Journal articles on the topic 'Danse lionnes'

Descripción del ritual de baile y expresión corporal ejecutado por un grupo de bailarines que emula los movimientos de un grupo de leones y leonas en lucha, controlando extremadamente su agresividad. Forman parte de una cofradía mística con motivo del Moussem (feria o fiesta popular) de Sidi Hadi Ben Aissa, patrón de los Aissaouás, llevado a cabo el día de Miloud que conmemora el nacimiento del profeta Sidna Mohamed.

AbstractThis article examines Film Studies of the Dance, a dance film created in 1935 by Blanche Evan, Lionel Berman, and David Wolff. The film premiered Evan's new system of dance training, Functional Technique, to the 1930s New York revolutionary dance community. I analyze the film and Functional Technique inside of the debates over technique and content that preoccupied left-wing modern dancers in this period. Ultimately, Film Studies of the Dance emerges as a collaborative attempt by Evan, Berman, and Wolff to create new approaches to dance and film that would unify form and content to further socially conscious art making.

Inong Balee was Aceh's war fleet led by Indonesia's first female admiral, Keumalahayati. Inong Balee consisted of widows who lost theirhusbands in the war and girls who fought against the invaders. The progress of this fleet is represented as a Lioness standing proudly on the ship of the Sultanate of Aceh. This work emerged from the fighting spirit of heroic women. This Inong Balee spirit influenced the emancipation of Acehnese women. This is what makes Aceh women different from women in other regions, where Aceh women are known to have a tough nature.This spirit is interestingly implemented in the form of abstract dance artworks. The purpose of this research is to create an abstract dance artwork that represents the Lioness in the fighting spirit of Inong Balee in Aceh as a pioneer of emancipation. The method used is the creation method byAlma Hawkins which consists of exploration, improvisation, and formation. This research is expected to answer global challenges related to women's issues, especially women in social status. With the achievement of the objectives of this research, the research output can be targeted, namely a dance artwork entitled Bungong Rencong, a scientific article in an accredited national journal, and a copyright certificate for the artwork.

Nora loved the roar of lions near Jim’s grave in Zurich. She thought Jim would be happy with the sound. Nora, whom Joyce wrote into his books. Nora as the Liffey River flowing always to the sea. Nora accepting time and Jim and their daughter Lucia’s madness. Nora, who excited Jim with her body, her spirit, her talk and her letters. Nora as Molly Bloom.

As a traditional Chinese folk art that often appears during important festivals or commercial activities, the cultural value and influence of the lion dance is very far-reaching. In the past 20 years, with the rapid development of society, the protection and inheritance of traditional Chinese culture have become a top priority on the road to preserving historical memory, and the lion dance culture popular in southern China and Southeast Asia, like many other traditional Chinese cultures, is facing the challenge of how to continue passing on. By reviewing the materials, this study learned that there is a lion dance cultural hall in Wuzhou, Guangxi, which has a history of nearly 200 years - Bilin Tang, which has received the support of the Wuzhou Municipal Government to deliberately establish the first professional lion dance major in the Tengxian Secondary School. Out of a desire to gain a clearer understanding of the current status of the preservation and inheritance of this traditional Chinese culture, the author finally contacted Mr. Zhong Dao Ren, the current director of Bilin Tang, and with his support, the author went to Tengxian Secondary School to interview in person. The author communicated with Mr. Deng and the students of the lion dance troupe and obtained a lot of valuable information and materials. Meanwhile, the author conducted more in-depth research under the guidance of Professor Bradd Shore at Emory University, resulting in this paper. The inheritance of the lion dance culture encounters not only the problems of funding, government support, and motivation for an inheritance but also the problem of how to make the inheritance of traditional Chinese culture and the development of the trend of the times mutually integrate into the current social context. To avoid the extinction of traditional Chinese folk art like the Southern Lion culture, it is necessary to attract more attention and resonate the interest of young people in such culture. Only the organic integration of traditional culture with modern elements can be an effective means for the long-term survival of traditional Chinese culture.

En la actualidad se han buscado diversas maneras de romper los paradigmas propios de la discapacidad a todos los niveles, es por esta razón que a nivel educativo se prevén nuevas formas inclusivas, de manera que las personas que padecen limitaciones físicas, cognitivas o mentales, puedan participar de un ejercicio formativo que desarrolle sus habilidades sociales. En este sentido, el grupo LIONS Dance del programa deporte sin límites del Inder Medellín, en la actualidad lleva a cabo procesos de formación dancística con personas en situación de discapacidad, emergiendo de allí la necesidad de abordar las posibilidades de estas estrategias para fomentar la socialización en los usuarios y estableciéndose como objetivo general de esta investigación el identificar las estrategias pedagógicas que fomentan las habilidades sociales de las personas en situación de discapacidad del grupo Lions Dance del programa Deporte sin límites del Inder Medellín 2023. De esta manera se recurrió a la metodología cualitativa con alcance descriptivo y a la aplicación de instrumentos como la entrevista y dos colchas de retazos nombradas como Colcha de cuidado y Retazo de experiencia, por medio de las que se logró identificar que existe una relación entre las estrategias pedagógicas dancísticas y el fomento de las habilidades sociales de los usuarios, en áreas como la comunicación verbal y no verbal, la empatía, el mejoramiento en la capacidad de escucha, entre otras habilidades que son esenciales que le permite a los usuarios mantener relaciones interpersonales satisfactorias.

How to describe my experience? Some Indigenous peoples have prescribed, specific protocols around introductions, but this is not the case where I'm from. Or, if it was this way in the past, we've lost the knowledge of those introductory protocols. I respect that we should give space to those who have Indigenous ways of introducing themselves. As an Alutiiq woman who lives in a kind of diaspora from my island home of Kodiak in Alaska— and my villages of Port Lions and Afognak—I don't always know how to describe my experience. I am an artist. I live in Canada. I make dance, video, photos, texts.

Group defence of territories is found in many gregarious mammalian carnivores, including lions, canids, and hyenas. In these taxa, group members often mark territory boundaries and direct aggressive behaviour towards alien conspecifics found within the territory (Boydston et al., 2001). Middle Pleistocene hominids such as Neanderthals occupied an ecological niche similar to such large carnivores (Stiner, 2002), and so could be expected to share with them a suite of behavioural traits. Complex, coordinated vocalizations that function, at least in part, to advertise the group defence of a territory is one behavioural trait exhibited by several social carnivores, as well as many other gregarious animals, including primates. Hagen and Bryant (2003) proposed that the evolution of human music and dance was rooted in such coordinated auditory and visual territorial advertisements, an hypothesis we develop and expand upon here. Human proto-music, in essence, might have been functionally analogous to the howling of wolves.

Along with the times, traditional arts slowly began to fade. So, it is with traditional folk tales. It is important to keep traditional stories known and understood by children. Introducing the arts, especially performing arts, can be done from an early age, carried out by parents, teachers, to certain communities. For children, of course, an easy and interesting way is needed so that they can be enjoyed until a show is over. The concept of the show 'The Fabulous Fable Show; Circus and Theater 'is a concept that was initiated as a form of love for the local culture of the archipelago, collaborated with circus performances as one of the main branches of the performing arts. Circus shows generally feature attractions such as juggling, spinning, acrobatics, or attractions that use animals such as lions, tigers, elephants, and others. To make this show even more interesting, the concept maker included a theatrical element by bringing up the fable story from Indonesia. The fable story was chosen because the characters used were taken from animals and made children interested in the play that was performed. From there, children can recognize emotional expressions, such as joy or sadness that arise from a dance movement or song that is played.

The Lorette Cave contains a wide variety of deposits within various stratigraphical contexts. This cave is a part of the complex underground meander cut-off of the Wamme and Lomme rivers, between some swallow-holes along their two talwegs near On, Jemelle and Rochefort, and the general resurgence at Eprave. The Lorette Cave is embedded within the Givetian limestone formations of the Calestienne. This cave displays the first part with a labyrinthic structure. Some parts of the karstic network are affected by recent tectonic activity, which dislocates some galleries and provokes collapses. The second part of the cave comprises the West Gallery, which contains the most complete sedimentary series. The “gours suspendus” (hanging gours) section is located at the western end of the gallery. The cave contains numerous and rich detrital deposits. The oldest sedimentary unit is a diamictite found in several galleries (e.g. Galerie Fontaine-Bagdad, Salle du Cataclysme). It is composed of large decametric-sized quartz and sandstone pebbles coming from the erosion of the Lower Devonian formations of the Ardenne. This deposit is older than the U/Th dating limit, i.e. 350 ka. The West Gallery exposes an area of collapsed blocks and ends in a vast room. This gallery is filled with a thick fluvial series of upper Pleistocene age and capped by speleothems of Tardiglacial to Holocene age. The large terminal chamber is clogged by flooded pits. A tributary gallery shows a sedimentary series in a subsiding pit, the “Fosse aux Lions” (Lions’ Pit). These deposits are made of a diamictite interbedded between two fluvial units, the upper part of which displays oblique stratifications. The dating of a summit stalagmite places this set at 120 ka. The present paper analyses a section made in the southern flank of the terminal room, close to the junction with the West Gallery: the “gours suspendus” section. A large part of this section consists of a complex fluvial deposit disconformably resting on top of a compact lower clay formation. This fluvial deposit is stratified, comprising mostly diamictites interstratified with thin levels of gravel and clay. It is capped by an upper clay unit and sealed by a flowstone. Thin strata of finer-grained size sediments (coarse sand), as well as clay lenses, occur within the lower clay. The diamictites indicate a torrential origin of the sediment. At the base, just above the lower clay, some sandy channelling strata testify that one or several fluvial deposition episodes occurred. Then, torrential and probably very short-living events are separated by decantation phases. The pebbles and smaller particles are made of quartz, sandstone and muscovite that most probably originated in the Lower Devonian formations. The “gours suspendus” section provides a new illustration of the succession of sedimentation and erosion phases in Belgian caves. It is now well demonstrated that speleothems grow mainly during temperate to hot and humid climatic phases and detrital infills are deposited in caves during cold/glacial phases. The physical erosion of sediments with ravine formations should be placed in the climatic history of the region. A gullying by a coarse detrital formation like that of the new section is due to a powerful heavy-loaded current. The deposits within caves were therefore available, which can only occur during a cold phase due to the absence of continuous vegetation cover. The sand and clay levels interstratified between levels of pebbles indicate nevertheless distinct flow regimes. However, this torrential lava in the new section seems different from the old diamictite. The deposition of the sedimentary units in the West Gallery seemingly happened during a glacial–interglacial transition. This sedimentological study sets a future perspective for dating flowstones and stalagmites at the top of or embedded within the deposit levels in order to propose a more robust chronological frame for the evolution dynamics of the cave infilling of the Lorette Cave in relation to the climatic history of the region.

This paper examines Shin Young-don’s “Talchumnori in Our Country” (1957), the first book on Mask Drama published in North Korea. Until now, studies on North Korea have centered on Kim Il-chul’s “A study on Korea Folk Talnori” (1958), with no mention of Shin Young-don. Like Kim Il-chul, Shin Young-don joined the Academy of Sciences in 1955. Shin Young-don published a book for the masses a year before Kim Il-chul. In North Korea, full-scale research on Talnori(Mask Drama) had already been conducted in 1957. The same year Shin Young-don’s book was published, Goh Jeong-ok published two papers on Mask Drama. The following year, Kim Il-chul also published a monograph. As the three of them started their research on Mask Drama while working at the Academy of Sciences, it is necessary to study them comparatively. This paper critically examines Shin Young-don’s book in comparison to contemporary studies and examines the debates and development of Mask Drama in North Korea before and after 1960. Both Goh Jeong-ok and Shin Young-don criticized the Hwanghae-do lion dance for being distorted by Collaborative scholars during the colonial period. Goh Jeong-ok believed that the punishment for the offending monks should be carried out by the people’s artistic resistance, not by the lions. Shin Young-don and Kim Il-chul paid attention to the content of Mask Drama, and were less interested in its Rewriting. However, Goh Jeong-ok was interested in the need for collective people’s creation.

Masyarakat Desa Buntu telah dikenal dengan toleransinya, keberagaman budaya dan agama telah ada sejak lama, dengan beragamnya kepercayaan agama tidak membuat kesenian yang ada di Desa Buntu terhenti, beberapa kesenian seperti barongsai, liong, leak, lengger, sendratari dan kuda kepang diikuti oleh semua masyarakat dan semua usia anak-anak hingga orang tua. Jiwa-jiwa seni masyarakat Desa Buntu sudah terlihat sejak kecil, karena adanya latihan rutin setiap bulan yang telah dipertunjukan di beberapa kegiatan yang ada di Kabupaten Wonosobo bahkan di luar Wonosobo. Kegiatan pengabdian kepada masyarakat (PkM) ini dilakukan dalam upaya melestarikan budaya masyarakat Buntu. Kegiatan pengabdian kepada masyarakat ini dilakukan selama 45 hari terhitung dari awal bulan Februari sampai pertengahan bulan Maret 2022. Adapun kegiatan yang telah dilakukan yaitu kegiatan latihan dan juga mengadakan kegiatan Pentas Kebudayaan dan Kirab Kesenian. Kegiatan pelestarian budaya ini menjadi menarik dikarenakan semua kesenian yang ada di Desa Buntu telah diikuti oleh semua kalangan bukan hanya muslim saja, bahkan selain muslim bisa mengikuti seperti Kristen, Budha, Katholik. The people of Buntu Village have been known for their tolerance, cultural and religious diversity has existed for a long time, with the variety of religious beliefs that do not stop the arts in Buntu Village, some arts such as lion dance, lionng, leak, lengger, ballet and horse braids are followed by all people and all ages from children to the elderly. The artistic souls of the people of Buntu Village have been seen since childhood because of regular monthly exercises performed at several activities in Wonosobo Regency and even outside Wonosobo. This community service activity is carried out to preserve the culture of the Buntu community. This community service activity is carried out for 45 days, from February to March 2022. The activities that have been carried out are training activities and also holding Cultural Performances and Arts Carnival. This cultural preservation activity is interesting because all the arts in Buntu Village have been followed by all people, not only Muslims, even other than Muslims can follow such as Christians, Buddhists, and Catholics.

En partant des archives de l’éditeur Albin Michel, et notamment des sources relatives au procès qui opposa le professeur de danse Lagus à Lionel Labrousse, auteur qui publie un Traité de danse sous le nom de Lussan-Borel en 1899, il s’agit d’interroger la manière dont l’usage des graphiques dans les manuels de danse de la fin du XIXe siècle a été à la fois un auxiliaire de l’expertise du professeur, garant de ses qualités de pédagogue, voire de ses qualités morales, mais aussi un support à l’affirmation d’un apprentissage sans maître dans un contexte qui voit se développer les ouvrages et encyclopédies autodidactiques. Lagus accuse Labrousse d’avoir plagié le principe des dessins comme outils didactiques, ce dont se défend Labrousse, valorisant l’héritage de Brunet et de Soria. L’article interroge ainsi le positionnement des « professeurs-auteurs » face à la méthode graphique, ce qu’elle dit de leur statut et de leur potentiel effacement.

Artiklen undersøger med udgangspunkt i landsdækkende aviser og fokus på fodbold, den danske sportspresses stereotyper af Tyskland, England og Spanien. Michael Eriksen: Nationale sportsstereotyper in Danish sport press 1980-2004Football is not just about who’s winning and who’s not. It much more important. In this article the various sporting stereotypes used by the danish sporting press to describe the english, spanish and german national footballteams against the danish national footballteam are identified. These national sporting stereotypes are identified by analyzing a wide range of danish newspapers covering the period 1980-2004. The english are, among other things, described as lions, the germans are frequently referred to by using words originating from the second world war, while the spanish are described as bulls. These stereotypes appear in the way they do as a result of many factors. On the one hand, these stereotypes are a result of football-internal events, and on the other hand footballing external reasons.

https://doi.org/10.1016/j.pocean.2024.103365 Highlights Unprecedentedly high chlorophyll&nbsp;<em>a</em> biomass found in consecutive years during May. Very low densities of grazing zooplankton found during this period. Extreme trophic mismatch extended to planktivorous fish, and for &gt; 1 month. Changes in algal bloom seasonality expected to impact ecosystem energy flow. Authors <strong>Paul E. Renaud</strong>^a&nbsp;^b&nbsp;¹,<strong> Malin Daase</strong> ^b&nbsp;^c&nbsp;¹, Eva Leu ^a,&nbsp; Maxime Geoffroy&nbsp;^c&nbsp;^d,&nbsp; S&uuml;nnje Basedow&nbsp;^c,&nbsp; Mark Inall&nbsp;^e,&nbsp; Karley Campbell&nbsp;^c,&nbsp; Emilia Trudnowska&nbsp;^f,&nbsp; Einat Sandbank&nbsp;^d,&nbsp; Frida Cnossen&nbsp;^a,&nbsp;Muriel&nbsp;Dunn&nbsp;^a&nbsp;^d&nbsp;^g,&nbsp; Lionel Camus&nbsp;^a,&nbsp; Marie Porter&nbsp;^e,&nbsp; Magnus Aune&nbsp;^a,&nbsp; Rolf Gradinger&nbsp;^b &nbsp; ^a Akvaplan-niva, Troms&oslash;, Norway &nbsp;^b The University Centre in Svalbard, Longyearbyen, Norway &nbsp;^c UiT The Arctic University of Norway, Troms&oslash;, Norway ^d Centre for Fisheries Ecosystems Research, Fisheries and Marine Institute of Memorial University of Newfoundland, St. John&rsquo;s, Canada ^e The Scottish Association of Marine Science, Oban, UK ^f Institute of Oceanology Polish Academy of Sciences (IOPAN), Sopot, Poland ^g SINTEF Ocean, Trondheim, Norway

Mazkur maqola jamiyatda futbolning o&lsquo;rni va fenomenologik xususiyatlari, jahonning aksariyat mamlakatlarida eng ommalashgan sport turi ekanligi, uning XXI asrga kelib futbolning sport qolipidan chiqib ketishi sabablari va jamiyatning deyarli barcha jabhalarida iqtisodiyot, siyosat, madaniyat va ilm-fanda o&lsquo;zini namoyon qilishdagi jihatlari va uning mazkur aspektlardagi progressiv xususiyatiga to&lsquo;xtalib o&lsquo;tilgan. Futbolda turli xalqlar va elatlar o&lsquo;zlarining etnik xususiyatlarini aks etishini boshqa sport turlarida uchramasligi misollar orqali ochib berilgan.

Mazkur maqola jamiyatda futbolning o&rsquo;rni va fenomenologik xususiyatlari, jahonning aksariyat mamlakatlarida eng ommalashgan sport turi ekanligi, uning XXI asrga kelib futbolning sport qolipidan chiqib ketishi sabablari va jamiyatning deyarli barcha jabhalarida iqtisodiyot, siyosat, madaniyat va ilm-fanda o&rsquo;zini namoyon qilishdagi jihatlari va uning mazkur aspektlardagi progressiv xususiyatiga to&rsquo;xtalib o&rsquo;tilgan. Futbolda turli xalqlar va elatlar o&rsquo;zlarining etnik xususiyatlarini aks etishini boshqa sport turlarida uchramasligi misollar orqali ochib berilgan.

Perfume is a Japanese “techno-pop” idol trio formed in 2000 consisting of three women–Ayano Omoto, Yuka Kashino, and Ayaka Nishiwaki. Since 2007, when one of their songs was selected for a recycling awareness campaign by Japan's national public broadcaster, Perfume has been a consistent fixture in the Japanese pop music charts. They have been involved in the full gamut of typical idol activities, from television and radio shows to commercials for clothing brands, candy, and drinks. Their success reflects Japanese pop culture's long-standing obsession with pop idols, who once breaking into the mainstream, become ubiquitous cross-media presences. Perfume’s fame in Japan is due in large part to their masterful performance of traditional female idol roles, through which they assume the kaleidoscopic positions of daughter, sister, platonic friend, and heterosexual romantic partner depending on the standpoint of the beholder. In the lyrical content of their songs, they play the various parts of the cute but shy girl who loves from a distance, the strong compatriot that pushes the listener to keep striving for their dreams, and the kindred spirit with whom the listener can face life's ordinary challenges. Like other successful idols, their extensive lines of Perfume-branded merchandise and product endorsements make the exercise of consumer spending power by their fans a vehicle for them to approach the ideals and experiences that Perfume embodies. Yet, Perfume's videos, music, and stage performances are also replete with subversive images of machines, virtual cities and landscapes, and computer generated apparitions. In their works, the traditional idol as an object of consumer desire co-exists with images of the fragmentation of identity, distrust in the world and the senses, and the desire to escape from illusion, all presented in terms of encounters with technology. In what their fans call the "Near Future Trilogy", a set of three singles released soon after their major label debut (2005-06), lyrics refer to the artificiality and transience of virtual worlds ("Nothing I see or touch has any reality" from "Electro-World," or "I want to escape. I want to destroy this city created by immaculate computation" from "Computer City"). In their later work, explicit lyrical references to virtual worlds and machines largely disappear, but they are replaced with images and bodily performances of Perfume with robotic machinery and electronic information. Perfume is an idol group augmented by technology. In this paper, I explore the significance of these images of technological augmentation of the human body in the work of Perfume. I suggest that the ways these bodily encounters of the human body and technology are articulated in their work reflect broader social and economic anxieties and hopes in Japan. I focus in the first section of this paper on describing some of the recurring technological motifs in their works. Next, I show how their recent work is an experiment with the emergent possibilities of human-technology relationships for imagining Japan's future development. Not only in their visual and performance style, but in their modes of engagement with their fans through new media, I suggest that Perfume itself is attempting to seek out new forms of value creation, which hold the promise of pushing Japan out of the extended economic and social stagnation of its 1990s post-bubble "Lost Decade,” particularly by articulating how they connect with the world. The idol's technologically augmented body becomes both icon and experiment for rethinking Japan and staking out a new global position for it. Though I have referred above to Perfume as its three members, I also use the term to signify the broader group of managers and collaborating artists that surrounds them. Perfume is a creation of corporate media companies and the output of development institutions designed to train multi-talented entertainers from a young age. In addition to the three women who form the public face of Perfume, main figures include music producer Yasutaka Nakata, producer and choreographer MIKIKO, and more recently, the new media artist Daito Manabe and his company, Rhizomatiks. Though Perfume very rarely appear on stage or in their videos with any other identifiable human performers, every production is an effort involving dozens of professional staff. In this respect, Perfume is a very conventional pop idol unit. The attraction of these idols for their fans is not primarily their originality, creativity, or musicality, but their professionalism and image as striving servants (Yano 336). Idols are beloved because they "are well-polished, are trained to sing and act, maintain the mask of stardom, and are extremely skillful at entertaining the audience" (Iwabuchi 561). Moreover, their charisma is based on a relationship of omoiyari or mutual empathy and service. As Christine Yano has argued for Japanese Enka music, the singer must maintain the image of service to his or her fans and reach out to them as if engaged in a personal relationship with each (337). Fans reciprocate by caring for the singer, and making his or her needs their own, not the least of which are financial. The omoiyari relationship of mutual empathy and care is essential to the singer’s charismatic appeal (Yano 347). Thus it does not matter to their fans that Perfume do not play their own instruments or write their own songs. These are jobs for other professionals. However, mirroring the role of the employee in the Japanese company-as-family (see Kondo), their devotion to their jobs as entertainers, and their care and respect for their fans must be evident at all times. The tarnishing of this image, for instance through revelations of underage smoking or drinking, can be fatal, and has resulted in banishment from the media spotlight for some former stars. A large part of Japanese stars' conventional appeal is based on their appearance as devoted workers, consummate professionals, and partners in mutual empathy. As charismatic figures that exchange cultural ideals for fans’ disposable income, it is not surprising that many authors have tied the emergence of the pop idol to the height of Japan's economic prosperity in the 1970s and 1980s, when the social contract between labor and corporations that provided both lifelong employment and social identity had yet to be seriously threatened. Aoyagi suggests (82) that the idol system is tied to post-war consumerism and the increased importance of young adults, particularly women, as consumers. As this correlation between the health of idols and the economy might imply, there is a strong popular connection between concerns of social fission and discontent and economic stagnation. Koichi Iwabuchi writes that Japanese media accounts in the 1990s connected the health of the idol system to the "vigor of society" (555). As Iwabuchi describes, some Japanese fans have looked for their idols abroad in places such as Hong Kong, with a sense of nostalgia for a kind of stardom that has waned in Japan and because of "a deep sense of disillusionment and discontent with Japanese society" (Iwabuchi 561) following the collapse of Japan's bubble economy in the early 1990s. In reaction to the same conditions, some Japanese idols have attempted to exploit this nostalgia. During a brief period of fin-de-siècle optimism that coincided with neoliberal structural reforms under the government of Junichiro Koizumi, Morning Musume, the most popular female idol group at the time, had a hit single entitled "Love Machine" that ended the 1990s in Japan. The song's lyrics tie together dreams of life-long employment, romantic love, stable traditional families, and national resurgence, linking Japan's prosperity in the world at large to its internal social, emotional, and economic health. The song’s chorus declares, "The world will be envious of Japan's future!", although that future still has yet to materialize. In its place has appeared the "near-future" imaginary of Perfume. As mentioned above, the lyrics of some of their early songs referenced illusory virtual worlds that need to be destroyed or transcended. In their later works, these themes are continued in images of the bodies of the three performers augmented by technology in various ways, depicting the performers themselves as robots. Images of the three performers as robots are first introduced in the music video for their single "Secret Secret" (2007). At the outset of the video, three mannequins resembling Perfume are frozen on a futuristic TV soundstage being dressed by masked attendants who march off screen in lock step. The camera fades in and out, and the mannequins are replaced with the human members frozen in the same poses. Other attendants raise pieces of chocolate-covered ice cream (the music video also served as an advertisement for the ice cream) to the performers' mouths, which when consumed, activate them, launching them into a dance consisting of stilted, mechanical steps, and orthogonal arm positions. Later, one of the performers falls on stairs and appears to malfunction, becoming frozen in place until she receives another piece of ice cream. They are later more explicitly made into robots in the video for "Spring of Life" (2012), in which each of the three members are shown with sections of skin lifted back to reveal shiny, metallic parts inside. Throughout this video, their backs are connected to coiled cables hanging from the ceiling, which serve as a further visual sign of their robotic characters. In the same video, they are also shown in states of distress, each sitting on the floor with parts exposed, limbs rigid and performing repetitive motions, as though their control systems have failed. In their live shows, themes of augmentation are much more apparent. At a 2010 performance at the Tokyo Dome, which was awarded the jury selection prize in the 15th Japan Media Arts Festival by the Japanese Agency for Cultural Affairs, the centerpiece was a special performance entitled "Perfume no Okite" or "The Laws of Perfume." Like "Secret Secret," the performance begins with the emergence of three mannequins posed at the center of the stadium. During the introductory sequence, the members rise out of a different stage to the side. They begin to dance, synchronized to massively magnified, computer generated projections of themselves. The projections fluctuate between photorealistic representations of each member and ghostly CG figures consisting of oscillating lines and shimmering particles that perform the same movements. At the midpoint, the members each face their own images, and state their names and dates of birth before uttering a series of commands: "The right hand and right leg are together. The height of the hands must be precise. Check the motion of the fingers. The movement of the legs must be smooth. The palms of the hands must be here." With each command, the members move their own bodies mechanically, mirrored by the CG figures. After more dancing with their avatars, the performance ends with Perfume slowly lowered down on the platform at the center of the stage, frozen in the same poses and positions as the mannequins, which have now disappeared. These performances cleverly use images of robotic machinery in order to subvert Perfume's idol personas. The robotic augmentations are portrayed as vectors for control by some unseen external party, and each of the members must have their life injected into them through cables, ice cream, or external command, before they can begin to dance and sing as pop idols. Pop idols have always been manufactured products, but through such technological imagery Perfume make their own artificiality explicit, revealing to the audience that it is not the performers they love, but the emergent and contingently human forms of a social, technological, and commercial system that they desire. In this way, these images subvert the performers' charisma and idol fans' own feelings of adoration, revealing the premise of the idol system to have been manufactured to manipulate consumer affect and desire. If, as Iwabuchi suggests, some fans of idols are attracted to their stars by a sense of nostalgia for an age of economic prosperity, then Perfume's robotic augmentations offer a reflexive critique of this industrial form. In "The Laws of Perfume", the commands that comport their bodies may be stated in their own voices, yet they issue not from the members themselves, but their magnified and processed avatars. It is Perfume the commercial entity speaking. The malfunctioning bodies of Perfume depicted in "Secret Secret" and "Spring of Life" do not detract from their charisma as idols as an incident of public drunkenness might, because the represented breakdowns in their performances are linked not to the moral purity or professionalism of the humans, but to failures of the technological and economic systems that have supported them. If idols of a past age were defined by their seamless and idealized personas as entertainers and employees, then it is fitting that in an age of much greater economic and social uncertainty that they should acknowledge the cracks in the social and commercial mechanisms from which their carefully designed personas emerge. In these videos and performances, the visual trope of technological body augmentation serves as a means for representing both the dependence of the idol persona on consumer capitalism, and the fracturing of that system. However, they do not provide an answer to the question of what might lie beyond the fracturing. The only suggestions provided are the disappearance of that world, as in the end of "Computer City," or in the reproduction of the same structure, as when the members of Perfume become mannequins in "The Laws of Perfume" and "Secret Secret." Interestingly, it was with Perfume's management's decision to switch record labels and market Perfume to an international audience that Perfume became newly augmented, and a suggestion of an answer became visible. Perfume began their international push in 2012 with the release of a compilation album, "Love the World," and live shows and new media works in Asia and Europe. The album made their music available for purchase outside of Japan for the first time. Its cover depicts three posed figures computer rendered as clouds of colored dots produced from 3D scans of the members. The same scans were used to create 3D-printed plastic figures, whose fabrication process is shown in the Japanese television ad for the album. The robotic images of bodily augmentation have been replaced by a more powerful form of augmentation–digital information. The website which accompanied their international debut received the Grand Prix of the 17th Japan Media Arts Prize. Developed by Daito Manabe and Rhizomatiks, visitors to the Perfume Global website were greeted by a video of three figures composed of pulsating clouds of triangles, dancing to a heavy, glitch-laden electronic track produced by Nakata. Behind them, dozens of tweets about Perfume collected in real-time scroll across the background. Controls to the side let visitors change not only the volume of the music, but also the angle of their perspective, and the number and responsiveness of the pulsating polygons. The citation for the site's prize refers to the innovative participatory features of the website. Motion capture data from Perfume, music, and programming examples used to render the digital performance were made available for free to visitors, who were encouraged to create their own versions. This resulted in hundreds of fan-produced videos showing various figures, from animals and cartoon characters to swooshing multi-colored lines, dancing the same routine. Several of these were selected to be featured on the website, and were later integrated into the stage performance of the piece during Perfume's Asia tour. A later project extended this idea in a different direction, letting website visitors paint animations on computer representations of the members, and use a simple programming language to control the images. Many of these user creations were integrated into Perfume's 2013 performance at the Cannes Lions International Festival as advertising. Their Cannes performance begins with rapidly shifting computer graphics projected onto their costumes as they speak in unison, as though they are visitors from another realm: "We are Perfume. We have come. Japan is far to the east. To encounter the world, the three of us and everyone stand before you: to connect you with Japan, and to communicate with you, the world." The user-contributed designs were projected on to the members' costumes as they danced. This new mode of augmentation–through information rather than machinery–shows Perfume to be more than a representation of Japan's socio-economic transitions, but a live experiment in effecting these transitions. In their international performances, their bodies are synthesized in real-time from the performers' motions and the informatic layer generated from tweets and user-generated creations. This creates the conditions for fans to inscribe their own marks on to Perfume, transforming the emotional engagement between fan and idol into a technological linkage through which the idols’ bodies can be modified. Perfume’s augmented bodies are not just seen and desired, but made by their fans. The value added by this new mode of connection is imagined as the critical difference needed to transform Perfume from a local Japanese idol group into an entity capable of moving around the world, embodying the promise of a new global position for Japan enabled through information. In Perfume, augmentation suggests a possible answer to Japan’s economic stagnation and social fragmentation. It points past a longing for the past towards new values produced in encounters with the world beyond Japan. Augmentations newly connect Perfume and Japan with the world economically and culturally. At the same time, a vision of Japan emerges, more mobile, flexible, and connected perhaps, yet one that attempts to keep Japan a distinct entity in the world. Bodily augmentations, in media representations and as technological practices, do more than figuratively and materially link silicon and metal with flesh. They mark the interface of the body and technology as a site of transnational connection, where borders between the nation and what lies outside are made References Aoyagi, Hiroshi. Islands of Eight Million Smiles: Idol Performance and Symbolic Production in Contemporary Japan. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2005. Iwabuchi, Koichi. "Nostalgia for a (Different) Asian Modernity: Media Consumption of "Asia" in Japan." positions: east asia cultures critique 10.3 (2002): 547-573. Kondo, Dorinne K. Crafting Selves: Power, Gender and Discourses of Identity in a Japanese Workplace. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1990. Morning Musume. “Morning Musume ‘Love Machine’ (MV).” 15 Oct. 2010. 4 Dec. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6A7j6eryPV4›. Perfume. “[HD] Perfume Performance Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity.” 20 June 2013. 11 Nov. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gI0x5vA7fLo›. ———. “[SPOT] Perfume Global Compilation “LOVE THE WORLD.”” 11 Sep. 2012. 11 Nov. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28SUmWDztxI›. ———. “Computer City.” 18 June 2013. 10 Oct. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOXGKTrsRNg›. ———. “Electro World.” 18 June 2013. 10 Oct. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zh0ouiYIZc›. ———. “Perfume no Okite.” 8 May 2011. 10 Oct. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2EjOistJABM›. ———. “Perfume Official Global Website.” 2012. 11 Nov. 2013 ‹http://perfume-global.com/project.html›. ———. “Secret Secret.” 18 Jan. 2012. 10 Oct. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=birLzegOHyU›. ———. “Spring of Life.” 18 June 2013. 10 Oct. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7PtvnaEo9-0›. Yano, Christine. "Charisma's Realm: Fandom in Japan." Ethnology 36.4 (1997): 335-49.

&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Biology teaches us that organisms adapt—or don’t; sociology claims that people adapt—or don’t. We know that ideas can adapt; sometimes even institutions can adapt. Or not. Various papers in this issue attest in exciting ways to precisely such adaptations and maladaptations. (See, for example, the articles in this issue by Lelia Green, Leesa Bonniface, and Tami McMahon, by Lexey A. Bartlett, and by Debra Ferreday.) Adaptation is a part of nature and culture, but it’s the latter alone that interests me here. (However, see the article by Hutcheon and Bortolotti for a discussion of nature and culture together.) It’s no news to anyone that not only adaptations, but all art is bred of other art, though sometimes artists seem to get carried away. My favourite example of excess of association or attribution can be found in the acknowledgements page to a verse drama called Beatrice Chancy by the self-defined “maximalist” (not minimalist) poet, novelist, librettist, and critic, George Elliot Clarke. His selected list of the incarnations of the story of Beatrice Cenci, a sixteenth-century Italian noblewoman put to death for the murder of her father, includes dramas, romances, chronicles, screenplays, parodies, sculptures, photographs, and operas:&#x0D; &#x0D; dramas by Vincenzo Pieracci (1816), Percy Bysshe Shelley (1819), Juliusz Slowacki (1843), Waldter Landor (1851), Antonin Artaud (1935) and Alberto Moravia (1958); the romances by Francesco Guerrazi (1854), Henri Pierangeli (1933), Philip Lindsay (1940), Frederic Prokosch (1955) and Susanne Kircher (1976); the chronicles by Stendhal (1839), Mary Shelley (1839), Alexandre Dumas, père (1939-40), Robert Browning (1864), Charles Swinburne (1883), Corrado Ricci (1923), Sir Lionel Cust (1929), Kurt Pfister (1946) and Irene Mitchell (1991); the film/screenplay by Bertrand Tavernier and Colo O’Hagan (1988); the parody by Kathy Acker (1993); the sculpture by Harriet Hosmer (1857); the photograph by Julia Ward Cameron (1866); and the operas by Guido Pannain (1942), Berthold Goldschmidt (1951, 1995) and Havergal Brian (1962). (Beatrice Chancy, 152)&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; He concludes the list with: “These creators have dallied with Beatrice Cenci, but I have committed indiscretions” (152). An “intertextual feast”, by Clarke’s own admission, this rewriting of Beatrice’s story—especially Percy Bysshe Shelley’s own verse play, The Cenci—illustrates brilliantly what Northrop Frye offered as the first principle of the production of literature: “literature can only derive its form from itself” (15).&#x0D; &#x0D; But in the last several decades, what has come to be called intertextuality theory has shifted thinking away from looking at this phenomenon from the point of view of authorial influences on the writing of literature (and works like Harold Bloom’s famous study of the Anxiety of Influence) and toward considering our readerly associations with literature, the connections we (not the author) make—as we read. We, the readers, have become “empowered”, as we say, and we’ve become the object of academic study in our own right. Among the many associations we inevitably make, as readers, is with adaptations of the literature we read, be it of Jane Austin novels or Beowulf. Some of us may have seen the 2006 rock opera of Beowulf done by the Irish Repertory Theatre; others await the new Neil Gaiman animated film. Some may have played the Beowulf videogame. I personally plan to miss the upcoming updated version that makes Beowulf into the son of an African explorer. But I did see Sturla Gunnarsson’s Beowulf and Grendel film, and yearned to see the comic opera at the Lincoln Centre Festival in 2006 called Grendel, the Transcendence of the Great Big Bad. I am not really interested in whether these adaptations—all in the last year or so—signify Hollywood’s need for a new “monster of the week” or are just the sign of a desire to cash in on the success of The Lord of the Rings. For all I know they might well act as an ethical reminder of the human in the alien in a time of global strife (see McGee, A4). What interests me is the impact these multiple adaptations can have on the reader of literature as well as on the production of literature.&#x0D; &#x0D; Literature, like painting, is usually thought of as what Nelson Goodman (114) calls a one-stage art form: what we read (like what we see on a canvas) is what is put there by the originating artist. Several major consequences follow from this view. First, the implication is that the work is thus an original and new creation by that artist. However, even the most original of novelists—like Salman Rushdie—are the first to tell you that stories get told and retold over and over. Indeed his controversial novel, The Satanic Verses, takes this as a major theme. Works like the Thousand and One Nights are crucial references in all of his work. As he writes in Haroun and the Sea of Stories: “no story comes from nowhere; new stories are born of old” (86). &#x0D; &#x0D; But illusion of originality is only one of the implications of seeing literature as a one-stage art form. Another is the assumption that what the writer put on paper is what we read. But entire doctoral programs in literary production and book history have been set up to study how this is not the case, in fact. Editors influence, even change, what authors want to write. Designers control how we literally see the work of literature. Beatrice Chancy’s bookend maps of historical Acadia literally frame how we read the historical story of the title’s mixed-race offspring of an African slave and a white slave owner in colonial Nova Scotia in 1801. Media interest or fashion or academic ideological focus may provoke a publisher to foreground in the physical presentation different elements of a text like this—its stress on race, or gender, or sexuality. The fact that its author won Canada’s Governor General’s Award for poetry might mean that the fact that this is a verse play is emphasised. If the book goes into a second edition, will a new preface get added, changing the framework for the reader once again? As Katherine Larson has convincingly shown, the paratextual elements that surround a work of literature like this one become a major site of meaning generation.&#x0D; &#x0D; What if literature were not a one-stage an art form at all? What if it were, rather, what Goodman calls “two-stage” (114)? What if we accept that other artists, other creators, are needed to bring it to life—editors, publishers, and indeed readers? In a very real and literal sense, from our (audience) point of view, there may be no such thing as a one-stage art work. Just as the experience of literature is made possible for readers by the writer, in conjunction with a team of professional and creative people, so, arguably all art needs its audience to be art; the un-interpreted, un-experienced art work is not worth calling art.&#x0D; &#x0D; Goodman resists this move to considering literature a two-stage art, not at all sure that readings are end products the way that performance works are (114). Plays, films, television shows, or operas would be his prime examples of two-stage arts. In each of these, a text (a playtext, a screenplay, a score, a libretto) is moved from page to stage or screen and given life, by an entire team of creative individuals: directors, actors, designers, musicians, and so on. Literary adaptations to the screen or stage are usually considered as yet another form of this kind of transcription or transposition of a written text to a performance medium. But the verbal move from the “book” to the diminutive “libretto” (in Italian, little book or booklet) is indicative of a view that sees adaptation as a step downward, a move away from a primary literary “source”. In fact, an entire negative rhetoric of “infidelity” has developed in both journalistic reviewing and academic discourse about adaptations, and it is a morally loaded rhetoric that I find surprising in its intensity. Here is the wonderfully critical description of that rhetoric by the king of film adaptation critics, Robert Stam:&#x0D; &#x0D; Terms like “infidelity,” “betrayal,” “deformation,” “violation,” “bastardisation,” “vulgarisation,” and “desecration” proliferate in adaptation discourse, each word carrying its specific charge of opprobrium. “Infidelity” carries overtones of Victorian prudishness; “betrayal” evokes ethical perfidy; “bastardisation” connotes illegitimacy; “deformation” implies aesthetic disgust and monstrosity; “violation” calls to mind sexual violence; “vulgarisation” conjures up class degradation; and “desecration” intimates religious sacrilege and blasphemy. (3)&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; I join many others today, like Stam, in challenging the persistence of this fidelity discourse in adaptation studies, thereby providing yet another example of what, in his article here called “The Persistence of Fidelity: Adaptation Theory Today,” John Connor has called the “fidelity reflex”—the call to end an obsession with fidelity as the sole criterion for judging the success of an adaptation. But here I want to come at this same issue of the relation of adaptation to the adapted text from another angle.&#x0D; &#x0D; When considering an adaptation of a literary work, there are other reasons why the literary “source” text might be privileged. Literature has historical priority as an art form, Stam claims, and so in some people’s eyes will always be superior to other forms. But does it actually have priority? What about even earlier performative forms like ritual and song? Or to look forward, instead of back, as Tim Barker urges us to do in his article here, what about the new media’s additions to our repertoire with the advent of electronic technology? How can we retain this hierarchy of artistic forms—with literature inevitably on top—in a world like ours today? How can both the Romantic ideology of original genius and the capitalist notion of individual authorship hold up in the face of the complex reality of the production of literature today (as well as in the past)? (In “Amen to That: Sampling and Adapting the Past”, Steve Collins shows how digital technology has changed the possibilities of musical creativity in adapting/sampling.)&#x0D; &#x0D; Like many other ages before our own, adaptation is rampant today, as director Spike Jonze and screenwriter Charlie Kaufman clearly realised in creating Adaptation, their meta-cinematic illustration-as-send-up film about adaptation. But rarely has a culture denigrated the adapter as a secondary and derivative creator as much as we do the screenwriter today—as Jonze explores with great irony. Michelle McMerrin and Sergio Rizzo helpfully explain in their pieces here that one of the reasons for this is the strength of auteur theory in film criticism. But we live in a world in which works of literature have been turned into more than films. We now have literary adaptations in the forms of interactive new media works and videogames; we have theme parks; and of course, we have the more common television series, radio and stage plays, musicals, dance works, and operas. And, of course, we now have novelisations of films—and they are not given the respect that originary novels are given: it is the adaptation as adaptation that is denigrated, as Deborah Allison shows in “Film/Print: Novelisations and Capricorn One”. &#x0D; &#x0D; Adaptations across media are inevitably fraught, and for complex and multiple reasons. The financing and distribution issues of these widely different media alone inevitably challenge older capitalist models. The need or desire to appeal to a global market has consequences for adaptations of literature, especially with regard to its regional and historical specificities. These particularities are what usually get adapted or “indigenised” for new audiences—be they the particularities of the Spanish gypsy Carmen (see Ioana Furnica, “Subverting the ‘Good, Old Tune’”), those of the Japanese samurai genre (see Kevin P. Eubanks, “Becoming-Samurai: Samurai [Films], Kung-Fu [Flicks] and Hip-Hop [Soundtracks]”), of American hip hop graffiti (see Kara-Jane Lombard, “‘To Us Writers, the Differences Are Obvious’: The Adaptation of Hip Hop Graffiti to an Australian Context”) or of Jane Austen’s fiction (see Suchitra Mathur, “From British ‘Pride’ to Indian ‘Bride’: Mapping the Contours of a Globalised (Post?)Colonialism”).&#x0D; &#x0D; What happens to the literary text that is being adapted, often multiple times? Rather than being displaced by the adaptation (as is often feared), it most frequently gets a new life: new editions of the book appear, with stills from the movie adaptation on its cover. But if I buy and read the book after seeing the movie, I read it differently than I would have before I had seen the film: in effect, the book, not the adaptation, has become the second and even secondary text for me. And as I read, I can only “see” characters as imagined by the director of the film; the cinematic version has taken over, has even colonised, my reader’s imagination. The literary “source” text, in my readerly, experiential terms, becomes the secondary work. It exists on an experiential continuum, in other words, with its adaptations. It may have been created before, but I only came to know it after. &#x0D; &#x0D; What if I have read the literary work first, and then see the movie? In my imagination, I have already cast the characters: I know what Gabriel and Gretta Conroy of James Joyce’s story, “The Dead,” look and sound like—in my imagination, at least. Then along comes John Huston’s lush period piece cinematic adaptation and the director superimposes his vision upon mine; his forcibly replaces mine. But, in this particular case, Huston still arguably needs my imagination, or at least my memory—though he may not have realised it fully in making the film. When, in a central scene in the narrative, Gabriel watches his wife listening, moved, to the singing of the Irish song, “The Lass of Aughrim,” what we see on screen is a concerned, intrigued, but in the end rather blank face: Gabriel doesn’t alter his expression as he listens and watches. His expression may not change—but I know exactly what he is thinking. Huston does not tell us; indeed, without the use of voice-over, he cannot. And since the song itself is important, voice-over is impossible. But I know exactly what he is thinking: I’ve read the book. I fill in the blank, so to speak. Gabriel looks at Gretta and thinks:&#x0D; &#x0D; There was grace and mystery in her attitude as if she were a symbol of something. He asked himself what is a woman standing on the stairs in the shadow, listening to distant music, a symbol of. If he were a painter he would paint her in that attitude. … Distant Music he would call the picture if he were a painter. (210)&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; A few pages later the narrator will tell us:&#x0D; &#x0D; At last she turned towards them and Gabriel saw that there was colour on her cheeks and that her eyes were shining. A sudden tide of joy went leaping out of his heart. (212)&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; This joy, of course, puts him in a very different—disastrously different—state of mind than his wife, who (we later learn) is remembering a young man who sang that song to her when she was a girl—and who died, for love of her. I know this—because I’ve read the book. Watching the movie, I interpret Gabriel’s blank expression in this knowledge.&#x0D; &#x0D; Just as the director’s vision can colonise my visual and aural imagination, so too can I, as reader, supplement the film’s silence with the literary text’s inner knowledge. The question, of course, is: should I have to do so? Because I have read the book, I will. But what if I haven’t read the book? Will I substitute my own ideas, from what I’ve seen in the rest of the film, or from what I’ve experienced in my own life? Filmmakers always have to deal with this problem, of course, since the camera is resolutely externalising, and actors must reveal their inner worlds through bodily gesture or facial expression for the camera to record and for the spectator to witness and comprehend. But film is not only a visual medium: it uses music and sound, and it also uses words—spoken words within the dramatic situation, words overheard on the street, on television, but also voice-over words, spoken by a narrating figure. Stephen Dedalus escapes from Ireland at the end of Joseph Strick’s 1978 adaptation of Joyce’s A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man with the same words as he does in the novel, where they appear as Stephen’s diary entry:&#x0D; &#x0D; Amen. So be it. Welcome, O life! I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race. … Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead. (253)&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; The words from the novel also belong to the film as film, with its very different story, less about an artist than about a young Irishman finally able to escape his family, his religion and his country. What’s deliberately NOT in the movie is the irony of Joyce’s final, benign-looking textual signal to his reader: &#x0D; &#x0D; Dublin, 1904&#x0D; Trieste, 1914&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; The first date is the time of Stephen’s leaving Dublin—and the time of his return, as we know from the novel Ulysses, the sequel, if you like, to this novel. The escape was short-lived! Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man has an ironic structure that has primed its readers to expect not escape and triumph but something else. Each chapter of the novel has ended on this kind of personal triumphant high; the next has ironically opened with Stephen mired in the mundane and in failure. Stephen’s final words in both film and novel remind us that he really is an Icarus figure, following his “Old father, old artificer”, his namesake, Daedalus. And Icarus, we recall, takes a tumble. In the novel version, we are reminded that this is the portrait of the artist “as a young man”—later, in 1914, from the distance of Trieste (to which he has escaped) Joyce, writing this story, could take some ironic distance from his earlier persona. There is no such distance in the film version. However, it stands alone, on its own; Joyce’s irony is not appropriate in Strick’s vision. His is a different work, with its own message and its own, considerably more romantic and less ironic power.&#x0D; &#x0D; Literary adaptations are their own things—inspired by, based on an adapted text but something different, something other. I want to argue that these works adapted from literature are now part of our readerly experience of that literature, and for that reason deserve the same attention we give to the literary, and not only the same attention, but also the same respect. I am a literarily trained person. People like me who love words, already love plays, but shouldn’t we also love films—and operas, and musicals, and even videogames? There is no need to denigrate words that are heard (and visualised) in order to privilege words that are read. Works of literature can have afterlives in their adaptations and translations, just as they have pre-lives, in terms of influences and models, as George Eliot Clarke openly allows in those acknowledgements to Beatrice Chancy.&#x0D; &#x0D; I want to return to that Canadian work, because it raises for me many of the issues about adaptation and language that I see at the core of our literary distrust of the move away from the written, printed text. I ended my recent book on adaptation with a brief examination of this work, but I didn’t deal with this particular issue of language. So I want to return to it, as to unfinished business. Clarke is, by the way, clear in the verse drama as well as in articles and interviews that among the many intertexts to Beatrice Chancy, the most important are slave narratives, especially one called Celia, a Slave, and Shelley’s play, The Cenci. Both are stories of mistreated and subordinated women who fight back. Since Clarke himself has written at length about the slave narratives, I’m going to concentrate here on Shelley’s The Cenci. The distance from Shelley’s verse play to Clarke’s verse play is a temporal one, but it is also geographic and ideological one: from the old to the new world, and from a European to what Clarke calls an “Africadian” (African Canadian/African Acadian) perspective. Yet both poets were writing political protest plays against unjust authority and despotic power. And they have both become plays that are more read than performed—a sad fate, according to Clarke, for two works that are so concerned with voice. We know that Shelley sought to calibrate the stylistic registers of his work with various dramatic characters and effects to create a modern “mixed” style that was both a return to the ancients and offered a new drama of great range and flexibility where the expression fits what is being expressed (see Bruhn). His polemic against eighteenth-century European dramatic conventions has been seen as leading the way for realist drama later in the nineteenth century, with what has been called its “mixed style mimesis” (Bruhn)&#x0D; &#x0D; Clarke’s adaptation does not aim for Shelley’s perfect linguistic decorum. It mixes the elevated and the biblical with the idiomatic and the sensual—even the vulgar—the lushly poetic with the coarsely powerful. But perhaps Shelley’s idea of appropriate language fits, after all: Beatrice Chancy is a woman of mixed blood—the child of a slave woman and her slave owner; she has been educated by her white father in a convent school. Sometimes that educated, elevated discourse is heard; at other times, she uses the variety of discourses operative within slave society—from religious to colloquial. But all the time, words count—as in all printed and oral literature.&#x0D; &#x0D; Clarke’s verse drama was given a staged reading in Toronto in 1997, but the story’s, if not the book’s, real second life came when it was used as the basis for an opera libretto. Actually the libretto commission came first (from Queen of Puddings Theatre in Toronto), and Clarke started writing what was to be his first of many opera texts. Constantly frustrated by the art form’s demands for concision, he found himself writing two texts at once—a short libretto and a longer, five-act tragic verse play to be published separately. Since it takes considerably longer to sing than to speak (or read) a line of text, the composer James Rolfe keep asking for cuts—in the name of economy (too many singers), because of clarity of action for audience comprehension, or because of sheer length. Opera audiences have to sit in a theatre for a fixed length of time, unlike readers who can put a book down and return to it later. However, what was never sacrificed to length or to the demands of the music was the language. In fact, the double impact of the powerful mixed language and the equally potent music, increases the impact of the literary text when performed in its operatic adaptation. Here is the verse play version of the scene after Beatrice’s rape by her own father, Francis Chancey:&#x0D; &#x0D; I was black but comely. Don’t glance&#x0D; Upon me. This flesh is crumbling&#x0D; Like proved lies. I’m perfumed, ruddied&#x0D; Carrion. Assassinated.&#x0D; Screams of mucking juncos scrawled&#x0D; Over the chapel and my nerves,&#x0D; A stickiness, as when he finished&#x0D; Maculating my thighs and dress.&#x0D; My eyes seep pus; I can’t walk: the floors&#x0D; Are tizzy, dented by stout mauling.&#x0D; Suddenly I would like poison.&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; The flesh limps from my spine. My inlets crimp.&#x0D; Vultures flutter, ghastly, without meaning.&#x0D; I can see lice swarming the air.&#x0D; …&#x0D; His scythe went shick shick shick and slashed&#x0D; My flowers; they lay, murdered, in heaps. (90)&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; The biblical and the violent meet in the texture of the language. And none of that power gets lost in the opera adaptation, despite cuts and alterations for easier aural comprehension.&#x0D; &#x0D; I was black but comely. Don’t look&#x0D; Upon me: this flesh is dying.&#x0D; I’m perfumed, bleeding carrion,&#x0D; My eyes weep pus, my womb’s sopping&#x0D; With tears; I can hardly walk: the floors &#x0D; Are tizzy, the sick walls tumbling,&#x0D; Crumbling like proved lies.&#x0D; His scythe went shick shick shick and cut &#x0D; My flowers; they lay in heaps, murdered. (95)&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Clarke has said that he feels the libretto is less “literary” in his words than the verse play, for it removes the lines of French, Latin, Spanish and Italian that pepper the play as part of the author’s critique of the highly educated planter class in Nova Scotia: their education did not guarantee ethical behaviour (“Adaptation” 14).&#x0D; &#x0D; I have not concentrated on the music of the opera, because I wanted to keep the focus on the language. But I should say that the Rolfe’s score is as historically grounded as Clarke’s libretto: it is rooted in African Canadian music (from ring shouts to spirituals to blues) and in Scottish fiddle music and local reels of the time, not to mention bel canto Italian opera. However, the music consciously links black and white traditions in a way that Clarke’s words and story refuse: they remain stubbornly separate, set in deliberate tension with the music’s resolution. Beatrice will murder her father, and, at the very moment that Nova Scotia slaves are liberated, she and her co-conspirators will be hanged for that murder.&#x0D; &#x0D; Unlike the printed verse drama, the shorter opera libretto functions like a screenplay, if you will. It is not so much an autonomous work unto itself, but it points toward a potential enactment or embodiment in performance. Yet, even there, Clarke cannot resist the lure of words—even though they are words that no audience will ever hear. The stage directions for Act 3, scene 2 of the opera read: “The garden. Slaves, sunflowers, stars, sparks” (98). The printed verse play is full of these poetic associative stage directions, suggesting that despite his protestations to the contrary, Clarke may have thought of that version as one meant to be read by the eye. After Beatrice’s rape, the stage directions read: “A violin mopes. Invisible shovelsful of dirt thud upon the scene—as if those present were being buried alive—like ourselves” (91). Our imaginations—and emotions—go to work, assisted by the poet’s associations. There are many such textual helpers—epigraphs, photographs, notes—that we do not have when we watch and listen to the opera. We do have the music, the staged drama, the colours and sounds as well as the words of the text. As Clarke puts the difference: “as a chamber opera, Beatrice Chancy has ascended to television broadcast. But as a closet drama, it play only within the reader’s head” (“Adaptation” 14).&#x0D; &#x0D; Clarke’s work of literature, his verse drama, is a “situated utterance, produced in one medium and in one historical and social context,” to use Robert Stam’s terms. In the opera version, it was transformed into another “equally situated utterance, produced in a different context and relayed through a different medium” (45-6). I want to argue that both are worthy of study and respect by wordsmiths, by people like me. I realise I’ve loaded the dice: here neither the verse play nor the libretto is primary; neither is really the “source” text, for they were written at the same time and by the same person. But for readers and audiences (my focus and interest here), they exist on a continuum—depending on which we happen to experience first. As Ilana Shiloh explores here, the same is true about the short story and film of Memento.&#x0D; &#x0D; I am not alone in wanting to mount a defence of adaptations. Julie Sanders ends her new book called Adaptation and Appropriation with these words: “Adaptation and appropriation … are, endlessly and wonderfully, about seeing things come back to us in as many forms as possible” (160). The storytelling imagination is an adaptive mechanism—whether manifesting itself in print or on stage or on screen. The study of the production of literature should, I would like to argue, include those other forms taken by that storytelling drive. If I can be forgiven a move to the amusing—but still serious—in concluding, Terry Pratchett puts it beautifully in his fantasy story, Witches Abroad: “Stories, great flapping ribbons of shaped space-time, have been blowing and uncoiling around the universe since the beginning of time. And they have evolved. The weakest have died and the strongest have survived and they have grown fat on the retelling.” In biology as in culture, adaptations reign.&#x0D; &#x0D; References&#x0D; &#x0D; Bloom, Harold. The Anxiety of Influence. New York: Oxford University Press, 1975. Bruhn, Mark J. “’Prodigious Mixtures and Confusions Strange’: The Self-Subverting Mixed Style of The Cenci.” Poetics Today 22.4 (2001). Clarke, George Elliott. “Beatrice Chancy: A Libretto in Four Acts.” Canadian Theatre Review 96 (1998): 62-79. ———. Beatrice Chancy. Victoria, BC: Polestar, 1999. ———. “Adaptation: Love or Cannibalism? Some Personal Observations”, unpublished manuscript of article. Frye, Northrop. The Educated Imagination. Toronto: CBC, 1963. Goodman, Nelson. Languages of Art: An Approach to a Theory of Symbols. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1968. Hutcheon, Linda, and Gary R. Bortolotti. “On the Origin of Adaptations: Rethinking Fidelity Discourse and “Success”—Biologically.” New Literary History. Forthcoming. Joyce, James. Dubliners. 1916. New York: Viking, 1967. ———. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. 1916. Penguin: Harmondsworth, 1960. Larson, Katherine. “Resistance from the Margins in George Elliott Clarke’s Beatrice Chancy.” Canadian Literature 189 (2006): 103-118. McGee, Celia. “Beowulf on Demand.” New York Times, Arts and Leisure. 30 April 2006. A4. Rushdie, Salman. The Satanic Verses. New York: Viking, 1988. ———. Haroun and the Sea of Stories. London: Granta/Penguin, 1990. Sanders, Julie. Adaptation and Appropriation. London and New York: Routledge, 160. Shelley, Percy Bysshe. The Cenci. Ed. George Edward Woodberry. Boston and London: Heath, 1909. Stam, Robert. “Introduction: The Theory and Practice of Adaptation.” Literature and Film: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Film Adaptation. Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. 1-52.&#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; &#x0D; Citation reference for this article&#x0D; &#x0D; MLA Style&#x0D; Hutcheon, Linda. "In Defence of Literary Adaptation as Cultural Production." M/C Journal 10.2 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/01-hutcheon.php&gt;. APA Style&#x0D; Hutcheon, L. (May 2007) "In Defence of Literary Adaptation as Cultural Production," M/C Journal, 10(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?&gt; from &lt;http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0705/01-hutcheon.php&gt;. &#x0D;