Cinematic and televisual cities

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.

Cinematic hooks for Korean studies: using the 'Apache' framework for inspiring students about Korea in and through film

Developing awareness of and maintaining interest in Korea and Korean culture for non-language secondary and tertiary students continues to challenge educators in Australia. A lack of appropriate and accessible creative and cultural materials is a key factor contributing to this challenge. In light of changes made to 'fair use' guidelines for the Digital Millennium Copyright Act in the United States in July 2010, and in order to prepare for a time in the near future when Australian copyright regulations might follow suit, this article offers a framework for utilizing film and digital media contents in the classroom. Case studies of the short digital animation film 'Birthday Boy' (2004) and the feature film The Divine Weapon (2008) are presented in order to illustrate new educational approaches to popular Korean films---the cinematic component of the 'Korean Wave' ('Hanryu' or 'Hallyu' in Korean). It is hoped that this work-in-progress will enable teachers to inspire students with limited language skills to learn more about Korean popular culture, history, and tradition as well as media, politics, and genre studies in dynamic ways through the use of films as cultural texts in the classroom.

Imaginative cinematic geographies of Australia : the mapped view in Charles Chauvel's Jedda and Baz Luhrmann's Australia

Cinema is central to the mediation of history and the construction of imaginative geographies that offer a politicized view of the land and its people. This article investigates cinematic representations of landscape and analyses the ways in which maps and journeys in Charles Chauvel’s film Jedda (1955) and Baz Luhrmann’s Australia (2008)—both set in the far North of Australia—articulate conceptions of “Australianness” in relationship to Indigeneity and the land. We argue the exotic tropics and arid outback regions of northern Australia function metonymically as representative of the nation in these films, working to naturalize ideological values and affirm dominant narratives of history, identity, and entitlement.

To see and be seen : cinematic constructions of gender and spectatorship in contemporary screen-based art

To See and Be Seen: Cinematic Constructions of Gender and Spectatorship in Contemporary Screen-Based Art addresses how gendered representation can be structured within visual art practice through a series of creative moving-image works. Using the aesthetic language of French New Wave cinema as its primary point of departure, this research project investigates how gendered representations are constructed by cinematic language. In doing this, it proposes latent possibilities present within the dominant gaze created by patriarchal relations of power. This project, in a series of creative works, demonstrates how the 'masculine' authorial gaze is learnt culturally, and by examining the gendered syntax of film, reveals how this can be recontextualised by the female artist.

'Muchos Méxicos': widening the lens in Rulfo's cinematic texts

It is difficult to overstate the importance of Juan Rulfo’s two major pieces of fictional narrative work—his haunting, enigmatic novel Pedro Páramo (1955) and his unrelenting depictions of the failures of post-revolutionary Mexico in his short story collection El Llano en llamas (1953). In her foreword to the Margaret Sayers Peden English translation, Susan Sontag hails Pedro Páramo as ‘not only one of the masterpieces of 20th Century world literature, but one of the most influential of the century’s books’. García Márquez has compared the influence of Rulfo on 20th Century world literature to that of Sophocles: ‘No son más de 300 páginas, pero son casi tantas y creo tan perdurables como las que conocemos de Sófocles’ and, completing this oftrepeated triumvirate of recommendations, Jorge Luis Borges has referred to Pedro Páramo as: ‘una de las mejores novelas de las literaturas de lengua hispánica, y aun de la literatura.’ Despite the praise heaped upon Rulfo’s two most famous books, when his third book of fiction, El gallo de oro y otros textos para cine, was finally published in 1980, just six years before his death, it was greeted with almost critical silence. It is precisely this publication that provides the focus of this investigation. The collection contains three texts—El despojo, La fórmula secreta and El gallo de oro. Constituting a third of the fictional work he published in his lifetime, expanding upon themes present in El Llano en llamas and Pedro Páramo while, at the same time, examining new ground, no thematic discussion of Rulfo’s written output is complete without including these texts. Yet they are frequently dismissed. In this way this investigation attempts to go some way towards filling this critical gap in the work of one of the most influential writers of the twentieth century

Longing and (un)belonging: desire and displacement in the cinematic city

This paper explores the spatial conceptualisation of the themes of diaspora, displacement and desire in cinema, particularly in the work of Nuri Bilge Ceylan (Uzak) , Fatih Akin (Gegen Die Wand) and Michael Winterbottom (Code 46). All three directors explore the imagined cinematic city as a site of multiple (un)belongings and interrogate how notions of identity are displaced and disrupted by geopolitics, by the city and by cinema itself. Both Ceylan and Akin’s visions of Istanbul are haunted by Beyoglu, both as the site of Istanbul’s contemporary cultural regeneration and by unspoken histories repressed by the Republic’s offical rhetoric of Turkish identity. In contrast Akin and Winterbottom’s heterotopias of the hotel and the hospital provide possible metaphors for these dislocated global identities. This paper will engage with a series of questions. What is the (imagined) place created between the viewer and the screen, or is it a non-place? Do the identities/ memories created there produce a ‘third space’? This paper uses Winnicot, Soja and Bhabha to ask what that third space might be and its consequences for a contemporary global Turkish identity. If these films depict a (Freudian) screen memory of dislocated subjectivities then what is being suppressed and sutured?

Spaces of observation and obscurity: cinematic prisons of light and dark

In The Eye of Power, Foucault delineated the key concerns surrounding hospital architecture in the latter half of the eighteenth century as being the ‘visibility of bodies, individuals and things'. As such, the ‘new form of hospital' that came to be developed ‘was at once the effect and support of a new type of gaze'. This was a gaze that was not simply concerned with ways of minimising overcrowding or cross-contamination. Rather, this was a surveillance intended to produce knowledge about the pathological bodies contained within the hospital walls. This would then allow for their appropriate classification. Foucault went on to describe how these principles came to be applied to the architecture of prisons. This was exemplified for him in the distinct shape of Bentham's panopticon. This circular design, which has subsequently become an often misused synonym for a contemporary culture of surveillance, was premised on a binary of the seen and the not-seen. An individual observer could stand at the central point of the circle and observe the cells (and their occupants) on the perimeter whilst themselves remaining unseen. The panopticon in its purest form was never constructed, yet it conveys the significance of the production of knowledge through observation that became central to institutional design at this time and modern thought more broadly. What is curious though is that whilst the aim of those late eighteenth century buildings was to produce wellventilated spaces suffused with light, this provoked an interest in its opposite. The gothic movement in literature that was developing in parallel conversely took a ‘fantasy world of stone walls, darkness, hideouts and dungeons…' as its landscape (Vidler, 1992: 162). Curiously, despite these modern developments in prison design, the façade took on these characteristics. The gothic imagination came to describe that unseen world that lay behind the outer wall. This is what Evans refers to as an architectural ‘hoax'. The façade was taken to represent the world within the prison walls and it was the façade that came to inform the popular imagination about what occurred behind it. The rational, modern principles ordering the prison became conflated with the meanings projected by and onto the façade. This confusion of meanings have then been repeated and reenforced in the subsequent representations of the prison. This is of paramount importance since it is the cinematic and televisual representation of the prison, as I argue here and elsewhere, that maintain this erroneous set of meanings, this ‘hoax'.

Cinematic and Architectonic Space in Tarkovsky's Solaris

Architecture plays an important role in Andrei Tarkovsky’s films in defining the atmosphere of a space and memory of a place. This paper is a study of how the settings in Tarkovsky’s Solaris (1972) are used to provoke and convey feelings to the audience through architectonic space depicting the city, library, home and aspects of the home such as paintings and mirrors. The rooms depicted in Solaris (Fig. 1) are filled with symbolism and detail. They are imbued with a poetic quality rarely seen in cinema. The everyday places of city, library and home in Solaris are given an emotional depth not usually found in these spaces in reality. Solaris is an anomaly among Tarkovsky’s films in that the majority of the narrative takes place in an enclosed built set. Rarely do Tarkovsky spaces exert so much control over the actors’ movements within a meticulously designed and detailed set. This paper analyses how the director uses constructed sets in Solaris to confront our perception of memories, dreams and reality.
The intent of this study is to gain better understanding of the link between architecture and other art forms such as painting and cinema through spatial analysis. This study also relates to our imagination and how we perceive architectonic space portrayed through cinematic images. The architectural theory of Juhani Pallasmaa forms the basis of this paper.

Cinematic Peripheries of Dublin

The term periphery is, most of the time, used with or in relation to the centre. The ‘zoning’ taken by granted by the architect is unlike the one portrayed by the director who frames the differences of places in a non-linear manner. Film offers a constructed urban experience, suggesting the city to be a local network composed of nodes and links, rather than a centre and the margin. It is possible to talk about the construction of a new kind of network in film through a temporal representation of space, of the distant as the close. In this way, film may be a tool to shift the gaze from the bird’s-eye view to the eye level to create ‘a unified perceptual image of the city’, in Christine Boyer’s words. The experienced surface of the city is two-dimensional neither in fiction nor in reality. In this chapter, the nodes of Dublin are examined through two Irish films, Goldfish Memory (Elizabeth Gill, 2003) and Adam and Paul (Leonard Abrahamson, 2004). Specific elements of the city of Dublin, including walls, houses, pubs, streets, bridges, and parks, are analysed to understand the nature of the network of the city composed of nodes and their connections.