837 resultados para television cameras
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This paper presents the findings of a research project that was set up to establish haw well Gibber, a street magazine set up in Perth in 1994, effectively provides a 'voice' for its canstituency -'young people marginalised by society'.
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One of Cultural Studies' most important contributions to academic thinking about culture is the acceptance as axiomatic that we must not simply accept traditional value hierarchies in relation to cultural objects (see, for example, McGuigan, 1992: 157; Brunsdon, 1997: 5; Wark, 2001). Since Richard Hoggart and Raymond Williams took popular culture as a worthy object of study, Cultural Studies practitioners have accepted that the terms in which cultural debate had previously been conducted involved a category error. Opera is not 'better' than pop music, we believe in Cultural Studies - 'better for what?', we would ask. Similarly, Shakespeare is not 'better' than Mills and Boon, unless you can specify the purpose for which you want to use the texts. Shakespeare is indeed better than Mills and Boon for understanding seventeenth century ideas about social organisation; but Mills and Boon is unquestionably better than Shakespeare if you want slightly scandalous, but ultimately reassuring representations of sexual intercourse. The reason that we do not accept traditional hierarchies of cultural value is that we know that the culture that is commonly understood to be 'best' also happens to be that which is preferred by the most educated and most materially well-off people in any given culture (Bourdieu, 1984: 1- 2; Ross, 1989: 211). We can interpret this information in at least two ways. On the one hand, it can be read as proving that the poorer and less well-educated members of a society do indeed have tastes which are innately less worthwhile than those of the material and educational elite. On the other hand, this information can be interpreted as demonstrating that the cultural and material elite publicly represent their own tastes as being the only correct ones. In Cultural Studies, we tend to favour the latter interpretation. We reject the idea that cultural objects have innate value, in terms of beauty, truth, excellence, simply 'there' in the object. That is, we reject 'aesthetic' approaches to culture (Bourdieu, 1984: 6; 485; Hartley, 1994: 6)1. In this, Cultural Studies is similar to other postmodern institutions, where high and popular culture can be mixed in ways unfamiliar to modernist culture (Sim, 1992: 1; Jameson, 1998: 100). So far, so familiar.
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This paper intervenes in critical discussions about the representation of homosexuality. Rejecting the ‘manifest content’ of films, it turns to cultural history to map those public discourses which close down the ways in which films can be discussed. With relation to The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, it examines discussions of the film in Australian newspapers (both queer and mainstream) and finds that while there is disagreement about the interpretation to be made of the film, the terms within which those interpretations can be made are quite rigid. A matrix based on similarity, difference and value provides a series of positions and a vocabulary (transgression, assimilation, positive images and stereotypes) through which to make sense of this film. The article suggests that this matrix, and the idea that similarity and difference provide a suitable axis for making sense of homosexual identity, are problematic in discussing homosexual representation.
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The Reporting and Reception of Indigenous Issues in the Australian Media was a three year project financed by the Australian government through its Australian Research Council Large Grants Scheme and run by Professor John Hartley (of Murdoch and then Edith Cowan University, Western Australia). The purpose of the research was to map the ways in which indigeneity was constructed and circulated in Australia's mediasphere. The analysis of the 'reporting' element of the project was almost straightforward: a mixture of content analysis of a large number of items in the media, and detailed textual analysis of a smaller number of key texts. The discoveries were interesting - that when analysis approaches the media as a whole, rather than focussing exclusively on news or serious drama genres, then representation of indigeneity is not nearly as homogenous as has previously been assumed. And if researchers do not explicitly set out to uncover racism in every text, it is by no means guaranteed they will find it1. The question of how to approach the 'reception' of these issues - and particularly reception by indigenous Australians - proved to be a far more challenging one. In attempting to research this area, Hartley and I (working as a research assistant on the project) often found ourselves hampered by the axioms that underlie much media research. Traditionally, the 'reception' of media by indigenous people in Australia has been researched in ethnographic ways. This research repeatedly discovers that indigenous people in Australia are powerless in the face of new forms of media. Indigenous populations are represented as victims of aggressive and powerful intrusions: ‘What happens when a remote community is suddenly inundated by broadcast TV?’; ‘Overnight they will go from having no radio and television to being bombarded by three TV channels’; ‘The influence of film in an isolated, traditionally oriented Aboriginal community’2. This language of ‘influence’, ‘bombarded’, and ‘inundated’, presents metaphors not just of war but of a war being lost. It tells of an unequal struggle, of a more powerful force impinging upon a weaker one. What else could be the relationship of an Aboriginal audience to something which is ‘bombarding’ them? Or by which they are ‘inundated’? This attitude might best be summed up by the title of an article by Elihu Katz: ‘Can authentic cultures survive new media?’3. In such writing, there is little sense that what is being addressed might be seen as a series of discursive encounters, negotiations and acts of meaning-making in which indigenous people — communities and audiences —might be productive. Certainly, the points of concern in this type of writing are important. The question of what happens when a new communication medium is summarily introduced to a culture is certainly an important one. But the language used to describe this interaction is a misleading one. And it is noticeable that such writing is fascinated with the relationship of only traditionally-oriented Aboriginal communities to the media of mass communication.
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Australian National Cinema and Australian Television Culture. These two books, magisterial accounts of Australian media cultures, are very different. The first analyses (according to its cover blurb) 'the distinct and diverse nature of Australian cinema'; the second offers 'a picture of Australian television'. The books share an author.2 Despite this, their objects of study are constituted very differently. The first is replete with examples of particular films, analyses of their representational strategies, and links to the social context of production. The second addresses almost no programs and those that are mentioned appear only in passing. There is no analysis of any particular television text. The difference between these books cannot be explained in terms of authorial fickleness: rather, it represents the different ways in which television and film have been constructed as objects of study. While film has a recognised canon and a tradition of close textual analysis, in the study of television the programs themselves have tended to vanish - as they do in Australian Television Culture. Most academic work on Australian television is not interested in its programs. Writers have tended to find other aspects more rewarding: industries, institutions, ownership, legislation, technology and production.3 Australian Television Culture is part of this tradition; and an example of how such work, done well, can be a useful contribution to understanding the medium.
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The ‘anti- of ‘(Anti)Queer’ is a queer anti. In particle physics, a domain of science which was for a long time peddled as ultimately knowable, rational and objective, the postmodern turn has made everything queer (or chaotic, as the scientific version of this turn is perhaps more commonly named). This is a world where not only do two wrongs not make a right, but a negative and positive do not calmly cancel each other out to leave nothing, as mathematics might suggest. When matter meets with anti-matter, the resulting explosion can produce not only energy - heat and light? - but new matter. We live in a world whose very basics are no longer the electron and the positron, but an ever proliferating number of chaotic, unpredictable - queer? - subatomic particles. Some are ‘charmed’, others merely ‘strange’ . Weird science indeed. The ‘Anti-’ of ‘Anti-queer’ does not place itself neatly into binaries. This is not a refutation of all that queer has been or will be. It is explicitly a confrontation, a challenge, an attempt to take seriously not only the claims made for queer but the potent contradictions and silences which stand proudly when any attempt is made to write a history of the term. Specifically, ‘Anti-Queer’ is not Beyond Queer, the title of Bruce Bawer’s 1996 book which calmly and self-confidently explains the failings of queer, extols a return to a liberal political theory of cultural change and places its own marker on queer as a movement whose purpose has been served. We are not Beyond Queer. And if we are Anti-Queer, it is only to challenge those working in the arena to acknowledge and work with some of the facts of the movement’s history whose productivity has been erased with a gesture which has, proved, bizarrely, to be reductive and homogenising.
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This paper seeks to assimilate Queer Theory: that is, to bring it within the gambit of a ‘mainstream’ or ‘dominant’ space: the academy. It does so by historicising Queer Theory, and investigating, if not what it is, then at least what it has been. This makes it possible to engage critically with Queer Theory. Suggesting that Queer Theory has often employed tropes of assimilation, the paper turns to another cultural site at which such language is popular - science fiction - in order to investigate the assumption of these metaphors. It goes on to suggest some of the assumptions about cultures which underlie these metaphors. Finally, it points to other sites in Queer Theory which undermines these assumptions, and provide other ways - quite uninterested in assimilation - in which to think Queer.
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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.
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This short film, created by David Megarrity and Luke Monsour, experimented within a short timeframe with the challenge of superimposition of hand-drawn backgrounds, non-verbal action, and a short, sharp shoot. The aim was also to find a single piece of standalone music that would act as an unedited soundtrack It won Best Queensland Film at the Woodford Film Festival in 2005, and was screened at Base-Court, Lausanne Switzerland in 2006, and the Westgarth Film Festival 2005. It was acquired by comedy website minimovie in 2007.
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Histories of representation of Blackness are quite distinct in Australia and in America. Indigenous Australian identities have been consistently 'fatal', in Baudrillard's use of that term. So, while Black American representation includes intensely banal images of middle-class, materialistic individuals, such histories are largely absent in the Australian context. This implies that the few such representations which do occur — and particularly those of everyday game shows such as Sale of the Century and Family Feud — are particularly important for presenting a trivial, unexciting version of Aboriginality. This also clarifies the distinction between American and Australian versions of Blackness, and suggests that the latter set of representations might be more usefully viewed in relation to Native American rather than Black American images. The status of indigeneity might prove to be more relevant to Australian Aboriginal representation than the previously favoured identity of skin colour (Blackness).
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This paper analyses the ways in which it is possible to imagine the relationship between sexual penetration and the expression of power. Taking the particular instance of a penetrative act in the US gay porn film Hard at Work, it applies a series of critical approaches in an attempt to make sense of perceived power relations in that text. Equations of power and activity, power and physical strength, power and the possession of a penis, power and the ability to gaze and power and the control of discourse are all considered and found to be inadequate to the task. The paper finally suggests that in order to usefully discuss relations of power in sexual acts, it is necessary to accept the radical reconceptualisation of power suggested by Mark Gibson, and begin to understand it not as an objective, measurable and real quantity, but as an effect of the interpretation of particular situations.
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This paper addresses a previously unconsidered history — that of Aboriginal characters in Australian soap operas. Rejecting critical approaches which have obtained even into the 1990s, it refuses to judge these characters as 'good' or 'bad' manifestations of indigeneity. Rather, using the idea that genre is a way of closing down interpretive possibilities, the paper looks at the manner in which generic expectations around soap operas produce particular valences for these representations of Aboriginality. It points to the many ways in which these indigenous characters are insistently constructed as liminal in soap operas' structural communities - simultaneously inside and outside of the group. This is seen to accord with the suggestions of Jakubowicz et al about the ways in which Aboriginal people are positioned by wider social discourses.
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This paper proposes that a survey of representations of men not-kissing men in recent television drama series makes clear a particularly hysterical fascination. While the Australian program GP has managed to produce a banal representation of two men kissing, American equivalents have resorted to a series of strategies which make insistently clear that not only can men not kiss-but that the act of not-kissing must be repeatedly displayed. By refusing to have lovers kiss; by having lovers kiss but refusing to show the act; by having gay lovers, but having one played by a woman; by having men kiss but rendering the act ridiculous; in these ways, American television programs make clear the importance of this act by consistently pointing towards it and declaring its impossibility. This paper calls for the justice of equal access to public images of kissing.