Archive for the ‘Scholarship’ Category

First things first – we’ve had a visit to this often not particularly humble blog from the editor and author of chapter one of this very book. Check the comments section to my overview of that chapter for his defense / counter-summary of that chapter. Some interesting things have come up, and I’ve brought up a few more coherent ideas in my response to him.

Fair warning, though…the two comments do run on a tad.


Regarding chapter seven…I’m beginning to notice a pattern to some of these chapters; not a pattern that should necessarily have been unexpected (as the approach is quite common in media studies) but one which I had not noticed repeatedly rearing its head.

What we have in this chapter (and had in chapter 5, and to a degree in chapter 2) is ‘laundry list’ scholarship, or manifestations of the “Towards…” method of scholarly writing; articles which become basically useless as arguments themselves and instead choose to simply raise as many talking points as possible without really going into their ramifications in any sort of depth.

This chapter, much like chapter five, is packed to the rafters with interesting observations – like noticing that the Doctor as a character is a construct of various and occasionally conflicted mythological archetypes (for example, the ‘wise old man’ and the ‘Trickster’), or the observation that the absence of a clear recounting of the Doctor’s ‘origin story’ leaves him as an incomplete version of Joseph Campbell’s monomyth. However, very little is done with any one of these observations.

The idea of the Doctor as “suffering from a mythic identity crisis” (the first of the two observations I just listed) comes up in a few places in the chapter, but no attempt at unifying this disparate figure is made – more and more archetypes are simply listed as though incoherence is the only trait. While it’s perfectly sensible to warn people away from being reductive, there must be something coherent about the Doctor’s archetypal schizophrenia, otherwise he would cause problems for the audience. I feel that the Doctor’s determined coherence as a rational but humanist figure despite his changing incarnations implies that there is a far more fruitful discussion to be had along these lines than is offered here. He is a combination of coherence and incoherence.

Likewise, analyses of actual myth interaction in the series are kept too brief to be of much value. Descriptions of individual episodes (“Underworld” as Jason and the Golden Fleece; “Horns of Nimon” as the Minotaur and the Labyrinth) are reduced to single paragraphs without much connecting tissue other than the apparent claim that ‘some episodes are less problematic due to not pulling mythic concepts from multiple myths simultaneously’ (that’s obviously a paraphrase).

The article is simply trying to do far too much and winds up doing almost nothing other than providing fodder for other scholars to do the heavy-lifting. It attempts a complete overview of previous analyses of the approaches to myth in Doctor Who (Tulloch, Fiske, etc.), and even an overview of approaches to myth in scholarship in general (Barthes, Campbell, etc.). This alone would be enough for an entire article – albeit a boring one (nothing like an ‘overview’ study to put one to sleep) – and yet this article also tries to do two other things: analyze the Doctor’s archetypal schizophrenia (my term, not the authors…but I like it better), and analyze the issues that arise when a rationalist hero encounters irrational tales. This is an awful lot to try to do in 15 pages. Had he chosen just one of these approaches it would have been great, but as it is it becomes just a list of potential avenues of inquiry.

Perhaps the most perfect example of the problems inherent in trying to be this far reaching is the fact that page 128 contains a simple list of episodes which include references to known myths, and yet no evidence is provided to justify any of the claims made in this list. Granted, he does return to many of these episodes, giving us justification for many of the claims, such as “Greek Myth emerges in…‘Underworld.’” However, many others remain completely unsubstantiated; for example, “[a]llusions to Biblical myth occur in…the McGann TV Movie” – a claim which I honestly am not sure what to do with. (Perhaps he means the Doctor being chained up with the spiky headgear near the end?  A cruciform crown-of-thorns sort of thing?  But I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call that a Biblical allusion – certainly not on the scale of some of the others he discusses, at any rate.)  This list of potential arguments is a microcosm for the chapter as a whole.

This is not to say that the “Towards…” approach gets us nothing, particularly here. The author winds up providing something of a list of ways in which Doctor Who as a program interacts with myth. Though they aren’t laid out this clearly in the essay, they could be summarized as: 1) the Doctor combats the mythical-irrational with logic; 2) the Doctor tends to explain away myths by grounding them in particular historical origins, even if those origins are pseudo-science or ‘aliens’; 3) despite the Doctor’s avowed rationality, ritual and magic are occasionally included as part of the program’s worldview; 4) there is potentially disconnection between science fiction’s tendency to provide logically explained worlds and the Doctor’s tendency to butt heads with mythic elements which remain unexplained (such as the Eye of Horus in “Pyramids of Mars”). (The author calls this latter an ‘aesthetic problem,’ though I’m not a big fan of using the very hazily defined term ‘aesthetic’ in scholarly analyses, especially when discussing plot threads.)  But even this attempt to provide a schematic for the chapter tends to fall apart, as virtually every one of these observations can be reduced to the same thing: rationality and irrationality are constantly placed side by side in this program.

So while this is not an egregious chapter, it doesn’t provide us with much other than a starting point. I for one wish that the entirety of the ‘overview of the work of other theorists’ section had been dropped, which would’ve at least provided the author with more space to discuss his other observations.

With all that in the bag, though, kudos on the idea of comparing the Doctor’s tendency to explain away mythic creatures as aliens to the work of author Erich von Daniken. That was brilliant.

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Having had a few days to ruminate on Chapter 1 of the book of essays on Doctor Who, and having ‘watched’ the telefilm again (by running it as background noise one day), I’m beginning to develop a counter argument that I’d like to float.

All y’all Doctor Who fans might have some input on this, unlike the previous posts which were basically just summaries of other people’s arguments and might, therefore, have been very difficult to formulate a comment about.

(P.S. Sorry about the y’all up there; it’ll never happen again.)


Accepting the charge that the Doctor Who telefilm is ‘an excessively obvious cinema,’ to borrow a phrase, in which the viewer is repeatedly bashed over the head with information in a not particularly mysterious or even enjoyable manner…is there any way we can deal with this as an ‘artistic’ choice? Must we always resort to complaining about how abysmal the telefilm was by citing examples of ‘Doctor Who done right’ (as the author of the chapter does), or can we try to make sense of it regardless of how bad it was.

In short, I believe that the plotline of the film itself renders the ‘obviousness’ of the approach comprehensible. (This is not a defense of the film as a good film; it is simply an attempt to make sense of why the makers might have chosen the approach that they did.)

I believe that the problem in our interpretation resides in the fact that we privilege a reading of the film’s villain over a reading of the film as a whole. This is understandable, as Doctor Who is often a ‘monster of the week’ kind of show, but the telefilm is, in my estimation, overtly NOT about the Doctor doing epic battle with the Master. It is about continuities and discontinuities – about knowing oneself.

Let’s look at all the pieces.

Grace Holloway – faces the decision of whether she cares more about her moral position or the financial stability of the hospital; ultimately ‘defines herself’ by quitting. Faced with the decision of staying on Earth or leaving with the Doctor, she defines herself again, this time by choosing the status quo – reasserting her location and her life as a Doctor as a stable continuity.

Chang Lee – As a redeemable villain character, Lee must start the film rejecting continuity of lifestyle – as such, his theft of the Doctor’s “things” and his lifestyle as a power hungry little thug are perfectly reasonable examples of a life with little self-definition. He gets shot at by a rival gang – clearly his is a life of action, not repetitive motion; and action is not a desirable lifestyle choice in this plotline. However, by the time he becomes ‘good,’ he too is ‘defined’ by the continuity of his life. The Doctor takes time out to tell him, for no particular reason, “next Christmas, take a vacation and don’t be here”; couched as advice from a Time Lord, this passage tacitly reveals the city as Chang Lee’s continuity as well. Here we have a second character at least partially ‘defined’ by his penchant to remain in the same place, but this only happens after Chang Lee has ‘changed’ from a bad to a good character.

The Doctor – begins and ends in exactly the same posture: sitting in the Tardis, reading a book, listening to a record (“your kiss was a flame…”); despite the fact that he has regenerated, his life is given the appearance of repetition, while the attack by the Master is one of rupture. (Let’s disregard the fact that in the history of the show prior to the telefilm, ease and repetition were actually the ruptures in the Doctor’s life and attacks were the norm. We are trying to make sense of the telefilm on its own terms here, not in terms of the previous series. And, in terms of the telefilm, an ‘action packed‘ lifestyle is forced upon the Doctor – it is not chosen.) Additionally, the Doctor’s main plotline is in maintaining continuity of character in another sense – keeping the Master from hijacking his body.

The Master – as already alluded to, he is the one character who, at the end of the film as well as at the beginning, is not defined particularly by continuity, but by his desire to escape from same. He hijacks the bodies of others in order to prolong himself. He wants control and action not mundanity. While we must grant that his CHARACTER is continuous – the Master is still pure evil – a concern with or even a love for continuity in one’s life and an ability to define oneself is not a part of him. He actively militates against such continuities in his life. He tries to define himself via stealing parts from others.

So what we seem to have is a film about repetitiveness and continuity of personality. Not in a critical way, but in a way that says ‘what you repeatedly do is what makes you you.’

Taking this as our starting point, then, it is not particularly clear why we would expect the telefilm not to go “out of its way to explain…[the Doctor’s] strangeness through familiar models” and to ‘reveal his nature,’ and even to suck the mystery out of the theme tune and turn it into traditional Hollywood orchestral bombast. It is a fallacy to argue that the film is betraying the “mystery” of the original series because, it seems to me, the choice not to stress mystery was made consciously. If it was a ‘betrayal,’ it was a betrayal with purpose. What was the purpose? It seems to me that the ultimate decision that was made here was, in telling a story in which ‘goodness’ was identified with individuals who embraced the repetitiveness and continuities of their lives and ‘badness’ was identified with those who were untethered and/or desirous of the lives of others, it would make no sense for the Doctor to be reticent about defining HIMSELF. So what if that was a trope of the original series; if the plot of the telefilm is an exhortation to embrace one’s own mundane reality and self-definition, what purpose would it serve to have the central character be an enigma?

Now, we could of course argue that having the central character as an enigma in the center of this maelstrom of self-definition would have been an interesting and compelling image. In fact, it probably would have been much more interesting than the finished film – including the Doctor in the central theme turned the film into a one-trick pony and rendered it quite boring. However, what is important is that, from the perspective of characters embracing or rejecting self-definition, the choice to have him wander about shouting “I am a Time Lord” and “I have 13 lives and two hearts” to any passing stranger makes a certain amount of sense.

The film actually has a strange little moment that seems to support this argument. It is with an awareness of the idea of self-definition and continuity, in fact, that we can actually make sense of one of the few in-jokes in the film. When Grace enters the Tardis for the first time, she is not amazed; she is in fact completely underwhelmed by how “low-tech” it all is, and goes on to explain the fact that the Tardis is bigger on the inside by saying that “inter-dimensional transference…would explain the spatial displacement we experienced as we passed over the threshold.” The author of chapter one in the book I’ve been reading makes quite a stink over this as again destroying the ‘mystery’ of the program in the name of a rather stupid joke, but it is actually the fact that for Grace this experience IS NOT DISCONTINUOUS WITH HER EXPERIENCE that makes it funny. Even here in this tiny moment of ‘bad humor’ it is continuity of lifestyle that is the point of the joke.


Jennifer has made the interesting observation also that this concept of mundanity as self-worth actually has a precedent in the series itself. The Tardis, as a rickety old police box, conceals beneath its mundane exterior a universe of interesting passages and rooms within. The Tardis itself then has some bearing on exploring further a tradition in Doctor Who not only of not judging a book by its cover, but instead cultivating a ‘boring’ cover rather than an action packed lifestyle. One’s internal world is all that matters.

This is all very loosely thought out, obviously, but there seems to be merit to the argument.


There are, of course, other criticisms leveled at the film which are outside of the scope of this particular thesis, but I’d like to address one other just as an aside.

To criticize the film by saying that it “often gets Doctor Who mythology wrong” is also a bit unfounded. After all, we are talking about a ‘pilot’ episode here, no matter how much difference there might be between “An Unearthly Child” as a pilot, and the telefilm with 30 years worth of history behind it… For an author who gets into such a snit over the absence of ‘mystery’ in the telefilm pilot, he sure did rapidly reject such concepts as the Daleks being effectively the jury system of the universe. (I can only assume that his “gets…mythology wrong” was partially pointed at the intro which claimed that the Daleks not only put the Master on trial and killed him, but granted his last request to have his remains transported home by the Doctor.) This rewriting of the Daleks would have been a fascinating angle to try to explain away in a future series. I, for one, find that element to be a quite profound ‘mystery,’ and one which was not wholly unwelcome. Just because it was ‘inexplicable’ at the time of broadcast (and is even more so now that the British reboot of the series has reverted the Daleks back to a universal scourge) does not mean that it “got…[the] mythology wrong.” To say that it did is to call the filmmakers stupid. It seems more likely to me that they were making an active choice to provide fodder for discussion among the fans – ‘what have they done to the Daleks?’

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I’m going to try, really try, to not rant about this article; however, be aware that I am at this moment providing fair warning that I might not be able to contain myself when discussing this reprehensible and arrogant piece of shit.

The chapter, such as it is, can basically be separated into three sections, two of which are loosely connected arguments, the third of which (the middle section) is some coherent and interesting observations about Dr. Who itself.

Let’s start with the middle section, as it’s the only part that has even the slightest relationship to reality.

There are two distinct and very thought provoking observations about the show in this middle section. The first is that the program displayed a tendency in its first years to feature an overtly colonialist attitude. Of the many observations along this line, I find the most interesting to be that the Doctor basically starts a war on Skaro simply to gain access to a new fluid-link for his Tardis. A number of other observations echo this one, but suffice it to say that these fundamentally British interlopers (two actual Brits and two aliens living in Britain) tend to treat the world(s) as their oyster – they allow themselves to pass judgment and start trouble because their own needs are always the most important. A clear counterargument to this would be the interest that the heroic group shows in the alien species they encounter, but this is where the author’s second observation comes in: the Doctor is also effectively an embodiment of the heroic imperialist ideal. He is a sexless, genial observer who has everyone’s best interests at heart and, therefore, wields a moral authority that is overpowering. His ‘interest’ in other cultures, then, might not be a saving grace.

These are in and of themselves interesting critiques of a very British program. One could make similar observations about American programs gleefully disregarding the ‘rules’ in favor of a higher moral authority (i.e. Star Trek constantly evading its own prime directive). The observation of a seemingly culturally specific ideology within an entertainment product from said culture is a popular pastime among cultural scholars – especially those with an agenda.

However, one has to be very wary with what one tries to do with observations such as this, and that’s where this scholar, like so many others, flies way off the rails into proposing basically a dictatorship of the ‘truly liberal.’ (And, of course, the ‘truly liberal’ is effectively just an expansion to authority of the scholar’s own particular point of view.)

The final section of this absurd chapter is the most reprehensible part by far, leaping off as it does from the observation of colonialist concepts in Doctor Who and proceeding to lambaste the entirety of Doctor Who, BBC television, and Britain in general for continuing to harbor a secret love of their own Empire period. Let us take as a moot point, for a moment, the fact that subjugation of others is wrong – let us simply assume that the vast majority of human beings (at least those with any interest in this article) are aware that slavery and colonization are inappropriate ways to rule and should always be replaced with a more integrated, multicultural, democratic position. Taking this as a given, does it do any good to argue that anything which even hints at similar beliefs to those lionized by a regime which engaged in questionable activities is ipso facto a reprehensible product? Is a film that discusses life in the American South without discussing race necessarily a racist text? Is a film which continues to sing the praises of Babe Ruth as an icon of baseball without discussing the lack of integration in baseball at the time necessarily a racist text? Bringing this back to the point, is a sexless, genial, genius with everyone’s best interests at heart necessarily a colonialist hero? The answer to all of these questions is no. There is no such thing as an uncomplicated political reference. We could probably dig up any number of films made by individuals or countries who were never colonialist powers which have a distinct smell of similarity in their heroes, just as we could find a film made by Martians that seemed to be an allegory for Naziism. One cannot reduce a political position to a definition and point it out unproblematically in cinematic products. Neither can one psychoanalyze the mass-mind of an entire culture, saying that because Britain was a colonial power, and because the Doctor seems emblematic of colonialism means both that Britain is actively trying to reinforce its own position as moral authority and that all the viewers are buying this concept and being infected by latent colonialism.

The whole thing is simply wrong-headed and offensive in and of itself. Debatable ‘observations’ do not equal ‘conditions’ that can be psychoanalyzed and dealt with. Observations are no more than one interpretation of a multivalent text. No more, no less. And when one’s objection rests on the ridiculous final complaint that ‘we’ll see a Black Doctor no sooner than we’ll see David Tennant play Nelson Mandela,’ one needs to think hard about whether one’s argument is convincing or contains a positively laughable precept. For starters, to posit such a thing reveals the author’s unspoken racial double standard in his ‘anti-racist’ rant, assuming that there would be anything inherently special about a Black actor playing the Doctor while simultaneously decrying the use of race as a subjugating factor; one can’t simultaneously say ‘we need more ‘minorities’’ in a certain position while also saying ‘race doesn’t matter’ – the two are mutually exclusive positions and both must be modified to make a coherent statement about solving the problem of race relations. The assertion, therefore, also reveals the absurdity of his own definition of ‘true liberalism’ – if David Tennant playing a historically Black man is somehow the definition of a truly multi-cultural society, we may as well give up now, because I get the distinct impression that multicultural leanings are never going to outweigh the concept of historical veracity. (Perhaps instead we should talk about David Tennant playing Uncle Remus; at least then we’d be in the more reasonable realm of a fictional character to whom we’re ascribing the mandate that ‘race shouldn’t matter.’)

This is just self-righteous garbage from a utopian liberal. And that criticism should have some serious teeth coming as it does from another liberal who tends to lean towards utopian generalization.

The earlier section is significantly less objectionable, though it is also quite likely very wrong. Instead of ranting about latent colonialism, the bulk of the first several pages consists of nothing but a meandering philosophical treatise on the concept that television does to history what the speed of light does to physics. (This gets really complicated; don’t blame me if it makes little to no sense.) The starting point for this is the admittedly brilliantly-absurd attempt at correlating Doctor Who to the “both particles and waves” concept from physics. If a ‘serial’ is a ‘wave,’ because the story continues unbroken despite episodic divisions, and a ‘series’ is a ‘particle,’ because each episode must stand alone and achieve narrative closure at the end, then Doctor Who as a series of serials (four discreet stories with four episodes each, for example) is like the concept of traveling as both particles and waves.

Crazy yes. But thought provokingly crazy. However, from this odd and intriguing beginning the author proceeds to follow the example of arch pessimist Baudrillard (whose work “Simulacra and Simulation,” which I have indeed read, includes one of the most mind-numbingly depressing conclusions in the history of scholarship) and assert that television has somehow obliterated history and ushered in the era of the post-modern, because all times mingle in the now – historical dramas sit next to sitcoms set in the modern day; reruns sit next to new programs; and old footage is indistinguishable from new. Unfortunately, in order to argue such a thing (which would, admittedly, be compelling) requires that we forget a very large quantity of mitigating factors about television. 1) The audience is aware, to at least some degree, of what it is watching. Whether we rely on the idea that the viewer knows that “I Love Lucy” is not actually new, or remembers having seen this particular episode of “Doctor Who” before, or recognizes outdated cultural precepts in “Leave it to Beaver,” something about the viewer’s memory can always mitigate against the assertion that television is an un-parsable ‘present.’ 2) Television was not a perfect medium at its inception that has gone through no changes. Black and white, graininess of footage, and approach to camera positioning/mobility can all be used to date a recording to a certain extent. We cannot argue that people who watch game 3 of the 1968 World Series, then “Man vs. Wild,” then “Manimal” are going to mistake all of these shows for ‘now.’ 3) TV was not first on the scene of recording and transmitting. Any argument that “World War II was a historical event” while Vietnam was a “television event” ignores the fact that World War II was ‘televised’ on a daily basis in theatrical newsreels. This is obviously a different thing entirely, but it is at the very least evidence that we cannot compartmentalize the television as some unique perspective changing device. The operative factor of television is not the recording and broadcasting of images at all – it is the location of the device: the living-room. 4) A considerable amount of old footage is clearly marked as such at the time of rebroadcast, be it archival news footage or a rerun of a sporting event. Ask a sports fan whether or not they can tell the difference between a game currently happening and a recorded event; they will have no problem at all. Probably because it begins and ends on the hour and might even contain an overt claim that a section is being skipped ‘due to time constraints.’

Even if we disregard the many many criticisms of TV as undifferentiatable, however, would it get us anything? Even this article STARTS its argument with this attempt at turning telelvision into the boogeyman. By the end of the chapter, the idea has been completely abandoned in favor of a rant about persistent colonialism. In effect, then, the only thing such an argument seems to get us is the idea that we are now living in an era (the television era) in which we must be constantly on our guard for the reification of hated old ideologies. The only merit to the argument is one of fear – ‘oh what a dangerous time we live in.’

But can we accept even this? What of the Bible? The Koran? The Torah? Television is entirely beside the point when it comes to perpetuating dated beliefs. Literature has been doing this for a very very long time. And we need not restrict our examples to religious texts as I have done; that was simply the most expedient.

…Neo-Luddism is not a pretty thing…and this chapter is uglied up by it at every turn.

This is far and away the worst chapter in the book. And I fervently hope that it remains so. If it gets much worse than this, I will toss the book into a stump grinder. I’m perfectly willing to read analyses of Doctor Who written by people who actually don’t like the show, but they should at least be able to formulate some kind of coherent critique for their dislike. This is simply asinine – simultaneously pessimistic on the levels of human intellect and technological change.

I guess, on the bright side, the author has chosen to be a utopian thinker and feel superior rather than go the route of wrist slitting depression like Baudrillard. Kudos, I guess…

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If ever one needed an example of a scholarly train-wreck, this is it. I have never in my life encountered an ‘argument’ where almost all of the interesting analyses are moved to the footnotes and the body of the text consists of nothing but very loosely related asides.

Honestly, his ‘argument’ goes from ‘Dr. Who was structured like BBC travelogues in the sixties,’ to ‘insert shots as establishing shots,’ to ‘the Mulveyan male-gaze versus screaming women looking at male monsters,’ back to the travelogue concept of random information gathering, to the Foucaultian panopticon as villain (though the Doctor reserves the right for himself to go anywhere and see anything), back to the travelogue concept with the Doctor as question-asker rather than answer-giver, Barthes “Mythologies” and the Doctor as ‘flaneur’ (these two things are entirely unconnected), before finally ‘concluding’ with “so, the Doctor…[is] both observer and observed.”

If you found that hard to follow…congratulations; that means you are a normal, rational human being. Unlike the author of this chapter.  The ‘argument’ is nothing more than a pastiche of formal, feminist, psychoanalytic, and historiographic analyses; there is no connecting tissue here at all, nor is there a coherent thesis.  The article is more of a scholarly CV than an actual argument; ‘look at all the things I can cite’ it seems to say.

There are a number of very interesting observations scattered around in here. So many, in fact, that to try to summarize this chapter in a blog post would run on for hours. I am, therefore, grateful that the chapter exists, if only to start discussions. But for the most part, this is like taking 30 observations, throwing them in a blender, and publishing it as though you’ve done an ‘analysis.’

This is the closest scholarship gets to actual physical pain.

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I’m going to combine these two chapters into a single post, as the latter is a partial elaboration and a partial critique of the former.

Chapter three, the first truly excellent chapter in the book, is a practically indisputable (in my opinion) theoretical analysis of the ways in which ‘history’ has been used as a genre over the course of Dr. Who. Approaching the shift from a ‘reception’ (spectator) perspective, history as a genre in Dr. Who is approached in terms of genre fluidity.

The basic argument starts with the old fan-made distinction between ‘pure historical’ stories (like the first season episode “The Aztecs”) and ‘pseudo-historical’ stories (think of “Time Meddler” or “War Games”). From this premise, the author proceeds to argue that ‘pure historicals’ – in which only the Doctor, his companions, and his ship are science fictional elements in an otherwise purely historical story…and in which our heroes spend the bulk of their time trying to survive – as imagined by the fans, were largely a function of the initial conception of the program. A clear focus on occasional ‘educational’ storytelling, a group dynamic for the heroes rather than the Doctor as central figure, and a clear division between the fields of science (represented by Ian) and history (Barbara), was the core of the show in its initial configuration. However, as the original companions left – leaving the Doctor as the strongest audience draw – and the original production team was replaced, the historical episodes went through a phase of ‘genre creep’ (the author’s term) in which the traits of the more sci-fi stories began to find their way into the historicals. Eventually, by the episode “Time Meddler,” there had been a complete shift to ‘pseudo-historicals’ – in which the ‘Doctor as hero’ motif plays out in a historical space that is either in need of protection from an alien menace or is a fabrication of the villains entirely. Only “The Highlanders” (second Doctor) and “Black Orchid” (fifth Doctor) functioned as ‘pure historicals’ after the show lost its original structure (Dr., Susan, Ian, Babs, and the initial production team).

Further arguments are made that the post-cancellation embrace of the ‘pure historical’ in novels and audio dramas has resulted in a hybrid form which embraces the ‘pure historical’ concept as educational, the ‘fictional history’ as equally plausible (and at times indistinguishable), and the ‘Doctor as hero.’ But he discusses this only briefly.

The only real criticism that I can offer of the chapter is also perhaps a mark of my highest praise for it. The author makes no mention of any outside scholarship, and barely even mentions any other television programs outside of Dr. Who. His treatment is one of pure isolation, which makes me wonder if he’s simply not bothering to research previously attempted approaches or if no one has attempted an analysis such as this before. Regardless, the argument here, built upon the two ideas of ‘genre creep’ and the emergence of a central hero figure in a series that outlives a number of its characters, I believe to be widely applicable to other long running television series. While most series don’t have such clear distinctions between their internal genres (unlike Dr. Who’s future/past/present split), I think we could still trace these patterns in other programs…especially fantasy and sci-fi.

Nicely done.

Chapter 4 follows this argument with a strongly grounded ‘industrial’ analysis of the transition from ‘pure historical’ to ‘pseudo historical’ between “An Unearthly Child” (1963) and “The Highlanders” (1967). (Though the chapter foregrounds a comparison between Dr. Who historicals and the Peter Watkins telefilm “Culloden,” the “Culloden” bits are easily jettisoned from this overview…and actually could have been removed entirely from the chapter without much difficulty.)

In this chapter, authorial and BBC mandate are foregrounded as the major factors in the transition from about half of the first season episodes being historical to, eventually, no historical stories at all.

Partially this acts as elaboration on Chapter 3. Interesting but tangential elements of the BBC’s approach to historicals are revealed here. For example, “Dr. Who” apparently had an ‘agreement’ not to produce historical stories set after 1600 as this was the realm of the ‘literary serials’ that would air on Sundays. (The further interesting claim that this left Dr. Who unable to “challeng[e] literary interpretations of history…instead becom[ing] dependent on them” is wonky and needs elaboration.) The bulk of the argument is designed not to discuss the shift in historical approach itself, but instead to explain the disappearance of anything remotely resembling pure historicals from the program after 1967. (This is a problematic approach, as it effectively disregards the shift laid out in the previous chapter and discusses pre-1970 and post-1970 ‘history’ as discreet types.) His argument along these lines is hazy, and seems to be poorly thought out (as the ending seems to conflict a little with the beginning. He appears to argue first that the BBC became less interested in having Dr. Who as a ‘challenge’ to viewer preconceptions and instead have it be more ‘reassuring’ (a familiar argument – as a program/character moves from ‘new’ to ‘company flagship’ it tends to become less and less envelope-pushing). Later, in an apparent turnaround, however, he seems to argue that the ‘challenge’ simply shifted away from historical stories and into either contemporary settings or into ‘base under siege’ stories (which did basically what the historicals did – using recognizable politics in an odd setting as an allegory for present day situations). Either of these arguments would work, but it’s difficult for both to be true.

There are also some helpful rephrasings of claims from Chapter 3; i.e. the shift from ‘unchangeable history’ to ‘Doctor as hero’ is described here as a move towards treating the Doctor as operating under a new philosophy of “happy-go-lucky interventionism.” (A slightly different, and perhaps slightly less accurate approach, but which has its own benefits in opening up the discussion.)

We also have, however, a few moments that seem to critique the earlier chapter. For example, it is problematic to do a genre analysis, as the previous author did, when the ‘genre’ is dominated by a small number of writers. (Siegfried Kracauer notably did this in his problematic study of German films – “From Caligari to Hitler” – when he claimed that an entire ‘group’ of films could be discussed when said group consisted solely of two films…both of which were made by Fritz Lang, no less.) This chapter brings up the valid point that there was a distinct difference between the approaches of writers Donald Cotton (“play[ed] with form to subvert audience expectations”) and Dennis Spooner (“lighthearted…and tended to exploit rather than challenge audience expectations”). Authorial difference, of course, should not be minimized in telling of the transition of a series’ approach to genre if changes in approach and changes in writing staff are contemporaneous.  This is potentially a major issue with the previous chapter’s argument about ‘genre creep.’

Again, nicely done, although this chapter is much more weakly thought out than the previous (and all the “Culloden” hoo-ha is a red-herring). The two chapters together make for an excellent study of Dr. Who’s relationship to history/genre.

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While watching a little bit of television to start my day today, I caught some of a show called “Man vs. Wild” (starring the ridiculously named adventurer ‘Bear Grylls’).

While lowering himself into a ‘deadly’ hole in glacial ice, jabbering the entire way about how lethal the thing was and how it could ‘close up any second,’ it was very obvious that a cameraman was down there with him – sometimes even deeper in the hole than he was.

For me, awareness of the cameraman made his prattle about deadliness simply insufferable.  I wanted him to shut up and get out of the hole and on to the next thing.  If he was treading so close to death, wouldn’t the cameraman have been in even worse shape – seeing as how he was rendered virtually helpless by being loaded down with a camera?  Mr. Grylls came across as simply self-aggrandizing rather than imperilled.

It is pretty much a common thing in film studies right now to criticize any scholar who would dare imply that the audience is not aware of what it is seeing…that the critic must somehow ‘explain’ the situation in order to save the lowly audience.  I’ve been known to voice this criticism of ‘elitist’ scholars myself, and may well have done so as recently as my last post.  My question is, does “Man vs. Wild” actually prove the myth of a ‘braindead’ audience?  Does my own dislike for the blatant artifice of the show – ranting about obviously faked danger – stand as the only rational approach to the show for a viewer who is aware of the artifice?  Or is my dislike for it simply personal taste, while others might be aware of the fabrication and still enjoy it?

For quite some time I have wondered if, perhaps, we shouldn’t retain the concept of the audience as ‘passive’ rather than argue for its inherent intellect.  I do not propose this because I actually think that people are stupider than me, or that they are incapable of noticing these things.  I simply wonder if the typical viewer doesn’t choose to be mindless (‘willful ignorance’ rather than ‘natural ignorance’) of the cues of fabrication.  For example, as a Bush-hating liberal, I tend to think that I myself am willfully ignorant when faced with such things as “Fahrenheit 9/11,” which is well known to include overstatment and fact-fudging in the name of making a broader argument.

Of course, the question doesn’t have an easy answer, it’s just an interesting one to talk about.  What assumptions about the viewer’s ‘mental posture’ are the most rational?  Obviously assuming they are stupid is stupid in and of itself.  But is assuming they are aware and thinking equally stupid from the opposite direction?

Obviously there are people who fit into each of those three categories, so a blanket decision can’t apply to everyone, but for anyone to make an argument about the ‘general audience’ (which is itself a problematic concept), they need to formulate some kind answer to this question, even if that answer remains unspoken.

At this moment, I do not know what my answer to that question might be.

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In this chapter/essay, what should have been an interesting approach, reading the ways in which various viewers were allowed ‘into’ the program via being able to identify with certain characters, becomes an unbelievably narrow minded analysis of child viewers only.

The argument, such as it is, basically claims that children could identify as easily with the Daleks as with Susan because the Daleks featured ‘child-like’ traits that included such things as being ‘outsiders,’ being frequently incapable of following ‘social codes of politeness,’ and sharing with children “the powerful drive to get what they want.” I am willing to grant, despite the apparent lunacy of claiming that a Nazi allegory can function as a child allegory, that anything is possible to identify with – one simply has to find the way or ways in which the thing in question correlates to oneself. I’ll actually even credit the reading with being pretty profoundly against the grain, as one doesn’t normally think of Daleks as anything other than pure evil.  Kudos for breaking the mold in ‘identification’ theory.

However, the author fails to do anything with this observation as he seems incapable of discussing a child’s identifying practices as the result of anything other than authorial intent. He reads the Daleks as something with which the child might identify and lets the observations sit there in the open air as though the observation itself is enough. No discussion of the differences between a positive-lesson (intended identification as reinforcement), negative-lesson (intended identification as corrective), and subversive/accidental identification (unintended). Nothing at all; the possibility of identification is simply stated.

Rather than go down the road of complicated viewer relations to onscreen characters, the author provides himself with even more interesting suppositions with which he will do nothing.  He justifies the prospect of children identifying with Daleks by arguing, again intelligently, that toy-culture is evidence of the child’s ability to identify with or interact with a character beyond any narrative placement of the character/creature as a villain.  The toy brings the creature into the home and into the child’s power. This is an exceedingly interesting argument, one which complicates a number of accepted notions about what is happening when a viewer ‘identifies’ with an onscreen surrogate…but again, nothing is done with it.

The real problem seems to be that the author is incapable, despite insinuations to the contrary, of seeing the viewer as an active party. It is argued that the child viewer is capable of identifying with Daleks and has a relationship with Daleks that is more complex than their placement as a screen villain, but no effort is made to understand how that works or why we should care. Instead, after all of the arguing that children can identify in places we might not expect, he has a line near the end that disregards any potential value to such identification: “children’s media culture is produced not by children, but for them.”

Sorry, but I have to call ‘bullshit’ there. Children’s media may be produced “not by children, but for them,” but children’s media culture is produced as much by the children themselves as by the media they are consuming.  Media may be a one way street, but culture is mutually created by both speakers and interpreters.

As a scholar interested in the screen use of children and childishness, I am very disappointed in this article’s utter lack of interest in anything other than the child as target or receptacle. As a media scholar in general, I am further disappointed by the article’s apparent lack of interest in providing the slightest legitimizing factor for its own existence. One cannot simply argue that viewer identification can be found in places other than the hero characters – to say this is to say nothing, as it is the very definition of obvious. It takes only the slightest similarity between the self and the screen character to allow identification.

It is very disappointing to read an article with such intelligent observations as grounding which then fails to erect any sort of argument over its foundation.

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(By way of introduction, let me say that, as I could get no one particularly interested in reading the new scholarly book on Dr. Who – “Time and Relative Dissertations in Space” – along with me and starting a conversation blog to discuss it, I have decided to simply write personal reviews of each chapter here.  This may bore everyone to tears, but I feel like doing it.)

Far and away the longest chapter in the book, this article opens the proceedings by attempting a comparison of the pilot of the original series of Dr. Who – “An Unearthly Child” – with the 1996 telefilm as a pilot in its own right. You might be tempted to say “stop right there”…and you would be right.

Here we have an example of an article that raises the question of whether or not its argument is valid or simply interesting. (Not that an ‘invalid’ argument can’t produce valuable analyses – the point is, do we come up with analyses via an ‘invalid’ approach that we might not or could not get from a simple close-reading?) The problem is, the telefilm is not a pilot in the same sense as “An Unearthly Child”; it is a ‘pilot’ that also has 30+ years worth of back story. To expect it not to play by different rules when it tries to ‘define’ the program (one that we hope the public will want to see continue) is simply crazy.

That said, his analyses of the two ‘pilots’ results in some worthwhile readings. To start with “An Unearthly Child,” he provides significant evidence for the idea that it was actively bucking against basically all forms of ‘typing’ (from genre to identifiable film style) in basic structural ways. What I mean by this is that the opening P.O.V. shot – in which a cop looks toward the camera but doesn’t see it, and yet a door opens for us as though we were a person – acts as both embodied and disembodied camera; the music, due to 60s era needs for pre- rather than post-recording, seems untied to the image; the lack of ‘flying’ footage for the Tardis, and the focus instead on passenger reaction downplays science fiction in the name of character study; the Doctor and his ship are treated as mystery rather than with traditional sci-fi over-clarity; etc. He analyzes “Unearthly Child” as an example of ‘making the familiar strange’ – Todorov’s definition of the ‘fantastic.’

He follows this with an analysis of the telefilm as Todorov’s ‘marvelous,’ or the setting of the story in a clearly secondary world, rather than the world we know. Again, all of his analyses are valid: the telefilm does feature overly ‘mickey mousing’ music (music that follows perhaps too closely to the image); it features typical invisible ‘Hollywood’ editing rather than the odd real/unreal opening scene of “Child”; it revels in spectacle rather than character intimacy; and it engages in practically clubbing the viewer over the head with explanations of who and what the Doctor is.

It is in the comparison that the chapter falls apart, however. He spent all this time arguing that Dr. Who was genre-defying rather than genre-specific, and praised “An Unearthly Child” for being so, but then proceeds to lambast the telefilm for not being enough of a ‘mystery’ and for not “fulfill[ing] Darko Suvin’s definition of science fiction as revolving around the dialectic between cognition and estrangement.” Disregarding his own love of genre fluidity in “Child,” he argues that the telefilm does not fit into the ‘genre’ that “Child” created (and even tries to pull in two authorities – Suvin on Sci-Fi an Todorov on the ‘genres’ of fantastic and marvelous – to boot). He tries to justify this turn away from his own tenets by discussing a ‘focus group’ that he held with college students in which he showed them the two ‘pilots’ back to back, and they overwhelmingly preferred “Child” to the telefilm. But audience preference, especially when the audience in question is composed entirely of film scholars and college students, does not say anything about the value of any given approach. When comparing an apple and an orange, one shouldn’t necessarily ask “which is better?” That is a ‘fan’ question, not a scholarly one, and one’s answer depends entirely on the group being asked.

A further problem is that the entire concept of comparing the two, even if they were on level ground is a ‘film scholar’ perspective, not a ‘TV scholar’ perspective. He ignores the fact that just because “Child” was genre defying and emblematic of the ‘Todorovian fantastic,’ that doesn’t mean that the entirety of the original series fits that description – in fact, “The Daleks” pretty much sold the series down the river of ‘Todorovian marvelous’ in the very next story. The comparison of one to the other ignores the fact that they are linked by a vast connecting tissue that proves that comparing two approaches as approaches means very little in the medium of television – we’re ignoring the 300 approaches that lie between. The generally held opinion is that television is less of a directorial medium and more of an author’s one, so analyzing the difference between two episodes is a bit of a reach to begin with. While we could use the comparison in this chapter to argue that directorial choices do have significant impact on this ‘writer’s medium,’ the question remains just how worthwhile such an approach is in the general scheme of things. Would any such approach ultimately result in nothing more than playing favorites for the simple fact that we’re discussing an element relatively insignificant to the whole?

In sum, while the article provides perfectly fine close-readings of the two ‘pilots,’ and even provides us with an interesting comparison between Dr. Who as ‘mystery’ and Dr. Who as ‘spectacle,’ it provides us with an argument that only works in isolation. It is absolutely meaningless from a ‘TV scholar’ perspective, as it treats its two texts as isolated events and then proceeds to play favorites.

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During my long day at work, I was able to take an hour and a half off in order to see a presentation on the above topic by a job candidate in Emory’s film department.

It strikes me that there was an undeclared assumption somewhere along the line.  I’m not entirely sure I’ve pinpointed it, but I would like to voice some thoughts on the topic.  (Not that anyone reading this cares; my blog is for me as much as for anyone else.)

At the outset, I would like to say that I will leave aside my rather profound reluctance to embrace the phrase ‘post-feminism,’ as I don’t think the term has any real impact on her argument.  If we just refer to it as ‘gender relations in the last 10-20 years,’ the argument seems to work the same.  So I will stick with the term despite the fact that it implicitly criticizes the idea of ‘third wave feminism’ – an ideology it claims to include under its umbrella.  (‘Third wave’ is a positivist/progress oriented description of modern feminism; whereas the ‘post’ tag implies that feminism is dead and the new version is something else – it seems to tacitly assert that feminism is inseperable from political activism…which I would dispute.  Scholarship is way too ‘post’ happy these days for my liking…I find it lazy.)


The argument ran something like this.  (My apologies to the presenter if I unintentionally make a straw man of her presentation.)  Since around the mid-eighties or so, after the ‘neurotic romances’ of the ’70s which were not afraid of discussing the sexuality of the romantic leads in adult terms (I’m winging it there – I know nothing of ’70s rom-coms), women’s sexuality has gone in two directions.  The romantic comedy has become a genre in which sex is absented from the narrative (hidden in an ellipse, if it’s implied at all), and the female characters’ relationship to relationships is effectively ‘adolescentized.’  (An ugly term, but it’s my own.  I do work on children and childishness and therefore refuse to use the term ‘childish,’ or any variants, lightly.)  The woman tends to act as though being ‘in love’ could somehow exist regardless of sex.  ‘Destiny’ plays a prominent role, and even hookers like Julia Roberts’ character in “Pretty Woman” regard sex with stereotypical teenage giggles and bashfulness.

Meanwhile, sexual women have become more and more associated with non-romantic, violent films.  Let’s just use “Basic Instinct” here as an example and pull a ’nuff said.  This is unfair to the professor’s argument, but I have no qualms with the description of this as a ‘genre,’ and would imagine that any reader can flesh it out themselves.  Seems to me to be a pretty straitforward argument in regard to female sexuality as either dangerous or unromantic in modern films.

My question is, however, is the connection here one of argument or one of presumption?  Can we really say that these two ‘genres’ are related in a way that makes a comparison more enlightening than looking for romance differences between science fiction and soft-core porn?  It seems to me that the two ‘genres’ have been cherry picked as evidence for a rather shallow argument, rather than the argument arising naturally out of evidence.  (Not that this would be anything new in the realm of scholarship.  We’ve all done it.  One of the biggest lessons we each have to learn is to catch ourselves in the act.)

My point being, the argument enacts my criticism of the term ‘post-feminist.’  (OK, so maybe the term does matter.)  It takes the modern romantic comedy to task on grounds that are somewhat combative.  Seeming to assert the existence of a split as though in evidence for the crumbling of the world now that activist-feminism is in decline.

This is not to imply that the observations are bad.  On the contrary, I thought that much of the presentation was actually quite ingenious.  I just don’t agree with the connecting thread.  I think that it assumes an antagonistic relationship as evidence that the two genres are antagonistic.  (But I may be quite incorrect on that score…I have admittedly become quite snippy with race and gender scholarship of late.)

My point is this, her excellent analysis of the situation of women in romantic comedies seemingly made for women could be made just as poignant, and I think much more interesting, if it were compared with its natural double – the romantic comedy for men – rather than this phantom double of the sex-violence film.  We got into this in the post-lecture Q&A.  I had been thinking about it before hand; I did not bring up my own example as it was covered to my satisfaction then (though not now) by the time I had formulated the question fully.  To be brief, what I think this points to is less a situation in which women’s sexuality has been absented from romantic films and made into a perversion – indeed sex for all human beings has suffered this fate thanks to Hollywood self-censorship (the ‘instant R-rating’ topic of onscreen sex is bound to be paired with additional ‘adult’ material, isn’t it?) – and more a situation in which women’s romantic comedies encourage women to be less mature, while men’s romantic comedies encourage them to be more mature.  The examples of ‘men’s rom-coms’ raised were “Wedding Crashers” and the Judd Apatow films – which posit a world in which the men, seemingly ‘adolescent’ at a very late age, finally ‘grow up’ and enter into what is hopefully to be an ‘adult relationship.’  My example – baseball films – could be used for the same exact argument.  “Mr. Baseball,” “Major League,” and “Bull Durham,” just to name three off of the top of my head, all display ballplayers at the end of their careers who eventually learn to love women who – contrary to all previously asserted notions about women in romantic comedies – are both sexual and mature.

Unlike the women, who are seemingly asked to be ‘cute’ by romantic comedies geared towards the female market, the men are asked to be ‘mature’ in rom-com films geared towards them.

Now we still have to be wary of describing this in our oft overused ‘scholarly scary voice,’ implicity descripting it as some vast conspiracy, but the fact of the observation seems to stand.

In short, thought provoking presentation…but I’m not sure about the set-up.

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(Sorry for the all caps title, but such looks better on this current blog layout.)

A trip to Ghent, Belgium, told in pieces.

The flights:

  • The first flight was fine. Only about half full, which makes for a relatively comfortable trip. A remarkably low number of screaming babies. And flying from west to east feels quicker, as one only spends about seven hours in the air, and yet arrives fourteen hours after one left – ah, the magic of time travel. I get no sleep.
  • The second flight was a disaster area. Again, only half full, but it’s an endless mid-day (a nine hour flight that leaves at ten and arrives at three), so the plane literally feels like it’s going nowhere. Oh, the horror of time travel.  Not to mention that I’m beyond tired, and yet there is a screaming baby in front of me (which only ever seems to scream when I close my eyes), a flier next to me who spends what seems to be about three hours discussing the ‘duty-free’ purchasing options with a flight attendant, and for some reason the leg room feels like it’s about half of normal size. Pretty much complete discomfort. Again, predictably, I get no sleep.
  • Stardust – flight one : film one – Actually quite a fun little film. By no means great, but Gaiman’s book wasn’t really ‘great’ either – he’s more or less just a purveyor of pleasantly silly nonsense. (Except, perhaps, for American Gods.) But it was a fun idea that was well executed, and the film version managed to maintain the bulk of Gaiman’s pithy writing style and his sense of playful ‘rationalism’ (i.e. having the spirits of the dead physically deformed by the way in which they died). Fun.
  • Mr. Bean’s Holiday – flight one : film two – Now this surprised me. The first film was little more than a retread of some of his best comedy bits. This one, though it frequently did the same thing, played variations on old gags rather than simply re-tell them, which made it seem much less like one was watching TV reruns. So it managed to be funny. However, what was really surprising was that it actually had a sort of thematic / moral argument that was quite unexpected. Via the use of a handheld camera, about half of the film is literally ‘holiday home movies.’ This is then contrasted in the film with a very pretentious (and terrible) piece of ‘art cinema.’ So the whole film functions as a populist criticism of film as pleasure rather than film as art. Quite a nice little thing, actually, provided one doesn’t ask for too much from it.
  • Hairspray – flight two : film one – Oh…dear…god… Perhaps my boredom with ‘feel good race-movies’ is affecting my judgment here, but I really wanted to hit this movie. And why, exactly, do we need a skinny male to play an unhappy fat woman? The casting here is kind of gimmicky, using the ‘anything goes’ nature of comedy for a rather silly reason.
  • No Reservations – flight two : film two – This film literally hates you. Literally. It sucks so bad that it achieves consciousness of its own suck-intensity and becomes a malevolent sucking force. The plot is obvious within the first seven seconds: single woman doesn’t realize she’s unhappy; she is forced into a parental role, and then falls in love with the man who fills in for her on the job; the world is saved by the good old fashioned nuclear family. Meanwhile, we weep a lot. This is the kind of thing that Lifetime television continually does, despite the fact that such drivel should be against the law. Wallowing in despair in the name of ultimate happiness. Watch it only if you loathe yourself.


  • Fresh off the plane, my first impression of the country is one, unfortunately, of surprise and concern. A bit of advice…never let anyone tell you that “it’s ok if you don’t speak the language, because they all speak English over there.” This is a lie. Just because English is sort of the default international language, doesn’t mean that you’re actually going to be TALKING when needing communication. A signThere are almost no SIGNS in English in Belgium, and this is every bit as important as language fluency. Especially considering how many other tourists there are in the area; it can be nearly impossible at times to find someone to ask directions from who actually knows anything. So, just be aware that, while you can’t become fluent overnight in a foreign language, you can at least not have unreasonable expectations that things will go smoothly.
  • That said, the country is beautiful. My first impression of it was entrance through a dense fog. (And I love fog.) It is apparently foggy there almost every morning…at least this time of year. Taking the train from Brussels to Ghent, I was able to see the countryside architecture. Lots of steeply pitched roofs, all with a chimney, and oddly long and thin fenced lots (as though they wanted a 200 foot by 10 foot yard for some reason). Under normal circumstances, the prevalence of brick would bore me, but it is all weather-beaten and looks suitably old in the fog, leaving the whole thing feeling more or less like an embodiment of ‘cozy.’ Combine this with the green color, and we have the type of rolling countryside that a Nebraska boy raised on British television has always pined for.
  • In Ghent itself, my first impression, aside from the difficulty in signage, is of the fact that the streets effectively just have a four story A street in Ghentwall on either side. The buildings butt up against each other and are all about the same height, running off into the distance. Forget trees and grass; in fact, forget parking lots. Nothing but human construction as far as the eye can see, and yet it doesn’t get me down like I would expect it to. Probably because the architecture itself isn’t pure functionality like most American buildings; some effort has usually been taken to give them an attractive form – and when this effort hasn’t been taken, it is counteracted by the ‘wall’ atmosphere, which in and of itself renders the buildings paradoxically less ugly.
  • I spent many hours walking the historic district of the city. I have to admit that I have seldom had such a pleasant time just existing in a man-made place. Though it might get a bit old after one has become inoculated to the beauty of the old buildings and become ‘sick to death of castles,’ as Eddie Izzard might say, it was lovely just to walk through the city. I did so much of this that I actually know that area quite well, and could now walk it relatively comfortably without a map.
  • The bulk of my scenic tourism occurred along a particular road, as most of the truly monumental architecture was located there. From west to east sits St Nicholas, Belfry, St Bavothe old post office, St. Nicholas’ Cathedral, the Belfry, and St. Bavo’s. Perhaps I am remembering incorrectly, but I believe they run consistently in that order, with no buildings in between them. (Public squares separate them in my memory.) To the north is the city hall; to the west is the Graslei (east bank) and Koornlei (west bank) on the river Leie – a pathetically small little river made attractive by the ornate old structures on its banks. West of this lies Gravensteen Castle; to its south somewhere is St. Michael’s. It is a pity that I wasn’t able to visit any of these buildings as an actual tourist – it would’ve been wonderful to be inside them – but seeing them from the outside was Gravensteenthe more entertaining half of the experience anyway. To see them from the inside is to go sight-seeing; to see them from the outside, integrated into the city like this, is to just live with them. For someone who likes old things, and is deep down an antique-buff, to walk through a city with ambiance like this is pure heaven. In the space of a few blocks one walks through a few dozen pages of a history book.
  • Oddly enough, the buildings, though they are of relatively uniform design and (apparently) age, house business the range from local tea rooms to McDonalds. It’s quite jarring to see a bookstore with no English language books sitting literally right next door to a Subway (the sandwich shop, not the travel gateway). It all feels sort of like American business trying desperately to reach in and take the shopping centers of another culture. A very odd sensation. (Though not entirely a bad one as, due to the lack of English signage, my first meal in Belgium was actually a homesick Big Mac – which you’ll be glad to know costs about $7 in Belgium. It was $10 for the combo meal – with which one gets the European experience of fries with mayonnaise rather than ketchup.)
  • Perhaps it is unfortunate (or perhaps it is what truly ‘makes’ the St. Michael's Bridgeexperience), but the streets are choked with people. It seems that virtually the entirety of the population is tourists, and I have to imagine that any locals who are in the vicinity spend the bulk of their day sitting in a tea room or smoking…drinking the night away. Either that or playing an accordion on the street for money. I don’t really know that I’d like the lifestyle here, but as a place to visit it was an amazing experience. Something totally outside of my experience.


  • The conference was an eye opener as well. I had not realized, prior to the first few speakers, just how much of a (self-described) marginalized group I was among. These were a new breed of film historian Stage - Maltby second from leftgathering here (which is probably part of the reason why only about a hundred or so were in attendance); individuals who, in their pessimism about the future of the discipline, have taken to looking at history via what I would call (and perhaps others already have) ‘cultural mathematics’ – complex data collecting and statistical evaluation of the level of prevalence of particular cultural acts. Numbers and data sets are everywhere here. Not that I’m criticizing – indeed, I was doing the same thing in my analysis of the Atlanta Better Films Committee children’s matinees – but I had not realized how pervasive this mentality had become in film studies. We have Bobby Allen mapping all the film venues in the history of North Carolina, and many European groups doing the same thing with their respective countries. We have Annette Kuhn doing a vast project on the way individuals report their earliest memory of cinemagoing. We have Richard Maltby doing calculations of the percentage of early film rental contracts that went unpaid (and arguing, quite brilliantly, that the hiring of Will Hays was more about preserving the industry from this financial problem than protecting it from censorship rabblerousing). The bulk of the research is an unwieldy collection of data in the name of little actual discovery. (Though Maltby’s was very valuable.) For the most part we are simply constructing vast piles of data that, most of the time, will do nothing but “prove common sense,” as one of my co-attendees put it in a private conversation (which is why he shall remain nameless in this public forum). Not that it’s bad work. It is, in fact, very good work to have done, but it seems that many scholars have practically given up on the idea that anything really new can be said without dissecting things at the most minute level.
  • This is most problematic in the fact that they’re mostly dissecting the same level. In all honesty, theatrical venue locations are going to reveal very little. At least Maltby’s research (and my own, if I may be so bold) is in a slightly more interesting area.
  • That said, no one should assume that I did not enjoy the conference. I heard a number of very interesting presentations, and simultaneously found myself in the deep end of the current vogue in statistical analysis. It was fun and informative.
  • And, for those who are wondering, my paper went well, though only about seven people were in attendance. That was the one truly unfortunate thing about this conference – I was scheduled for nine a.m. on the final day, so a large quantity of people simply wandered in late. It was unfortunate additionally because, as a first time conference goer and a student, no one really had anything to talk to me about without simply asking for me to describe my work. After the presentation, people were actively seeking me out with things to discuss. In my opinion, all young scholars should go early and in the more amenable time-slots in order to bring them deeper into the culture. But who am I to make judgments like this. (That’s me being facetious, of course. I think I make a very valid criticism of the organization of this particular conference.)


  • Every bit as valuable as the presentations, however, was the chat sessions with the scholarly community. As I said, this was the first time that I’d attended a conference, and the opportunity to have normal conversations with individuals who have been successfully performing this job for varying numbers of years, and others like me who are still entering the field, was very interesting.
  • I spent the bulk of my time in the conference talking with a young professor from Brazil named Fernando Mascarello, and Group at Film Plateaua Russian student from UPenn named Maxim Waldstein. Others were around as well, of course, but they were my most frequent chat buddies. A large quantity of my experience at the conference itself was in talking things over with individuals who were of a similar experience level to myself (no diss intended to Fernando there), while the old-guard generally conversed amongst themselves in the distance. Perhaps this was a fault in my approach to the conference, but I didn’t really treat it as an opportunity to glad-hand with the big-wigs, and so did not introduce myself and converse with them simply for the sake of doing so.
  • Not that it mattered, as I met a number of them anyway in the later hours hang outs. Kathy Fuller-Seeley from Georgia State, who I knew prior to the conference, introduced me to Richard Maltby and Eric Smoodin. Paul S. Moore, a younger professor currently teaching in Canada, was also around in that group, and the one, aside from Kathy, who I spent the bulk of my time with during the evenings. British professor David Williams introduced himself, as he was very interested in my presentation – he even gave me a DVD of his short films on British film history. James Burns from Clemson also introduced himself, though we didn’t seem to hit it off that well for some reason.  Maybe I was just tired – I can only meet so many people in one shot.
  • So some glad handing and acquaintance making was done, though I personally considered it more of a vacation than anything else.

All told, the trip was a good time. I had a lot of fun, met a lot of nice people, and saw my first castle.

Sorry if things don’t sound so exciting in the recounting, but I’m not really all that in the mood to recount the monumental tale in a blog entry right now, and am only really doing so out of feelings of obligation.

Hopefully you all enjoyed reading. And if not, at least there were pictures. :-)

Graslei and I

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