pounds1) and the fact that the director, several of the crew and the leading cast members were American. Australasian Films launched a publicity campaign of unprecedented scale to counter opposition to the film’s subject matter and the charge that they were “seeking to make capital out of the drab and sordid days of Australia”.2 The film’s expense was turned into a virtue: hundreds of unemployed men were used as extras, while the film also provided work for many within the Australian film industry and, according to Australasian, enabled the establishment of new production companies. The American imports who earlier had been accused of being “party to the slaughtering” of the Australian film industry, were feted for their artistic contributions, and the concerns raised in federal parliament about an American “invasion” were deflected by claims about what the local industry could learn from those with Hollywood experience.3 The publicity campaign was successful, as the film proved enormously popular at the Australian box office in its initial run. But the coming of sound film in 1928 had a considerable impact on audiences for silent films like For the Term, and its early local success was not repeated in subsequent seasons or in overseas markets...

Writing Indigenous vampires: Aboriginal gothic or Aboriginal fantastic?

The usual postmodern suspicions about diligently deciphering authorial intent or stridently seeking fixed meaning/s and/or binary distinctions in an artistic work aside, this self-indulgent essay pushes the boundaries regarding normative academic research, for it focusses on my own (minimally celebrated) published creative writing’s status as a literary innovation. Dedicated to illuminating some of the less common denominators at play in Australian horror, my paper recalls the creative writing process involved when I set upon the (arrogant?) goal of creating a new genre of creative writing: that of the ‘Aboriginal Fantastic’. I compare my work to the literary output of a small but significant group (2.5% of the population), of which I am a member: Aboriginal Australians. I narrow my focus even further by examining that creative writing known as Aboriginal horror. And I reduce the sample size of my study to an exceptionally small number by restricting my view to one type of Aboriginal horror literature only: the Aboriginal vampire novel, a genre to which I have contributed professionally with the 2011 paperback and 2012 e-book publication of That Blackfella Bloodsucka Dance! However, as this paper hopefully demonstrates, and despite what may be interpreted by some cynical commentators as the faux sincerity of my taxonomic fervour, Aboriginal horror is a genre noteworthy for its instability and worthy of further academic interrogation. (first paragraph)

Analyse ludique de la franchise Saw

La saga Saw est une franchise qui a marqué le cinéma d’horreur des années 2000. Le présent mémoire tâchera d’en faire une étude détaillée et rigoureuse en utilisant la notion de jeu. En élaborant tout d’abord un survol du cinéma d’horreur contemporain et en observant la réception critique de la saga à travers l’étude de différents articles, ce travail tentera en majeure partie d’analyser la franchise Saw en rapport avec l’approche ludique du cinéma en général et celle adoptée par Bernard Perron. Cette étude, qui s’élaborera tant au niveau diégétique que spectatoriel, aura pour but de montrer l’importance de la place qu’occupe la notion de jeu dans cette série de films.

Terreur au féminin : érotisation, regard et pouvoir dans le cinéma d'horreur contemporain

Le cinéma d’horreur, plus particulièrement le slasher, sous-genre qui a émergé dans les années 1980, a souvent été le lieu pour l’exploration d’enjeux sexuels. Les héroïnes qui ont marquées cette décennie ont connu une évolution parallèle aux changements socioculturels. Le présent projet vise à montrer la transformation de cette protagoniste au fil des décennies. Je m’intéresserai d’abord et avant tout à la théorie de Judith Butler qui montre le gender comme une construction sociale. Puis, ma démarche s’appuiera sur le rapport spectatoriel tel que développé par l’auteure Laura Mulvey dans son texte « Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema » ainsi que sur la notion de Final Girl théorisée par Carol J. Clover et qui concerne précisément les personnages de survivantes dans le slasher américain. À la lumière de ces études, j’analyserai trois films d’horreur produits au début des années 2000 : All the Boys Love Mandy Lane (2006), Teeth (2004) et May (2002). En plus de préciser les rouages liés à la construction du gender (féminin) et de l’identité sexuelle, ces études de cas serviront à présenter une nouvelle forme de personnage conscient de sa féminité et de son pouvoir.

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Framing Death. La morte in diretta, tra cinema e media digitali

Come dimostrano i sempre più numerosi casi di cronaca riportati dai notiziari, la preoccupazione per la gestione delle immagini di morte si configura come un nodo centrale che coinvolge spettatori, produttori di contenuti e broadcaster, dato che la sua emersione nel panorama mediale in cui siamo immersi è sempre più evidente. Se la letteratura socio-antropologica è generalmente concorde nel ritenere che, rispetto al passato, oggi la morte si manifesti con meno evidenza nella vita comune delle persone, che tendono a rimuovere i segni della contiguità vivendo il lutto in forma privata, essa è però percepita in modo pervasivo perché disseminata nei (e dai) media. L'elaborato, concentrandosi in maniera specifica sulle produzioni audiovisive, e quindi sulla possibilità intrinseca al cinema – e alle sue forme derivate – di registrare un evento in diretta, tenta di mappare alcune dinamiche di produzione e fruizione considerando una particolare manifestazione della morte: quella che viene comunemente indicata come “morte in diretta”. Dopo una prima ricognizione dedicata alla tensione continua tra la spinta a considerare la morte come l'ultimo tabù e le manifestazioni che essa assume all'interno della “necrocultura”, appare chiaro che il paradigma pornografico risulta ormai inefficace a delineare compiutamente le emersioni della morte nei media, soggetta a opacità e interdizioni variabili, e necessita dunque di prospettive analitiche più articolate. Il fulcro dell'analisi è dunque la produzione e il consumo di precisi filoni quali snuff, cannibal e mondo movie e quelle declinazioni del gore che hanno ibridato reale e fittizio: il tentativo è tracciare un percorso che, a partire dal cinema muto, giunga al panorama contemporaneo e alle pratiche di remix rese possibili dai media digitali, toccando episodi controversi come i Video Nasties, le dinamiche di moral panic scatenate dagli snuff film e quelle di contagio derivanti dalla manipolazione e diffusione delle immagini di morte.

Anti-"Dressed to Kill" demonstration

General note: Title and date provided by Bettye Lane.

Anti-"Snuff" movie demonstration

General note: Title and date provided by Bettye Lane.

Women against Pornography demonstration at the theater showing the anti-women film called "Snuff"

General note: Title and date provided by Bettye Lane.

Anti-"Dressed to Kill" demonstration

General note: Title and date provided by Bettye Lane.

Anti-movie "Snuff" demonstration

General note: Title and date provided by Bettye Lane.

‘Why are there always three?’: The Gothic Occult in Dario Argento’s Three Mothers Trilogy

Thomas De Quincey’s essay ‘Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow’ provided Dario Argento with the spark of an idea, which was further ignited by tales from his then wife, Daria Nicolodi, who told him of her grandmother’s stay at a music school which was run by a coven of witches. From these sources Argento came up with the mythology of The Three Mothers, which were to feature in three of his films: Suspiria (1977), Inferno (1980) and La terza madre/The Mother of Tears (2007). This article will examine the occult and esoteric sources of The Three Mothers trilogy, and explore how these references work to create a series of films that may superficially appear to use the supernatural and occult to create scares, but actually incorporate elements of Western Esotericism rather than traditional Christian images of evil. By doing this, these films transcend their apparent flaws (in terms of shallow plot and character development, a common complaint directed toward many Italian horror films) and instead imbue the mise-enscene itself with meaning, character and narrative. Although the films are situated within the Gothic genre, and in many respects follow traditional Gothic lines with witchcraft and the occult becoming synonymous with evil, I will argue that the films actually belong to the long tradition of art forms that have attempted to investigate the allure and the danger of occult exploration.

Sound in the Aboriginal Australian Films of Rolf de Heer

Anna Hickey-Mody and Melissa Iocca invented a new name for the cinema-goer at "Bad Boy Bubby" (1993) when they wrote: "In de Heer's film, the viewer is primarily a listener, or aurator, and secondly a spectator" and I have argued the label 'aurator' can also be used for the person experiencing "Ten Canoes" (2006). This Aboriginal Australian Dreamtime fable features dialogue recorded entirely in the Ganalbingu language of the Indigenous people it stars, and is a prime example of what I would suggest can be labeled 'The Aboriginal Australian Films of Rolf de Heer'. "The Tracker" (2002) and "Dr. Plonk" (2007) have also included depictions of Aboriginal Australians and each of the trio utilizes Cat Hope's "innovative sound ideas" to present what I argue is an aural auteur's signature revealing a post-colonial Australian world-view that privileges the justice system and eco-spirituality of Aboriginal Australians.