Journal articles on the topic 'Radio plays, English'

A wireless communication network using an embedded microprocessor is a communication network method that uses radio waves to transmit the sound, text, pictures, data, and other information that the sender needs to transmit to the receiver through space and ground. With the rapid development of world science and technology, the application of radio communication network technology and international exchanges and cooperation have become increasingly active. In the era of radio communication networks, through radio communication English and radio communication English translation, we can receive real-time information about the development of radio communication technology. It can be seen that radio communication English plays an important role in promoting international radio technology exchanges and cooperation. Therefore, more and more researches on the structural features and translation skills of radio communication English have appeared in the academic circles. This article is aimed at studying the structural features and translation skills of English in the era of radio communication networks. The article first briefly introduces radio communication and then introduces the structural features of radio communication English, including lexical features and syntactic features. It also introduced two common radio communication spectrum detection algorithms. Finally, it explores the translation skills of radio communication English based on case analysis and provides some method reference for radio communication English translation.

As opposed to Beckett's drama and, to a lesser degree, his television plays, the six scripts he wrote for radio are generally considered to be a textually stable category in his body of work. The only well-known exception is Cascando, whose American and British first editions were distinguished by more than fifty variants. When Everett Frost confronted the author with the Grove and Faber versions of the text in 1987, to re-record them for an American Festival of his radio plays, Beckett admitted ‘there are differences’ and advised the producer to follow the Faber example. Three years earlier, Beckett's English-language publishers had made the same choice for their joint publication of the Collected Shorter Plays (1984), when Grove discarded their texts of the radio plays for the Faber alternatives. But, not only were the American texts generally more reliable, they sometimes contained unique variants as well. Unproofed by the author, CSP added several new mistakes to the ones still surviving from the British first editions and their later reprints. This is problematic as CSP continued to serve as the model for Grove's Centenary Edition (2006) and Faber's All That Fall and Other Plays for Radio and Screen (2009). While its editor, Everett Frost, has ‘made every effort silently to correct minor flaws appearing in earlier editions, no attempt has been made to impose a rigorous consistency upon such diverse materials’. Building on Frost's work, this article compares all English editions with each other, as well as the typescripts on which they were based, to provide an overview of variants and errors for each text. The purpose is to show that Cascando is not the only one marked by differences, and that a study of the existing drafts is necessary to fully understand the publishing history of the radio plays.

This is a collection of four plays written in the ’70s and ’80s by Italy’s foremost feminist playwright, as well as poet, critic and political activist. Editor Rhoda Helfman Kaufman states in her introduction that the volume is the first publication of plays by Maraini in English but this isn’t quite accurate. Maraini wrote a half-hour drama called Mussomeli-Düsseldorf, translated by Margaret Hollingsworth, for a collection of radio plays (Airborn, Blizzard Publishing, 1991), commissioned by CBC Radio to celebrate the Second International Women Playwrights’ Conference held in Toronto in 1991.

Radio drama is alive and well and living in Canada, even though the audience is scattered and silent, and the playwrights relatively obscure. It works best as an intimate, personal voice in the ear of the individual listener, seducing with the meaningful sound of language. Although its pervasive tone has been critical and ironic, it is most effective as a mental theatre: sound becomes a transcription of psychological reality. The CBC has, however, produced a diversity of radio plays, from adaptations of novels to innovative series featuring new Canadian playwrights.

In this article the foreign language classroom in a Waldorf school is described as a space inviting active performative participation. It gives examples spanning the lower, middle and particularly the upper school, in which performative methods and creativity are specifically encouraged. The aim is to involve the whole child and young person not only in reproducing but in producing actions in and through the foreign language, using methods such as enacting stories and pictures, producing and playing scenes, translating prose texts into scripts for plays, radio plays and story boards for film.

Advertising plays a crucial role in our reality. It invades our lives through TV screens, radio frequencies, the pages of newspapers and journals. Being a unique phenomenon in our reality, which is designed for thousands of readers, listeners, viewers, it has given birth to different approaches and opinions. Advertising is a rapidly developing phenomenon, quick in responding to major and minor changes in the social life. Today it has penetrated into sports as well. Sport is a big business and many companies use sport as a means of publicizing their product. Thus, the present paper intends to study sport ads with the aim of presenting them as a register standing out for uniqueness, containing a small scale plot which aims to draw the attention of the reader to the phenomenon. Usually such small texts use the names of world famous sportsmen which immediately attract attention. In sport ads the plot usually includes certain qualities which demonstrate the skills of a given sportsman, and the object is advertised through creating a text which is combined with illustrations of the very object.

Although listening skill is considered as a tough skill, there are some ways to practice or improve listening skill such as watching English programs, movies, listening to English radio and native speaker. Furthermore, Herron, York, Corrie, and Cole (2006) stated that students who practice their listening skill through videos can improve their listening comprehension. Using videos in English learning surely can attract students’ interest to watch the videos. However, motivation also plays a pivotal role in language learning, within each, motivated learners being more likely to attain their educational objectives compared to those lacking motivation. This research is intended to explore EFL students’ attitudes in term of motivation towards the use of conversation video on listening performance. A ten-item questionnaire was distributed to 36 students. The findings shows a high consistency noted within the intrinsic and extrinsic motivation category (α = .663), which indicates that most participants perceive positive attitudes regarding intrinsic and extrinsic motivation towards using conversation videos to enhance listening performance.

Ken Wilson is an author and trainer. He has written more than thirty ELT titles, including a dozen series of course books, including Smart Choice for Oxford University Press (OUP). He also writes lots of supplementary material, and in 2008, OUP published Drama and Improvisation, a collection of more than 60 of his ELT drama and motivational activities. His first publication was a collection of songs called Mister Monday, which was released when he was 23, making him at the time the youngest-ever published ELT author. Since then, he has written and recorded more than 150 ELT songs, published as albums or as integral parts of course material. He has also written more than a hundred ELT radio and television programs for the BBC and other broadcasters, including fifty radio scripts for the Follow Me series, thirty Look Ahead TV scripts and a series of plays called Drama First.Until 2002, Ken was artistic director of the English Teaching Theatre, a touring company which performed stage-shows for learners of English. The ETT made more than 250 tours to 55 countries, including three visits to Japan. Ken is an enthusiastic blogger, tweeter and social networker. He lives in London England with his wife Dede and two cats, and works in a shed at the end of his garden.

This article focuses on Barbara Bray, an English woman of letters who worked for several decades with the BBC as a translator and adaptor of plays and novels for radio, but also as critic and scriptwriter. Evidence found at the BBC Written Archives Centre reveals that Bray was very vocal about her rights as a multitasking cultural agent: when she didn’t fight for better fees, she demanded that the variety of skills involved in her work as an intercultural intermediary be recognized and fairly remunerated by BBC officials. The article looks at how Bray adapted the nouveau roman Moderato Cantabile by Marguerite Duras (1958) and shows how Bray fought to have her work as a literary scout recognized by the BBC.

Course books are the most popular way to learn foreign languages. However, in the 21st century, there are other ways to learn languages, such as multimedia tools. The use of the Internet, newspapers, radio, or television can be an alternative to traditional language learning methods.The rapid advancement of science and technology, such as multimedia technology, has made it possible to explore this new teaching method more effectively. In reality, multimedia technology plays a vital role in the teaching of English language, particularly in the context of non-native speaking English. It also helps non-native English speakers of language teachers to understand how to use it effectively. The use of multimedia in foreign language teaching has grown steadily, and it has greatly improved the quality of teaching and learning. To effectively teach a foreign language, the traditional method is insufficient. We ought to reconsider the way we teach and accept their impersonal quality as a type of instruction. Thus, we can legitimately use contemporary educational technology to achieve the goal of teaching languages. Nowadays, almost everyone uses multimedia tools to help them with daily tasks. For example, some people get ready to leave the house to the beat of the radio's music, while others can't imagine having breakfast without reading the newspaper and so on.

For more than three decades, John Jordan (1930–88) was one of the most astute and perceptive literary critics in Ireland. As editor of the magazine Poetry Ireland in the Sixties he helped to revive Dublin as a significant literary centre, maintaining friendships with Patrick Kavanagh, Brendan Behan, and Austin Clarke. Himself a poet in the late modernist mode and a writer of witty and idiosyncratic short stories about the bohemian Dublin of the Forties and Fifties, Jordan was equally well-known as a drama critic, a staunch advocate of the later plays of Sean O'Casey, a defender of Joyce and Beckett, and a champion of the work of women authors including Kate O'Brien and the playwright Teresa Deevy. A child prodigy who corresponded with the famous English drama critic James Agate and evaluated play scripts for Edwards and MacLiammóir at the Gate Theatre, where he also acted, John Jordan distinguished himself as a scholarship student at Pembroke College Oxford and at UCD, where he lectured brilliantly on English literature. He was also a noted broadcaster on radio and TV programmes such as the Thomas Davis Lectures, Sunday Miscellany, and the TV book programme Folio.

In this article Eckhard Breitinger traces the sources of present-day popular theatre in Uganda back to the situation shortly before and after independence, when Europeans, Indians, Goans, and Ugandans each had their own separate cultural and theatrical traditions. Theatrical activity came to a virtual standstill under the repressive regimes of Obote and Amin, when many prominent theatre people were killed or exiled, but quickly began to flourish again after 1986: in downtown Kampala semi-professional groups thus produce commercial comedies, while in the suburbs amateur companies use theatre to supplement their meagre incomes. Meanwhile, government and aid organizations involve themselves mainly in theatre for education, particularly health education, and the campaign against Aids has generated new needs – met by a new style of ‘morality play’, here illustrated and analyzed in detail. Eckhard Breitinger teaches American, African, and Caribbean literature at the University of Bayreuth, and has also taught in Jamaica, Ghana, Nigeria, Uganda, and France. He is a translator of radio plays, author of monographs on the gothic novel and American radio drama, and editor of several books on African and new English literature. Presently he is editor of Bayreuth African Studies, and directing a research project on cultural communication in Africa.

[B]y carrying us beyond paper, the adventures of technology grant us a sort of future anterior: they liberate our reading for a retrospective exploration of the past resources of paper, for its previously multimedia vectors.—Jacques Derrida, Paper MachineThis essay explores some of the ways that the contemporary mediascape has begun to transform the questions we can ask of our students and ourselves. Our subject derives from an undergraduate English course, Literary History and/as Media History, that we designed to address the lack of critical attention paid in the curriculum to the media of literary works. The course, whose catalog description follows, was intended to cover a lot of historical ground while highlighting theoretical questions that generally remain unasked in Norton Anthology–style surveys:Living in an era of rapid technological innovation, we tend to forget that print itself was once a new medium. The history of English and American literature since the Renaissance has been as much a response to the development of new material formats (scribal copying, printed playtexts, newspaper and serial publication, “little magazines,” radio, film, television, the internet) as it has been a succession of ideal literary forms (poems, plays, and novels). This course will survey literary works from the sixteenth to the twentieth century in relation to the history of media. What can these histories say to each other? Are they, indeed, one history?

Mahesh Dattani, is an avant-garde Indian English dramatist known for his radical and unconventional dramatic themes. His plays are characterized by an extremely sensitive temperament that delves into the intricacies of the human nature and strives to expose the hypocrisy of the urban life and society. This paper discusses his play The Girl Who Touched the Stars as a quest for a lost identity. In doing so, the paper sheds light upon the underlying themes of gender discrimination, misogyny and role-playing that the playwright uses in this play to show how much these evils are rampant even amongst the educated classes of the society. Specifically, the paper explores the deconstruction of identity of the protagonist as employed by the playwright and examines the implications this technique has on the narrative of the play. The interconnection between the role-playing and the inherent theme of gender discrimination is also analyzed in order to see how these elements complement each other. Also, the paper comments on the efficacy of radio drama as a medium for handling a sensitive theme like this.

Background: SFRS1 is a member of the splicing factor protein family. Through a specific sequence of alteration, SRSF1 can move from the cytoplasm to the nucleus where it can work autonomously as a splicing activator, or as a silencer when interacting with other regulators. Alternative splicing (AS) is a fundamental biological process that ensures protein diversity. In fact, different proteins, produced by alternative splicing, can gain different and even antagonistic biological functions. Methods: Our review is based on English articles published in the MEDLINE/PubMed medical library between 2000 and 2021. We retrieved articles that were specifically related to SRSF1 and cancers, and we excluded other reviews and meta-analyses. We included in vitro studies, animal studies and clinical studies, evaluated using the Medical Education Research Study Quality Instrument (MERSQI) and the Newcastle–Ottawa Scale-Education (NOSE). Result: SRSF1 is related to various genes and plays a role in cell cycle, ubiquitin-mediated proteolysis, nucleotide excision repair, p53 pathway, apoptosis, DNA replication and RNA degradation. In most cases, SRSF1 carries out its cancer-related function via abnormal alternative splicing (AS). However, according to the most recent literature, SRSF1 may also be involved in mRNA translation and cancer chemoresistance or radio-sensitivity. Conclusion: Our results showed that SRSF1 plays a key clinical role in tumorigenesis and tumor progression in several types of cancer (such as Prostate, Lung, Breast, Colon, Glioblastoma), through various mechanisms of action and different cellular pathways. This review could be a starting point for several studies regarding the biology of and therapies for cancer.

BACKGROUND Acute pancreatitis (AP) is described as acute inflammation of the pancreas with or without peripancreatic abnormalities. The present study describes the role of computed tomography in the evaluation and grading of acute pancreatitis. Acute pancreatitis is a dynamic disease having biphasic mortality peaks due to two overlapping phases, which include early and late due to increased obesity, ageing of population, alcohol abuse, increased gall stone incidence, the worldwide AP incidence is increasing. Most important causes of AP in developing countries such as India include increased alcohol consumption. Contrast enhanced computed tomography plays an important role in diagnosis of the disease and helps in determining the prognosis of the disease. Modified CT severity index scoring system is the most commonly used scoring system for assessment of the severity of the disease. METHODS The present study is a prospective study of patients presenting with signs and symptoms of acute pancreatitis referred to the Department of Radio Diagnosis at Katuri medical college. This study comprised of 50 patients with clinical suspicion / diagnosis of acute pancreatitis, raised pancreatic biochemical parameters like serum amylase and serum lipase. Contrast enhanced computed tomography was performed in these patients, findings reported, and the disease was classified using modified CT scoring index system (MCTSI). RESULTS The mean age of the patients in the present study was 42.3 ± 12.28 years. Most of the patients presented with abdominal epigastric pain, abdominal distension. Acute pancreatitis was divided into acute oedematous pancreatitis and necrotising pancreatitis, the former being common. Complications included, ascites, pleural effusions, splenic vein thrombosis, portal venous thrombosis, and haemorrhages. CONCLUSIONS Contrast enhanced CT is useful to differentiate between oedematous and necrotising types of pancreatitis. The MCTSI helps in better evaluation of pancreatic necrosis grading. The modified computed tomography score index correlation with the development of local and systemic complications in acute pancreatitis is well established. Ideally, conducting contrast enhanced computed tomography (CECT) after 48 - 72 hours of acute attack, increases the probability of identifying necrotising pancreatitis. CT in particular has an overall accuracy of about 87 % and sensitivity and specificity of 100 % in the recognition of pancreatic necrosis. KEYWORDS Computed Tomography, Acute Pancreatitis, Pseudocyst, Modified CT Score Index

Urjo Kareda was a man whose passion for the performing arts defined his professional life. As the theatre critic for The Toronto Star, his enthusiasm for seeing new work and his ability to bring his intellectual prowess and affective response to his lucid discussions of the plays he reviewed, lent a critical voice that was crucial to the shaping of contemporary English-language theatre in Canada. Passion carried over to his criticism of opera and his contributions to CBC radio; among his various offerings was “Urjo’s Diary,” a weekly feature in which Urjo’s wry, astute comments were punctuated by the sound of a page being turned. As the Artistic Director of Tarragon Theatre, he redefined the role by focusing his efforts on working with playwrights to develop their work, rather than being a director. He read everything that was submitted, regardless of the source, and responded to each playwright who submitted work. He worked closely with the members of the Playwrights Unit at Tarragon, helping each to develop his or her craft. Urjo was committed, passionately, to the development of new work in Canadian theatre; his nurturing of new voices in the theatre has left a rich legacy of playwrights who, like Don Hannah, Joan Macleod, Jason Sherman and Judith Thompson became, in his life, established figures. Until his death, he was supporting the work of those whose careers are still in their early stages: Morwyn Brebner, Christine Buijs and Emma Roberts, to name but a few.

Paddy Bushe was born in Dublin in 1948 and now lives in Waterville, Co. Kerry. He writes in Irish and in English. His collections include "Poems With Amergin" (1989), "Digging Towards The Light" (1994), "In Ainneoin na gCloch" (2001), "Hopkins on Skellig Michael" (2001) and "The Nitpicking of Cranes" (2004). "To Ring in Silence: New and Selected Poems" was published in 2008. He edited the anthology "Voices at the World’s Edge: Irish Poets on Skellig Michael" (Dedalus, 2010). His latest collections are "My Lord Buddha of Carraig Eanna" (2012), "On A Turning Wing" (2016) and "Móinéar an Chroí" (2017). He received the 2006 Oireachtas prize for poetry, the 2006 Michael Hartnett Poetry Award and the 2017 Irish Times Poetry Now Award. He is a member of Aosdána. In 2020, Dedalus Press publishes "Double Vision", a two-volume publication comprising Second Sight, the author’s own selection of his Irish language poems, accompanied by the author’s own translations, as well as "Peripheral Vision", his latest collection in English. Bernard O’Donoghue’s was born in Cullen, County Cork in 1945, he has lived in Oxford since 1965. His first full-length collection, "The Weakness", emerged in 1991 with Chatto & Windus, following on from a trilogy of pamphlets. His second collection, "Gunpowder" (1995) won the Whitbread Poetry Award. More recently, he published the collection "Outliving" and a selection of his poetry by Faber in 2008, followed by "Farmers Cross" (2011), which was shortlisted for the T.S. Eliot Prize. In 2009 he was honoured by the Society of Authors with a Cholmondeley Award. Until recently, O’Donoghue taught and worked for Oxford University, specialising in medieval verse and contemporary Irish literature. His reputation as a scholar consolidated in 1995 with his critical work, "Seamus Heaney and the Language of Poetry", described as “excellent” by Ian Sansom in "The Guardian". More recently O’Donoghue edited the "Cambridge Companion to Seamus Heaney" and has produced a number of translations of medieval works, including "Gawain and the Green Knight" (2006) and, forthcoming from Faber, "Piers Plowman". Xesús Miguel "Suso" de Toro Santos (1956-) is a Spanish writer. A modern and contemporary arts graduate, he has published more than twenty novels and plays in Galician. He is a television scriptwriter and regular contributor to the press and radio. Suso de Toro writes in Galician and sometimes translates his own work into Spanish. His works have been translated into several languages, and have been taught in European universities. There are plans to make three of his works into films: "A Sombra Cazadora" (1994), "Non Volvas" (1997), and "Calzados Lola" (2000).

Langston Hughes traveled to Spain in 1937, during that Country's Civil War. He saw the Republic's Fight against Franco as an international fight against fascism, racism, and colonialism and for the rights of workers and minorities. Throughout the 1930s, Hughes organized for justice, at home and abroad, often engaging with communist and other left political organizations, like the Communist Party USA's John Reed Club, the League of Struggle for Negro Rights, and the International Workers' Order (Rampersad, Life 236, 286, 355; Scott). When the war in Spain began, in 1936, workers and intellectuals who were engaged on the left came from around the world to fight against Franco's forces; these volunteers, the International Brigades, included approximately 2,800 Americans known as the Abraham Lincoln Brigade, of which about ninety were African American (Carroll vii; “African Americans”). Hughes went to Spain to interview black antifascist volunteers in the International Brigades and write about their experiences for the Baltimore Afro-American, VolunteerforLiberty, and other publications. Much of Hughes's writing from Spain sought to explain to people at home why men and women, and African diasporic people especially, had risked their lives to fight in Spain. Hughes profiled African Americans fighting for the first time alongside white comrades in the International Brigades, including Ralph Thornton, Thaddeus Battle, and Milton Herndon (“Pittsburgh Soldier Hero,” “Howard Man,” “Milt Herndon”). In addition to writing articles, he wrote poetry, gave radio speeches, and translated poems and plays from Spanish into English. Much of Hughes's work from the Spanish Civil War has been collected in anthologies. However, so prolific was Hughes, and so fastidious was he in saving drafts and ensuring they reach his collection at Yale University's Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, that many unpublished works exist in archives. The four poems here represent different poetic registers and levels of polish, and they illuminate the dynamic range of Hughes's literary production during his time in Spain.

The paper deals with the effects of prescriptivism on the Lithuanian language. The research includes one domain of language use – radio and television, and one aspect of language – lexicon, in the period between 1960 and 2010. The investigation is corpus-based and focuses on the use of words that are classified as “incorrect” by the Lithuanian norm-setters. The study is important both as a discussion of the impact of prescriptivism on language change in general, as well as of the indirect influence of media on language, since media can affect the symbolic evaluation of specific language forms.The paper consists of five chapters. The first chapter “Review of the research” discusses the theoretical assumptions and concepts needed for further analysis: it gives an overview of studies on the effects of prescriptivism conducted in Lithuania and elsewhere, presents the concepts of second-level indexicality and style, and outlines the key characteristics of media change in Lithuania that are relevant to the study. Studies on the success of prescriptivism do not give a definite answer as to whether prescriptivism works. Institutionalisation and a high degree of stigmatisation of the corrected language forms can be listed among the factors that increase its success; prescriptivism is likely to be less successful when the “forbidden” language forms are too convenient to be given up, or when prescriptivist rules are too complicated for lay language users and the rules contradict each other. In the case of media, the effect of prescriptivism is said to be weakened by media commercialisation.When applied to the analysis of non-standard words, first-order indexicality refers to situations when the non-standard forms are used as value-free instances of ordinary speech, in already established meanings; in these cases, the speakers are not aware that they are using “incorrect” forms. Second-order indexicality refers to cases when non-standard words are used for additional function, e.g., to express a speaker’s particular identity or to construct a certain (informal, friendly) speech style. The concept of style, referring to the social differences between individual speakers, is used to analyse the use of words in concrete situations. The paper gives an overview of three sociolinguistic concepts of style that are relevant in this study: style as a degree of formality (e.g., when the speaker accommodates to the formal context of the media and uses less non-standard words); as audience and referee design (e.g., use of non-standard words in programmes for young audiences); and as a speaker design (e.g., play with language by the programme host in order to construct a fun persona).In the study of non-standard lexis, it is important to account for certain features of Lithuanian media development, such as the Soviet period, which was characterised by the use of newspeak, and the commercialisation of the media in the contemporary period. Accordingly, the paper analyses the uses of incorrect words as a part of newspeak and their use for the entertainment-related purposes such as language plays in present times. The paper also addresses the transitory period of radio and TV development, which has features from both the previous and the later periods, as well as some unique characteristics of language use.The second chapter “Radio and TV speech in the prescriptive discourse” presents an analysis of the metalinguistic discourse on media speech produced by Lithuanian prescriptivists from the pre-war period up to now. The analysis shows how this discourse preserved the same dominant idea about media’s role in language standardisation. On the one hand, during this whole time, radio and television were approached as responsible for teaching listeners and viewers the “correct language”; on the other hand, simultaneously, the language of radio and television was perceived as failing to conform to the prescriptive norms set by the norm-setters. The huge societal shifts that happened during this time did not make a major influence on this discourse. It remained very stable during different periods of time. The social, cultural and political changes in society and the media were taken into account only by adjusting the argumentation – by presenting patriotic, moral, ideological or legal motives that were meant to justify the language prescriptions.The third chapter “Research methods and data” presents the Corpus of Radio and TV speech, the concept of non-standard words, and the sources of prescriptivist corrections used in the analysis. The corpus of radio and TV speech includes data from 1960 to 2011 and is constructed in a balanced way to represent the periods of Lithuanian radio and TV development (Soviet, transitory, contemporary), as well as programme genres (talk programmes, information programmes, journals/features/documentaries). The speakers are coded into six types: news reader/voice-over, talk show host, expert, celebrity, hero and vox populi. For the analysis, the non-standard words that are classified as “incorrect” in the normative tradition of the Lithuanian language were coded. These include old (mainly, Slavic) and new (mainly, English) loans, the so-called hybrid words (that have a borrowed part), semantic loans, translations, as well as some lexicalised uses of words and some lexicalised syntactic constructions. Two types of words are analysed – individual lexical words and functional words. The latter include various fillers and discourse markers, as well as pronoun constructions with tai (e.g. kažkas tai ‘some(body)’). Non-standard words were identified from older and present style guides, including the database of language corrections created by the State Commission of the Lithuanian Language.The fourth chapter “Change in the number of non-standard words: a quantitative analysis” investigates development of the use of non-standard words on radio and TV, as well as the frequency of usage of the non-standard lexical forms. According to the corpus data, the average frequency of non-standard words by one speaker is 17 per thousand words, which makes up about 2–3 “incorrect” words per minute. Non-standard discourse markers and fillers (9.8/1000 words) are used most frequently, whereas individual lexical words (5.6/1000 words) are much less frequent, and pronoun constructions with tai (1.6/1000 words) are rarer still. Closer analysis revealed that the only statistically significant change between the analysed periods (Soviet, transitory and contemporary) was a decrease of the frequency of non-standard lexical words in the contemporary period compared to the previous ones. The frequency of discourse markers/fillers and pronoun constructions with tai did not change. Regarding the speaker types, the uses of non-standard words decreased in those groups that are within easier reach of prescriptivism – news readers/voice-overs and talk show hosts. Also, to a lesser extent, in the group of experts. Those groups of speakers that are less likely to be subjected to language correction practices (ordinary people) did not seem to change their behaviour: the number of non-standard words in their speech did not decrease, on the contrary, a slight increase has been noticed. These findings confirm the effects of institutionalised prescriptivism. Regarding genres, non-standard words are least frequent in information programmes, which are mostly based on the reading of written texts. Lists of the most frequent non-standard words during the three periods overlap to a great extent, which means that despite prescriptivist practices, the most frequent non-standard words do not disappear from the air.The fifth chapter “Change in the functions of non-standard words: a qualitative analysis” investigates specific communicative situations of the usage of non-standard words and takes into account the media-related and societal contexts, as well as the stylistic and social functions of the corrected lexis. A common trait of the use of non-standard words during all periods, interpreted as the first level of indexicality, is the use of common, everyday vocabulary, most likely without being aware of the “incorrect” status of the chosen forms. Also, non-standard words are used as a part of professional language, in this case the speaker might be aware that he or she is using an ‘incorrect’ word, but chooses to use it nevertheless for convenience or because of its indexical value for professional identity. During all the periods, non-standard words are also used as indices of informal and authentic communication between close acquaintances; this function is performed by all types of the studied non-standard words, particularly old borrowings and frequent fillers.The study identified a few style- and social meaning-related uses of non-standard lexis that explain the choice of the corrected forms instead of the required equivalents. In the Soviet period, some non-standard words were used as a part of Soviet newspeak; old borrowings were used in references to the ideological enemies of Soviet rule, mainly the ones from pre-war Lithuania. In certain cases, these words were employed due to their stylistic value in an intimate and authentic discourse. The late Soviet period saw the first use of non-standard words as markers of informal communication. The use of non-standard words in the transitory period shows some of the functions from the Soviet period, e.g., they are used as an element of newspeak, albeit without the Soviet ideological value, or as expressions of informality. A particular feature of this period is the use of non-standard words as an index of live and authentic speech, which was not allowed during Soviet times, as a means of authentic communication, and the criticism and violation of Soviet taboos. The contemporary period is marked by a huge variety of functions of non-standard words. It brings in a number of new style-related functions of non-standard words: construction of youth-oriented identity and youth-oriented referee design, reference to past times (e.g., by using non-standard words reflecting the Soviet reality), or quoting. Perhaps the most distinctive features of this period are the use of non-standard words in the speech of professional journalists, as well as their use for the purposes of humour and entertainment (for the construction of certain personas), e.g., in language plays and stylisations. These uses can be explained by commercial media requirements, increasing trends of the informalisation of public speech and conversationalisation.The study concluded that the effect of prescriptivism on the use of non-standard words in radio and TV in Lithuania is limited. Firstly, the frequency of non-standard words decreased mainly in those groups of speakers that are subject to the formal, institutionalised power of language gatekeepers (media professionals). Secondly, the data shows a decrease only of those non-standard words that are easier to control by the speakers themselves – lexical words. The frequency of various function words that are more difficult to be aware of when speaking did not decrease. Thirdly, the largest decrease in non-standard lexical forms occurred in those speech situations where a prepared written text is used; this means that prescriptivist requirements have a greater effect when the speakers and the language are controlled, and less effect in spontaneous communication situations. The above-mentioned difference between professional and non-professional speakers demonstrates that speakers are able to control the lexical forms they choose.Analysis of the most frequently used non-standard words during different periods also demonstrates the limits of prescriptivism. The lists of the most frequently used non-standard words during different periods overlap to a great extent, which means that despite prescriptivist efforts, they were not eliminated from being used on air.Finally, the limited success of prescriptivism is demonstrated by the discussed social values of non-standard words, when they are used for various social and stylistic functions not possessed by a ‘correct’ equivalent. The qualitative analysis revealed the particular strength of old borrowings, which are used to create a sincere, friendly speech style, as well as a ludic speaker identity. On the one hand, it can be interpreted as a sign of the ineffectiveness of prescriptivism – if the words are needed, it is likely that they will be further used despite their ‘illegal’ status. On the other hand, when the speakers purposefully (e.g., on account of a particular association, stylistic value) choose a particular language form and are at the same time aware about its “incorrectness”, it is an effect of prescriptivism, only with the opposite outcome.The study is based on the analysis of spoken language on radio and TV, therefore it cannot be used to draw conclusions about the Lithuanian language in general. It is likely that the effect of prescriptivism on written language (because of its more formal style and particularly because of language editing practices) would be stronger. Nevertheless, broadcast media speech constitutes a considerable and important part of language use, thus we can conclude that the impact of prescriptivism on the Lithuanian language does not have far-reaching effects.

AbstractThe “Science with SALT” meeting in March 1998 opened avenues of cooperation between SAAO and the University of Texas at Austin in education and public outreach. This paper will review past interactions and future plans. SAAO personnel have visited the HET and McDonald Observatory and have taken part in planning meetings for the Texas Astronomy Education Center museum area and educational programming. Discussions concerning the extension of the daily radio show StarDate (English), Universo (Spanish) and Sternzeit (German) versions to a southern hemisphere version are underway. In addition, we are cooperatively planning a workshop to discuss an international collaborative for educational outreach for state-of-the-art telescopes for which a regional collaborative in southwestern U.S. (SCOPE) serves as a model. The towns of Sutherland and Fort Davis are discussing forming a “twin-town” relationship. Projects and plans that link cutting-edge astronomical research to classrooms and the public will be reviewed.

Today, many Russian companies working in the field of software development for television and radio broadcasting can extract the necessary data on trends in their field of activity by analyzing information received from foreign competitors, for example, studying specialized popular science literature posted on the official websites of foreign competitors, when analyzing information obtained from exhibitions and presentations. However, the opportunity to comprehensively analyze the novelties of foreign developers patented in the world patent databases will give Russian companies competitive advantages in the formation of strategic development plans. It is proposed to develop a patent landscape based on the data of the global patent array (in English) in the field of television and radio broadcasting, analyze patent trends and predict the development of technologies in this area. The novelty of the developed method for predicting the development of technologies lies in the cooperation of USPTO (USA) patent clustering methods based on the international patent classification and forecasting technological trends using the generated time series. The developed method is implemented in Python; in parallelizing the process of parsing patents, the Multiprocessing library was used, Statsmodels was used to analyze data and carry out the forecasting process, and Matplotlib was used to visualize data. The MySQL database management system was chosen to organize information storage. There were processed 28,591 patents, the process of forecasting the development of television and radio technologies was tested based on the constructed time series in the interval of 2015–2020.

In this piece, I examine the role of authority in Yorùbá society and how au[1]thority is subverted by moral conflicts generated in the political evolution of the Yorùbá state from city state to empire, leading to disastrous consequences in the society at large as presented in the films of Adébáyọ Fálétí, specifically in Àfọnjá (2002), Basọrun Gáà (2004) and Ṣawo Ṣẹgbẹ ̀ rì̀ (2005). I argue that such pains and pangs of transformation are not unique to Yorùbá society but mirror similar political evolutions in other societies such as Rome and Greece. Such political upheavals led to the celebrated assassination of Julius Caesar in Rome and Alexander the Great of Macedonia. In particular Àfọnjá ̀ and Baṣọrun ̀ Gáà dramatize evocatively the poignancy of the attendant confrontations. In addition, I evaluate Adébáyọ Fálétí as a Nigerian and African foundational practitioner in the global field of cultural studies and his use of cultural post materialism in his work. Adébáyọ Fálétí can be regarded as the father of modern Nigerian Cultural Studies and in Africa in general in line with the way that the discipline is understood the world over standing, as it were, on the cusp of traditional Nigerian and African drama and modern drama in African mother tongues. In addition, Fálétí epitomizes what modern cultural studies world-wide represent as a cross between the traditional discipline of drama and the television 172 Olayinka Agbetuyi industries as well as filmic industries, along with advertisements, which together constitute what is today known as the culture industries. As defined in the words of Chris Barker, “Culturalism focuses on meaning production by human actors in a historical context.”1 Fálétí’s historical drama and films fall within such category. Barker added that Culturalism focuses on interpretation as a way of understanding meaning.”2 These are the hallmarks of the historical drama that formed the basis of two of the films by Fálétí being examined here. In addition, he stated that cultural studies deal with subjectivity and identity or how we come to be the kinds of people we are. Fálétí’s Afọnja and Gáà’s thematic preoccupation is how the Yorùbá subjectivity has been constituted over time through its political evolution. The three films also demonstrate what Stuart Hall considers to be the connection that cultural studies seeks to make to matters of power and cultural politics.3 With regards to the role of Fálétí as pioneer in the area of radio-vision cultural industries the broadcasting mogul narrated the manner in which he pioneered the phone-in radio broadcast in Nigeria on the programme “Ѐyí Àrà” at the Broadcasting Corporation of Ọyọ̀ ́ State, Ibadan (BCOS) after pioneering Yorùbá broadcasting on Africa’s first television station Western Nigeria Television (WNTV) twenty years earlier.4 Fálétí’s career spanning close to seven decades dovetails public services with private engagement with drama production. He was one of the earliest organizers of a drama performing company in 1949 to produce his own plays. His career development can be divided into three phases: the formative traditional drama performance phase, the literary drama phase which dovetails into his career as a public servant in a symbiotic relationship and his post public service movie production phase which coincided with the efflorescence of the Nollywood. The three works examined here straddle Fálétí’s second and third phases of engagement in drama production. Both Basọrun Gáà (to be hereafter referred to as Gáà) and Ṣawo Ṣẹgbẹ ̀ rì ̀ were first staged in the second phase of Fálétí’s development as a theatre practitioner. In addition to being staged in the theater, Gáà and Ṣawo Ṣẹgbẹ ̀ rì̀ were produced for tele[1]vision audiences as dramatic thrillers and became household favourites in the ‘70s and ‘80s at the time of his career as a radio/television broadcaster. Fálétí’s retirement from public service provided the opportunity needed to build on the experience gained in the television industry to launch a full-blown film production career for which his earlier experience seems to have been a tutelage. Àfọ̀njá (2002), Gáà (2004) and Ṣawo Ṣẹgbẹ ̀ rì ̀ (2005) are part of the products of this final phase. Although Àfọ̀njá preceded the other two in movie 1 Barker, Chris. Cultural Studies: Theory and Practice. London: Sage, 2012. 2 Barker. 2012, 17 3 Barker, 5. 4 Nigerianfilms.com. February 17, 2008. Accessed Aug 10 2018. Authority and Moral Conflicts in the Films of Adébáyọ Fálétí 173 production, it was the last to be written among the three and is organically a prequel which builds on the success of Gáà and extends a thematic continuum in the Fágúnwà-esque manner of the novels Ògbójú Ọde Ninu Igbó Irunmọlẹ and Igbo Olódùmarè. While Àfọ̀njá and Gáà are historical drama based on actual events in the history of the Yorùbá Empire, Ṣawo Ṣegberi is purely fictional and is based on a postcolonial Nigerian setting. The movies therefore take a reverse order to the chronology of writing and stage performance while Ṣawo Ṣẹ̀gbẹ̀rì, which was the first to be staged among the three, was not written for stage and television performance until it was script-written for film production.5 Àfọ̀njá, Gáà and Ṣawo Ṣẹgbẹ ̀ rì ̀ are each set in a cosmopolis where the Yorùbá citizens have to deal with other nationals in the context of Yorùbá mores within a broader cosmopolitan ethos. In Àfọ̀njá and Gáà that context is provided by the empire phase of Yorùbá civilization in which Yorùbá civilization was the dominant point of reference; in Ṣawo Ṣẹgbẹ ̀ rì ̀ the drama is situated in the context of postcolonial Nigerian city, in a nation that boasts large ethnic nationalities of which the Yorùbá are only one and in which Yorùbá culture is mediated by the postcolonial state with its symbol of the English language as the means of communication and its cultural spin offs. Fálétí demonstrates the mastery of dramaturgy in Àfọ̀njá and Gáà by juxtaposing the dynamics of running a state originally built on a confederation of city state structure very much like the Greek city state structure, at the latter’s comparative stage of political evolution, with a new imperial structure and the conflicts generated by the flux of the two systems; whereas in Ṣawo Ṣẹ̀gbẹ̀rì moral conflict is generated by interpersonal amatorial clashes as well as models of expertise.

BACKGROUND Breast cancer is the most common cancer among Indian women and adjuvant radiation is an integral part of its management. Adjuvant radiation can be planned by 2D conventional or conformal technique. The most common technique has been 2D technique worldwide, especially in high volume, low resource settings. The comparison of 2D and conformal techniques for chest wall and lymph nodal areas among breast cancer patients is sparse in the literature. The purpose of our study was to dosimetrically compare the 2 D conventional and field-in-field intensity modulating radiational therapy (FiF IMRT) technique in adjuvant radiation to chest wall + / - SCF / axilla areas at Basavatarakam Indo-American Cancer Hospital and Research Institute. METHODS This is a single institute cross sectional study. During immobilisation for planning and CT scan, external radio-opaque markers were placed over chest wall. After contouring and planning by FiF IMRT technique, 2D conventional plan was done by placing MT, LT fields + / - SCF by SSD technique with the guidance of the markers placed and both plans were compared by the dose-volume histogram (DVH) analysis. RESULTS The planning target volume (PTV) coverage was lower with the 2D plan but the advantage of the 2D plan was, it showed lower OAR compared to FiF IMRT plan. The studies comparing PTV coverage and OAR doses between 2D and conformal techniques were mostly done in BCS patients and similar studies for chest wall radiation are rare in the literature and with conflicting results and different methods of 2D planning with modification of 2D plans than what is done routinely. Our study used the 2D plan by SSD technique and also manual MU calculation without normalisation of the plan to the contoured PTV, unlike other studies to minimise the deviation in 2D plan and hence, the comparison of the PTV or OAR doses with FiF IMRT plans. CONCLUSIONS The 2D plan for chest wall planned by tangential fields has the disadvantage in being less homogenous and conformal but with much lower OAR doses than FiF IMRT. It is a safe to treat as far as OARs are considered. KEYWORDS Conventional, Conformal, FIF IMRT, Comparison, Chest Wall Radiation, Breast Cancer

Introduction For patients (pts) with relapsed or refractory follicular lymphoma (r/r FL) beyond front-line therapy, there is no well-defined standard of care (SOC) treatment, especially in the third-line or later (3L+) setting. Treatment decisions for symptomatic patients depend on comorbidities, extent of disease, lines of prior therapy and duration of response to initial anti-CD20 containing treatment. Treatment options for 3L+ may include similar options to the ones in earlier lines, with a preference for non-cross-resistant schemes. Recently, a plethora of new compounds are being studied in clinical trials. A systematic literature review (SLR) was conducted to identify relevant evidence on clinical outcomes in pts with r/r FL, including conventional treatments and emerging compounds, within the 3L+ setting. Methods We performed a SLR on March 17, 2020. Clinical trials and observational studies were searched through Embase, PubMed, and Cochrane Central Register of Controlled Clinical Trials from 1998 to 2020, followed by relevant conference proceedings and regulatory documents. Evidence assessing any intervention as 3L+ FL and published in English language was included. If a study included broader indolent non-Hodgkin's lymphoma (iNHL) pts, only FL data was reported; if a study included pts with fewer than 3L+, 3L+ data was included, with mixed line results excluded. Conventional treatments, defined as approved or clinical guideline recommended treatments, included anti-CD20 monoclonal antibody (mAb)-containing regimen, mAb alone, chemotherapy alone, phosphatidylinositol 3-kinase (PI3K) inhibitors (idelalisib, copanlisib, duvelisib), lenalidomide + rituximab (R2), radio-immunotherapy (RIT) with yttrium-90 (90Y) ibritumomab tiuxetan, tazemetostat, autologous and allogeneic stem cell transplantation (auto- and allo-SCT). Emerging compounds included new treatments that are not approved but were tested in the context of clinical trials (bruton tyrosine kinase inhibitors, bortezomib, polatuzumab vedotin, daratumumab, inotuzumab, bi-specific T-cell engaging CD19 mAb, anti-CD19 chimeric antigen receptor T-cell [CAR-T] therapy). Results Of the 3747 publications identified, 74 studies assessing 26 treatment regimens, including conventional ones like rituximab (R)-containing immunochemotherapy to emerging compounds such as CAR-T therapies, were selected. Across the conventional regimens, 7 studies reported clinical trial data with relatively large 3L+ FL populations (Table 1). With R monotherapy, PI3K inhibitors and tazemetostat, the reported complete response (CR) rates and overall response rates (ORR) ranged from 1-20% and 34-77%, while median duration of response (mDOR) ranged between 7.9-16.3 months. Three clinical trials with PI3K inhibitors reported proportions of pts achieving a response of at least 6 months in duration ranging from 18-30%; median progression-free survival (mPFS) ranging from 8.3-11.2 months. For tazemetostat, mPFS was 11.0 months in EZH2 mutant vs 5.7 months in wild-type FL. With allo-SCT, 2-yr PFS rate was 88% and 57% for pts with CR and PR, respectively. Overall survival (OS) data varied: median overall survival (mOS) was 28-38 months for PI3K inhibitors while mOS was up to 85 months after allo-SCT, despite high non-relapse mortality (NRM) rates with most common causes of death being graft-versus-host disease (GvHD) and infections. Safety profiles were also different across treatments, with most common side effects being hepatotoxicity, diarrhea and infections (PI3K inhibitors) to GvHD (allo-SCT). Three trials presented patient-reported outcomes (PRO) data, all using the Functional Assessment of Cancer Therapy (FACT) questionnaire. Two studies with PI3K inhibitors demonstrated favorable or clinically significant improvement on pts quality of life (QoL), but 1 allo-SCT trial did not show a significant difference between baseline and 2 years post-transplant scores. Conclusion To our knowledge, this is the first SLR focusing on 3L+ treatments of FL. Heterogeneity in study design, patient population, safety profile and reported outcomes make it challenging to identify an optimal treatment regimen for FL in the 3L+ setting. More PRO data are needed considering the important role pt QoL plays in treatment selection. Disclosures Ma: Novartis:Current Employment.Kaur:Novartis:Current Employment.Zhao:Novartis:Current Employment.Zhang:Novartis:Current Employment.Ramos:Novartis:Current Employment.Kumar:Novartis:Current Employment.John:Novartis:Current Employment.Bubuteishvili Pacaud:Novartis:Current Employment.Forcina:Novartis:Current Employment.

17051 Background: Radiation Oncology is a rich and rewarding specialty that requires in-depth understanding of anatomy, physics, dosimetry and oncology. The area of dosimetry is an important and basic fundamental concept to be acquired during residency, and pertinent educational tools are few and far between. The purpose of this project was to develop a self-assessment tool to facilitate radiation therapy treatment planning for non-small cell lung cancer (NSCLC). Methods: We focused our learning module on basic dosimetric and NSCLC treatment planning objectives that radiation oncology residents will encounter during residency. Interactive questions incorporating objective-related concepts were then devised. Treatment planning program templates were developed using the Eclipse software application. Results: A web-based self-directed learning module was developed as the tool's delivery mechanism. The module's questions were divided into the following sections: Chest Anatomy, ICRU Concepts, Beam Modificators, Integrated NSCLC Treatment Plans, Systematic Treatment Planning Approach and Inhomogeneity Corrections. By answering questions via the module, learners receive immediate feedback, corrections and concept-related explanations. A variety of different question techniques were employed, such as multiple choice questions, open-ended questions and associations. Learners are prompted by the system to draw isodoses and volumes on the screen. Other tasks in the module involve identifying structures, setting treatment fields and analyzing dose volume histograms. The website is publicly available in both English and French at: http://www.radiol.umontreal.ca/radio-onco/ . Conclusions: This self-directed learning module is a complementary tool that will help residents gain a solid grasp of NSCLC treatment planning objectives. Other modules covering radiation therapy treatment planning for a variety of anatomical sites, as well as diseases at different stages will eventually be created and added to the website. This educational project aims to facilitate learning and understanding the concepts of treatment planning, according to the different types of cancer. No significant financial relationships to disclose.

[For the English abstract and full text of the article please see the attached PDF-File (English version follows Russian version)].ABSTRACT The authors justify the use of system engineering approach to evaluation and tasks of improvement of railway line operational reliability. Particular emphasis is placed on interdependence of infrastructure capacity and overall operational readiness of the system «railway» in terms of compliance with criteria adopted in the theory of reliability. An own interpretation of the concept of «operational safety» and factors of maintenance of track in working order is given, as well as regularity in local situations, preventive and remedial actions are suggested. Keywords: railway, infrastructure, operational reliability, track maintenance, transit capacity, system engineering, reliability theory. REFERENCES 1.System engineering of construction: Encyclopedic Dictionary [Sistemotehnika stroitel’stva: Enciklopedicheskij slovar’].Ed.by A. A.Gusakov.Moscow, Novoe tysjacheletie publ., 1999, 432 p. 2.Gusakov, A. A.System engineering of construction [Sistemotehnika stroitel’stva].Moscow, Stroyizdat publ., 1993, 366 p. 3.Zavadskas, E-K.K.System engineering assessment of technological solutions of building production [Sistemotehnicheskaja ocenka tehnologicheskih reshenij stroitel’nogo proizvodstva].Leningrad, Stroyizdat publ., 1991, 256 p. 4.Shepitko, T.V., Morozov, D. V.Using network modeling to determine reliability of decisions.«Science Week 2002» [Ispol’zovanie setevogo modelirovanija dlja opredelenija nadezhnosti prinimaemyh reshenij. «Nedelja nauki 2002»].Moscow, MIIT publ., 2002. 5.Shepitko, T.V., Morozov, D. V.On system engineering nature of reliability problem of organizational and technological solution [O sistemotehnicheskom haraktere problemy nadezhnosti organizacionno-tehnologicheskogo reshenija].Traffic safety: proceedings of the fourth scientific and practical conference.Moscow, MIIT publ., 2003, pp.III-33. 6.Berg, A. I.Cybernetics and reliability [Kibernetika i nadezhnost’].Moscow, Znanie publ., 1964, 96 p. 7.Reliability of technical systems: Reference book [Nadezhnost’ tehnicheskih sistem: Spravochnik].Yu.K.Belyaev, V. A.Bogatyrev, V. V.Bolotin, et al; ed.by I. A.Ushakov.Moscow, Radio i svjaz’ publ., 1985, 608 p. 8.Benson, D., Whitehead, G.Transport and distribution [Transport i dostavka gruzov: Transl. from English].Moscow, Transport publ., 1990, 279 p. 9.Newell, M.Project Management [Upravlenie proektami. Transl. from English].Moscow, Kudic-Obraz, 2006, 416 p. 10.Littlefield, T.K., Randolph, P. H.An Answer to Sasieni’s Question on Pert Times.Management Science, Vol.33, No.10, 1987, pp.1357-1359. 11.Chertvertnova, V. V.System analysis of operational reliability of extended transport objects [Sistemnyj analiz ekspluatacionnoj nadezhnosti protjazhennyh transportnyh ob’ektov].Vestnik Tambovskogo gosudarstvennogo tehnicheskogo universiteta, 2007, Iss.2, pp.419-424. 12.GOST 32192-2013.Reliability in railway engineering.Basic concepts.Terms and definitions [GOST 32192-2013. Nadezhnost’ v zheleznodorozhnoj tehnike. Osnovnye ponjatija. Terminy i opredelenija]. 13.GOST 27.004-85.Reliability in engineering: technological systems, terms and definitions [GOST 27.004-85. Nadezhnost’ v tehnike: sistemy tehnologicheskie, terminy i opredelenija]. 14.GOST 27.003-90.Reliability in engineering.Composition and common rules on reliability requirements [GOST 27.003-90. Nadezhnost’ v tehnike. Sostav i obshhie pravila zadanija trebovanij po nadezhnosti]. 15.GOST 27.310-95.Reliability in engineering.Analysis of types, effects and criticality of failures.Main provisions [GOST 27.310-95. Nadezhnost’ v tehnike. Analiz vidov, posledstvij i kritichnosti otkazov. Osnovnye polozhenija]. 16.GOST 27.402-95.Reliability in engineering.Test plans to monitor the mean service hours to failure [GOST 27.402-95. Nadezhnost’ v tehnike. Plany ispytanij dlja kontrolja srednej narabotki do otkaza (na otkaz)]. 17.Spiridonov, E.S., Shepitko, T. V.Railway construction management - methods, principles, efficiency: textbook [Upravlenie zheleznodorozhnym stroitel’stvom - metody, principy, effektivnost’: Uchebnik].Moscow, TMC for education on railway transport, 2008, 597 p. 18.Kubrak, A. A.Operational reliability of passenger stations.World of Transport and Transportation, Vol.12, 2014, Iss.4, pp.60-65.

Background: Magnetic attachment can be used as a retentive devices in overdenture technique in prostheses. The magnets are attached with remaining root structure transfer the occlusal load to the bone through the periodontal ligament of retained roots and then prevent resorption of the alveolar ridge. Alvelar ridge plays an important role for the retention and stability of the denture as they will support the denture base. Magnetic assembly consist of magnet and coping with a keeper on the remaining tooth structure since magnetic attachment can provide support, stability and retention. Purpose: The purpose of this case report was to report magnetic attachment retained complete overdenture design and fabrication as a preserve to alveolar bone height to achieve retention and stability of the denture. Case: A 69 years old female patient, a baker and private English teacher with partial edentulous ridge came to Dental Hospital of Airlangga University asked for dentures. Clinical examination shown a complete edentulous in the upper jaw and partial edentulous in the lower jaw. The remaining teeth were 33, 34, 35, 43 and 44. 33 and 35 are chronic gangrene radix, 35 shown a slightly mobility. 34 non vital, 44 and 45 are vital with moderate resorption. Case management : All the left teeth in the lower jaw were consulted for endodontic treatment. Magnetic attachment retained complete overdenture was choosen for the lower jaw and complete denture for the upper jaw. The remaining teeth in the lower jaw kept the alveolar ridge from resorption and the magnet provided extra retention for the complete overdenture. Discussion: Overdentures supported by magnet attachment achieved greater satisfaction, gives better retention and stability for the denture. On the other side, the natural abutment teeth in overdentures preserved better proprioception and psychologically beneficial as the patient had not undergone extraction. As a conclusion, overdenture supported by magnetic attachment can be used to increase support, retention and stability especially in the lower jaw and also prevent further alveolar ridge resorption. Conclusion: Overdenture supported by magnetic attachment can be used to increase retention and the residual root also prevent further alveolar ridge resorption.

We’ll have trouble now!The Archaeological Society of Jutland was founded on Sunday, 11 March 1951. As with most projects with which P.V Glob was involved, this did not pass off without drama. Museum people and amateur archaeologists in large numbers appeared at the Museum of Natural History in Aarhus, which had placed rooms at our disposal. The notable dentist Holger Friis, the uncrowned king of Hjørring, was present, as was Dr Balslev from Aidt, Mr and Mrs Overgaard from Holstebro Museum, and the temperamental leader of Aalborg Historical Museum, Peter Riismøller, with a number of his disciples. The staff of the newly-founded Prehistoric Museum functioned as the hosts, except that one of them was missing: the instigator of the whole enterprise, Mr Glob. As the time for the meeting approached, a cold sweat broke out on the foreheads of the people present. Finally, just one minute before the meeting was to start, he arrived and mounted the platform. Everything then went as expected. An executive committee was elected after some discussion, laws were passed, and then suddenly Glob vanished again, only to materialise later in the museum, where he confided to us that his family, which included four children, had been enlarged by a daughter.That’s how the society was founded, and there is not much to add about this. However, a few words concerning the background of the society and its place in a larger context may be appropriate. A small piece of museum history is about to be unfolded.The story begins at the National Museum in the years immediately after World War II, at a time when the German occupation and its incidents were still terribly fresh in everyone’s memory. Therkel Mathiassen was managing what was then called the First Department, which covered the prehistoric periods.Although not sparkling with humour, he was a reliable and benevolent person. Number two in the order of precedence was Hans Christian Broholm, a more colourful personality – awesome as he walked down the corridors, with his massive proportions and a voice that sounded like thunder when nothing seemed to be going his way, as quite often seemed to be the case. Glob, a relatively new museum keeper, was also quite loud at times – his hot-blooded artist’s nature manifested itself in peculiar ways, but his straight forward appearance made him popular with both the older and the younger generations. His somewhat younger colleague C.J. Becker was a scholar to his fingertips, and he sometimes acted as a welcome counterbalance to Glob. At the bottom of the hierarchy was the student group, to which I belonged. The older students handled various tasks, including periodic excavations. This was paid work, and although the salary was by no means princely, it did keep us alive. Student grants were non-existent at the time. Four of us made up a team: Olfert Voss, Mogens Ørsnes, Georg Kunwald and myself. Like young people in general, we were highly discontented with the way our profession was being run by its ”ruling” members, and we were full of ideas for improvement, some of which have later been – or are being – introduced.At the top of our wish list was a central register, of which Voss was the strongest advocate. During the well over one hundred years that archaeology had existed as a professional discipline, the number of artefacts had grown to enormous amounts. The picture was even worse if the collections of the provincial museums were taken into consideration. We imagined how it all could be registered in a card index and categorised according to groups to facilitate access to references in any particular situation. Electronic data processing was still unheard of in those days, but since the introduction of computers, such a comprehensive record has become more feasible.We were also sceptical of the excavation techniques used at the time – they were basically adequate, but they badly needed tightening up. As I mentioned before, we were often working in the field, and not just doing minor jobs but also more important tasks, so we had every opportunity to try out our ideas. Kunwald was the driving force in this respect, working with details, using sections – then a novelty – and proceeding as he did with a thoroughness that even his fellow students found a bit exaggerated at times, although we agreed with his principles. Therkel Mathiassen moaned that we youngsters were too expensive, but he put up with our excesses and so must have found us somewhat valuable. Very valuable indeed to everyon e was Ejnar Dyggve’s excavation of the Jelling mounds in the early 1940s. From a Danish point of view, it was way ahead of its time.Therkel Mathiassen justly complained about the economic situation of the National Museum. Following the German occupation, the country was impoverished and very little money was available for archaeological research: the total sum available for the year 1949 was 20,000 DKK, which corresponded to the annual income of a wealthy man, and was of course absolutely inadequate. Of course our small debating society wanted this sum to be increased, and for once we didn’t leave it at the theoretical level.Voss was lucky enough to know a member of the Folketing (parliament), and a party leader at that. He was brought into the picture, and between us we came up with a plan. An article was written – ”Preserve your heritage” (a quotation from Johannes V. Jensen’s Denmark Song) – which was sent to the newspaper Information. It was published, and with a little help on our part the rest of the media, including radio, picked up the story.We informed our superiors only at the last minute, when everything was arranged. They were taken by surprise but played their parts well, as expected, and everything went according to plan. The result was a considerable increase in excavation funds the following year.It should be added that our reform plans included the conduct of exhibitions. We found the traditional way of presenting the artefacts lined up in rows and series dull and outdated. However, we were not able to experiment within this field.Our visions expressed the natural collision with the established ways that comes with every new generation – almost as a law of nature, but most strongly when the time is ripe. And this was just after the war, when communication with foreign colleagues, having been discontinued for some years, was slowly picking up again. The Archaeological Society of Jutland was also a part of all this, so let us turn to what Hans Christian Andersen somewhat provocatively calls the ”main country”.Until 1949, only the University of Copenhagen provided a degree in prehistoric archaeology. However, in this year, the University of Aarhus founded a chair of archaeology, mainly at the instigation of the Lord Mayor, Svend Unmack Larsen, who was very in terested in archaeology. Glob applied for the position and obtained it, which encompassed responsibility for the old Aarhus Museum or, as it was to be renamed, the Prehistoric Museum (now Moesgaard Museum).These were landmark events to Glob – and to me, as it turned out. We had been working together for a number of years on the excavation of Galgebakken (”Callows Hill”) near Slots Bjergby, Glob as the excavation leader, and I as his assistant. He now offered me the job of museum curator at his new institution. This was somewhat surprising as I had not yet finished my education. The idea was that I was to finish my studies in remote Jutland – a plan that had to be given up rather quickly, though, for reasons which I will describe in the following. At the same time, Gunner Lange-Kornbak – also hand-picked from the National Museum – took up his office as a conservation officer.The three of us made up the permanent museum staff, quickly supplemented by Geoffrey Bibby, who turned out to be an invaluable colleague. He was English and had been stationed in the Faeroe Islands during the war, where he learned to speak Danish. After 1945 he worked for some years for an oil company in the Gulf of Persia, but after marrying Vibeke, he settled in her home town of Aarhus. As his academic background had involved prehistoric cultures he wanted to collaborate with the museum, which Glob readily permitted.This small initial flock governed by Glob was not permitted to indulge inidleness. Glob was a dynamic character, full of good and not so good ideas, but also possessing a good grasp of what was actually practicable. The boring but necessary daily work on the home front was not very interesting to him, so he willingly handed it over to others. He hardly noticed the lack of administrative machinery, a prerequisite for any scholarly museum. It was not easy to follow him on his flights of fancy and still build up the necessary support base. However, the fact that he in no way spared himself had an appeasing effect.Provincial museums at that time were of a mixed nature. A few had trained management, and the rest were run by interested locals. This was often excellently done, as in Esbjerg, where the master joiner Niels Thomsen and a staff of volunteers carried out excavations that were as good as professional investigations, and published them in well-written articles. Regrettably, there were also examples of the opposite. A museum curator in Jutland informed me that his predecessor had been an eager excavator but very rarely left any written documentation of his actions. The excavated items were left without labels in the museum store, often wrapped in newspapers. However, these gave a clue as to the time of unearthing, and with a bit of luck a look in the newspaper archive would then reveal where the excavation had taken place. Although somewhat exceptional, this is not the only such case.The Museum of Aarhus definitely belonged among the better ones in this respect. Founded in 1861, it was at first located at the then town hall, together with the local art collection. The rooms here soon became too cramped, and both collections were moved to a new building in the ”Mølleparken” park. There were skilful people here working as managers and assistants, such as Vilhelm Boye, who had received his archaeological training at the National Museum, and later the partners A. Reeh, a barrister, and G.V. Smith, a captain, who shared the honour of a number of skilfully performed excavations. Glob’s predecessor as curator was the librarian Ejler Haugsted, also a competent man of fine achievements. We did not, thus, take over a museum on its last legs. On the other hand, it did not meet the requirements of a modern scholarly museum. We were given the task of turning it into such a museum, as implied by the name change.The goal was to create a museum similar to the National Museum, but without the faults and shortcomings that that museum had developed over a period of time. In this respect our nightly conversations during our years in Copenhagen turned out to be useful, as our talk had focused on these imperfections and how to eradicate them.We now had the opportunity to put our theories into practice. We may not have succeeded in doing so, but two areas were essentially improved:The numerous independent numbering systems, which were familiar to us from the National Museum, were permeating archaeological excavation s not only in the field but also during later work at the museum. As far as possible this was boiled down to a single system, and a new type of report was born. (In this context, a ”report” is the paper following a field investigation, comprising drawings, photos etc. and describing the progress of the work and the observations made.) The instructions then followed by the National Museum staff regarding the conduct of excavations and report writing went back to a 19th-century protocol by the employee G.V. Blom. Although clear and rational – and a vast improvement at the time – this had become outdated. For instance, the excavation of a burial mound now involved not only the middle of the mound, containing the central grave and its surrounding artefacts, but the complete structure. A large number of details that no one had previously paid attention to thus had to be included in the report. It had become a comprehensive and time-consuming work to sum up the desultory notebook records in a clear and understandable description.The instructions resulting from the new approach determined a special records system that made it possible to transcribe the notebook almost directly into a report following the excavation. The transcription thus contained all the relevant information concerning the in vestigation, and included both relics and soil layers, the excavation method and practical matters, although in a random order. The report proper could then bereduced to a short account containing references to the numbers in the transcribed notebook, which gave more detailed information.As can be imagined, the work of reform was not a continuous process. On the contrary, it had to be done in our spare hours, which were few and far between with an employer like Glob. The assignments crowded in, and the large Jutland map that we had purchased was as studded with pins as a hedge hog’s spines. Each pin represented an inuninent survey, and many of these grew into small or large excavations. Glob himself had his lecture duties to perform, and although he by no means exaggerated his concern for the students, he rarely made it further than to the surveys. Bibby and I had to deal with the hard fieldwork. And the society, once it was established, did not make our lives any easier. Kuml demanded articles written at lightning speed. A perusal of my then diary has given me a vivid recollection of this hectic period, in which I had to make use of the evening and night hours, when the museum was quiet and I had a chance to collect my thoughts. Sometimes our faithful supporter, the Lord Mayor, popped in after an evening meeting. He was extremely interested in our problems, which were then solved according to our abilities over a cup of instant coffee.A large archaeological association already existed in Denmark. How ever, Glob found it necessary to establish another one which would be less oppressed by tradition. Det kongelige nordiske Oldsskriftselskab had been funded in 1825 and was still influenced by different peculiarities from back then. Membership was not open to everyone, as applications were subject to recommendation from two existing members and approval by a vote at one of the monthly lecture meetings. Most candidates were of course accepted, but unpopular persons were sometimes rejected. In addition, only men were admitted – women were banned – but after the war a proposal was brought forward to change this absurdity. It was rejected at first, so there was a considerable excitement at the January meeting in 1951, when the proposal was once again placed on the agenda. The poor lecturer (myself) did his best, although he was aware of the fact that just this once it was the present and not the past which was the focus of attention. The result of the voting was not very courteous as there were still many opponents, but the ladies were allowed in, even if they didn’t get the warmest welcome.In Glob’s society there were no such restrictions – everyone was welcome regardless of sex or age. If there was a model for the society, it was the younger and more progressive Norwegian Archaeological Society rather than the Danish one. The main purpose of both societies was to produce an annual publication, and from the start Glob’s Kuml had a closer resemblance to the Norwegian Viking than to the Danish Aarbøger for nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie. The name of the publication caused careful consideration. For a long time I kept a slip of paper with different proposals, one of which was Kuml, which won after having been approved by the linguist Peter Skautrup.The name alone, however, was not enough, so now the task became to find so mething to fill Kuml with. To this end the finds came in handy, and as for those, Glob must have allied him self with the higher powers, since fortune smiled at him to a considerable extent. Just after entering upon his duties in Aarhus, an archaeological sensation landed at his feet. This happened in May 1950 when I was still living in the capital. A few of us had planned a trip to Aarhus, partly to look at the relics of th e past, and partly to visit our friend, the professor. He greeted us warmly and told us the exciting news that ten iron swords had been found during drainage work in the valley of lllerup Aadal north of the nearby town of Skanderborg. We took the news calmly as Glob rarely understated his affairs, but our scepticism was misplaced. When we visited the meadow the following day and carefully examined the dug-up soil, another sword appeared, as well as several spear and lance heads, and other iron artefacts. What the drainage trench diggers had found was nothing less than a place of sacrifice for war booty, like the four large finds from the 1800s. When I took up my post in Aarhus in September of that year I was granted responsibility for the lllerup excavation, which I worked on during the autumn and the following six summers. Some of my best memories are associated with this job – an interesting and happy time, with cheerful comradeship with a mixed bunch of helpers, who were mainly archaeology students. When we finished in 1956, it was not because the site had been fully investigated, but because the new owner of the bog plot had an aversion to archaeologists and their activities. Nineteen years later, in 1975, the work was resumed, this time under the leadership of Jørgen Ilkjær, and a large amount of weaponry was uncovered. The report from the find is presently being published.At short intervals, the year 1952 brought two finds of great importance: in Februar y the huge vessel from Braa near Horsens, and in April the Grauballe Man. The large Celtic bronze bowl with the bulls’ heads was found disassembled, buried in a hill and covered by a couple of large stones. Thanks to the finder, the farmer Søren Paaske, work was stopped early enough to leave areas untouched for the subsequent examination.The saga of the Grauballe Man, or the part of it that we know, began as a rumour on the 26th of April: a skeleton had been found in a bog near Silkeborg. On the following day, which happened to be a Sunday, Glob went off to have a look at the find. I had other business, but I arrived at the museum in the evening with an acquaintance. In my diary I wrote: ”When we came in we had a slight shock. On the floor was a peat block with a corpse – a proper, well-preserved bog body. Glob brought it. ”We’ll be in trouble now.” And so we were, and Glob was in high spirits. The find created a sensation, which was also thanks to the quick presentation that we mounted. I had purchased a tape recorder, which cost me a packet – not a small handy one like the ones you get nowadays, but a large monstrosity with a steel tape (it was, after all, early days for this device) – and assisted by several experts, we taped a number of short lectures for the benefit of the visitors. People flocked in; the queue meandered from the exhibition room, through the museum halls, and a long way down the street. It took a long wait to get there, but the visitors seemed to enjoy the experience. The bog man lay in his hastily – procured exhibition case, which people circled around while the talking machine repeatedly expressed its words of wisdom – unfortunately with quite a few interruptions as the tape broke and had to be assembled by hand. Luckily, the tape recorders now often used for exhibitions are more dependable than mine.When the waves had died down and the exhibition ended, the experts examined the bog man. He was x-rayed at several points, cut open, given a tooth inspection, even had his fingerprints taken. During the autopsy there was a small mishap, which we kept to ourselves. However, after almost fifty years I must be able to reveal it: Among the organs removed for investigation was the liver, which was supposedly suitable for a C-14 dating – which at the time was a new dating method, introduced to Denmark after the war. The liver was sent to the laboratory in Copenhagen, and from here we received a telephone call a few days later. What had been sent in for examination was not the liver, but the stomach. The unfortunate (and in all other respects highly competent) Aarhus doctor who had performed the dissection was cal1ed in again. During another visit to the bogman’s inner parts he brought out what he believed to be the real liver. None of us were capable of deciding th is question. It was sent to Copenhagen at great speed, and a while later the dating arrived: Roman Iron Age. This result was later revised as the dating method was improved. The Grauballe Man is now thought to have lived before the birth of Christ.The preservation of the Grauballe Man was to be conservation officer Kornbak’s masterpiece. There were no earlier cases available for reference, so he invented a new method, which was very successful. In the first volumes of Kuml, society members read about the exiting history of the bog body and of the glimpses of prehistoric sacrificial customs that this find gave. They also read about the Bahrain expeditions, which Glob initiated and which became the apple of his eye. Bibby played a central role in this, as it was he who – at an evening gathering at Glob’s and Harriet’s home in Risskov – described his stay on the Persian Gulf island and the numerous burial mounds there. Glob made a quick decision (one of his special abilities was to see possibilities that noone else did, and to carry them out successfully to everyone’s surprise) and in December 1952 he and Bibby left for the Gulf, unaware of the fact that they were thereby beginning a series of expeditions which would continue for decades. Again it was Glob’s special genius that was the decisive factor. He very quickly got on friendly terms with the rulers of the small sheikhdoms and interested them in their past. As everyone knows, oil is flowing plentifully in those parts. The rulers were thus financially powerful and some of this wealth was quickly diverted to the expeditions, which probably would not have survived for so long without this assistance. To those of us who took part in them from time to time, the Gulf expeditions were an unforgettable experience, not just because of the interesting work, but even more because of the contact with the local population, which gave us an insight into local manners and customs that helped to explain parts of our own country’s past which might otherwise be difficult to understand. For Glob and the rest of us did not just get close to the elite: in spite of language problems, our Arab workers became our good friends. Things livened up when we occasionally turned up in their palm huts.Still, co-operating with Glob was not always an easy task – the sparks sometimes flew. His talent of initiating things is of course undisputed, as are the lasting results. He was, however, most attractive when he was in luck. Attention normally focused on this magnificent person whose anecdotes were not taken too seriously, but if something went wrong or failed to work out, he could be grossly unreasonable and a little too willing to abdicate responsibility, even when it was in fact his. This might lead to violent arguments, but peace was always restored. In 1954, another museum curator was attached to the museum: Poul Kjærum, who was immediately given the important task of investigating the dolmen settlement near Tustrup on Northern Djursland. This gave important results, such as the discovery of a cult house, which was a new and hitherto unknown Stone Age feature.A task which had long been on our mind s was finally carried out in 1955: constructing a new display of the museum collections. The old exhibitio n type consisted of numerous artefacts lined up in cases, accompaied ony by a brief note of the place where it was found and the type – which was the standard then. This type of exhibition did not give much idea of life in prehistoric times.We wanted to allow the finds to speak for themselves via the way that they were arranged, and with the aid of models, photos and drawings. We couldn’t do without texts, but these could be short, as people would understand more by just looking at the exhibits. Glob was in the Gulf at the time, so Kjærum and I performed the task with little money but with competent practical help from conservator Kornbak. We shared the work, but in fairness I must add that my part, which included the new lllerup find, was more suitable for an untraditional display. In order to illustrate the confusion of the sacrificial site, the numerous bent swords and other weapons were scattered a.long the back wall of the exhibition hall, above a bog land scape painted by Emil Gregersen. A peat column with inlaid slides illustrated the gradual change from prehistoric lake to bog, while a free-standing exhibition case held a horse’s skeleton with a broken skull, accompanied by sacrificial offerings. A model of the Nydam boat with all its oars sticking out hung from the ceiling, as did the fine copy of the Gundestrup vessel, as the Braa vessel had not yet been preserved. The rich pictorial decoration of the vessel’s inner plates was exhibited in its own case underneath. This was an exhibition form that differed considerably from all other Danish exhibitions of the time, and it quickly set a fashion. We awaited Glob’s homecoming with anticipation – if it wasn’t his exhibition it was still made in his spirit. We hoped that he would be surprised – and he was.The museum was thus taking shape. Its few employees included Jytte Ræbild, who held a key position as a secretary, and a growing number of archaeology students who took part in the work in various ways during these first years. Later, the number of employees grew to include the aforementioned excavation pioneer Georg Kunwald, and Hellmuth Andersen and Hans Jørgen Madsen, whose research into the past of Aarhus, and later into Danevirke is known to many, and also the ethnographer Klaus Ferdinand. And now Moesgaard appeared on the horizon. It was of course Glob’s idea to move everything to a manor near Aarhus – he had been fantasising about this from his first Aarhus days, and no one had raised any objections. Now there was a chance of fulfilling the dream, although the actual realisation was still a difficult task.During all this, the Jutland Archaeological Society thrived and attracted more members than expected. Local branches were founded in several towns, summer trips were arranged and a ”Worsaae Medal” was occasionally donated to persons who had deserved it from an archaeological perspective. Kuml came out regularly with contributions from museum people and the like-minded. The publication had a form that appealed to an inner circle of people interested in archaeology. This was the intention, and this is how it should be. But in my opinion this was not quite enough. We also needed a publication that would cater to a wider public and that followed the same basic ideas as the new exhibition.I imagined a booklet, which – without over-popularsing – would address not only the professional and amateur archaeologist but also anyone else interested in the past. The result was Skalk, which (being a branch of the society) published its fir t issue in the spring of 1957. It was a somewhat daring venture, as the financial base was weak and I had no knowledge of how to run a magazine. However, both finances and experience grew with the number of subscribers – and faster than expected, too. Skalk must have met an unsatisfied need, and this we exploited to the best of our ability with various cheap advertisements. The original idea was to deal only with prehistoric and medieval archaeology, but the historians also wanted to contribute, and not just the digging kind. They were given permission, and so the topic of the magazine ended up being Denmark’s past from the time of its first inhabitant s until the times remembered by the oldest of us – with the odd sideways leap to other subjects. It would be impossible to claim that Skalk was at the top of Glob’s wish list, but he liked it and supported the idea in every way. The keeper of national antiquities, Johannes Brøndsted, did the same, and no doubt his unreserved approval of the magazine contributed to its quick growth. Not all authors found it easy to give up technical language and express themselves in everyday Danish, but the new style was quickly accepted. Ofcourse the obligations of the magazine work were also sometimes annoying. One example from the diary: ”S. had promised to write an article, but it was overdue. We agreed to a final deadline and when that was overdue I phoned again and was told that the author had gone to Switzerland. My hair turned grey overnight.” These things happened, but in this particular case there was a happy ending. Another academic promised me three pages about an excavation, but delivered ten. As it happened, I only shortened his production by a third.The 1960s brought great changes. After careful consideration, Glob left us to become the keeper of national antiquities. One important reason for his hesitation was of course Moesgaard, which he missed out on – the transfer was almost settled. This was a great loss to the Aarhus museum and perhaps to Glob, too, as life granted him much greater opportunities for development.” I am not the type to regret things,” he later stated, and hopefully this was true. And I had to choose between the museum and Skalk – the work with the magazine had become too timeconsuming for the two jobs to be combined. Skalk won, and I can truthfully say that I have never looked back. The magazine grew quickly, and happy years followed. My resignation from the museum also meant that Skalk was disengaged from the Jutland Archaeological Society, but a close connection remained with both the museum and the society.What has been described here all happened when the museum world was at the parting of the ways. It was a time of innovation, and it is my opinion that we at the Prehistoric Museum contributed to that change in various ways.The new Museum Act of 1958 gave impetus to the study of the past. The number of archaeology students in creased tremendously, and new techniques brought new possibilities that the discussion club of the 1940s had not even dreamt of, but which have helped to make some of the visions from back then come true. Public in terest in archaeology and history is still avid, although to my regret, the ahistorical 1960s and 1970s did put a damper on it.Glob is greatly missed; not many of his kind are born nowadays. He had, so to say, great virtues and great fault s, but could we have done without either? It is due to him that we have the Jutland Archaeological Society, which has no w existed for half a century. Congr tulat ion s to the Society, from your offspring Skalk.Harald AndersenSkalk MagazineTranslated by Annette Lerche Trolle

As an event that is on the rise lately, English radio talk show in Yogyakarta provides various interesting topics with various invited guest from different background which create rich conversations among the radio announcer and the guest. When the interlocutor commits a flouting maxim, the radio broadcasting context plays an important role in interpreting the meaning of the speech. Hence, the purpose of this study is to determine the types of flouting maxim and the reason why it is flouted. This research was designed as descriptive qualitative research methods. Sources of data in this study were conversations between radio announcers and guests who have the flouting maxim utterance in English radio broadcasting program. The finding shows 10 flouting maxim data in English radio talk shows in Yogyakarta. There were 40% flouting of the maxim of quantity, 30% of the flouting of the maxim of quality, 20% of the flouting of the maxim of relevance and 10% of the flouting of the maxims of implementation. The announcer and guest in the English radio broadcasting in Yogyakarta flout the maxims deliberately due to several factors such as providing detailed information, convincing, making humble attitude, saving face and creating a relaxed situation with a joke or indirect message.

Artikelbeginn:[English title and abstract below] Die Mediengeschichte zeigt, dass mit dem Aufkommen neuer Medien immer auch literarische Stoffe von ihnen aufgegriffen wurden, sei es in Form von traditionellen, neu erschienenen oder eigens für sie geschriebenen Texten. In Deutschland trifft diese Feststellung auch auf den Rundfunk zu, der flächendeckend ab 1923 in Form von dezentralen Rundfunkgesellschaften aufgebaut wurde (vgl. Halefeldt 1997), die ab 1924 ein Programm für Kinder und Jugendliche anboten. Hört zu! lautete der an sie gerichtete Aufruf. Listen!Children's and Youth Literature on the Radio during the Weimar Republic and the Era of National Socialism This article presents some results from a research project on German-language children‘s and young people‘s literature in the media network from 1900 to 1945, focussing on radio programmes, from 1924 on, that engaged with this literature. The sources of information about the programmes were radio magazines, which were only published until 1941 due to the constraints of the Second World War. In the initial phase, readings of fairy tales and legends dominated; from the early 1930s on, more and more fairy tale radio plays were produced. Punch and Judy radio plays by Liesel Simon, for instance, were broadcast regularly from 1926. Book recommendations aimed at parents and young people also played an important role as did readings by contemporary authors such as Felix Salten, Lisa Tetzner, Erich Kästner, Irmgard von Faber du Faur and Will Vesper. While the new political and social start with the Weimar Republic in 1918/1919 did not result in a caesura in the market for children’s literature, because authors who had been successful up to that point continued to be published, it did introduce several innovations, for which there was little room after Hitler came to power in 1933.

"Death of the Squirrel Man" was written in 2006 and awarded the first honorary mention at the competition "ulrike.” It was staged twice: by Marcin Liber (2006), and by Natalia Korczakowska (2007). The text received a honorary mention uring the 13th Polish Competition for Staging of Contemporary Play organized by the Ministry of Culture and National Heritage. A slightly shortened version of the play was published by a theatre journal "Dialog” (2007, vol. 5). It was also made into a radio-play by Jan Klata. The play was translated into several foreign languages, among them English, German, Swedish, and Czech; it was published in a collection of European drama, entitled New Europe – Plays From the Continent (New York 2010).

Natural language processing plays a great role in providing an interface for human-computer communication. It enables people to talk with the computer in their formal language rather than machine language. This study aims at presenting a Part of speech tagger that can assign word class to words in a given paragraph sentence. Some of the researchers developed parts of speech taggers for different languages such as English Amharic, Afan Oromo, Tigrigna, etc. On the other hand, many other languages do not have POS taggers like Shekki’noono language. POS tagger is incorporated in most natural language processing tools like machine translation, information extraction as a basic component. So, it is compulsory to develop a part of speech tagger for languages then it is possible to work with an advanced natural language application. Because those applications enhance machine to machine, machine to human, and human to human communications. Although, one language POS tagger cannot be directly applied for other languages POS tagger. With the purpose for developing the Shekki’noono POS tagger, we have used the stochastic Hidden Markov Model. For the study, we have used 1500 sentences collected from different sources such as newspapers (which includes social, economic, and political aspects), modules, textbooks, Radio Programs, and bulletins. The collected sentences are labeled by language experts with their appropriate parts of speech for each word. With the experiments carried out, the part of speech tagger is trained on the training sets using Hidden Markov model. As experiments showed, HMM based POS tagging has achieved 92.77 % accuracy for Shekki’noono. And the POS tagger model is compared with the previous experiments in related works using HMM. As a future work, the proposed approaches can be utilized to perform an evaluation on a larger corpus.

Background: High maternal and neonatal mortality rates in Mozambique, are due to adolescent pregnancies, difficulties in accessing health services, traditional constraints, and gender inequalities. An implementation research project, Alert Community to Prepared Hospital in Natikiri, Nampula, Mozambique was developed to reduce maternal and newborn mortality. From 2016 to 2020, it implemented activities to improve population knowledge and function in sexual and reproductive health, and to enable community participation in maternal health services. In this paper, we assessed and discussed the impact of community participation on improving sexual and reproductive health. Methods: The “Alert Community to Prepared Hospital” was an implementation research program with community intervention and programmed mid-term evaluations. It used mixed methods research design such as descriptive quantitative surveys, qualitative focus group discussions, and interviews, applied from 2017 to 2020. Local health committees, traditional birth attendants, traditional healers, and local leaders all participated: trained in sexual and reproductive health and participated in radio discussion groups; community and hospital members of the co-management committee enabled local programming. Maternal and child health indicators were evaluated with the health unit’s statistical operational data. Quantitative data were captured in Microsoft Office Excel, analysed with SPSS21 to find the frequency, percentage, mean and standard deviation; qualitative data were registered in Microsoft Office Word and analysed with Nvivo software. This research received bioethical approvals from both the Mozambican and Canadian universities and followed all Helsinki Declaration recommendations. Results: Comparing changes from 2016 to 2019, the number of health committees operating in Natikiri rose from 7 to 20. Each committee integrated four Family Health Champions, who attained 24738 residents with health education interventions on reproductive health and rights. A theatre group developed dramas about the same key messages and presented the plays in local communities. Population access to contraceptives was facilitated, from 42% to 91% in women and from 65% to 90% in men. At Marrere Health Centre, women with four ante-natal visits rose by 185%, and children less than one year of age’ surveillance visits raised by 89%; at Marrere General Hospital’ maternity deliveries rose 60%. Conclusion: Community participation, at all levels of maternal and child health service care continuum, from families, health committees, and communities to health centres and hospitals, enhanced with complementary interventions well contextualized, sexual, and reproductive health and rights key messages broadcasted, discussed, and presented by local theatre groups, is effective in improving adolescent and adult sexual and reproductive health. Plain English summary An Alert Community to a Prepared Hospital Implementation Research Project was carried out in Natikiri, Nampula, Mozambique, from 2016 to 2020, aiming to reduce maternal and neonatal mortality rates, considered priority public health problem in this country. It deployed activities to improve population knowledge and behaviour in sexual and reproductive health and rights and enable community participation in maternal and newborn health services: classroom training, community radio discussion groups, and drama performances. Using mixed-methods research to evaluate results with local health committees, traditional birth attendants, traditional healers, and local leadership, we compared the evolution of maternal and child health indicators at health units. Comparing changes from 2016 to 2019, the number of local health committees rose, attaining 24738 residents with health education interventions, population access to contraceptives was facilitated, from 42% to 91% in women and from 65% to 90% in men, women with four antenatal visits rose by 185%, children less than one year of age’ surveillance visits rose by 89%; and hospitals’ maternity deliveries rose by 60%. Community participation in maternal and child health service care has been demonstrated to be effective in improving adolescent and adult sexual and reproductive health. Trial registration This maternal and child health study was approved by the Lúrio University Bioethics Committee (02/CBISUL/16) and the Behavioural Ethics Board at the University of Saskatchewan (BEH#15-112), and was not registered in any database. Keywords: Maternal and child health, community, family planning, health services, implementation research, Mozambique, participation, pregnancy, reproductive and sexual health.

Introduction Despite the expansive and multimodal realm of Chinese Boys’ Love (BL) culture (also known as danmei in Chinese), audio works have been notably absent from scholarly discussions, with the focus predominantly being on novels (e.g. Bai; Zhang). This article aims to fill this gap by delving into the transformative impact of sound on narrative engagement within the Chinese BL culture. Focussing on the audio drama adaptations of Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (modao zushi, hereafter Grandmaster), originally a serialised Chinese BL novel, this analysis aims to unravel the meticulously crafted BL fantasy in these auditory renditions. The audio drama format delivers an intimate storytelling experience directly to the listener’s ears. Unlike textual media, audio dramas allow listeners to immerse themselves in narratives during various daily activities, deepening their connection with the content. The audio drama Grandmaster, produced by the renowned Chinese platform MissEvan, has garnered a vast fan base and over 640 million plays across three seasons (the episodes and numbers of plays can be found on MissEvan: Season 1, Season 2, and Season 3). Unlike the serialised Web-drama adaption diluted by censorship regulations, the audio drama retains the utmost BL fidelity to the original novel, highlighting the significant potential of this medium in the Chinese BL culture. BL culture has surged in popularity within China, partly due to the export of Japanese culture and the burgeoning Chinese Internet accessibility (Feng). The BL genre encompasses diverse media forms such as novels, fanfiction, comics, animation, and audio/Web dramas, rooted in shared fantasies of romantic love between men. The growing interest in BL culture reflects a response to societal structures like Confucianism and the oppressive education system, which, due to their restrictedness, inadvertently foster the exploration of alternative narratives and identities within the genre (Kwon). While initially inspired by Japanese subculture, Chinese BL has evolved under diverse global influences, including American and other Asian subcultures (Lavin et al.). Chinese BL narratives delve into themes of identity, sexuality, power dynamics, and societal norms, reflecting a rich blend of modern and traditional Chinese culture (Madill and Zhao). Moreover, the rise of BL fandom has empowered female readers to engage in questions about gendered politics, questions that enable them to turn a voyeuristic gaze upon men (Zhang). The versatility of Chinese BL media reflects not only the evolving nature of the genre but also its enduring appeal and cultural significance within contemporary Chinese society. This article initiates a concise review of audio drama in China and the transformative impact of earphone technology, shifting listening experiences from public to intimate settings. It subsequently explores the intricate interplay between Chinese BL novels and audio dramas, elucidating the unique dynamics involved. The analysis then examines specific scenes from Grandmaster, providing insights into its role in facilitating a mesmerising BL audio fantasy. Grandmaster, originating as an Internet novel, has gained a dedicated following. MissEvan, recognising its potential, secured copyrights and commissioned Triones Penguin Studio for a radio drama adaptation in Mandarin. This full-cast dramatisation involves skilled editors, playwrights, and composers, thereby enriching character portrayals and interactions. The professional teamwork and meticulous oversight at each production stage guaranteed regular updates and high audio quality (Shao). Despite the collaborative nature of teamwork, I argue that the power of sound technology personalises the auditory journey as it creates an immersive experience for individual listeners. My analyses mainly rely on research involving actual listeners, along with examinations of specific content within Grandmaster with an idealised listener in consideration, to elucidate the factors contributing to its auditory allure. This examination contributes to a nuanced understanding of Chinese BL culture and its constitutive relationship to audio. From Public Broadcasting to Intimate Voicing: Audio Drama in China Radio broadcasting in China, with roots dating back to the early twentieth century, initially served as a propaganda instrument for mass mobilisation and communication. Chinese storytelling, rooted in acoustics, emphasises the sensory appeal of sound (Chan). It intertwines oral and written traditions in classical literature, particularly fiction and drama (Børdahl). Local vernaculars commonly feature in oral storytelling traditions, whereas Chinese radio programs adopt Mandarin to foster a cohesive national identity via linguistic uniformity. The Communist Party tactically expanded its audience through a radio reception network, establishing a wired broadcasting infrastructure with over 100 million loudspeakers by the 1970s. This revolutionised politics, everyday life, and perceptions of time and space (Li). The interplay between radio and social change reflected China’s pursuit of modernity, as the Communist Party utilised radio to institute a national communication system and monopolise news production. Radio thus served as a crucial tool for constructing and sustaining revolutionary fervor (Lei; He). Radio dramas, often cross-media adaptations from edited films in the 1970s, contributed to everyday sensory pleasure amidst a totalising revolutionary soundscape (Huang). The growth of radio and loudspeaker infrastructure played diverse roles in the revolution, fostering political communication, labour mobilisation, propaganda, surveillance, and even nurturing the Mao cult, turning radio drama into a potent tool for mass mobilisation and communication (Li). As a result, before the widespread availability of televisions in the 1990s, radio structured Chinese people’s daily activities and served as the primary information medium. Technological advancements in earphones, transitioning from larger wired headphones to smaller wireless earbuds like AirPods, have shifted auditory experiences in China from a collective identity tool used in political propaganda to a medium for individualistic entertainment. This change is marked by the personal nature of headphone usage, which can extend social interactions in and beyond physical dimensions (Grusin). The transition from wired headphones to wireless earbuds implements the interiorisation of one person’s body/voice within another, initiating a profound connection that transcends physical limitations (Stankievech). Since 2018, wireless earbuds have exceeded wired headphones in output value in China (Insight and Info), with the online audio market surging to 22 billion yuan in 2021, a 67.9% increase year-on-year. Audiobooks and audio dramas are the most popular genres, with a predominantly female audience under forty who prefer listening at night after work (iimedia). Among audio dramas, BL works generate the most traffic and revenue in China (Y. Wang). Along with such content, putting wireless earbuds inside the ear intensifies the intimacy of listening, transmitting voices directly into the listener’s head and sitting alongside their thoughts (Weldon). This physical closeness underscores the exclusive bond between the listener and the audio content, redefining oral narratives and transforming public and political audio content into a more personal and intimate medium. The use of wireless earbuds even extends listening beyond mere auditory experience, empowering haptic sensations that create an intimate bond. The acousmatic voice envelops the listener’s ears, establishing a connection even before the message’s content is considered (Madsen and Potts). The ear’s sensitivity prompts consciousness and memory, unlocking the imaginative world (C. Wang 91-94). This sensory engagement surpasses traditional auditory limits, resembling a physical encounter where listeners feel like their body has joined with the body of sound. Dermot Rattigan, discussing radio drama, notes how listeners fill the void with mental visualisations and imagination, entering a state of individual ‘virtual reality’ through aural stimulation (Rattigan 118). Drawing from visual psychology, Shaffer likens the soundscape to a dynamic landscape painting, emphasising the fluidity of auditory experiences (Schafer). Listening becomes a multi-dimensional journey involving the entire body and mind, a compelling tool for reception and connection that transcends reality’s boundaries. The advent of MP3 technologies and the podcasting boom also extends the former spatial and temporal limitations of listening. In contrast to traditional real-time broadcasting, MP3 technologies enable voices to persist indefinitely into the future (Madsen and Potts). This temporal flexibility further builds a private sound sphere for listeners (Euritt). Listeners no longer need to share time and space with others around loudspeakers or radios, so they can freely indulge in their subcultural preferences, such as BL stories, without concern for societal judgment. Many listeners strategically incorporate audio dramas into their daily schedule, choosing moments of solitude such as before sleep or upon waking, where they can detach from the expectations of their physical space and identity roles. This is particularly evident among devoted fans of Chinese BL audio dramas, who carve out personal time for these works and seek a quiet space for focussed engagement (Wang 55). This intentional, focussed engagement differs from the typical mode of everyday radio listening as it serves an expanded, widespread dissemination environment that is also highly intimate (Madsen and Potts). Thus, the convergence of temporal flexibility and immersive technology shapes listener engagement and interaction dynamics. The fusion of intimacy, physical closeness, and temporal flexibility heightens the allure of the voice in programs with erotic undertones, such as BL audio dramas. Euritt introduces the concept of ‘breathing out into you’ to explain queer eroticism in podcasts, emphasising shared breaths and potential haptic exchanges that enhance the sensual dimensions of sound (Euritt 27-53). This wireless, intimately riveting auditory experience transforms the soundscape and reshapes contemporary social interactions. This shift is particularly noteworthy for popular Chinese radio and audio content as they began as a public, propaganda-oriented tool and transitioned into forms as novel as the intimate domain of BL audio dramas. This change underscores the transformative power of sound in shaping interactions, surpassing conventional storytelling boundaries, and ushering in a new era of engaging narratives. The 2.5-Dimensional: Auralising Chinese Boys’ Love Fiction The BL genre emerges as a cultural and social force that can potentially challenge traditional Chinese values. Its focus on male-male love inherently questions societal expectations around gender and sexuality in ways that disrupt Confucian ideology’s emphasis on heterosexual marriage and lineage (Welker). Furthermore, the genre’s similarity to the melodramatic ‘soap opera’ storytelling style resonates with Western ideals of individualism and aligns more with a feminist viewpoint that contrasts with the male-dominant heterosexism often found in traditional Chinese narratives (Mumford). This emphasis on individual desires also implicitly disputes the collectivist and socialist values, as well as the importance of the extended family, traditionally embraced in Chinese cultures. In short, the love, sex, and romance depicted in BL represent a departure from traditional Chinese values, positioning the BL genre as a vehicle for cultural exchange and societal transformation in terms of gender norms. The surge of Internet radio and social media in the 2010s has substantially contributed to the professionalisation and commercialisation of Chinese BL audio dramas. MissEvan, a prominent barrage-audio and live-broadcasting Website, has been crucial to this proliferation (Hu et al.). Before the advent of commercial dubbing, enthusiasts of BL novels voluntarily recorded non-profit Chinese audio dramas and disseminated them online. The popularity of BL novels subsequently prompted their adaptation into animation and television dramas, creating a demand for dubbing services. This demand inaugurated a niche for professional voice actors to hone and showcase their skills. The integration of technology and capital by commercial production teams has markedly elevated the quality of Chinese BL audio dramas. Amidst tightening censorship in 2021, Chinese BL online novels and their television/Web-drama adaptations faced restrictions. Audio drama emerged as a less restrictive medium, which can relatively directly present explicit gay relationships (Hu et al.). Listeners of Chinese BL audio dramas typically read the online novel beforehand, engaging in dual consumption for pleasure in both reading and listening (Wang 58). Their engagement transcends plot comprehension, focussing instead on appreciating sophisticated voice performances. Exploring how audio dramas derived from novels can transcend textual narratives and captivate audiences has become a central focus in the production process, highlighting the flourishing landscape of audio drama. The listening process provides informed listeners with a re-experience, offering multiple sensory and emotional pleasures by translating words into voice and sounds. Unlike film and television dubbing, which requires synchronisation with actors’ lip movements and speech rhythms, dubbing for animation, audio dramas, and games gives greater creative autonomy to voice actors. The thriving market for audio dramas has shaped the Chinese dubbing industry, cultivating a devoted fan base for previously overlooked voice actors. The character voices (CVs, also known as voice actors, or VAs) have emerged as central figures, attracting fans and driving media traffic. In the late 2010s, collaborations between MissEvan and renowned CVs resulted in the adaptation of popular online fiction into paid audio dramas, exemplified by Grandmaster, which aired in 2017 and 2018 (Hu et al.). Fans’ motivation for engaging with BL audio dramas extends beyond intertextual and trans-media entertainment but incorporates an appreciation for their beloved CVs, thereby fostering a culture of support within the burgeoning Chinese BL audio drama market. In the storytelling of aural media, CVs are crucial in bridging the auditor’s BL imagination between the text and the characters as their performances breathe life into characters. CVs fill a gap between two-dimensional works (fiction, comic, and animation) and the three-dimensional real world, forging ‘2.5-dimensional’ content. This term originated in the 1970s-80s to describe anime voice actors, who imbue two-dimensional characters with a sense of existence and generate interrelations between the real, fictional, and cyber worlds (Sugawa-Shimada and Annett). In BL audio dramas, CVs commonly stimulate listeners’ sensations through male moans that facilitate an erotic flow between sound and body, arousing desire through the auditory channel. The incorporation of scenes with sexual innuendo between the male protagonists creates a space for listeners to indulge in these moments with earphones on, enveloped in their own private, eroticised sphere of engagement between fiction and reality. The deliberate pauses, gasps, and panting become the silent dialogue that intertwines inner voices with external narratives, enhancing comprehensive sensory engagement for listeners. Audio Fantasy in Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation Grandmaster is a seminal Chinese BL novel that blends martial arts, supernatural fantasies, and emotional depth. Set in a richly imagined world where immortal cultivation techniques bestow individuals with extraordinary powers, the story follows protagonists Wei Wuxian’s and Lan Wangji’s intertwined fates. Its captivating narrative and nuanced characters have garnered a global fanbase, solidifying its place as a cornerstone of Chinese BL literature and media. The audio drama Grandmaster faithfully mirrors the novel’s narrative structure, unfolding from the protagonist Wei’s perspective after his reincarnation, weaving memories of his past and present life, including his romantic involvement with Lan. Wei’s establishment of the forbidden Demonic Path leads to his death, but he is reincarnated thirteen years later and reunites with Lan. After his reincarnation, Wei gradually realises Lan’s concealed profound affection and scarification for him. Diverging from the television/Web-drama adaptation, which replaces the romance with platonic ‘bromance’ due to censorship (Lei), the audio drama accentuates the impassioned soundscapes of their relationship. The three-season series, comprising episodes of 30-40 minutes, offers the first three episodes for free, with subsequent content requiring payment (approximately four to six dollars per season). Impressively, the series has driven earnings exceeding $1.5 million (Asia Business Leaders). This success highlights the captivating and profitable potential of audio dramas as a BL storytelling medium. Unlike the original novel, which uses an omniscient narrator, the audio drama advances the plot solely through character dialogue. Consequently, listeners navigate the storyline guided by the rhythm of the CVs’ delivery and the accompanying music. Different from Japanese BL audio dramas that feature as ‘voice porn’ for women (Ishida), Grandmaster subtly implies the romance between Lan and Wei, with the most intimate interactions limited to kisses. Rather than sexually explicit content, the drama focusses on the characters’ affective fulfillment after a prolonged thirteen-year anticipation. For instance, in Season 1, Episode 4, Wei attempts to hide his identity and flee from Lan. When Wei creeps back towards Lan’s bed to steal the pass for exiting Lan’s residence, Lan catches him. Rather than simply saying ‘Get off’ as in the novel, Lan instructs Wei in the audio drama to ‘Get off from my body,’ offering listeners additional physical contact cues (the quotes from the novel and audio drama in this article are translations from Chinese to English). Following Wei’s intentional refusal, the CV Wei Chao, portraying Lan, strategically breathes before his next line, ‘then stay like this for the whole night’. The breath conveys Lan’s deep, restrained affection and evokes the listener’s nuanced emotional resonance. To represent Lan’s affection within his minimal and often monosyllabic lines requires the CV to convey emotions through breaths and intonations, which commonly elicit an autonomous sensory meridian response (ASMR) in listeners. ASMR is a tingling sensation often triggered by soft low-tone spoken or whispered voices (Barratt and Davis). Wei Chao intentionally lowers his voice to interpret how Lan’s sighs encapsulate unspoken sentiments (Wei). In contrast, the CV Lu Zhixing employs a playful and sweet tone in his portrayal of Wei Wuxian. When Lu delivers flirtatious lines, online real-time comments frequently express listeners’ admiration, suggesting that his voice is even more captivating than women’s. The contrasting restraint and playfulness intensify the listener’s empathy for Lan’s unspeakable passion. Thus, Lan’s subtle expressions of his restrained love become the primary attraction for listeners (KikuHonda). The high-quality sound further amplifies the breath sounds, making each of Lan’s ‘hmm’ responses—indifferent, melancholy, or indulgent—a nuanced emotional trigger. Listeners, through their wireless earbuds, engage in the meticulously crafted expressions of Lan within a profoundly personal soundscape. This listening mode is a crucial component of the overall enthralling auditory voyage, augmenting the appreciation of the characters’ subdued emotions. The layered integration of music and sound in Grandmaster constructs a three-dimensional sonic storytelling landscape. Effective soundscapes for storytelling are crafted by multiple dimensions: sound source, temporal progression, simultaneous layers, and spatialisation. Sound editing allows for source selection, with listeners experiencing these dimensions as integrated, not separate or sequential (Stedman et al.). The audio drama Grandmaster distinguishes itself from the novel by using voice flashbacks for narrative enhancement. In Season Three, Episode 12, when Lan’s brother recounts Lan’s sacrifice for Wei, particularly the moment when Lan endured severe punishment to save Wei thirteen years ago, the soundscape instantly transports listeners to that intense scene. Listeners vividly hear the swishing force of the whip and its impact, immersing them in the sounds of Lan’s anguish and unwavering love. This direct auditory impact allows listeners to feel as if they are experiencing the events firsthand, physically sensing the hardships encountered by the protagonists in understanding each other’s affection, intensifying their hard-won love. The musical orchestration and vocal interplay are also pivotal to conveying the story. In the storyline, Wei and Lan showcase proficiency in their respective instruments: Wei with the flute and Lan with the guqin (a seven-string Chinese zither). The tonal features of these instruments—the flute’s melodious brightness and the guqin’s deep lingering resonance—symbolise the protagonists’ distinct personalities, adding ingenious layers to their relationship. In the Guanyin Temple scene (Season Three, Episode 13), as Wei confesses to Lan, the initial background music features the flute, guqin, and rain sounds, foreshadowing the confessional moment with Wei’s worries that Lan will not believe his words. As Wei promises to remember Lan’s every word from now on, the music incorporates the guzheng, a Chinese string instrument with a brighter timbre than guqin. The tremolo technique of guzheng is reminiscent of the characters’ heartstring vibrations. Through auditory cues, the narrative climaxes with Wei’s heartfelt confession of love for Lan. When Wei straightforwardly confesses, ‘I fancy you, I love you, I want you, I cannot leave you. … I do not want anyone but you—it cannot be anyone but you’ (Season Three, Episode 13), his heartfelt words are accompanied by layered sounds, including the duet of the flute and guqin, and the sound of thunder and rain, accelerating the affective climax. Lan echoes Wei’s words, underscored by erhu, thereby showing how this string instrument resembles humans’ sobbing voices through its sliding technique, rendering the touching melody. The heartbeat and rain sound with Lan’s panting highlight the painful loneliness of Lan’s thirteen-year wait. The intricate fusion of musical and vocal elements enables listeners to not only hear but also to feel the mutual affection between the characters, culminating in a sense of delight upon the disclosure of their reciprocal love following numerous adventures. Using earbuds amplifies listeners’ capacity to fully receive auditory details and stereo effects, thereby contributing to the popularity of BL audio dramas that skillfully convey unspoken love through detailed soundscapes. Epilogue The Grandmaster audio dramas provide crafted episodes that fulfill fans’ passionate needs that exceed the novel’s scope. In addition to adapting the novel, the team has conceived original mini-dramas that enrich the character images. Listeners can access additional content such as iconic quotes, ringtones, and ‘lullaby’ episodes recorded by the leading CVs, maximising the captivating power of sound and justifying listeners’ investment. The multi-layered use of sounds and instrumental arrangements effectively constructs a three-dimensional soundscape, reinforcing the audience’s understanding of the story and characters. Unlike television/Web-drama adaptations, the audio drama fully amplifies the tragic elements of the novel, pushing the immersed listener’s imagination past textual limitations. While casting choices and modelling in visual adaptions may disappoint viewers’ expectations at times, the audio drama leverages the power of sound to stimulate listeners’ imaginations, encouraging them to visualise their own specific character images. Skillful orchestration, along with sound effects, breaths, and dialogues in Grandmaster intensifies emotional expression, forming a rich and dimensional soundscape and unlocking new possibilities for audio drama artistic expression for Chinese BL fantasy. 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Euritt, Alyn. Podcasting as an Intimate Medium. Routledge, 2022. Feng, Jin. “‘Addicted to Beauty’: Consuming and Producing Web-Based Chinese ‘Danmei’ Fiction at Jinjiang.” Modern Chinese Literature and Culture 21.2 (2009): 1–41. Grusin, Richard A. Premediation: Affect and Mediality after 9/11. Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. He, Bixiao. “ ‘Yelling at the Masses’: Making Propaganda Audible in the Communist Revolution.” China Report 58.1 (2022): 28–40. Hu, Tingting, Jing Jin, and Lin Liao. “A Transmedia ‘Third’ Space: The Counterculture of Chinese Boys” Love Audio Dramas.” Asian Studies Review 47.4 (2023): 836–54. Huang, Nicole. “Listening to Films: Politics of the Auditory in 1970s China.” Journal of Chinese Cinemas 7.3 (2013): 187–206. 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"[Peter] Phelps was reacting to the news that the battle to 'save' Avalon from a Baywatch film crew invasion had been won after the Queensland Government clinched an in-principle deal with the producers of the world's most watched television show."-- Austin 5; italics added for emphasis The violent reaction of the Sydney residents of Avalon came as somewhat of a surprise to Baywatch producers and even the Australian Government, with Prime Minister John Howard reportedly commenting that the area would have benefitted from the increase in tourism and the creation of two hundred jobs. Avalon residents thought otherwise, and in the media, particularly the Sydney media, negative invasion metaphors ran rife. This disenchantment with American television culture may be considered a turning point in Australia's cultural identity analogous to an earlier example of cultural policing in the 1960s, when a new wave of nationalism saw the rejection of British and American English as the 'prestigous' varieties of English in the Australian media. It appears that parts of Australian society are again policing and promoting Australian culture through the negative, violent portrayal of American culture. Earlier this century, there was a certain repugnance associated with the Australian accent, with cultural commentators looking towards England for a standardised form of Australian English. "If we must follow a dialect of English in Australia, why not follow one of the charming ones? Why follow the ugliest that exists?" (Smith 1926; reported in Mitchell 63) "The attempt to create a distinct Australian accent is mischievous. For I make bold to say at present one does not exist. There is not, and should not be, any difference in standard English as spoken here, in the Motherland, or elsewhere in the Empire." (ABC Weekly 1942; reported in Mitchell 64-5) The linguistic manifestation of the Australian cultural cringe was complicated after World War II with the addition of American English to the 'prestigious' varieties. This attitude was exemplified in Australian radio announcers who adopted either American or British accents depending on whether the listeners were a commercial or ABC audience. The shift to an American accent for popular radio perhaps reflected the overwhelming acceptance of the American allies who had, at that stage, begun threatening England's cultural dominance. There was a clear association between America's own cultural dominance and the concepts of modernity and popular culture that were distinctly not British. The adoption of this form of English helped to perpetuate the attractiveness of the American ideology of freedom, equality, affluence and happiness (Horne 103) and to begin filtering out the hierarchical cultural snobbery associated with the British accent. In the sixties, the allure of American English became less tantalising and arguably only remained in some lexical items or words. Australian English came back into vogue during this time with writers such as Donald Horne (The Lucky Country), initiating a new wave of nationalism by pointing out the strengths of this country. Through the work of such social commentators, the Australian accent came to positively reflect the Australian ideological construction of mateship and egalitarianism. The Australian accent replaced the American accent, becoming the 'prestigious' form of English through the promotion of this form of nationalism. Even today, the battle to maintain an unadulterated form of Australian English resistant to outside influences is evident in the opinion columns. "As an Australian and proud of it, you get sick and tired of these characters [from American television programmes] mouthing 'guys, zerotouched, heist, ketchup and fries'." (Jefferies 8) However whilst the struggle to maintain a distinctive Australian accent has been successful, the attractiveness of American culture in general continues as portrayed in other cultural forms, especially television. Except for some concerns over Australian content regulations and some highbrow cultural commentary, Australians seem to be happily lapping up their nightly television doses of American culture -- that is, until Baywatch proposed that they move their filming location to the very middle-class Sydney suburb of Avalon. The residents of Avalon took this move as an act of war, and so the metaphors began flying. " .. the battle to 'save' Avalon from a Baywatch film crew invasion." (Austin 5) "Baywatch versus Avalon." (Carroll 16) "'Here they come, we surrender' [Avalon to Baywatch]" (Nicholson 18) "'Get that leaky old tub off this beach' [Baywatch to Howard]" (Nicholson 18) "'They took over the showers and toilets'" (Who Weekly 16) "They [Avalon residents] torpedoed plans .." (Lateline) The language that the media adopted in reporting the Baywatch filming proposal metaphorically constructed this event as an invasion, with the Baywatch producers as a hostile force willing to impinge upon the freedom and identity of the suburb of Avalon, which was alternatively portrayed as either a passive victim -- "'we surrender'" (Nicholson 18) -- or a virulent group armed to counterattack the Baywatch scurge -- "they torpedoed" (Who Weekly 16). Baywatch and Avalon were posed as enemies, as in "Baywatch versus Avalon" (Carroll 16), with both sides' attributes exaggerated to produce maximum difference -- the Avalon residents were described as snobby and middle class, and Baywatch became the epitome of American television trash. Yet it may be argued that this media construction of an invasion has wider, more significant cultural implications. Metonymically, the residents of Avalon seem to be representative of Australian culture, with Baywatch becoming the manifestation of American culture in its entirety. Thus, according to the media, the 'coming' of Baywatch was nothing short of a cultural invasion, an American impingement on Australian culture. The smugness of cultural commentators could be felt as the violent protests from Avalon residents perhaps marked the start of another wave of disillusionment with American culture, this time transmitted through such popular media as television. The 'popular' culture cringe that Australia seems to be suffering from in television content may be meeting its challenge. Avalon residents have made a stand against the cultural imperialism of American culture, similar to the 60s resistance to the invasion of Americanisms in Australian English. It will be interesting to examine the result of the Baywatch/Avalon incident, if indeed any lasting effects will be observed. It may be that Avalon's protest against Baywatch, which represents the struggle against American cultural invasion, will prove ineffectual. This is a likely outcome considering the Gold Coast's willingness to embrace this television show and its entourage before the decision to move to Hawaii. Indeed, the Gold Coast Mayor enthusiastically described the Gold Coast as Australia's answer to Hollywood. Yet an alternative result may be a positive re-examination and reappraisal of Australian television and its linked cultural identity similar to that which occured in the 1960s with Australian English. References Austin, Keith. "Sun, Sea Sound ... So Long." Sydney Morning Herald: The Guide 1 Mar. 1999: 5. Carroll, Nick. "Baywatch Link" Sydney Morning Herald 1 Mar. 1999: 16. "Drowning Out Baywatch." Who Weekly 8 Feb. 1999: 16. Horne, Donald. The Lucky Country: Australia in the Sixties. Australia: Penguin, 1966. Jefferys, Bob. "US Infiltration." Sydney Morning Herald: The Guide 1 Mar. 1999: 8. Lateline. Nine Network. QTQ9, Brisbane. 8 Mar. 1999. Mitchell, A. G. The Pronunciation of English in Australia. Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1947. Nicholson. "Ulysees: An Irregular Soapie." Cartoon. The Weekend Australian 27-8 Feb. 1999: 18. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Felicity Meakins. "Shooting Baywatch: Resisting Cultural Invasion." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.2 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9903/bay.php>. Chicago style: Felicity Meakins, "Shooting Baywatch: Resisting Cultural Invasion," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 2 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9903/bay.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Felicity Meakins. (1999) Shooting Baywatch: resisting cultural invasion. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(2). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9903/bay.php> ([your date of access]).

In recent times there has been a notable increase in the number of first novels by young Australian authors which have attained international release. Some mentionable titles would be Christos Tsiolkas's Loaded, Andrew McGahan's Praise and Fiona Capp's Night Surfing. These novels, which come brimming with language particular to Australia and to the sub-cultural groupings represented in the texts, seem to have found an eager overseas readership despite what would ordinarily be seen as their untranslatable content. The high levels of culturally-specific brand names, slang, vulgarities and references to popular culture used in these novels should be a hindrance to the effective comprehension of the narratives themselves as well as the culture they portray. Making the specificities of a culture comprehensible to the outside world will always be a difficult task, but the advent of on-line publishing has introduced some interesting possible tactics and some entirely new hurdles for future translators to consider. It is problematic to attempt to define a 'culture', and homogeneous languages and cultures do not truly exist, but with every international transfer comes the act of translation which must suppose a certain empirically assessible definition of the psychological space between the source culture of the text and that of its target audience. Texts to be sold internationally are carefully selected and often meticulously renovated to be made comprehensible to a chosen target readership. The notion of a such a reading market presupposes levels of shared knowledge between the two cultures: it requires an assessment of sameness and difference in order to define which portions of the text need to be translated. Translation theorist Anthony Pym has asserted the notion that all texts belong to certain peoples or situations and thereby resist translation due to the necessity for the texts to undergo a change of values (beyond the linguistic) when moved away from their apparently rightful place (Pym 102). This suggests that any text has a natural home where the ideal reader probably resides. Thus, even the movement of a text between groups who share a language (for example, from Australia to England or the USA) will require a certain amount of translation to be maximally accessible for the foreign reader. On-line publishing destabilises the levels of control available to publishers and translators. The apparent concerns of royalty payments and copyright are currently under observation, but there is also the radical alteration of the notion of a target book-buying market. A text published electronically is basically available to the world. There are no physical frontiers or issues of stock availability to prevent the text from being read by anyone, anywhere, who has a basic grasp of the language being used in the particular document (and more and more search engines even provide a translation facility that overcomes some of that initial language barrier). Thus, an Australian text can be read by any reader of English irrespective of cultural background or supposed suitability as a receiver. Under the controlled conditions made possible by working towards assumed receiving markets, translators have developed a series of coping mechanisms to overcome the dilemmas of translation difficulties. In some cases, a translator may domesticate a text by exchanging a word for an option which is vaguely similar but is more comprehensible to the target culture (an example might be the replacement of 'vegemite' with 'peanut butter' as was the case in the recent French translation of Sally Morgan's My Place). A second option is to retain the word in its original form, forcing readers to investigate the meaning elsewhere. This works positively for the diligent reader, but there is also a level of reading at which the reader may be happy to 'skip over' the laborious sections while still 'getting the gist' of the storyline. This does little for the development of greater awareness about the source culture or for an understanding of a particular term's appropriateness within the context of the narrative. A third method is to make use of footnotes within the text to explain any untranslatable passages. Opportunities exist here for adding historical data and brief asides which may broaden the reader's understanding of the narrative. Even pictures or maps may be added to help create an ideal reader and collapse the space of potential misunderstanding between the two cultures. This is a positive approach in pedagogical terms but few publishers wish to produce a text which is three times longer than the original. There is also the risk here, as Pym has stated, of rendering the text more sociological than narrative (Pym 87). In addition, the eye's constant retreat to the bottom of the page makes the text disjointed and may sacrifice poetic allusions. One exciting advantage of electronic publishing, in terms of translatability of culturally-specific language, is the potential for the use of hypertext links as a sort of intratextual footnote. While preserving the basic form of the original text and not visually disrupting the narrative, Internet links can be used to provide immediate access to all manner of educational information. To illustrate these points, one need only look at one of the Australian novels in question, Nick Earls's Zigzag Street, which has recently been translated into German and has been warmly embraced by readers of English around the world. Barely a page can be turned in this text without the reader discovering another culturally-specific reference. The following haphazardly abridged portion of Chapter 37 is exemplary of the frequency of such problematic language: The car doesn't start...I call the RACQ...I sit out on the bonnet with a big pile of toast with Vegemite on it...me and my old Laser...I drive and I sing along to Triple J... At around 2 o'clock I walk up to Wee Willie Winkie's on Waterworks Road...and I buy a packet of Tim Tams...I buy a banana Paddle Pop and eat it on the way home. Zigzag Street has been released in English outside of Australia without alteration despite Earls's usage of terms which may not even resonate with Australian readers outside the text's Brisbane home, let alone with other English-speaking communities. This humorous tale of a young man's personal development in the face of adversity has engaged readers world-wide, yet press coverage and fan mail still query the real meanings of strange and exotic words like 'Tim Tam'. What hypertext offers is a space-saving, non-disruptive opportunity to imbue a text with additional information about seemingly untranslatable terms. If Zigzag Street were published electronically and came with Internet links, the reader might have the opportunity to more extensively understand the implications of the Australian vernacular in use. Tim Tams, for example, have a social role beyond their being a biscuit (as virtual currency in offices and the providers of solace to the downtrodden and dumped). This is an intracultural meaning attributed to that particular signifier which could not be understood without explanation. The reader can no doubt judge that Triple J is some form of music, but a jump to the Triple J Website allows him or her to say 'this is a radio station, primarily aimed at young people, it supports certain political agendas, it plays a certain type of music...', thus understanding the motivations of the character, the events of the story and, importantly, a little bit more about the source culture. The use of hypertext links cannot fully translate culturally-specific references, only first-hand experience of the culture can do that. But in the few examples made apparent in the short paragraph from Zigzag Street, hypertext provides a level of comprehension of the text beyond that which is possible through traditional footnotes. The reader is able to partially experience the source culture of the text (by at least knowing what a Tim Tam looks like or by listening to Triple J -- whose site now comes with a RealAudio feature) rather than standing at a distance making vague and frequently misguided assumptions about the culture or conducting an unproductive reading which simply ignores the culturally-specific terminology. In terms of form and the retention of a smooth narrative flow, the text is not technically disjointed. At the same time however, the reading of text will be a non-linear experience at the discretion of the reader. It has been said that this is reflective of the way we usually approach a text; that is, jumping between thoughts which we then associate with each other to build a network of concepts. Hypertext parallels human cognition in this way and allows for deeper exploration and interpretation of the text's culture of origin (Balasubramanian 5). Though entertaining, the translations of food and brand names may seem like flippant examples. Yet, it is easy to see the importance of the principles if they were appropriated to cases of historical data or ideologies which may be wrongly interpreted by the international reading market. (This is not to say that Tim Tams are not very, VERY important social documents.) Of course no reading of the text will arrive at the reader without mediation in terms of the links chosen for the site. As with all translations, there are political and ethical decisions to be made in conjunction with the semantic ones. It should also be stated that the advantages lie mainly in the domain of intralingual translation projects and that few novels are currently published in their entirety on the Internet. There are, however, many abstracts, short stories, journals and other documents laden with similar levels of cultural information which can benefit from this innovation. The introduction of the Internet has reduced the physical distance between cultural groupings by making information about any given culture immediately available to the entire world. It is translation, however, that initiates the reduction in the psychological space between cultures. Innovative use of the Internet's potential for translation could make intercultural communication a much smoother and more interesting project resulting in a feeling for the reader of inclusion, rather than intrusion on the source culture of a text. References Balasubramanian, V. "Hypertext -- An Introduction." State of the Art Review of Hypermedia Issues and Applications. 1998. 20 Oct. 1998 <http://www.isg.sfu.ca/~duchier/misc/hypertext_review/chapter1.php>. Earls, Nick. Zigzag Street. Sydney: Transworld, 1996. Pym, Anthony. Translation and Text Transfer. Frankfurt: Verlag Peter Land, 1992. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Lara Cain. "'What the Hell is a Tim Tam?' Reducing the Space between Cultures through Electronic Publishing." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1.4 (1998). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9811/timtam.php>. Chicago style: Lara Cain, "'What the Hell is a Tim Tam?' Reducing the Space between Cultures through Electronic Publishing," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1, no. 4 (1998), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9811/timtam.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Lara Cain. (1998) 'What the hell is a Tim Tam?' Reducing the space between cultures through electronic publishing. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1(4). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9811/timtam.php> ([your date of access]).

In 1988, historian Nadia Wheatley and indigenous artist Donna Rawlins published their award-winning picture book, My Place, a reinterpretation of Australian national identity and sovereignty prompted by the bicentennial of white settlement. Twenty years later, the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC) commissioned Penny Chapman’s multi-platform project based on this book. The 13 episodes of the television series begin in 2008, each telling the story of a child at a different point in history, and are accompanied by substantial interactive online content. Issues as diverse as religious difference and immigration, wartime conscription and trauma, and the experiences of Aboriginal Australians are canvassed. The program itself, which has a second series currently in production, introduces child audiences to—and implicates them in—a rich ideological fabric of deeply politicised issues that directly engage with vexed questions of Australian nationhood. The series offers a subversive view of Australian history and society, and it is the child—whether protagonist on the screen or the viewer/user of the content—who is left to discover, negotiate and move beyond often problematic societal norms. As one of the public broadcaster’s keystone projects, My Place signifies important developments in ABC’s construction of multicultural child citizenship. The digitisation of Australian television has facilitated a wave of multi-channel and new media innovation. Though the development of a multi-channel ecology has occurred significantly later in Australia than in the US or Europe, in part due to genre restrictions on broadcasters, all major Australian networks now have at least one additional free-to-air channel, make some of their content available online, and utilise various forms of social media to engage their audiences. The ABC has been in the vanguard of new media innovation, leveraging the industry dominance of ABC Online and its cross-platform radio networks for the repurposing of news, together with the additional funding for digital renewal, new Australian content, and a digital children’s channel in the 2006 and 2009 federal budgets. In line with “market failure” models of broadcasting (Born, Debrett), the ABC was once the most important producer-broadcaster for child viewers. With the recent allocation for the establishment of ABC3, it is now the catalyst for a significant revitalisation of the Australian children’s television industry. The ABC Charter requires it to broadcast programs that “contribute to a sense of national identity” and that “reflect the cultural diversity of the Australian community” (ABC Documents). Through its digital children’s channel (ABC3) and its multi-platform content, child viewers are not only exposed to a much more diverse range of local content, but also politicised by an intricate network of online texts connected to the TV programs. The representation of diasporic communities through and within multi-platformed spaces forms a crucial part of the way(s) in which collective identities are now being negotiated in children’s texts. An analysis of one of the ABC’s My Place “projects” and its associated multi-platformed content reveals an intricate relationship between postcolonial concerns and the construction of child citizenship. Multicultural Places, Multi-Platformed Spaces: New Media Innovation at the ABC The 2007 restructure at the ABC has transformed commissioning practices along the lines noted by James Bennett and Niki Strange of the BBC—a shift of focus from “programs” to multi-platform “projects,” with the latter consisting of a complex network of textual production. These “second shift media practices” (Caldwell) involve the tactical management of “user flows structured into and across the textual terrain that serve to promote a multifaceted and prolonged experience of the project” (Bennett and Strange 115). ABC Managing Director Mark Scott’s polemic deployment of the “digital commons” trope (Murdock, From) differs from that of his opposite number at the BBC, Mark Thompson, in its emphasis on the glocalised openness of the Australian “town square”—at once distinct from, and an integral part of, larger conversations. As announced at the beginning of the ABC’s 2009 annual report, the ABC is redefining the town square as a world of greater opportunities: a world where Australians can engage with one another and explore the ideas and events that are shaping our communities, our nation and beyond … where people can come to speak and be heard, to listen and learn from each other. (ABC ii)The broad emphasis on engagement characterises ABC3’s positioning of children in multi-platformed projects. As the Executive Producer of the ABC’s Children’s Television Multi-platform division comments, “participation is very much the mantra of the new channel” (Glen). The concept of “participation” is integral to what has been described elsewhere as “rehearsals in citizenship” (Northam). Writing of contemporary youth, David Buckingham notes that “‘political thinking’ is not merely an intellectual or developmental achievement, but an interpersonal process which is part of the construction of a collective, social identity” (179). Recent domestically produced children’s programs and their associated multimedia applications have significant potential to contribute to this interpersonal, “participatory” process. Through multi-platform experiences, children are (apparently) invited to construct narratives of their own. Dan Harries coined the term “viewser” to highlight the tension between watching and interacting, and the increased sense of agency on the part of audiences (171–82). Various online texts hosted by the ABC offer engagement with extra content relating to programs, with themed websites serving as “branches” of the overarching ABC3 metasite. The main site—strongly branded as the place for its targeted demographic—combines conventional television guide/program details with “Watch Now!,” a customised iView application within ABC3’s own themed interface; youth-oriented news; online gaming; and avenues for viewsers to create digital art and video, or interact with the community of “Club3” and associated message boards. The profiles created by members of Club3 are moderated and proscribe any personal information, resulting in an (understandably) restricted form of “networked publics” (boyd 124–5). Viewser profiles comprise only a username (which, the website stresses, should not be one’s real name) and an “avatar” (a customisable animated face). As in other social media sites, comments posted are accompanied by the viewser’s “name” and “face,” reinforcing the notion of individuality within the common group. The tool allows users to choose from various skin colours, emphasising the multicultural nature of the ABC3 community. Other customisable elements, including the ability to choose between dozens of pre-designed ABC3 assets and feeds, stress the audience’s “ownership” of the site. The Help instructions for the Club3 site stress the notion of “participation” directly: “Here at ABC3, we don’t want to tell you what your site should look like! We think that you should be able to choose for yourself.” Multi-platformed texts also provide viewsers with opportunities to interact with many of the characters (human actors and animated) from the television texts and share further aspects of their lives and fictional worlds. One example, linked to the representation of diasporic communities, is the Abatti Pizza Game, in which the player must “save the day” by battling obstacles to fulfil a pizza order. The game’s prefacing directions makes clear the ethnicity of the Abatti family, who are also visually distinctive. The dialogue also registers cultural markers: “Poor Nona, whatsa she gonna do? Now it’s up to you to help Johnny and his friends make four pizzas.” The game was acquired from the Canadian-animated franchise, Angela Anaconda; nonetheless, the Abatti family, the pizza store they operate and the dilemma they face translates easily to the Australian context. Dramatisations of diasporic contributions to national youth identities in postcolonial or settler societies—the UK (My Life as a Popat, CITV) and Canada (How to Be Indie)—also contribute to the diversity of ABC3’s television offerings and the positioning of its multi-platform community. The negotiation of diasporic and postcolonial politics is even clearer in the public broadcaster’s commitment to My Place. The project’s multifaceted construction of “places,” the ethical positioning of the child both as an individual and a member of (multicultural) communities, and the significant acknowledgement of ongoing conflict and discrimination, articulate a cultural commons that is more open-ended and challenging than the Eurocentric metaphor, the “town square,” suggests. Diversity, Discrimination and Diasporas: Positioning the Viewser of My Place Throughout the first series of My Place, the experiences of children within different diasporic communities are the focal point of five of the initial six episodes, the plots of which revolve around children with Lebanese, Vietnamese, Greek, and Irish backgrounds. This article focuses on an early episode of the series, “1988,” which explicitly confronts the cultural frictions between dominant Anglocentric Australian and diasporic communities. “1988” centres on the reaction of young Lily to the arrival of her cousin, Phuong, from Vietnam. Lily is a member of a diasporic community, but one who strongly identifies as “an Australian,” allowing a nuanced exploration of the ideological conflicts surrounding the issue of so-called “boat people.” The protagonist’s voice-over narration at the beginning of the episode foregrounds her desire to win Australia’s first Olympic gold medal in gymnastics, thus mobilising nationally identified hierarchies of value. Tensions between diasporic and settler cultures are frequently depicted. One potentially reactionary sequence portrays the recurring character of Michaelis complaining about having to use chopsticks in the Vietnamese restaurant; however, this comment is contextualised several episodes later, when a much younger Michaelis, as protagonist of the episode “1958,” is himself discriminated against, due to his Greek background. The political irony of “1988” pivots on Lily’s assumption that her cousin “won’t know Australian.” There is a patronising tone in her warning to Phuong not to speak Vietnamese for fear of schoolyard bullying: “The kids at school give you heaps if you talk funny. But it’s okay, I can talk for you!” This encourages child viewers to distance themselves from this fictional parallel to the frequent absence of representation of asylum seekers in contemporary debates. Lily’s assumptions and attitudes are treated with a degree of scepticism, particularly when she assures her friends that the silent Phuong will “get normal soon,” before objectifying her cousin for classroom “show and tell.” A close-up camera shot settles on Phuong’s unease while the children around her gossip about her status as a “boat person,” further encouraging the audience to empathise with the bullied character. However, Phuong turns the tables on those around her when she reveals she can competently speak English, is able to perform gymnastics and other feats beyond Lily’s ability, and even invents a story of being attacked by “pirates” in order to silence her gossiping peers. By the end of the narrative, Lily has redeemed herself and shares a close friendship with Phuong. My Place’s structured child “participation” plays a key role in developing the postcolonial perspective required by this episode and the project more broadly. Indeed, despite the record project budget, a second series was commissioned, at least partly on the basis of the overwhelmingly positive reception of viewsers on the ABC website forums (Buckland). The intricate My Place website, accessible through the ABC3 metasite, generates transmedia intertextuality interlocking with, and extending the diegesis of, the televised texts. A hyperlinked timeline leads to collections of personal artefacts “owned” by each protagonist, such as journals, toys, and clothing. Clicking on a gold medal marked “History” in Lily’s collection activates scrolling text describing the political acceptance of the phrase “multiculturalism” and the “Family Reunion” policy, which assisted the arrival of 100,000 Vietnamese immigrants. The viewser is reminded that some people were “not very welcoming” of diasporic groups via an explicit reference to Mrs Benson’s discriminatory attitudes in the series. Viewsers can “visit” virtual representations of the program’s sets. In the bedroom, kitchen, living room and/or backyard of each protagonist can be discovered familiar and additional details of the characters’ lives. The artefacts that can be “played” with in the multimedia applications often imply the enthusiastic (and apparently desirable) adoption of “Australianness” by immigrant children. Lily’s toys (her doll, hair accessories, roller skates, and glass marbles) invoke various aspects of western children’s culture, while her “journal entry” about Phuong states that she is “new to Australia but with her sense of humour she has fitted in really well.” At the same time, the interactive elements within Lily’s kitchen, including a bowl of rice and other Asian food ingredients, emphasise cultural continuity. The description of incense in another room of Lily’s house as a “common link” that is “used in many different cultures and religions for similar purposes” clearly normalises a glocalised world-view. Artefacts inside the restaurant operated by Lily’s mother link to information ranging from the ingredients and (flexible) instructions for how to make rice paper rolls (“Lily and Phuong used these fillings but you can use whatever you like!”) to a brief interactive puzzle game requiring the arrangement of several peppers in order from least hot to most hot. A selectable picture frame downloads a text box labelled “Images of Home.” Combined with a slideshow of static, hand-drawn images of traditional Vietnamese life, the text can be read as symbolic of the multiplicity of My Place’s target audience(s): “These images would have reminded the family of their homeland and also given restaurant customers a sense of Vietnamese culture.” The social-developmental, postcolonial agenda of My Place is registered in both “conventional” ancillary texts, such as the series’ “making of” publication (Wheatley), and the elaborate pedagogical website for teachers developed by the ACTF and Educational Services Australia (http://www.myplace.edu.au/). The politicising function of the latter is encoded in the various summaries of each decade’s historical, political, social, cultural, and technological highlights, often associated with the plot of the relevant episode. The page titled “Multiculturalism” reports on the positive amendments to the Commonwealth’s Migration Act 1958 and provides links to photographs of Vietnamese migrants in 1982, exemplifying the values of equality and cultural diversity through Lily and Phuong’s story. The detailed “Teaching Activities” documents available for each episode serve a similar purpose, providing, for example, the suggestion that teachers “ask students to discuss the importance to a new immigrant of retaining links to family, culture and tradition.” The empathetic positioning of Phuong’s situation is further mirrored in the interactive map available for teacher use that enables children to navigate a boat from Vietnam to the Australian coast, encouraging a perspective that is rarely put forward in Australia’s mass media. This is not to suggest that the My Place project is entirely unproblematic. In her postcolonial analysis of Aboriginal children’s literature, Clare Bradford argues that “it’s all too possible for ‘similarities’ to erase difference and the political significances of [a] text” (188). Lily’s schoolteacher’s lesson in the episode “reminds us that boat people have been coming to Australia for a very long time.” However, the implied connection between convicts and asylum seekers triggered by Phuong’s (mis)understanding awkwardly appropriates a mythologised Australian history. Similarly in the “1998” episode, the Muslim character Mohammad’s use of Ramadan for personal strength in order to emulate the iconic Australian cricketer Shane Warne threatens to subsume the “difference” of the diasporic community. Nonetheless, alongside the similarities between individuals and the various ethnic groups that make up the My Place community, important distinctions remain. Each episode begins and/or ends with the child protagonist(s) playing on or around the central motif of the series—a large fig tree—with the characters declaring that the tree is “my place.” While emphasising the importance of individuality in the project’s construction of child citizens, the cumulative effect of these “my place” sentiments, felt over time by characters from different socio-economic, ethnic, and cultural backgrounds, builds a multifaceted conception of Australian identity that consists of numerous (and complementary) “branches.” The project’s multi-platformed content further emphasises this, with the website containing an image of the prominent (literal and figurative) “Community Tree,” through which the viewser can interact with the generations of characters and families from the series (http://www.abc.net.au/abc3/myplace/). The significant role of the ABC’s My Place project showcases the ABC’s remit as a public broadcaster in the digital era. As Tim Brooke-Hunt, the Executive Head of Children’s Content, explains, if the ABC didn’t do it, no other broadcaster was going to come near it. ... I don’t expect My Place to be a humungous commercial or ratings success, but I firmly believe ... that it will be something that will exist for many years and will have a very special place. Conclusion The reversion to iconic aspects of mainstream Anglo-Australian culture is perhaps unsurprising—and certainly telling—when reflecting on the network of local, national, and global forces impacting on the development of a cultural commons. However, this does not detract from the value of the public broadcaster’s construction of child citizens within a clearly self-conscious discourse of “multiculturalism.” The transmedia intertextuality at work across ABC3 projects and platforms serves an important politicising function, offering positive representations of diasporic communities to counter the negative depictions children are exposed to elsewhere, and positioning child viewsers to “participate” in “working through” fraught issues of Australia’s past that still remain starkly relevant today.References ABC. Redefining the Town Square. ABC Annual Report. Sydney: ABC, 2009. Bennett, James, and Niki Strange. “The BBC’s Second-Shift Aesthetics: Interactive Television, Multi-Platform Projects and Public Service Content for a Digital Era.” Media International Australia: Incorporating Culture and Policy 126 (2008): 106-19. Born, Georgina. Uncertain Vision: Birt, Dyke and the Reinvention of the BBC. London: Vintage, 2004. boyd, danah. “Why Youth ♥ Social Network Sites: The Role of Networked Publics in Teenage Social Life.” Youth, Identity, and Digital Media. Ed. David Buckingham. Cambridge: MIT, 2008. 119-42. Bradford, Clare. Reading Race: Aboriginality in Australian Children’s Literature. Carlton: Melbourne UP, 2001. Brooke-Hunt, Tim. Executive Head of Children’s Content, ABC TV. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford, ABC Ultimo Center, 16 Mar. 2010. Buckingham, David. After the Death of Childhood: Growing Up in the Age of Electronic Media. Cambridge: Polity, 2000. Buckland, Jenny. Chief Executive Officer, Australian Children’s Television Foundation. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford and Dr Nina Weerakkody, ACTF, 2 June 2010. Caldwell, John T. “Second Shift Media Aesthetics: Programming, Interactivity and User Flows.” New Media: Theories and Practices of Digitextuality. Eds. John T. Caldwell and Anna Everett. London: Routledge, 2003. 127-44. Debrett, Mary. “Riding the Wave: Public Service Television in the Multiplatform Era.” Media, Culture & Society 31.5 (2009): 807-27. From, Unni. “Domestically Produced TV-Drama and Cultural Commons.” Cultural Dilemmas in Public Service Broadcasting. Eds. Gregory Ferrell Lowe and Per Jauert. Göteborg: Nordicom, 2005. 163-77. Glen, David. Executive Producer, ABC Multiplatform. Interviewed by Dr Leonie Rutherford, ABC Elsternwick, 6 July 2010. Harries, Dan. “Watching the Internet.” The New Media Book. Ed. Dan Harries. London: BFI, 2002. 171-82. Murdock, Graham. “Building the Digital Commons: Public Broadcasting in the Age of the Internet.” Cultural Dilemmas in Public Service Broadcasting. Ed. Gregory Ferrell Lowe and Per Jauert. Göteborg: Nordicom, 2005. 213–30. My Place, Volumes 1 & 2: 2008–1888. DVD. ABC, 2009. Northam, Jean A. “Rehearsals in Citizenship: BBC Stop-Motion Animation Programmes for Young Children.” Journal for Cultural Research 9.3 (2005): 245-63. Wheatley, Nadia. Making My Place. Sydney and Auckland: HarperCollins, 2010. ———, and Donna Rawlins. My Place, South Melbourne: Longman, 1988.

The use of the family home as a setting for television sitcoms (situation comedies) has long been recognised for its ability to provide audiences with an identifiable site of ontological security (much discussed by Giddens, Scannell, Saunders and others). From the beginnings of American sitcoms with such programs as Leave it to Beaver, and through the trail of The Brady Bunch, The Cosby Show, Roseanne, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and on to Home Improvement, That 70s Show and How I Met Your Mother, the US has led the way with screenwriters and producers capitalising on the value of using the suburban family dwelling as a fixed setting. The most obvious advantage is the use of an easily constructed and inexpensive set, most often on a TV studio soundstage requiring only a few rooms (living room, kitchen and bedroom are usually enough to set the scene), and a studio audience. In Singapore, sitcoms have had similar successes; portraying the lives of ‘ordinary people’ in their home settings. Some programs have achieved phenomenal success, including an unprecedented ten year run for Phua Chu Kang Pte Ltd from 1996-2007, closely followed by Under One Roof (1994-2000 and an encore season in 2002), and Living with Lydia (2001-2005). This article furthers Blunt and Dowling’s exploration of the “critical geography” of home, by providing a focused analysis of home-based sitcoms in the nation-state of Singapore. The use of the home tells us a lot. Roseanne’s cluttered family home represents a lived reality for working-class families throughout the Western world. In Friends, the seemingly wealthy ‘young’ people live in a fashionable apartment building, while Seinfeld’s apartment block is much less salubrious, indicating (in line with the character) the struggle of the humble comedian. Each of these examples tells us something about not just the characters, but quite often about class, race, and contemporary societies. In the Singaporean programs, the home in Under One Roof (hereafter UOR) represents the major form of housing in Singapore, and the program as a whole demonstrates the workability of Singaporean multiculturalism in a large apartment block. Phua Chu Kang Pte Ltd (PCK) demonstrates the entrepreneurial abilities of even under-educated Singaporeans, with its lead character, a building contractor, living in a large freestanding dwelling – generally reserved for the well-heeled of Singaporean society. And in Living with Lydia (LWL) (a program which demonstrates Singapore’s capacity for global integration), Hong Kong émigré Lydia is forced to share a house (less ostentatious than PCK’s) with the family of the hapless Billy B. Ong. There is perhaps no more telling cultural event than the sitcom. In the 1970s, The Brady Bunch told us more about American values and habits than any number of news reports or cop shows. A nation’s identity is uncovered; it bares its soul to us through the daily tribulations of its TV households. In Singapore, home-based sitcoms have been one of the major success stories in local television production with each of these three programs collecting multiple prizes at the region-wide Asian Television Awards. These sitcoms have been able to reflect the ideals and values of the Singaporean nation to audiences both at ‘home’ and abroad. This article explores the worlds of UOR, PCK, and LWL, and the ways in which each of the fictional homes represents key features of the multi-ethnic, multi-cultural Singapore. Through ownership and regulation, Singaporean TV programs operate as a firm link between the state and its citizens. These sitcoms follow regular patterns where the ‘man of the house’ is more buffoon than breadwinner – in a country defined by its neo-Confucian morality, sitcoms allow a temporary subversion of patriarchal structures. In this article I argue that the central theme in Singaporean sitcoms is that while home is a personal space, it is also a valuable site for national identities to be played out. These identities are visible in the physical indicators of the exterior and interior living spaces, and the social indicators representing a benign patriarchy and a dominant English language. Structure One of the key features of sitcoms is the structure: cold open – titles – establishing shot – opening scene. Generally the cold opening (aka “the teaser”) takes place inside the home to quickly (re)establish audience familiarity with the location and the characters. The title sequence then features, in the case of LWL and PCK, the characters outside the house (in LWL this is in cartoon format), and in UOR (see Figure 1) it is the communal space of the barbeque area fronting the multi-story HDB (Housing Development Board) apartment blocks. Figure 1: Under One Roof The establishing shot at the end of each title sequence, and when returning from ad breaks, is an external view of the characters’ respective dwellings. In Seinfeld this establishing shot is the New York apartment block, in Roseanne it is the suburban house, and the Singaporean sitcoms follow the same format (see Figure 2). Figure 2: Phua Chu Kang External Visions of the Home This emphasis on exterior buildings reminds the viewer that Singaporean housing is, in many ways, unique. As a city-state (and a young one at that) its spatial constraints are particularly limiting: there simply isn’t room for suburban housing on quarter acre blocks. It rapidly transformed from an “empty rock” to a scattered Malay settlement of bay and riverside kampongs (villages) recognisable by its stilt houses. Then in the shadow of colonialism and the rise of modernity, the kampongs were replaced in many cases by European-inspired terrace houses. Finally, in the post-colonial era high-rise housing began to swell through the territory, creating what came to be known as the “HDB new town”, with some 90% of the population now said to reside in HDB units, and many others living in private high-rises (Chang 102, 104). Exterior shots used in UOR (see Figure 3) consistently emphasise the distinctive HDB blocks. As with the kampong housing, high-rise apartments continue notions of communal living in that “Living below, above and side by side other people requires tolerance of neighbours and a respect towards the environment of the housing estate for the good of all” (104). The provision of readily accessible public housing was part of the “covenant between the newly enfranchised electorate and the elected government” (Chua 47). Figure 3: Establishing shot from UOR In UOR, we see the constant interruption of the lives of the Tan family by their multi-ethnic neighbours. This occurs to such an extent as to be a part of the normal daily flow of life in Singaporean society. Chang argues that despite the normally interventionist activities of the state, it is the “self-enforcing norms” of behaviour that have worked in maintaining a “peaceable society in high-rise housing” (104). This communitarian attitude even extends to the large gated residence of PCK, home to an almost endless stream of relatives and friends. The gate itself seems to perform no restrictive function. But such a “peaceable society” can also be said to be a result of state planning which extends to the “racial majoritarianism” imposed on HDB units in the form of quotas determining “the actual number of households of each of the three major races [Chinese, Malay and Indian] … to be accommodated in a block of flats” (Chua 55). Issues of race are important in Singapore where “the inscription of media imagery bears the cultural discourse and materiality of the social milieu” (Wong 120) perhaps nowhere more graphically illustrated than in the segregation of TV channels along linguistic / cultural lines. These 3 programs all featured on MediaCorp TV’s predominantly English-language Channel 5 and are, in the words of Roland Barthes, “anchored” by dint of their use of English. Home Will Eat Itself The consumption of home-based sitcoms by audiences in their own living-rooms creates a somewhat self-parodying environment. As John Ellis once noted, it is difficult to escape from the notion that “TV is a profoundly domestic phenomenon” (113) in that it constantly attempts to “include the audiences own conception of themselves into the texture of its programmes” (115). In each of the three Singaporean programs living-rooms are designed to seat characters in front of a centrally located TV set – at most all the audience sees is the back of the TV, and generally only when the TV is incorporated into a storyline, as in the case of PCK in Figure 4 (note the TV set in the foreground). Figure 4: PCK Even in this episode of PCK when the lead characters stumble across a pornographic video starring one of the other lead characters, the viewer only hears the program. Perhaps the most realistic (and acerbic) view of how TV reorganises our lives – both spatially in the physical layout of our homes, and temporally in the way we construct our viewing habits (eating dinner or doing the housework while watching the screen) – is the British “black comedy”, The Royle Family. David Morley (443) notes that “TV and other media have adapted themselves to the circumstances of domestic consumption while the domestic arena itself has been simultaneously redefined to accommodate their requirements”. Morley refers to The Royle Family’s narrative that rests on the idea that “for many people, family life and watching TV have become indistinguishable to the extent that, in this fictional household, it is almost entirely conducted from the sitting positions of the viewers clustered around the set” (436). While TV is a central fixture in most sitcoms, its use is mostly as a peripheral thematic device with characters having their viewing interrupted by the arrival of another character, or by a major (within the realms of the plot) event. There is little to suggest that “television schedules have instigated a significant restructuring of family routines” as shown in Livingstone’s audience-based study of UK viewers (104). In the world of the sitcom, the temporalities of characters’ lives do not need to accurately reflect that of “real life” – or if they do, things quickly descend to the bleakness exemplified by the sedentary Royles. As Scannell notes, “broadcast output, like daily life, is largely uneventful, and both are punctuated (predictably and unpredictably) by eventful occasions” (4). To show sitcom characters in this static, passive environment would be anathema to the “real” viewer, who would quickly lose interest. This is not to suggest that sitcoms are totally benign though as with all genres they are “the outcome of social practices, received procedures that become objectified in the narratives of television, then modified in the interpretive act of viewing” (Taylor 14). In other words, they feature a contextualisation that is readily identifiable to members of an established society. However, within episodes themselves, it as though time stands still – character development is almost non-existent, or extremely slow at best and we see each episode has “flattened past and future into an eternal present in which parents love and respect one another, and their children forever” (Taylor 16). It takes some six seasons before the character of PCK becomes a father, although in previous seasons he acts as a mentor to his nephew, Aloysius. Contained in each episode, in true sitcom style, are particular “narrative lines” in which “one-liners and little comic situations [are] strung on a minimal plot line” containing a minor problem “the solution to which will take 22 minutes and pull us gently through the sequence of events toward a conclusion” (Budd et al. 111). It is important to note that the sitcom genre does not work in every culture, as each locale renders the sitcom with “different cultural meanings” (Nielsen 95). Writing of the failure of the Danish series Three Whores and a Pickpocket (with a premise like that, how could it fail?), Nielsen (112) attributes its failure to the mixing of “kitchen sink realism” with “moments of absurdity” and “psychological drama with expressionistic camera work”, moving it well beyond the strict mode of address required by the genre. In Australia, soap operas Home and Away and Neighbours have been infinitely more popular than our attempts at sitcoms – which had a brief heyday in the 1980s with Hey Dad..!, Kingswood Country and Mother and Son – although Kath and Kim (not studio-based) could almost be counted. Lichter et al. (11) state that “television entertainment can be ‘political’ even when it does not deal with the stuff of daily headlines or partisan controversy. Its latent politics lie in the unavoidable portrayal of individuals, groups, and institutions as a backdrop to any story that occupies the foreground”. They state that US television of the 1960s was dominated by the “idiot sitcom” and that “To appreciate these comedies you had to believe that social conventions were so ironclad they could not tolerate variations. The scripts assumed that any minute violation of social conventions would lead to a crisis that could be played for comic results” (15). Series like Happy Days “harked back to earlier days when problems were trivial and personal, isolated from the concerns of a larger world” (17). By the late 1980s, Roseanne and Married…With Children had “spawned an antifamily-sitcom format that used sarcasm, cynicism, and real life problems to create a type of in-your-face comedy heretofore unseen on prime time” (20). This is markedly different from the type of values presented in Singaporean sitcoms – where filial piety and an unrelenting faith in the family unit is sacrosanct. In this way, Singaporean sitcoms mirror the ideals of earlier US sitcoms which idealise the “egalitarian family in which parental wisdom lies in appeals to reason and fairness rather than demands for obedience” (Lichter et al. 406). Dahlgren notes that we are the products of “an ongoing process of the shaping and reshaping of identity, in response to the pluralised sets of social forces, cultural currents and personal contexts encountered by individuals” where we end up with “composite identities” (318). Such composite identities make the presentation (or re-presentation) of race problematic for producers of mainstream television. Wong argues that “Within the context of PAP hegemony, media presentation of racial differences are manufactured by invoking and resorting to traditional values, customs and practices serving as symbols and content” (118). All of this is bound within a classificatory system in which each citizen’s identity card is inscribed as Chinese, Malay, Indian or Other (often referred to as CMIO), and a broader social discourse in which “the Chinese are linked to familial values of filial piety and the practice of extended family, the Malays to Islam and rural agricultural activities, and the Indians to the caste system” (Wong 118). However, these sitcoms avoid directly addressing the issue of race, preferring to accentuate cultural differences instead. In UOR the tables are turned when a none-too-subtle dig at the crude nature of mainland Chinese (with gags about the state of public toilets), is soon turned into a more reverential view of Chinese culture and business acumen. Internal Visions of the Home This reverence for Chinese culture is also enacted visually. The loungeroom settings of these three sitcoms all provide examples of the fashioning of the nation through a “ubiquitous semi-visibility” (Noble 59). Not only are the central characters in each of these sitcoms constructed as ethnically Chinese, but the furnishings provide a visible nod to Chinese design in the lacquered screens, chairs and settees of LWL (see Figure 5.1), in the highly visible pair of black inlaid mother-of-pearl wall hangings of UOR (see Figure 5.2) and in the Chinese statuettes and wall-hangings found in the PCK home. Each of these items appears in the central view of the shows most used setting, the lounge/family room. There is often symmetry involved as well; the balanced pearl hangings of UOR are mirrored in a set of silk prints in LWL and the pair of ceramic Chinese lions in PCK. Figure 5.1: LWL Figure 5.2: UOR Thus, all three sitcoms feature design elements that reflect visible links to Chinese culture and sentiments, firmly locating the sitcoms “in Asia”, and providing a sense of the nation. The sets form an important role in constructing a realist environment, one in which “identification with realist narration involves a temporary merger of at least some of the viewer’s identity with the position offered by the text” (Budd et al. 110). These constant silent reminders of the Chinese-based hegemon – the cultural “majoritarianism” – anchors the sitcoms to a determined concept of the nation-state, and reinforces the “imaginative geographies of home” (Blunt and Dowling 247). The Foolish “Father” Figure in a Patriarchal Society But notions of a dominant Chinese culture are dealt with in a variety of ways in these sitcoms – not the least in a playful attitude toward patriarchal figures. In UOR, the Tan family “patriarch” is played by Moses Lim, in PCK, Gurmit Singh plays Phua and in LWL Samuel Chong plays Billy B. Ong (or, as Lydia mistakenly refers to him Billy Bong). Erica Sharrer makes the claim that class is a factor in presenting the father figure as buffoon, and that US sitcoms feature working class families in which “the father is made to look inept, silly, or incompetent have become more frequent” partly in response to changing societal structures where “women are shouldering increasing amounts of financial responsibility in the home” (27). Certainly in the three series looked at here, PCK (the tradesman) is presented as the most derided character in his role as head of the household. Moses Lim’s avuncular Tan Ah Teck is presented mostly as lovably foolish, even when reciting his long-winded moral tales at the conclusion of each episode, and Billy B. Ong, as a middle-class businessman, is presented more as a victim of circumstance than as a fool. Sharrer ponders whether “sharing the burden of bread-winning may be associated with fathers perceiving they are losing advantages to which they were traditionally entitled” (35). But is this really a case of males losing the upper hand? Hanke argues that men are commonly portrayed as the target of humour in sitcoms, but only when they “are represented as absurdly incongruous” to the point that “this discursive strategy recuperates patriarchal notions” (90). The other side of the coin is that while the “dominant discursive code of patriarchy might be undone” (but isn’t), “the sitcom’s strategy for containing women as ‘wives’ and ‘mothers’ is always contradictory and open to alternative readings” (Hanke 77). In Singapore’s case though, we often return to images of the women in the kitchen, folding the washing or agonising over the work/family dilemma, part of what Blunt and Dowling refer to as the “reproduction of patriarchal and heterosexist relations” often found in representations of “the ideal’ suburban home” (29). Eradicating Singlish One final aspect of these sitcoms is the use of language. PM Lee Hsien Loong once said that he had no interest in “micromanaging” the lives of Singaporeans (2004). Yet his two predecessors (PM Goh and PM Lee Senior) both reflected desires to do so by openly criticising the influence of Phua Chu Kang’s liberal use of colloquial phrases and phrasing. While the use of Singlish (or Singapore Colloquial English / SCE) in these sitcoms is partly a reflection of everyday life in Singapore, by taking steps to eradicate it through the Speak Good English movement, the government offers an intrusion into the private home-space of Singaporeans (Ho 17). Authorities fear that increased use of Singlish will damage the nation’s ability to communicate on a global basis, withdrawing to a locally circumscribed “pidgin English” (Rubdy 345). Indeed, the use of Singlish in UOR is deliberately underplayed in order to capitalise on overseas sales of the show (which aired, for example, on Australia’s SBS television) (Srilal). While many others have debated the Singlish issue, my concern is with its use in the home environment as representative of Singaporean lifestyles. As novelist Hwee Hwee Tan (2000) notes: Singlish is crude precisely because it’s rooted in Singapore’s unglamorous past. This is a nation built from the sweat of uncultured immigrants who arrived 100 years ago to bust their asses in the boisterous port. Our language grew out of the hardships of these ancestors. Singlish thus offers users the opportunity to “show solidarity, comradeship and intimacy (despite differences in background)” and against the state’s determined efforts to adopt the language of its colonizer (Ho 19-20). For this reason, PCK’s use of Singlish iterates a “common man” theme in much the same way as Paul Hogan’s “Ocker” image of previous decades was seen as a unifying feature of mainstream Australian values. That the fictional PCK character was eventually “forced” to take “English” lessons (a storyline rapidly written into the program after the direct criticisms from the various Prime Ministers), is a sign that the state has other ideas about the development of Singaporean society, and what is broadcast en masse into Singaporean homes. Conclusion So what do these home-based sitcoms tell us about Singaporean nationalism? Firstly, within the realms of a multiethnic society, mainstream representations reflect the hegemony present in the social and economic structures of Singapore. Chinese culture is dominant (albeit in an English-speaking environment) and Indian, Malay and Other cultures are secondary. Secondly, the home is a place of ontological security, and partial adornment with cultural ornaments signifying Chinese culture are ever-present as a reminder of the Asianness of the sitcom home, ostensibly reflecting the everyday home of the audience. The concept of home extends beyond the plywood-prop walls of the soundstage though. As Noble points out, “homes articulate domestic spaces to national experience” (54) through the banal nationalism exhibited in “the furniture of everyday life” (55). In a Singaporean context, Velayutham (extending the work of Morley) explores the comforting notion of Singapore as “home” to its citizens and concludes that the “experience of home and belonging amongst Singaporeans is largely framed in the materiality and social modernity of everyday life” (4). Through the use of sitcoms, the state is complicit in creating and recreating the family home as a site for national identities, adhering to dominant modes of culture and language. References Blunt, Alison, and Robyn Dowling. Home. London: Routledge, 2006. Budd, Mike, Steve Craig, and Clay Steinman. Consuming Environments: Television and Commercial Culture. New Jersey: Rutgers UP, 1999. Chang, Sishir. “A High-Rise Vernacular in Singapore’s Housing Development Board Housing.” Berkeley Planning Journal 14 (2000): 97-116. Chua, Beng Huat. “Public Housing Residents as Clients of the State.” Housing Studies 15.1 (2000). Dahlgren, Peter. “Media, Citizenship and Civic Culture”. Mass Media and Society. 3rd ed. Eds. James Curran and Michael Gurevitch. London: Arnold, 2000. 310-328. Ellis, John. Visible Fictions: Cinema, Television, Video. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1982. Hanke, Robert. “The ‘Mock-Macho’ Situation Comedy: Hegemonic Masculinity and its Reiteration.” Western Journal of Communication 62.1 (1998). Ho, Debbie G.E. “‘I’m Not West. I’m Not East. So How Leh?’” English Today 87 22.3 (2006). Lee, Hsien Loong. “Our Future of Opportunity and Promise.” National Day Rally 2004 Speech. 29 Apr. 2007 http://www.gov.sg/nd/ND04.htm>. Lichter, S. Robert, Linda S. Lichter, and Stanley Rothman. Prime Time: How TV Portrays American Culture. Washington D.C.: Regnery Publishing, 1994. Livingstone, Sonia. Young People and New Media: Childhood and the Changing Media Environment. London: Sage, 2002 Morley, David. “What’s ‘Home’ Got to Do with It? Contradictory Dynamics in the Domestication of Technology and the Dislocation of Domesticity.” European Journal of Cultural Studies 6 (2003). Noble, Greg. “Comfortable and Relaxed: Furnishing the Home and Nation.” Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies 16.1 (2002). Rubdy, Rani. “Creative Destruction: Singapore’s Speak Good English Movement.” World Englishes 20.3 (2001). Scannell, Paddy. “For a Phenomenology of Radio and Television.” Journal of Communication 45.3 (1995). Scharrer, Erica. “From Wise to Foolish: The Portrayal of the Sitcom Father, 1950s-1990s.” Journal of Broadcasting and Electronic Media 45.1 (2001). Srilal, Mohan. “Quick Quick: ‘Singlish’ Is Out in Re-education Campaign.” Asia Times Online (28 Aug. 1999). Tan, Hwee Hwee. “A War of Words over ‘Singlish’: Singapore’s Government Wants Its Citizens to Speak Good English, But They Would Rather Be ‘Talking Cock’.” Time International 160.3 (29 July 2002). Taylor, Ella. “From the Nelsons to the Huxtables: Genre and Family Imagery in American Network Television.” Qualitative Sociology 12.1 (1989). Velayutham, Selvaraj. “Affect, Materiality, and the Gift of Social Life in Singapore.” SOJOURN 19.1 (2004). Wong, Kokkeong. Media and Culture in Singapore: A Theory of Controlled Commodification. New Jersey: Hampton Press, 2001. Images Under One Roof: The Special Appearances. Singapore: Television Corporation of Singapore. VCD. 2000. Living with Lydia (Season 1, Volume 1). Singapore: MediaCorp Studios, Blue Max Enterprise. VCD. 2001. Phua Chu Kang Pte Ltd (Season 5, Episode 10). Kuala Lumpur: MediaCorp Studios, Speedy Video Distributors. VCD. 2003. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Pugsley, Peter. "At Home in Singaporean Sitcoms: Under One Roof, Living with Lydia and Phua Chu Kang." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/09-pugsley.php>. APA Style Pugsley, P. (Aug. 2007) "At Home in Singaporean Sitcoms: Under One Roof, Living with Lydia and Phua Chu Kang," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/09-pugsley.php>.

Introduction For the past ten years, a transformative trend has emerged in the consumption of journalistic content, diverging significantly from its traditional engagement pathways. This evolution is characterised by the allure of serial journalistic podcasts such as Serial, which have seamlessly integrated narrative techniques typically reserved for fiction into journalistic storytelling (Kulkarni et al.). These podcasts have leveraged episodic structures, suspenseful build-ups, and dramatic climaxes to foster a level of engagement akin to fiction's grip on audiences. This shift towards addictive media consumption is eloquently linked to the binge-watching culture of on-demand television described by Dowling and Miller, situating such podcasts within a lineage of high-calibre television narratives (168). The concept of "binge-listening" (Krause and Uhrig 446) has emerged from this trend, signifying a consumption pattern where audiences, particularly those drawn to multi-part serial podcasts in genres like true crime, engage in extended listening sessions or eagerly anticipate new episodes. This pattern, reflective of an excessive indulgence in content, underscores the creators' success in crafting compelling narratives that captivate and retain audience interest. Illustrative of this phenomenon are listener testimonials for Die Mafiaprinzessin, a narrative podcast series by Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazine (part of Germany’s major quality newspaper), where users expressed their inability to disengage, consuming the entire series rapidly. One user stated, "I couldn't stop listening", and another, "I binged all episodes in two days" (quoted in Krause and Uhrig 447). But what makes serial storytelling podcasts in Germany so appealing, and which lessons can be drawn from this? This article provides answers through a historical lens and a focus on the creative process, distribution, and the transparency of journalistic research. Incorporating these sources and viewpoints, the discussion provides an overview of the cultural shift in media consumption towards serialised journalistic podcasts, highlighting their role in redefining audience engagement with media content. From Written to Spoken Storytelling Traditions The narrative-driven approach to audio journalism discussed in this article is typically unfolding over five to ten serialised podcast episodes of 30 to 45 minutes each, and diverges from shorter news snippets or dialogue-based formats, tackling complex topics through well-researched and dramatised storytelling. Kelleter defines serial storytelling as the delivery of continuation stories featuring consistent characters, produced and narrated in a mass-appealing, schematic manner (18). This definition, originally pertaining to fiction, aptly describes the serialised journalistic content's approach, emphasising that while the storytelling techniques may mirror fiction, the content remains firmly anchored in journalistic rigour and quality. It is neither based on a true story nor loosely associated with fiction. The podcast series that are the focus of this article are journalism in audio form, dedicated to journalism’s core values. This article aims to shed light on the development, cultural significance, and economic implications of such podcasts in Germany, specifically those produced by publishing houses as part of their digital strategy to gain digital subscriptions and hence turn readers into paying customers. The economic potential of such journalistic storytelling podcasts can be quite significant, as Newman describes in the 2023 Digital News Report: “podcasting may not yet be a mass market medium, but its audience profile is extremely interesting to publishers and to advertisers” (48). Newman continues to describe that podcast audiences generally have higher incomes, are more educated, and, notably, skew towards a younger demographic, making them an attractive demographic for publishers. While it is true that podcasts have achieved mass-market appeal on a global scale, the particular narratives that resonate with individual listeners can be highly specialised and varied, mirroring their diverse interests. This phenomenon is analogous to the realm of print magazines, which as a medium cater to a broad readership. However, individual publications often cater to distinct niches, attracting readers who share a specific set of interests. However, individual publications often target distinct niches, appealing to readers who share a specific set of interests. Podcasts in general appeal to a wide range of ages as a versatile medium, suitable for listening during various activities such as travel to and from work, dog walking, gym sessions, or while engaging in routine household chores like tidying up. Their capacity to build meaningful relationships with the audience is just beginning to be analysed. It has been found that “podcasts can provide informational and social gratifications to listeners” (Tobin and Guadagno 2). First Steps towards Serial Storytelling Podcasts in Germany The surge in serialised storytelling podcasts started shortly after the first season of the NPR podcast Serial in the English-speaking world, and was dubbed the medium’s “Golden Age” (Berry 170). These intricately produced journalistic podcasts became a new avenue for traditional media companies to market their in-depth research beyond print and online articles. And in many ways, this makes a lot of sense: with in-depth investigative research being one of the core values (and yet one of the most time-consuming, sometimes frustrating, and often very expensive assets) of any editorial medium, it makes economic sense to use as many channels as possible to publish the results of this research. In terms of content diversity, podcasts occupy a niche that is similar to what investigative journalism books or documentaries once did as a premium journalistic product where complex stories or investigations can be told in full, without the length constraints of typical journalistic formats (Krause and Uhrig 449). Podcasts have been distributed since 2005, but it took almost a decade for them to break away from the time limitations of linear radio slots. In Germany, serialised podcast storytelling arrived a year after Serial, with the Rundfunk Berlin-Brandenburg series Wer hat Burak erschossen? (Who Shot Burak?) from 2015, which many consider to be one of the first German podcast series in this new narrative tradition (Preger 7). Since then, the range of podcast series has diversified rapidly in Germany, just like in the US, in terms of both topics and providers. Following the already successful American themes of crime and terrorism, there were soon investigative research stories about topics ranging from the rise and fall of the former German economic powerhouse (and later notoriously fraudulent) Wirecard by Süddeutsche Zeitung or the popular media scandal about the publication of the fake diaries of Adolf Hitler by Stern Magazine in the 1980s, which the publishing house turned into a successful podcast series in 2020. And from 2021 onwards, there was an increase in biographically centred podcasts that combine elements of portraiture with investigative or contemporary historical elements such as the 2022 series Who the F*** Is Alice by Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazine, elaborating on the controversial work of Germany’s most popular first-generation feminist Alice Schwarzer. Yet, one of the most successful German storytelling podcasts is the episodic tale about the tragic descent of former radio host Ken Jebsen, from beloved (yet edgy) media personality to controversial conspiracy theorist, which was turned into a stunning tale in the series Cui Bono: WTF Happened to Ken Jebsen in 2021 (Eins 37), hitting a nerve in German society in times of Covid and the subsequent rise of populist conspiracy movements. Other notable German storytelling podcasts about prominent figures in Germany include the 2023 Series SchwarzRotGold: Mesut Özil zu Gast bei Freunden, about football player Mesut Özil and his complicated and highly political life story as an immigrant in Germany (published on RTL+), or Wild Wild Web: The Kim Dotcom Story from 2021 about Kim Dotcom, the controversial entrepreneur and founder of the now defunct file-sharing operator Megaupload, by Bayerischer Rundfunk. Specifics of Successful German Storytelling Podcasts While audio journalism has traditionally been a domain of public and private broadcasting companies in Germany, there has been a shift towards podcast productions from a more diverse set of media outlets. Approximately 66% of daily and weekly papers in Germany are currently producing podcasts, with 29% offering at least three different podcast series (Eins 104). This is a trend that is not limited to the big national subscription newspapers but can also be observed in smaller regional and local publications. According to a study by Wild & Wild, at least one third of the 308 regional and local subscription newspapers examined have incorporated podcasts into their offerings. The content of these podcasts primarily focusses on society and social issues (25%) and sports and leisure activities (20%) (175). What makes these podcasts specifically German (in contrast to series from other countries) is hard to answer and would require further research. What can be said, however, is that Germany has a vibrant scene for audio journalism and German audiences are rather familiar with the form of long-form audio reporting through the country's relatively strong public broadcasting system, which has been publishing quite elaborate forms of audio journalism since the 1950s. Even though many statistics and audience engagement metrics remain confidential, it has been written that audience engagement has been very good (Wild and Wild). It is evident that serial podcasts rank among the most successful digital offerings of large national media companies such as Süddeutsche Zeitung, fetching significant digital subscriptions with series like Wer ist Joni? (Who is Joni?), which was selected as one of the best podcasts in 2023 by the German newspaper Die Tageszeitung and was described as follows: Who is Joni? is a podcast about trust on the internet. We've all heard about marriage swindlers or people who extort money online. But Joni's case is different. It's particularly compelling because Christiane Lutz narrates it so personally. She contrasts her research with her own thoughts and feelings. She feels naïve, paranoid, angry, relieved, and all of this is completely relatable to the listener. (Fromm) As described here, the role of the host as the storyteller is paramount. The host serves as a convivial guide, offering subjective but meticulously researched narratives, sometimes paired with a serious sidekick for contrast. A recent study in Journalism Practice suggests that even news journalism benefits from narrative elements (Nee and Santana). Another study highlights two factors that enthral listeners: intimacy and emotion (Lindgren), which are prevalent across all podcast genres, including the often-criticised "chat podcasts" where two hosts discuss daily matters. At least in Germany, they are predominantly male, yet the masculine dominance has been challenged and reflected upon in recent discourse (Attig). These podcasts, which often rank highly on the German podcast charts on platforms such as Spotify, are quite different from the serial storytelling podcasts that many publishing houses see as a new way to engage with journalistic content. Common Ingredients of Successful German Storytelling Podcasts According to Schlütz, several characteristics distinguish narrative journalism as specific to podcasts, among them subjectivity, personalisation, contextualisation, and transparency (10). Building upon these findings, this article looks at various attributes of successful German podcasts from the serial storytelling variety. The selection of these podcasts was driven by their demonstrated popularity, as evidenced by reviews in newspapers, radio shows, or newsletters, as well as their recognition in the form of nominations or receipt of prestigious awards such as the German Reporter Prize and the German Podcast Prize. Such honours imply that these podcasts distinguish themselves by features like captivating storytelling, perceptive journalism, inventive production methods, or other exceptional qualities that have earned the respect and admiration of both their industry peers and listeners. Nevertheless, it should be acknowledged that this curated group does not represent an exhaustive overview of Germany's storytelling podcast landscape. The evaluation of the chosen podcasts was based on an analysis of their auditory content and the media's reception of them, including interviews with and reviews of both the podcasts and their creators. From this investigation, three principal insights emerged: Strong host figures who, in many cases, not only guide through the story, but become part of the story themselves. In the Norddeutscher Runkfunk production Eschede – 25 Jahre danach from 2023 (Eschede – 25 years after) the reporter Miriam Arndts researches the tragic accident that occurred in Eschede, Lower Saxony, in 1998, where a high-speed train derailed and collided with a bridge, resulting in the loss of 101 lives. Among the bereaved was Arndts, who lost her mother in the disaster. Making this podcast highly personal, Arndts engages with survivors and relatives of the victims, intertwining their accounts with her personal story, in line with Lindgren’s findings that “the involvement of the journalist (or host) in the story transcends self-reflexive metacommentary on journalistic practice to focus on the journalist as a private person” (10). Suspense and drama are leading elements of many of the successful podcasts: in Frauke Liebs – die Suche nach dem Mörder (Frauke Liebs – the search for the murderer) from the Magazine Stern, host and journalist Dominik Stawski embarks on a mission to solve a crime that he has been following for a good part of his career – addressing the murderer directly over the course of the episodes. This series could only be realised because of the reporter’s deep involvement in the story and his contacts with many of the people involved in the case, including the family of the victim. This is a good example of how such a series can be created from investigations that have already been published, but can now use the advantages of the longer form of serial storytelling in audio. The understanding of topical events and news is deepened by serial podcasts. As has been mentioned by Planer and Godulla, news stories can also be the drivers of in-depth audio storytelling (105). In Germany this can be exemplified by the popular series Die Flut – Warum musste Johanna sterben? (The flood – why did Johanna have to die?) from 2022, whose team of reporters from Westdeutscher Rundfunk investigates the circumstances of the tragic events of the deadly flood of the river Ahr in Germany that lead to many deaths in the summer of 2021. While this event is clearly of journalistic relevance, such tragedies are typically covered only for a short period by traditional news media. This podcast, in contrast, puts a lot of time and effort into trying to understand the consequences of such a natural disaster for those directly affected by it. The producers of the podcast describe their experience like this: During production, tears were shed more than once. And then, it is precisely this directness of emotion that makes the cruelty of the events tangible. It glosses over nothing, hides nothing. It makes the questions of responsibility directed at politicians even more pressing. (Beisenherz) These aspects show that – among others – these elements are recurring themes of storytelling podcasts in Germany. Of course, there are other factors that determine success of podcasts – the production (Preger 233), the distribution (Krause & Uhrig 457), and the marketing (Eins 169) being the most obvious ones. Current Trends and Economic Potential As Eins has pointed out, many leading publishers in Germany, including Der Spiegel, Süddeutsche Zeitung, and Handelsblatt, have in recent years created digital team positions to manage podcast productions (104). Audio studios have been established within publishing houses. Some editorial teams turn to external service providers, such as Die Zeit working with Pool Artists in Berlin for their podcasts or Süddeutsche Zeitung seeking external expertise for dramaturgy or sound design. The decision to manage podcasts in-house or to hire external providers depends on the available budget, expertise, and the complexity of the project (Eins 105). As Eins has pointed out, simple two-microphone interviews can be self-recorded by amateurs familiar with recording equipment and basic audio editing. However, sophisticated audio features with intricate sound design require teamwork, which is often sought from outside companies. German Media houses increasingly collaborate with external production companies. As podcast market competition grows, distinctive dramaturgy and sound may become crucial, especially for major media brands – this makes collaborations more interesting. For example, Süddeutsche Zeitung has produced elaborate investigative audio features, often in partnership with streaming services. The series Im Schattenkloster (2023/24) about a destructive religious cult in rural Bavaria has been produced in collaboration with Audible, an Amazon company. These podcast series sometimes continue the narrative of previously published investigations and articles in audio form, such as Der Spiegel's Made in Germany – das Flughafenfiasko BER or Going to Ibiza by Süddeutsche Zeitung, or they may be released as exclusive digital content like Narcoland by Aachener Zeitung. The appeal of producing serialised podcasts in an era where digital performance and the attraction of many paying customers to buy digital subscriptions is very important could be attributed to their relatively long production cycle (Krause and Uhrig 456). Unlike topical formats tied to release dates, complex storytelling podcasts retain significance over time in what is known as the Long Tail, described by Anderson, which encapsulated the concept of (digital) products that do not rely on high sales volume from a few mainstream products but achieve sales through a variety of niche products. And the numbers point in this direction: the 2020 podcast series Der Mörder und meine Cousine (The Murderer and My Cousin) produced by Bayerischer Rundfunk registered over 1.2 million plays between June 2020 and January 2022. Of these, 534,000 plays were recorded in the first two months following its release. Over the next 18 months, it garnered an additional 677,973 listens. Even in January 2022, more than 18 months post-release, the monthly play count exceeded 10,000, according to data from the provider's portal Spotify for Podcasters and the internal analysis tool MeFo Charts used by Bayerischer Rundfunk (Krause and Uhrig 457) Conclusion In the landscape of modern journalism in Germany, the advent of serial storytelling through podcasts has carved out a novel niche for high-quality narrative forms. Their appeal lies significantly in their adaptability, which has seen their popularity skyrocket and has made them an important asset in the sales strategy of digital subscriptions for publishing houses (Eins 106). By leveraging the power of audio, these formats not only captivate new demographics but also play a crucial role in shaping journalistic identities, presenting narratives in ways that resonate with the changing consumption patterns of listeners. These narratives, designed for on-the-go consumption, echo the episodic consumption trends set by intricate television and streaming shows, seamlessly fitting into the listener's lifestyle. Journalistically, these podcast series offer a compelling twist on storytelling (Krause and Uhrig 459), often expanding beyond traditional broadcast journalism principles to explore deeper, more intricate narratives, marking an exciting evolution in the way stories are told and consumed. This article has pointed out three aspects that storytelling podcasts in Germany have in common: strong host figures, suspense and drama, and a relation to current news and events, building bridges between classic news reporting and storytelling techniques exemplified by this article. It remains to be seen how these trends evolve in the future: the trend towards audio is described by the current Reuters Institute Digital News Report (Newman et al. 28) as “help[ing to] build loyal relationships, and ... good at attracting younger audiences”. Nevertheless, and despite all positive opportunities, there are of course limiting factors, such as the relatively high costs and long production cycles of such series, which require further investigation. References Anderson, Chris. The Long Tail: Why the Future of Business Is Selling Less of More. Hyperion, 2008. Attig, Christiane. "Männlich, Mittelalt, Gebildet – oder? Eine Charakterisierung deutschsprachiger Podcaster:Innen". Kommunikation@gesellschaft 21.2 (2020). Beisenherz, C. "Die Flut—Warum musste Johanna sterben?" 19 June 2023. <https://www1.wdr.de/podcast/die-flut-100.html>. Berry, Richard. "A Golden Age of Podcasting? Evaluating Serial in the Context of Podcast Histories." Journal of Radio & Audio Media 22.2 (2015): 170-178. Dowling, D.O., and K.J. Miller. "Immersive Audio Storytelling: Podcasting and Serial Documentary in the Digital Publishing Industry." Journal of Radio & Audio Media 26.1 (2019): 167-184. Eins, P. Podcasts im Journalismus: Eine Einführung für die Praxis. Springer Fachmedien, 2022. Fromm, A. "Recherche-Podcast ‘Wer ist Joni?’: Das einsame Mädchen." Die Tageszeitung, 22 Jan. 2023. <https://taz.de/!5907468/>. Kelleter, F. Populäre Serialität: Eine Einführung. Transcript Verlag, 2012. Krause, T., and K. Uhrig. "Journalismus zum Bingen: Potenziale und Funktionen serieller Podcasts für das digitale Storytelling." In Podcasts, eds. V. Katzenberger, J. Keil, and M. Wild. Wiesbaden: Springer Fachmedien, 2022. 445-460. Kulkarni, S., et al. "Innovating Online Journalism: New Ways of Storytelling." Journalism Practice 17.9 (2023): 845-1863. Lindgren, M. "Intimacy and Emotions in Podcast Journalism: A Study of Award-Winning Australian and British Podcasts." Journalism Practice 17.4 (2023): 704-719. Nee, R.C., and A.D. Santana. "Podcasting the Pandemic: Exploring Storytelling Formats and Shifting Journalistic Norms in News Podcasts Related to the Coronavirus." Journalism Practice 16.8 (2022) 1559-1577. Newman, N. "News Podcasts: Who Is Listening and What Formats Are Working?" In Reuters Institute Digital News Report 2023, eds. N. Newman et al. Oxford: Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism, 2023. 48-52. Planer, R., and A. Godulla. "Storytelling in Podcasts deutscher Medienhäuser: Echte Interaktion, geplante Spontanität." In Podcasts, eds. V. Katzenberger, J. Keil, and M. Wild. Wiesbaden: Springer Fachmedien, 2022. 101-118. Preger, S. Geschichten erzählen: Storytelling für Radio und Podcast. Wiesbaden: Springer Fachmedien, 2019. Schlütz, D. "Auditive ‘Deep Dives’: Podcasts als narrativer Journalismus." Kommunikation@gesellschaft 21.2 (2020). Tobin, S.J., and R.E. Guadagno. "Why People Listen: Motivations and Outcomes of Podcast Listening." PLOS ONE 17.4 (2022). Wild, M., and T. Wild. "Vermessung der Podcastlandschaft: Eine explorative Analyse der Podcastangebote der Lokal- und Regionalzeitungen in Deutschland." In Podcasts: Perspektiven und Potenziale eines digitalen Mediums, eds. V. Katzenberger, J. Keil, and M. Wild. Wiesbaden: Springer Fachmedien, 2022. 153-179.

Introduction: Google Autocomplete Algorithms Despite recent attention to the impact of social media platforms on political discourse and public opinion, most people locate their news on search engines (Robertson et al.). When a user conducts a search, millions of outputs, in the form of videos, images, articles, and Websites are sorted to present the most relevant search predictions. Google, the most dominant search engine in the world, expanded its search index in 2009 to include the autocomplete function, which provides suggestions for query inputs (Dörr and Stephan). Google’s autocomplete function also allows users to “search smarter” by reducing typing time by 25 percent (Baker and Potts 189). Google’s complex algorithm is impacted upon by factors like search history, location, and keyword searches (Karapapa and Borghi), and there are policies to ensure the autocomplete function does not contain harmful content. In 2017, Google implemented a feedback tool to allow human evaluators to assess the quality of search results; however, the algorithm still provides misleading results that frame far-right actors as neutral. In this article, we use reverse engineering to understand the nature of these algorithms in relation to the descriptive outcome, to illustrate how autocomplete subtitles label conspiracists in three countries. According to Google, these “subtitles are generated automatically”, further stating that the “systems might determine that someone could be called an actor, director, or writer. Only one of these can appear as the subtitle” and that Google “cannot accept or create custom subtitles” (Google). We focused our attention on well-known conspiracy theorists because of their influence and audience outreach. In this article we argue that these subtitles are problematic because they can mislead the public and amplify extremist views. Google’s autocomplete feature is misleading because it does not highlight what is publicly known about these actors. The labels are neutral or positive but never negative, reflecting primary jobs and/or the actor’s preferred descriptions. This is harmful to the public because Google’s search rankings can influence a user’s knowledge and information preferences through the search engine manipulation effect (Epstein and Robertson). Users’ preferences and understanding of information can be manipulated based upon their trust in Google search results, thus allowing these labels to be widely accepted instead of providing a full picture of the harm their ideologies and belief cause. Algorithms That Mainstream Conspiracies Search engines establish order and visibility to Web pages that operationalise and stabilise meaning to particular queries (Gillespie). Google’s subtitles and blackbox operate as a complex algorithm for its search index and offer a mediated visibility to aspects of social and political life (Gillespie). Algorithms are designed to perform computational tasks through an operational sequence that computer systems must follow (Broussard), but they are also “invisible infrastructures” that Internet users consciously or unconsciously follow (Gran et al. 1779). The way algorithms rank, classify, sort, predict, and process data is political because it presents the world through a predetermined lens (Bucher 3) decided by proprietary knowledge – a “secret sauce” (O’Neil 29) – that is not disclosed to the general public (Christin). Technology titans, like Google, Facebook, and Amazon (Webb), rigorously protect and defend intellectual property for these algorithms, which are worth billions of dollars (O’Neil). As a result, algorithms are commonly defined as opaque, secret “black boxes” that conceal the decisions that are already made “behind corporate walls and layers of code” (Pasquale 899). The opacity of algorithms is related to layers of intentional secrecy, technical illiteracy, the size of algorithmic systems, and the ability of machine learning algorithms to evolve and become unintelligible to humans, even to those trained in programming languages (Christin 898-899). The opaque nature of algorithms alongside the perceived neutrality of algorithmic systems is problematic. Search engines are increasingly normalised and this leads to a socialisation where suppositions are made that “these artifacts are credible and provide accurate information that is fundamentally depoliticized and neutral” (Noble 25). Google’s autocomplete and PageRank algorithms exist outside of the veil of neutrality. In 2015, Google’s photos app, which uses machine learning techniques to help users collect, search, and categorise images, labelled two black people as ‘gorillas’ (O’Neil). Safiya Noble illustrates how media and technology are rooted in systems of white supremacy, and how these long-standing social biases surface in algorithms, illustrating how racial and gendered inequities embed into algorithmic systems. Google actively fixes algorithmic biases with band-aid-like solutions, which means the errors remain inevitable constituents within the algorithms. Rising levels of automation correspond to a rising level of errors, which can lead to confusion and misdirection of the algorithms that people use to manage their lives (O’Neil). As a result, software, code, machine learning algorithms, and facial/voice recognition technologies are scrutinised for producing and reproducing prejudices (Gray) and promoting conspiracies – often described as algorithmic bias (Bucher). Algorithmic bias occurs because algorithms are trained by historical data already embedded with social biases (O’Neil), and if that is not problematic enough, algorithms like Google’s search engine also learn and replicate the behaviours of Internet users (Benjamin 93), including conspiracy theorists and their followers. Technological errors, algorithmic bias, and increasing automation are further complicated by the fact that Google’s Internet service uses “2 billion lines of code” – a magnitude that is difficult to keep track of, including for “the programmers who designed the algorithm” (Christin 899). Understanding this level of code is not critical to understanding algorithmic logics, but we must be aware of the inscriptions such algorithms afford (Krasmann). As algorithms become more ubiquitous it is urgent to “demand that systems that hold algorithms accountable become ubiquitous as well” (O’Neil 231). This is particularly important because algorithms play a critical role in “providing the conditions for participation in public life”; however, the majority of the public has a modest to nonexistent awareness of algorithms (Gran et al. 1791). Given the heavy reliance of Internet users on Google’s search engine, it is necessary for research to provide a glimpse into the black boxes that people use to extract information especially when it comes to searching for information about conspiracy theorists. Our study fills a major gap in research as it examines a sub-category of Google’s autocomplete algorithm that has not been empirically explored before. Unlike the standard autocomplete feature that is primarily programmed according to popular searches, we examine the subtitle feature that operates as a fixed label for popular conspiracists within Google’s algorithm. Our initial foray into our research revealed that this is not only an issue with conspiracists, but also occurs with terrorists, extremists, and mass murderers. Method Using a reverse engineering approach (Bucher) from September to October 2021, we explored how Google’s autocomplete feature assigns subtitles to widely known conspiracists. The conspiracists were not geographically limited, and we searched for those who reside in the United States, Canada, United Kingdom, and various countries in Europe. Reverse engineering stems from Ashby’s canonical text on cybernetics, in which he argues that black boxes are not a problem; the problem or challenge is related to the way one can discern their contents. As Google’s algorithms are not disclosed to the general public (Christin), we use this method as an extraction tool to understand the nature of how these algorithms (Eilam) apply subtitles. To systematically document the search results, we took screenshots for every conspiracist we searched in an attempt to archive the Google autocomplete algorithm. By relying on previous literature, reports, and the figures’ public statements, we identified and searched Google for 37 Western-based and influencial conspiracy theorists. We initially experimented with other problematic figures, including terrorists, extremists, and mass murderers to see whether Google applied a subtitle or not. Additionally, we examined whether subtitles were positive, neutral, or negative, and compared this valence to personality descriptions for each figure. Using the standard procedures of content analysis (Krippendorff), we focus on the manifest or explicit meaning of text to inform subtitle valence in terms of their positive, negative, or neutral connotations. These manifest features refer to the “elements that are physically present and countable” (Gray and Densten 420) or what is known as the dictionary definitions of items. Using a manual query, we searched Google for subtitles ascribed to conspiracy theorists, and found the results were consistent across different countries. Searches were conducted on Firefox and Chrome and tested on an Android phone. Regardless of language input or the country location established by a Virtual Private Network (VPN), the search terms remained stable, regardless of who conducted the search. The conspiracy theorists in our dataset cover a wide range of conspiracies, including historical figures like Nesta Webster and John Robison, who were foundational in Illuminati lore, as well as contemporary conspiracists such as Marjorie Taylor Greene and Alex Jones. Each individual’s name was searched on Google with a VPN set to three countries. Results and Discussion This study examines Google’s autocomplete feature associated with subtitles of conspiratorial actors. We first tested Google’s subtitling system with known terrorists, convicted mass shooters, and controversial cult leaders like David Koresh. Garry et al. (154) argue that “while conspiracy theories may not have mass radicalising effects, they are extremely effective at leading to increased polarization within societies”. We believe that the impact of neutral subtitling of conspiracists reflects the integral role conspiracies plays in contemporary politics and right-wing extremism. The sample includes contemporary and historical conspiracists to establish consistency in labelling. For historical figures, the labels are less consequential and simply reflect the reality that Google’s subtitles are primarily neutral. Of the 37 conspiracy theorists we searched (see Table 1 in the Appendix), seven (18.9%) do not have an associated subtitle, and the other 30 (81%) have distinctive subtitles, but none of them reflects the public knowledge of the individuals’ harmful role in disseminating conspiracy theories. In the list, 16 (43.2%) are noted for their contribution to the arts, 4 are labelled as activists, 7 are associated with their professional affiliation or original jobs, 2 to the journalism industry, one is linked to his sports career, another one as a researcher, and 7 have no subtitle. The problem here is that when white nationalists or conspiracy theorists are not acknowledged as such in their subtitles, search engine users could possibly encounter content that may sway their understanding of society, politics, and culture. For example, a conspiracist like Alex Jones is labeled as an “American Radio Host” (see Figure 1), despite losing two defamation lawsuits for declaring that the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut, was a ‘false flag’ event. Jones’s actions on his InfoWars media platforms led to parents of shooting victims being stalked and threatened. Another conspiracy theorist, Gavin McInnes, the creator of the far-right, neo-fascist Proud Boys organisation, a known terrorist entity in Canada and hate group in the United States, is listed simply as a “Canadian writer” (see Figure 1). Fig. 1: Screenshots of Google’s subtitles for Alex Jones and Gavin McInnes. Although subtitles under an individual’s name are not audio, video, or image content, the algorithms that create these subtitles are an invisible infrastructure that could cause harm through their uninterrogated status and pervasive presence. This could then be a potential conduit to media which could cause harm and develop distrust in electoral and civic processes, or all institutions. Examples from our list include Brittany Pettibone, whose subtitle states that she is an “American writer” despite being one of the main propagators of the Pizzagate conspiracy which led to Edgar Maddison Welch (whose subtitle is “Screenwriter”) travelling from North Carolina to Washington D.C. to violently threaten and confront those who worked at Comet Ping Pong Pizzeria. The same misleading label can be found via searching for James O’Keefe of Project Veritas, who is positively labelled as “American activist”. Veritas is known for releasing audio and video recordings that contain false information designed to discredit academic, political, and service organisations. In one instance, a 2020 video released by O’Keefe accused Democrat Ilhan Omar’s campaign of illegally collecting ballots. The same dissembling of distrust applies to Mike Lindell, whose Google subtitle is “CEO of My Pillow”, as well as Sidney Powell, who is listed as an “American lawyer”; both are propagators of conspiracy theories relating to the 2020 presidential election. The subtitles attributed to conspiracists on Google do not acknowledge the widescale public awareness of the negative role these individuals play in spreading conspiracy theories or causing harm to others. Some of the selected conspiracists are well known white nationalists, including Stefan Molyneux who has been banned from social media platforms like Twitter, Twitch, Facebook, and YouTube for the promotion of scientific racism and eugenics; however, he is neutrally listed on Google as a “Canadian podcaster”. In addition, Laura Loomer, who describes herself as a “proud Islamophobe,” is listed by Google as an “Author”. These subtitles can pose a threat by normalising individuals who spread conspiracy theories, sow dissension and distrust in institutions, and cause harm to minority groups and vulnerable individuals. Once clicking on the selected person, the results, although influenced by the algorithm, did not provide information that aligned with the associated subtitle. The search results are skewed to the actual conspiratorial nature of the individuals and associated news articles. In essence, the subtitles do not reflect the subsequent search results, and provide a counter-labelling to the reality of the resulting information provided to the user. Another significant example is Jerad Miller, who is listed as “American performer”, despite the fact that he is the Las Vegas shooter who posted anti-government and white nationalist 3 Percenters memes on his social media (SunStaff), even though the majority of search results connect him to the mass shooting he orchestrated in 2014. The subtitle “performer” is certainly not the common characteristic that should be associated with Jerad Miller. Table 1 in the Appendix shows that individuals who are not within the contemporary milieux of conspiracists, but have had a significant impact, such as Nesta Webster, Robert Welch Junior, and John Robison, were listed by their original profession or sometimes without a subtitle. David Icke, infamous for his lizard people conspiracies, has a subtitle reflecting his past football career. In all cases, Google’s subtitle was never consistent with the actor’s conspiratorial behaviour. Indeed, the neutral subtitles applied to conspiracists in our research may reflect some aspect of the individuals’ previous careers but are not an accurate reflection of the individuals’ publicly known role in propagating hate, which we argue is misleading to the public. For example, David Icke may be a former footballer, but the 4.7 million search results predominantly focus on his conspiracies, his public fora, and his status of being deplatformed by mainstream social media sites. The subtitles are not only neutral, but they are not based on the actual search results, and so are misleading in what the searcher will discover; most importantly, they do not provide a warning about the misinformation contained in the autocomplete subtitle. To conclude, algorithms automate the search engines that people use in the functions of everyday life, but are also entangled in technological errors, algorithmic bias, and have the capacity to mislead the public. Through a process of reverse engineering (Ashby; Bucher), we searched 37 conspiracy theorists to decode the Google autocomplete algorithms. We identified how the subtitles attributed to conspiracy theorists are neutral, positive, but never negative, which does not accurately reflect the widely known public conspiratorial discourse these individuals propagate on the Web. This is problematic because the algorithms that determine these subtitles are invisible infrastructures acting to misinform the public and to mainstream conspiracies within larger social, cultural, and political structures. This study highlights the urgent need for Google to review the subtitles attributed to conspiracy theorists, terrorists, and mass murderers, to better inform the public about the negative nature of these actors, rather than always labelling them in neutral or positive ways. Funding Acknowledgement This project has been made possible in part by the Canadian Department of Heritage – the Digital Citizen Contribution program – under grant no. R529384. The title of the project is “Understanding hate groups’ narratives and conspiracy theories in traditional and alternative social media”. References Ashby, W. Ross. An Introduction to Cybernetics. Chapman & Hall, 1961. Baker, Paul, and Amanda Potts. "‘Why Do White People Have Thin Lips?’ Google and the Perpetuation of Stereotypes via Auto-Complete Search Forms." Critical Discourse Studies 10.2 (2013): 187-204. Benjamin, Ruha. Race after Technology: Abolitionist Tools for the New Jim Code. Polity, 2019. Bucher, Taina. If... Then: Algorithmic Power and Politics. OUP, 2018. Broussard, Meredith. Artificial Unintelligence: How Computers Misunderstand the World. MIT P, 2018. Christin, Angèle. "The Ethnographer and the Algorithm: Beyond the Black Box." Theory and Society 49.5 (2020): 897-918. D'Ignazio, Catherine, and Lauren F. Klein. Data Feminism. MIT P, 2020. Dörr, Dieter, and Juliane Stephan. "The Google Autocomplete Function and the German General Right of Personality." Perspectives on Privacy. De Gruyter, 2014. 80-95. Eilam, Eldad. Reversing: Secrets of Reverse Engineering. John Wiley & Sons, 2011. Epstein, Robert, and Ronald E. Robertson. "The Search Engine Manipulation Effect (SEME) and Its Possible Impact on the Outcomes of Elections." Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences 112.33 (2015): E4512-E4521. Garry, Amanda, et al. "QAnon Conspiracy Theory: Examining its Evolution and Mechanisms of Radicalization." Journal for Deradicalization 26 (2021): 152-216. Gillespie, Tarleton. "Algorithmically Recognizable: Santorum’s Google Problem, and Google’s Santorum Problem." Information, Communication & Society 20.1 (2017): 63-80. Google. “Update your Google knowledge panel.” 2022. 3 Jan. 2022 <https://support.google.com/knowledgepanel/answer/7534842?hl=en#zippy=%2Csubtitle>. Gran, Anne-Britt, Peter Booth, and Taina Bucher. "To Be or Not to Be Algorithm Aware: A Question of a New Digital Divide?" Information, Communication & Society 24.12 (2021): 1779-1796. Gray, Judy H., and Iain L. Densten. "Integrating Quantitative and Qualitative Analysis Using Latent and Manifest Variables." Quality and Quantity 32.4 (1998): 419-431. Gray, Kishonna L. Intersectional Tech: Black Users in Digital Gaming. LSU P, 2020. Karapapa, Stavroula, and Maurizio Borghi. "Search Engine Liability for Autocomplete Suggestions: Personality, Privacy and the Power of the Algorithm." International Journal of Law and Information Technology 23.3 (2015): 261-289. Krasmann, Susanne. "The Logic of the Surface: On the Epistemology of Algorithms in Times of Big Data." Information, Communication & Society 23.14 (2020): 2096-2109. Krippendorff, Klaus. Content Analysis: An Introduction to Its Methodology. Sage, 2004. Noble, Safiya Umoja. Algorithms of Oppression. New York UP, 2018. O'Neil, Cathy. Weapons of Math Destruction: How Big Data Increases Inequality and Threatens Democracy. Crown, 2016. Pasquale, Frank. The Black Box Society. Harvard UP, 2015. Robertson, Ronald E., David Lazer, and Christo Wilson. "Auditing the Personalization and Composition of Politically-Related Search Engine Results Pages." Proceedings of the 2018 World Wide Web Conference. 2018. Staff, Sun. “A Look inside the Lives of Shooters Jerad Miller, Amanda Miller.” Las Vegas Sun 9 June 2014. <https://lasvegassun.com/news/2014/jun/09/look/>. Webb, Amy. The Big Nine: How the Tech Titans and Their Thinking Machines Could Warp Humanity. Hachette UK, 2019. Appendix Table 1: The subtitles of conspiracy theorists on Google autocomplete Conspiracy Theorist Google Autocomplete Subtitle Character Description Alex Jones American radio host InfoWars founder, American far-right radio show host and conspiracy theorist. The SPLC describes Alex Jones as "the most prolific conspiracy theorist in contemporary America." Barry Zwicker Canadian journalist Filmmaker who made a documentary that claimed fear was used to control the public after 9/11. Bart Sibrel American producer Writer, producer, and director of work to falsely claim the Apollo moon landings between 1969 and 1972 were staged by NASA. Ben Garrison American cartoonist Alt-right and QAnon political cartoonist Brittany Pettibone American writer Far-right, political vlogger on YouTube and propagator of #pizzagate. Cathy O’Brien American author Cathy O’Brien claims she was a victim of a government mind control project called Project Monarch. Dan Bongino American radio host Stakeholder in Parler, Radio Host, Ex-Spy, Conspiracist (Spygate, MAGA election fraud, etc.). David Icke Former footballer Reptilian humanoid conspiracist. David Wynn Miller (No subtitle) Conspiracist, far-right tax protester, and founder of the Sovereign Citizens Movement. Jack Posobiec American activist Alt-right, alt-lite political activist, conspiracy theorist, and Internet troll. Editor of Human Events Daily. James O’Keefe American activist Founder of Project Veritas, a far-right company that propagates disinformation and conspiracy theories. John Robison Foundational Illuminati conspiracist. Kevin Annett Canadian writer Former minister and writer, who wrote a book exposing the atrocities to Indigenous Communities, and now is a conspiracist and vlogger. Laura Loomer Author Far-right, anti-Muslim, conspiracy theorist, and Internet personality. Republican nominee in Florida's 21st congressional district in 2020. Marjorie Taylor Greene United States Representative Conspiracist, QAnon adherent, and U.S. representative for Georgia's 14th congressional district. Mark Dice American YouTuber Right-wing conservative pundit and conspiracy theorist. Mark Taylor (No subtitle) QAnon minister and self-proclaimed prophet of Donald Trump, the 45th U.S. President. Michael Chossudovsky Canadian economist Professor emeritus at the University of Ottawa, founder of the Centre for Research on Globalization, and conspiracist. Michael Cremo(Drutakarmā dāsa) American researcher Self-described Vedic creationist whose book, Forbidden Archeology, argues humans have lived on earth for millions of years. Mike Lindell CEO of My Pillow Business owner and conspiracist. Neil Patel English entrepreneur Founded The Daily Caller with Tucker Carlson. Nesta Helen Webster English author Foundational Illuminati conspiracist. Naomi Wolf American author Feminist turned conspiracist (ISIS, COVID-19, etc.). Owen Benjamin American comedian Former actor/comedian now conspiracist (Beartopia), who is banned from mainstream social media for using hate speech. Pamela Geller American activist Conspiracist, Anti-Islam, Blogger, Host. Paul Joseph Watson British YouTuber InfoWars co-host and host of the YouTube show PrisonPlanetLive. QAnon Shaman (Jake Angeli) American activist Conspiracy theorist who participated in the 2021 attack on Capitol Hil. Richard B. Spencer (No subtitle) American neo-Nazi, antisemitic conspiracy theorist, and white supremacist. Rick Wiles (No subtitle) Minister, Founded conspiracy site, TruNews. Robert W. Welch Jr. American businessman Founded the John Birch Society. Ronald Watkins (No subtitle) Founder of 8kun. Serge Monast Journalist Creator of Project Blue Beam conspiracy. Sidney Powell (No subtitle) One of former President Trump’s Lawyers, and renowned conspiracist regarding the 2020 Presidential election. Stanton T. Friedman Nuclear physicist Original civilian researcher of the 1947 Roswell UFO incident. Stefan Molyneux Canadian podcaster Irish-born, Canadian far-right white nationalist, podcaster, blogger, and banned YouTuber, who promotes conspiracy theories, scientific racism, eugenics, and racist views Tim LaHaye American author Founded the Council for National Policy, leader in the Moral Majority movement, and co-author of the Left Behind book series. Viva Frei (No subtitle) YouTuber/ Canadian Influencer, on the Far-Right and Covid conspiracy proponent. William Guy Carr Canadian author Illuminati/III World War Conspiracist Google searches conducted as of 9 October 2021.

A friend of mine once tried to capture the feeling that one gets from a new thing. He decided that there was no word to describe the sensation of having an unblemished eraser when you were in primary school, but nevertheless it produced a kind of fascinating awe in the apparent perfection of the new. A similar feeling captures the new car owner in smelling the interior's recently minted plastic. Used car dealers would doubtless love to bottle that smell because it produces the momentary pleasure of new ownership. And I am sure there are certain people who are addicted to that smell, and go test drive new cars with no intention of buying just for the experience of the "new" smell. New clothes produce that same sensation: most of us ignore the label which says "wash before wearing" because we want to experience the incredible stiff tactile sensation of a new shirt. My friend called this gle-gle, and it is a pervasive relationship to New in a variety of guises. New implies two kinds of objects or practices: it implies either the replacement of the old or it points to the emergence of something that has not existed before. In both cases, new always heralds change and has the potential for social or cultural transformation. As a result, popular writers and ad copy editors often link new with revolution. For example, the advent of the computer was seen to be revolutionary. Similarly a new detergent which worked in cold water promised cataclysmic change in the 1960s. But these promises of revolution through some innovation have not necessarily led to massive social upheaval; rather they have identified a discursive trope of contemporary culture which links new with rejuvenation. The claim that something is new is the mantra of modernity and the kitsch of the postmodern. This double-play of the concept of the new is best untangled through thinking how a once new object becomes the contemporary way of expressing the former hope of progress and change -- with raised and knowing eyebrow. I recently stumbled into one of these double-plays. While searching for bedding for yet another birthday slumber party, I picked up an old mattress which still had its 1950s label, where it proudly announced that the cushioning was the wonderful new revolutionary foam system called the Dunlopillo. The Dunlopillo system was certainly trademarked and no doubt patented for its then unique system of troughs and cones of army green foam; but in its current incarnation the foam was weak and the bed easily crumpled in half. All that was left of the sentiment of newness was the label, which in its graphics expressed the necessary connection to science as the future, and authoritative zeal in its seriousness of its revolutionary potential. But seen from 1998, the claims seemed bombastic and beautifully optimistic. Modernity's relationship to the new is to celebrate the potential for change. It is a cultural project that has enveloped the sentiments of capitalism and socialism from their origins in the 18th and 19th centuries, and manifested itself in what Schudson labelled "capitalist realism" in advertising, and what is known as socialist realism as a state-sanctioned artistic movement in the Soviet Union. Both representations provided their systems with the capacity to repaint the cultural canvas with each new product such as Dunlopillo, or in the Soviet system with each new five-year productivity plan for the collective. Maintaining the unity of the cultural project was a challenge to each system's representational regime; sustaining the power of the new as a revolutionary force is the fundamental link between capitalist and socialist systems throughout the twentieth century. These representational regimes were in fact connected to the production of new phenomena, new materials, new social formations. However, the message of the new has gradually weakened over the last thirty years. Think of the way in which the Space Race produced all sorts of new technologies of computing, calculation and the integration of electronics into the running of the automobile. It also produced the breakfast orange-juice substitute, 'Tang'. Indeed, the first advertisements for Tang intoned that it was the drink that astronauts enjoyed in space. Tang and its flavour crystals provided the ultimate form of efficiency and convenience, and provided a clear link between the highly ideologically driven space program and the everyday lives of citizens of the "free" world. In the 60s and 70s the link between the general project of modernity and improving everyday life was made evidently clear every time you added water to your Tang flavour crystals. One has to ask: where is Tang today? Not only is it difficult to find in my supermarket, but even if it were available it would not operate as the same representation of progress and the project of modernity. Instead, it would have little more than a nostalgic -- or, kitsch -- hold on a generation that has seen too many representations of the new and too many attempts at indicating improvement. The decay of the cultural power of the new is clearly linked to consumer culture's dependence on and overuse of the concept. The entire century has been enveloped by an accelerating pattern of symbolic change. Symbolic change is not necessarily the same as the futurologist Toffler claiming that we are in a constant state of "future shock"; rather it is much more the introduction of new designs as if there were not only transformed designs, but fundamentally transformed products. This perpetually 'new' is a feature of the fashion industry as it works toward seasonal transformation. Toothbrushes have also been the object of this design therapy, which produces both continual change over the last twenty years, and claims of new revolutionary designs. Central to this notion of symbolic change is advertising. Advertising plays with the hopes and desires of its audience by providing the contradictory symbolic materiality of progressive change. The cultural and political power of the new is the symbolic terrain that advertising has mined to present its "images of well-being". What one can now detect in the circulation of advertising is at least two responses to the decay of the power of the new. First, instead of advertising invoking the wonders of science and its technological offspring providing you with something revolutionary, advertising has moved increasingly towards personal transformation, echoing the 30-year-old self-help, self-discovery book industry. In Australia, GM-Holden's Barina television ads provide a typical example. No technical detail about the car is given in the ads, but a great deal of information --- via the singing, the superimposed dancers, and the graphics employed -- signifies that the car is designed for the young female driver. Symbolically, the car is transformed into a new space of feminine subjectivity. Second, advertising plays with the cynicism of the cognoscenti. If the new itself can no longer work to signify genuine change and improvement in contemporary culture, it is instead represented as a changed attitude to the contemporary world that only a particular demographic will actually comprehend. The level of sophistication in reading the new as a cultural phenomenon by advertisers (or by proxy, their agencies) is sometimes astounding. A recent Coca-Cola radio ad played with a singing style of ennui and anger that embodied punk, but only as punk has been reinvented in the mid-90s through such groups as Green Day. The lyrics were identical to the rest of the "Always Coca-Cola" campaign that has been circulating internationally for the last five years; however, the cynicism of the singers, the bare tunefulness, and even the use of a popular culture icon such as Coke as the object of a song (and ridicule), tries to capture a particular new cultural moment with a different audience. Advertising as a cultural discourse on its own expresses a malaise within the transforming promise of the new that has been so much a part of modernity. However, the myths of modernity -- its clear association with social progress -- have never completely dissipated. In contemporary culture, it has fallen on new computer technologies to keep the ember of modernity and progress glowing. Over the last two decades the personal computer has maintained the naiveté of the new that was central to mid-twentieth century advertising, if not post-war culture in general. Very much like the Space Race stitched together an ideological weave that connected the populace to the interests of what Eisenhower first described as a military-industrial complex, the computer has ignited a new generation of optimism. It has been appropriated by governments from Singapore and Malaysia (think of the Multimedia Super Corridor) to the United States (think of Vice President Al Gore's NII) as the rescue package for the organisation of capitalism. Through Microsoft's hegemony there is a sense of coherence in "operating systems" which makes their slogan "where do you want to go today?", in its evocation of choice, also an invocation of unity of purpose. The wonderful synergy of the personal computer is that it weaves the conception of personal desire back into a generalisable social system of value. Despite all these efforts at harnessing the new computer technologies into established political and economic forces, the new nature of computer technology draws us back to the reason why new is intrinsically exciting: the defining nature of the new is that it offers the potential for some form of social change. The Internet has been the source for this new discourse of utopia. If we follow Howard Rheingold's logic, New "virtual communities" are formed online. A disequilibrium in who controls the flow of information is part of the appeal of the Internet, and the very appearance of this journal stems from that sense of new access. The Internet is said to challenge the boundaries of nations and states (although English language hegemony and pure economic access continue to operate to control the flow of those boundaries), with regulation devolving out of state policy towards the individual. Transforming identities are also very much an element of online communities: if nothing else, the play of gender in online game and chat programs identifies the constructed nature of our identities. All of this energy, and what I would call affect, refers to how computer technology and the Internet have managed to produce a sensation of agency. What I mean by agency is not necessarily attached to the project of modernity; rather it is the sense of being able to produce the new itself, as opposed to just living in the architecture of the new provided by someone else. On one level, the Internet and personal computers do provide a way to make your information look as if it is more significant and of a higher quality. The continuing proliferation of personal websites attests to this narcissistic drive of contemporary culture. On another level, the narcissism also identifies activity and agency in engaging in a form of communication with others. The Internet then can be thought of as paralleling movements in contemporary music, where the ability to construct soundscapes through computer interfaces has given the musician greater agency in the production of new electronic music. The new is intrinsically an odd phenomenon. It continually threatens established patterns. What is different about the new and its meaning in the twentieth century is that it has become part of the central ideology of western culture in its characterised representation of modernity. In a strange mix, the new reinforces the old and established. Nonetheless, the new, like culture itself, is never completely contained by any overarching architecture. The new expresses the potential, and occasionally the enactment, of significant cultural change. The fatigue that I have identified in our thinking about the new identifies a decline in the power of modernity to capture change, difference and transformation. That very fatigue may indicate in and of itself something profoundly new. References Rheingold, Howard. The Virtual Community: Homesteading on the Electronic Frontier. New York: HarperPerennial, 1994. Schudson, Michael. Advertising, the Uneasy Persuasion: Its Dubious Impact on American Society. New York: Basic Books, 1984. Toffler, Alvin. Future Shock. London: Pan Books, 1971. Citation reference for this article MLA style: P. David Marshall. "Thinking through New." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1.1 (1998). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9807/think.php>. Chicago style: P. David Marshall, "Thinking through New," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1, no. 1 (1998), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9807/think.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: P. David Marshall. (1998) Thinking through new. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 1(1). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9807/think.php> ([your date of access]).

Diaspora This article looks at diaspora through the transformations of an established public service broadcaster, the BBC World Service, by considering some of the findings of the AHRC-funded Tuning In: Contact Zones at the BBC World Service, which is part of the Diasporas, Migration and Identities program. Tuning In has six themes, each of which focuses upon the role of the BBC WS: The Politics of Translation, Diasporic Nationhood, Religious Transnationalism, Sport across Diasporas, Migrating Music and Drama for Development. The World Service, which was until 2011 funded by the Foreign Office, was set up to cater for the British diaspora and had the specific remit of transmitting ideas about Britishness to its audiences overseas. Tuning In demonstrates interrelationships between the global and the local in the diasporic contact zone of the BBC World Service, which has provided a mediated home for the worldwide British diaspora since its inception in 1932. The local and the global have merged, elided, and separated at different times and in different spaces in the changing story of the BBC (Briggs). The BBC WS is both local and global with activities that present Britishness both at home and abroad. The service has, however, come a long way since its early days as the Empire Service. Audiences for the World Service’s 31 foreign language services, radio, television, and Internet facilities include substantive non-British/English-speaking constituencies, rendering it a contact zone for the exploration of ideas and political opportunities on a truly transnational scale. This heterogeneous body of exilic, refugee intellectuals, writers, and artists now operates alongside an ongoing expression of Britishness in all its diverse reconfiguration. This includes the residual voice of empire and its patriarchal paternalism, the embrace of more recent expressions of neoliberalism as well as traditional values of impartiality and objectivism and, in the case of the arts, elements of bohemianism and creative innovation. The World Service might have begun as a communication system for the British ex-pat diaspora, but its role has changed along with the changing relationship between Britain and its colonial past. In the terrain of sport, for example, cricket, the “game of empire,” has shifted from Britain to the Indian subcontinent (Guha) with the rise of “Twenty 20” and the Indian Premier League (IPL); summed up in Ashis Nandy’s claim that “cricket is an Indian game accidentally discovered by the English” (Nandy viii). English county cricket dominated the airways of the World Service well into the latter half of the twentieth century, but the audiences of the service have demanded a response to social and cultural change and the service has responded. Sport can thus be seen to have offered a democratic space in which new diasporic relations can be forged as well as one in which colonial and patriarchal values are maintained. The BBC WS today is part of a network through which non-British diasporic peoples can reconnect with their home countries via the service, as well as an online forum for debate across the globe. In many regions of the world, it continues to be the single most trusted source of information at times of crisis and disaster because of its traditions of impartiality and objectivity, even though (as noted in the article on Al-Jazeera in this special issue) this view is hotly contested. The principles of objectivity and impartiality are central to the BBC WS, which may seem paradoxical since it is funded by the Commonwealth and Foreign office, and its origins lie in empire and colonial discourse. Archive material researched by our project demonstrates the specifically ideological role of what was first called the Empire Service. The language of empire was deployed in this early programming, and there is an explicit expression of an ideological purpose (Hill). For example, at the Imperial Conference in 1930, the service was supported in terms of its political powers of “strengthening ties” between parts of the empire. This view comes from a speech by John Reith, the BBC’s first Director General, which was broadcast when the service opened. In this speech, broadcasting is identified as having come to involve a “connecting and co-ordinating link between the scattered parts of the British Empire” (Reith). Local British values are transmitted across the globe. Through the service, empire and nation are reinstated through the routine broadcasting of cyclical events, the importance of which Scannell and Cardiff describe as follows: Nothing so well illustrates the noiseless manner in which the BBC became perhaps the central agent of national culture as its cyclical role; the cyclical production year in year out, of an orderly, regular progression of festivities, rituals and celebrations—major and minor, civic and sacred—that mark the unfolding of the broadcast year. (278; italics in the original) State occasions and big moments, including those directly concerned with governance and affairs of state, and those which focused upon sport and religion, were a big part in these “noiseless” cycles, and became key elements in the making of Britishness across the globe. The BBC is “noiseless” because the timetable is assumed and taken for granted as not only what is but what should be. However, the BBC WS has been and has had to be responsive to major shifts in global and local—and, indeed, glocal—power geometries that have led to spatial transformations, notably in the reconfiguration of the service in the era of postcolonialism. Some of these massive changes have involved the large-scale movement of people and a concomitant rethinking of diaspora as a concept. Empire, like nation, operates as an “imagined community,” too big to be grasped by individuals (Anderson), as well as a material actuality. The dynamics of identification are rarely linear and there are inconsistencies and disruptions: even when the voice is officially that of empire, the practice of the World Service is much more diverse, nuanced, and dialogical. The BBC WS challenges boundaries through the connectivities of communication and through different ways of belonging and, similarly, through a problematisation of concepts like attachment and detachment; this is most notable in the way in which programming has adapted to new diasporic audiences and in the reworkings of spatiality in the shift from empire to diversity via multiculturalism. There are tensions between diaspora and multiculturalism that are apparent in a discussion of broadcasting and communication networks. Diaspora has been distinguished by mobility and hybridity (Clifford, Hall, Bhaba, Gilroy) and it has been argued that the adjectival use of diasporic offers more opportunity for fluidity and transformation (Clifford). The concept of diaspora, as it has been used to explain the fluidity and mobility of diasporic identifications, can challenge more stabilised, “classic” understandings of diaspora (Chivallon). A hybrid version of diaspora might sit uneasily with a strong sense of belonging and with the idea that the broadcast media offer a multicultural space in which each voice can be heard and a wide range of cultures are present. Tuning In engaged with ways of rethinking the BBC’s relationship to diaspora in the twenty-first century in a number of ways: for example, in the intersection of discursive regimes of representation; in the status of public service broadcasting; vis-à-vis the consequences of diverse diasporic audiences; through the role of cultural intermediaries such as journalists and writers; and via global economic and political materialities (Gillespie, Webb and Baumann). Tuning In thus provided a multi-themed and methodologically diverse exploration of how the BBC WS is itself a series of spaces which are constitutive of the transformation of diasporic identifications. Exploring the part played by the BBC WS in changing and continuing social flows and networks involves, first, reconfiguring what is understood by transnationalism, diaspora, and postcolonial relationalities: in particular, attending to how these transform as well as sometimes reinstate colonial and patriarchal discourses and practices, thus bringing together different dimensions of the local and the global. Tuning In ranges across different fields, embracing cultural, social, and political areas of experience as represented in broadcasting coverage. These fields illustrate the educative role of the BBC and the World Service that is also linked to its particular version of impartiality; just as The Archers was set up to provide information and guidance through a narrative of everyday life to rural communities and farmers after the Second World War, so the Afghan version plays an “edutainment” role (Skuse) where entertainment also serves an educational, public service information role. Indeed, the use of soap opera genre such as The Archers as a vehicle for humanitarian and health information has been very successful over the past decade, with the “edutainment” genre becoming a feature of the World Service’s broadcasting in places such as Rwanda, Somalia, Nigeria, India, Nepal, Burma, Afghanistan, and Cambodia. In a genre that has been promoted by the World Service Trust, the charitable arm of the BBC WS uses drama formats to build transnational production relationships with media professionals and to strengthen creative capacities to undertake behaviour change through communication work. Such programming, which is in the tradition of the BBC WS, draws upon the service’s expertise and exhibits both an ideological commitment to progressive social intervention and a paternalist approach drawing upon colonialist legacies. Nowadays, however, the BBC WS can be considered a diasporic contact zone, providing sites of transnational intra-diasporic contact as well as cross-cultural encounters, spaces for cross-diasporic creativity and representation, and a forum for cross-cultural dialogue and potentially cosmopolitan translations (Pratt, Clifford). These activities are, however, still marked by historically forged asymmetric power relations, notably of colonialism, imperialism, and globalisation, as well as still being dominated by hegemonic masculinity in many parts of the service, which thus represent sites of contestation, conflict, and transgression. Conversely, diasporic identities are themselves co-shaped by media representations (Sreberny). The diasporic contact zone is a relational space in which diasporic identities are made and remade and contested. Tuning In employed a diverse range of methods to analyse the part played by the BBC WS in changing and continuing social and cultural flows, networks, and reconfigurations of transnationalisms and diaspora, as well as reinstating colonial, patriarchal practices. The research deconstructed some assumptions and conditions of class-based elitism, colonialism, and patriarchy through a range of strategies. Texts are, of course, central to this work, with the BBC Archives at Caversham (near Reading) representing the starting point for many researchers. The archive is a rich source of material for researchers which carries a vast range of data including fragile memos written on scraps of paper: a very local source of global communications. Other textual material occupies the less locatable cyberspace, for example in the case of Have Your Say exchanges on the Web. People also featured in the project, through the media, in cyberspace, and physical encounters, all of which demonstrate the diverse modes of connection that have been established. Researchers worked with the BBC WS in a variety of ways, not only through interviews and ethnographic approaches, such as participant observation and witness seminars, but also through exchanges between the service, its practitioners, and the researchers (for example, through broadcasts where the project provided the content and the ideas and researchers have been part of programs that have gone out on the BBC WS (Goldblatt, Webb), bringing together people who work for the BBC and Tuning In researchers). On this point, it should be remembered that Bush House is, itself, a diasporic space which, from its geographical location in the Strand in London, has brought together diasporic people from around the globe to establish international communication networks, and has thus become the focus and locus of some of our research. What we have understood by the term “diasporic space” in this context includes both the materialities of architecture and cyberspace which is the site of digital diasporas (Anderssen) and, indeed, the virtual exchanges featured on “Have Your Say,” the online feedback site (Tuning In). Living the Glocal The BBC WS offers a mode of communication and a series of networks that are spatially located both in the UK, through the material presence of Bush House, and abroad, through the diasporic communities constituting contemporary audiences. The service may have been set up to provide news and entertainment for the British diaspora abroad, but the transformation of the UK into a multi-ethnic society “at home,” alongside its commitment to, and the servicing of, no less than 32 countries abroad, demonstrates a new mission and a new balance of power. Different diasporic communities, such as multi-ethnic Londoners, and local and British Muslims in the north of England, demonstrate the dynamics and ambivalences of what is meant by “diaspora” today. For example, the BBC and the WS play an ambiguous role in the lives of UK Muslim communities with Pakistani connections, where consumers of the international news can feel that the BBC is complicit in the conflation of Muslims with terrorists. Engaging Diaspora Audiences demonstrated the diversity of audience reception in a climate of marginalisation, often bordering on moral panic, and showed how diasporic audiences often use Al-Jazeera or Pakistani and Urdu channels, which are seen to take up more sympathetic political positions. It seems, however, that more egalitarian conversations are becoming possible through the channels of the WS. The participation of local people in the BBC WS global project is seen, for example, as in the popular “Witness Seminars” that have both a current focus and one that is projected into the future, as in the case of the “2012 Generation” (that is, the young people who come of age in 2012, the year of the London Olympics). The Witness Seminars demonstrate the recuperation of past political and social events such as “Bangladesh in 1971” (Tuning In), “The Cold War seminar” (Tuning In) and “Diasporic Nationhood” (the cultural movements reiterated and recovered in the “Literary Lives” project (Gillespie, Baumann and Zinik). Indeed, the WS’s current focus on the “2012 Generation,” including an event in which 27 young people (each of whom speaks one of the WS languages) were invited to an open day at Bush House in 2009, vividly illustrates how things have changed. Whereas in 1948 (the last occasion when the Olympic Games were held in London), the world came to London, it is arguable that, in 2012, in contemporary multi-ethnic Britain, the world is already here (Webb). This enterprise has the advantage of giving voice to the present rather than filtering the present through the legacies of colonialism that remain a problem for the Witness Seminars more generally. The democratising possibilities of sport, as well as the restrictions of its globalising elements, are well represented by Tuning In (Woodward). Sport has, of course become more globalised, especially through the development of Internet and satellite technologies (Giulianotti) but it retains powerful local affiliations and identifications. At all levels and in diverse places, there are strong attachments to local and national teams that are constitutive of communities, including diasporic and multi-ethnic communities. Sport is both typical and distinctive of the BBC World Service; something that is part of a wider picture but also an area of experience with a life of its own. Our “Sport across Diasporas” project has thus explored some of the routes the World Service has travelled in its engagement with sport in order to provide some understanding of the legacy of empire and patriarchy, as well as engaging with the multiplicities of change in the reconstruction of Britishness. Here, it is important to recognise that what began as “BBC Sport” evolved into “World Service Sport.” Coverage of the world’s biggest sporting events was established through the 1930s to the 1960s in the development of the BBC WS. However, it is not only the global dimensions of sporting events that have been assumed; so too are national identifications. There is no question that the superiority of British/English sport is naturalised through its dominance of the BBC WS airways, but the possibilities of reinterpretation and re-accommodation have also been made possible. There has, indeed, been a changing place of sport in the BBC WS, which can only be understood with reference to wider changes in the relationship between broadcasting and sport, and demonstrates the powerful synchronies between social, political, technological, economic, and cultural factors, notably those that make up the media–sport–commerce nexus that drives so much of the trajectory of contemporary sport. Diasporic audiences shape the schedule as much as what is broadcast. There is no single voice of the BBC in sport. The BBC archive demonstrates a variety of narratives through the development and transformation of the World Service’s sports broadcasting. There are, however, silences: notably those involving women. Sport is still a patriarchal field. However, the imperial genealogies of sport are inextricably entwined with the social, political, and cultural changes taking place in the wider world. There is no detectable linear narrative but rather a series of tensions and contradictions that are reflected and reconfigured in the texts in which deliberations are made. In sport broadcasting, the relationship of the BBC WS with its listeners is, in many instances, genuinely dialogic: for example, through “Have Your Say” websites and internet forums, and some of the actors in these dialogic exchanges are the broadcasters themselves. The history of the BBC and the World Service is one which manifests a degree of autonomy and some spontaneity on the part of journalists and broadcasters. For example, in the case of the BBC WS African sports program, Fast Track (2009), many of the broadcasters interviewed report being able to cover material not technically within their brief; news journalists are able to engage with sporting events and sports journalists have covered social and political news (Woodward). Sometimes this is a matter of taking the initiative or simply of being in the right place at the right time, although this affords an agency to journalists which is increasingly unlikely in the twenty-first century. The Politics of Translation: Words and Music The World Service has played a key role as a cultural broker in the political arena through what could be construed as “educational broadcasting” via the wider terrain of the arts: for example, literature, drama, poetry, and music. Over the years, Bush House has been a home-from-home for poets: internationalists, translators from classical and modern languages, and bohemians; a constituency that, for all its cosmopolitanism, was predominantly white and male in the early days. For example, in the 1930s and 1940s, Louis MacNeice was commissioning editor and surrounded by a friendship network of salaried poets, such as W. H. Auden, Dylan Thomas, C. Day Lewis, and Stephen Spender, who wrote and performed their work for the WS. The foreign language departments of the BBC WS, meanwhile, hired émigrés and exiles from their countries’ educated elites to do similar work. The biannual, book-format journal Modern Poetry in Translation (MPT), which was founded in 1965 by Daniel Weissbort and Ted Hughes, included a dedication in Weissbort’s final issue (MPT 22, 2003) to “Poets at Bush House.” This volume amounts to a celebration of the BBC WS and its creative culture, which extended beyond the confines of broadcasting spaces. The reminiscences in “Poets at Bush House” suggest an institutional culture of informal connections and a fluidity of local exchanges that is resonant of the fluidity of the flows and networks of diaspora (Cheesman). Music, too, has distinctive characteristics that mark out this terrain on the broadcast schedule and in the culture of the BBC WS. Music is differentiated from language-centred genres, making it a particularly powerful medium of cross-cultural exchange. Music is portable and yet is marked by a cultural rootedness that may impede translation and interpretation. Music also carries ambiguities as a marker of status across borders, and it combines aesthetic intensity and diffuseness. The Migrating Music project demonstrated BBC WS mediation of music and identity flows (Toynbee). In the production and scheduling notes, issues of migration and diaspora are often addressed directly in the programming of music, while the movement of peoples is a leitmotif in all programs in which music is played and discussed. Music genres are mobile, diasporic, and can be constitutive of Paul Gilroy’s “Black Atlantic” (Gilroy), which foregrounds the itinerary of West African music to the Caribbean via the Middle Passage, cross-fertilising with European traditions in the Americas to produce blues and other hybrid forms, and the journey of these forms to Europe. The Migrating Music project focused upon the role of the BBC WS as narrator of the Black Atlantic story and of South Asian cross-over music, from bhangra to filmi, which can be situated among the South Asian diaspora in east and south Africa as well as the Caribbean where they now interact with reggae, calypso, Rapso, and Popso. The transversal flows of music and lyrics encompasses the lived experience of the different diasporas that are accommodated in the BBC WS schedules: for example, they keep alive the connection between the Irish “at home” and in the diaspora through programs featuring traditional music, further demonstrating the interconnections between local and global attachments as well as points of disconnection and contradiction. Textual analysis—including discourse analysis of presenters’ speech, program trailers and dialogue and the BBC’s own construction of “world music”—has revealed that the BBC WS itself performs a constitutive role in keeping alive these traditions. Music, too, has a range of emotional affects which are manifest in the semiotic analyses that have been conducted of recordings and performances. Further, the creative personnel who are involved in music programming, including musicians, play their own role in this ongoing process of musical migration. Once again, the networks of people involved as practitioners become central to the processes and systems through which diasporic audiences are re-produced and engaged. Conclusion The BBC WS can claim to be a global and local cultural intermediary not only because the service was set up to engage with the British diaspora in an international context but because the service, today, is demonstrably a voice that is continually negotiating multi-ethnic audiences both in the UK and across the world. At best, the World Service is a dynamic facilitator of conversations within and across diasporas: ideas are relocated, translated, and travel in different directions. The “local” of a British broadcasting service, established to promote British values across the globe, has been transformed, both through its engagements with an increasingly diverse set of diasporic audiences and through the transformations in how diasporas themselves self-define and operate. On the BBC WS, demographic, social, and cultural changes mean that the global is now to be found in the local of the UK and any simplistic separation of local and global is no longer tenable. The educative role once adopted by the BBC, and then the World Service, nevertheless still persists in other contexts (“from Ambridge to Afghanistan”), and clearly the WS still treads a dangerous path between the paternalism and patriarchy of its colonial past and its responsiveness to change. In spite of competition from television, satellite, and Internet technologies which challenge the BBC’s former hegemony, the BBC World Service continues to be a dynamic space for (re)creating and (re)instating diasporic audiences: audiences, texts, and broadcasters intersect with social, economic, political, and cultural forces. The monologic “voice of empire” has been countered and translated into the language of diversity and while, at times, the relationship between continuity and change may be seen to exist in awkward tension, it is clear that the Corporation is adapting to the needs of its twenty-first century audience. ReferencesAnderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities, Reflections of the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 1983. Anderssen, Matilda. “Digital Diasporas.” 2010. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www8.open.ac.uk/researchprojects/diasporas/cross-research/digital-diasporas›. Bhabha, Homi. The Location of Culture. London: Routledge, 1994. Briggs, Asa. A History of Broadcasting in the United Kingdom, Volume II: The Golden Age of Wireless. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1995. Cheesman, Tom. “Poetries On and Off Air.” 2010. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www8.open.ac.uk/researchprojects/diasporas/cross-research/bush-house-cultures›. Chivallon, Christine. “Beyond Gilroy’s Black Atlantic: The Experience of the African Diaspora.” Diaspora 11.3 (2002): 359–82. Clifford, James. Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1997. Fast Track. BBC, 2009. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www.bbc.co.uk/worldservice/sport/2009/03/000000_fast_track.shtml›. Gillespie, Marie, Alban Webb, and Gerd Baumann (eds.). “The BBC World Service 1932–2007: Broadcasting Britishness Abroad.” Special Issue. The Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 28.4 (Oct. 2008). Gillespie, Marie, Gerd Baumann, and Zinovy Zinik. “Poets at Bush House.” 2010. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www8.open.ac.uk/researchprojects/diasporas/about›. Gilroy, Paul. Black Atlantic. MA: Harvard UP, 1993. Giulianotti, Richard. Sport: A Critical Sociology. Cambridge: Polity, 2005. Goldblatt, David. “The Cricket Revolution.” 2009. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p0036ww9›. Guha, Ramachandra. A Corner of a Foreign Field: The Indian History of an English Game. London: Picador, 2002. Hall, Stuart. “Cultural Identity and Diaspora.” Identity: Community, Culture, Difference. Ed. Jonathan Rutherford. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1990, 223–37. Hill, Andrew. “The BBC Empire Service: The Voice, the Discourse of the Master and Ventriloquism.” South Asian Diaspora 2.1 (2010): 25–38. Hollis, Robert, Norma Rinsler, and Daniel Weissbort. “Poets at Bush House: The BBC World Service.” Modern Poetry in Translation 22 (2003). Nandy, Ashis. The Tao of Cricket: On Games of Destiny and the Destiny of Games. New Delhi: Oxford UP, 1989. Pratt, Mary Louise. Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation. London: Routledge, 1992. Reith, John. “Opening of the Empire Service.” In “Empire Service Policy 1932-1933”, E4/6: 19 Dec. 1932. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www.open.ac.uk/socialsciences/diasporas/research.htm›. Scannell, Paddy, and David Cardiff. A Social History of British Broadcasting, 1922-1938. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1991. Skuse, Andrew. “Drama for Development.” 2010. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www8.open.ac.uk/researchprojects/diasporas/core-research/drama-for-development›. Sreberny, Annabelle. “The BBC World Service and the Greater Middle East: Comparisons, Contrasts, Conflicts.” Guest ed. Annabelle Sreberny, Marie Gillespie, Gerd Baumann. Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 3.2 (2010). Toynbee, Jason. “Migrating Music.” 2010. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www8.open.ac.uk/researchprojects/diasporas/core-research/migrating-music›. Tuning In. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www.open.ac.uk/socialsciences/diasporas/index.htm›. Webb, Alban. “Cold War Diplomacy.” 2010. 30 Nov. 2010 ‹http://www8.open.ac.uk/researchprojects/diasporas/projects/cold-war-politics-and-bbc-world-service›. Woodward, Kath. Embodied Sporting Practices. Regulating and Regulatory Bodies. Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009.

From elephants to ABBA fans, silicon to hormone, the following discussion uses a new research method to look at printed text, motion pictures and a teenage rebel icon. If by ‘print’ we mean a mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium, then printing has been with us since before microdot security prints were painted onto cars, before voice prints, laser prints, network servers, record pressings, motion picture prints, photo prints, colour woodblock prints, before books, textile prints, and footprints. If we accept that higher mammals such as elephants have a learnt culture, then it is possible to extend a definition of printing beyond Homo sapiens. Poole reports that elephants mechanically trumpet reproductions of human car horns into the air surrounding their society. If nothing else, this cross-species, cross-cultural reproduction, this ‘ability to mimic’ is ‘another sign of their intelligence’. Observation of child development suggests that the first significant meaningful ‘impression’ made on the human mind is that of the face of the child’s nurturer – usually its mother. The baby’s mind forms an ‘impression’, a mental print, a reproducible memory data set, of the nurturer’s face, voice, smell, touch, etc. That face is itself a cultural construct: hair style, makeup, piercings, tattoos, ornaments, nutrition-influenced skin and smell, perfume, temperature and voice. A mentally reproducible pattern of a unique face is formed in the mind, and we use that pattern to distinguish ‘familiar and strange’ in our expanding social orbit. The social relations of patterned memory – of imprinting – determine the extent to which we explore our world (armed with research aids such as text print) or whether we turn to violence or self-harm (Bretherton). While our cultural artifacts (such as vellum maps or networked voice message servers) bravely extend our significant patterns into the social world and the traversed environment, it is useful to remember that such artifacts, including print, are themselves understood by our original pattern-reproduction and impression system – the human mind, developed in childhood. The ‘print’ is brought to mind differently in different discourses. For a reader, a ‘print’ is a book, a memo or a broadsheet, whether it is the Indian Buddhist Sanskrit texts ordered to be printed in 593 AD by the Chinese emperor Sui Wen-ti (Silk Road) or the US Defense Department memo authorizing lower ranks to torture the prisoners taken by the Bush administration (Sanchez, cited in ABC). Other fields see prints differently. For a musician, a ‘print’ may be the sheet music which spread classical and popular music around the world; it may be a ‘record’ (as in a ‘recording’ session), where sound is impressed to wax, vinyl, charged silicon particles, or the alloys (Smith, “Elpida”) of an mp3 file. For the fine artist, a ‘print’ may be any mechanically reproduced two-dimensional (or embossed) impression of a significant image in media from paper to metal, textile to ceramics. ‘Print’ embraces the Japanese Ukiyo-e colour prints of Utamaro, the company logos that wink from credit card holographs, the early photographs of Talbot, and the textured patterns printed into neolithic ceramics. Computer hardware engineers print computational circuits. Homicide detectives investigate both sweaty finger prints and the repeated, mechanical gaits of suspects, which are imprinted into the earthy medium of a crime scene. For film makers, the ‘print’ may refer to a photochemical polyester reproduction of a motion picture artifact (the reel of ‘celluloid’), or a DVD laser disc impression of the same film. Textualist discourse has borrowed the word ‘print’ to mean ‘text’, so ‘print’ may also refer to the text elements within the vision track of a motion picture: the film’s opening titles, or texts photographed inside the motion picture story such as the sword-cut ‘Z’ in Zorro (Niblo). Before the invention of writing, the main mechanically reproduced impression of a cultural symbol in a medium was the humble footprint in the sand. The footprints of tribes – and neighbouring animals – cut tracks in the vegetation and the soil. Printed tracks led towards food, water, shelter, enemies and friends. Having learnt to pattern certain faces into their mental world, children grew older and were educated in the footprints of family and clan, enemies and food. The continuous impression of significant foot traffic in the medium of the earth produced the lines between significant nodes of prewriting and pre-wheeled cultures. These tracks were married to audio tracks, such as the song lines of the Australian Aborigines, or the ballads of tramping culture everywhere. A typical tramping song has the line, ‘There’s a track winding back to an old-fashion shack along the road to Gundagai,’ (O’Hagan), although this colonial-style song was actually written for radio and became an international hit on the airwaves, rather than the tramping trails. The printed tracks impressed by these cultural flows are highly contested and diverse, and their foot prints are woven into our very language. The names for printed tracks have entered our shared memory from the intersection of many cultures: ‘Track’ is a Germanic word entering English usage comparatively late (1470) and now used mainly in audio visual cultural reproduction, as in ‘soundtrack’. ‘Trek’ is a Dutch word for ‘track’ now used mainly by ecotourists and science fiction fans. ‘Learn’ is a Proto-Indo-European word: the verb ‘learn’ originally meant ‘to find a track’ back in the days when ‘learn’ had a noun form which meant ‘the sole of the foot’. ‘Tract’ and ‘trace’ are Latin words entering English print usage before 1374 and now used mainly in religious, and electronic surveillance, cultural reproduction. ‘Trench’ in 1386 was a French path cut through a forest. ‘Sagacity’ in English print in 1548 was originally the ability to track or hunt, in Proto-Indo-European cultures. ‘Career’ (in English before 1534) was the print made by chariots in ancient Rome. ‘Sleuth’ (1200) was a Norse noun for a track. ‘Investigation’ (1436) was Latin for studying a footprint (Harper). The arrival of symbolic writing scratched on caves, hearth stones, and trees (the original meaning of ‘book’ is tree), brought extremely limited text education close to home. Then, with baked clay tablets, incised boards, slate, bamboo, tortoise shell, cast metal, bark cloth, textiles, vellum, and – later – paper, a portability came to text that allowed any culture to venture away from known ‘foot’ paths with a reduction in the risk of becoming lost and perishing. So began the world of maps, memos, bills of sale, philosophic treatises and epic mythologies. Some of this was printed, such as the mechanical reproduction of coins, but the fine handwriting required of long, extended, portable texts could not be printed until the invention of paper in China about 2000 years ago. Compared to lithic architecture and genes, portable text is a fragile medium, and little survives from the millennia of its innovators. The printing of large non-text designs onto bark-paper and textiles began in neolithic times, but Sui Wen-ti’s imperial memo of 593 AD gives us the earliest written date for printed books, although we can assume they had been published for many years previously. The printed book was a combination of Indian philosophic thought, wood carving, ink chemistry and Chinese paper. The earliest surviving fragment of paper-print technology is ‘Mantras of the Dharani Sutra’, a Buddhist scripture written in the Sanskrit language of the Indian subcontinent, unearthed at an early Tang Dynasty site in Xian, China – making the fragment a veteran piece of printing, in the sense that Sanskrit books had been in print for at least a century by the early Tang Dynasty (Chinese Graphic Arts Net). At first, paper books were printed with page-size carved wooden boards. Five hundred years later, Pi Sheng (c.1041) baked individual reusable ceramic characters in a fire and invented the durable moveable type of modern printing (Silk Road 2000). Abandoning carved wooden tablets, the ‘digitizing’ of Chinese moveable type sped up the production of printed texts. In turn, Pi Sheng’s flexible, rapid, sustainable printing process expanded the political-cultural impact of the literati in Asian society. Digitized block text on paper produced a bureaucratic, literate elite so powerful in Asia that Louis XVI of France copied China’s print-based Confucian system of political authority for his own empire, and so began the rise of the examined public university systems, and the civil service systems, of most European states (Watson, Visions). By reason of its durability, its rapid mechanical reproduction, its culturally agreed signs, literate readership, revered authorship, shared ideology, and distributed portability, a ‘print’ can be a powerful cultural network which builds and expands empires. But print also attacks and destroys empires. A case in point is the Spanish conquest of Aztec America: The Aztecs had immense libraries of American literature on bark-cloth scrolls, a technology which predated paper. These libraries were wiped out by the invading Spanish, who carried a different book before them (Ewins). In the industrial age, the printing press and the gun were seen as the weapons of rebellions everywhere. In 1776, American rebels staffed their ‘Homeland Security’ units with paper makers, knowing that defeating the English would be based on printed and written documents (Hahn). Mao Zedong was a book librarian; Mao said political power came out of the barrel of a gun, but Mao himself came out of a library. With the spread of wireless networked servers, political ferment comes out of the barrel of the cell phone and the internet chat room these days. Witness the cell phone displays of a plane hitting a tower that appear immediately after 9/11 in the Middle East, or witness the show trials of a few US and UK lower ranks who published prints of their torturing activities onto the internet: only lower ranks who published prints were arrested or tried. The control of secure servers and satellites is the new press. These days, we live in a global library of burning books – ‘burning’ in the sense that ‘print’ is now a charged silicon medium (Smith, “Intel”) which is usually made readable by connecting the chip to nuclear reactors and petrochemically-fired power stations. World resources burn as we read our screens. Men, women, children burn too, as we watch our infotainment news in comfort while ‘their’ flickering dead faces are printed in our broadcast hearths. The print we watch is not the living; it is the voodoo of the living in the blackout behind the camera, engaging the blood sacrifice of the tormented and the unfortunate. Internet texts are also ‘on fire’ in the third sense of their fragility and instability as a medium: data bases regularly ‘print’ fail-safe copies in an attempt to postpone the inevitable mechanical, chemical and electrical failure that awaits all electronic media in time. Print defines a moral position for everyone. In reporting conflict, in deciding to go to press or censor, any ‘print’ cannot avoid an ethical context, starting with the fact that there is a difference in power between print maker, armed perpetrators, the weak, the peaceful, the publisher, and the viewer. So many human factors attend a text, video or voice ‘print’: its very existence as an aesthetic object, even before publication and reception, speaks of unbalanced, and therefore dynamic, power relationships. For example, Graham Greene departed unscathed from all the highly dangerous battlefields he entered as a novelist: Riot-torn Germany, London Blitz, Belgian Congo, Voodoo Haiti, Vietnam, Panama, Reagan’s Washington, and mafia Europe. His texts are peopled with the injustices of the less fortunate of the twentieth century, while he himself was a member of the fortunate (if not happy) elite, as is anyone today who has the luxury of time to read Greene’s works for pleasure. Ethically a member of London and Paris’ colonizers, Greene’s best writing still electrifies, perhaps partly because he was in the same line of fire as the victims he shared bread with. In fact, Greene hoped daily that he would escape from the dreadful conflicts he fictionalized via a body bag or an urn of ashes (see Sherry). In reading an author’s biography we have one window on the ethical dimensions of authority and print. If a print’s aesthetics are sometimes enduring, its ethical relationships are always mutable. Take the stylized logo of a running athlete: four limbs bent in a rotation of action. This dynamic icon has symbolized ‘good health’ in Hindu and Buddhist culture, from Madras to Tokyo, for thousands of years. The cross of bent limbs was borrowed for the militarized health programs of 1930s Germany, and, because of what was only a brief, recent, isolated yet monstrously horrific segment of its history in print, the bent-limbed swastika is now a vilified symbol in the West. The sign remains ‘impressed’ differently on traditional Eastern culture, and without the taint of Nazism. Dramatic prints are emotionally charged because, in depicting Homo sapiens in danger, or passionately in love, they elicit a hormonal reaction from the reader, the viewer, or the audience. The type of emotions triggered by a print vary across the whole gamut of human chemistry. A recent study of three genres of motion picture prints shows a marked differences in the hormonal responses of men compared to women when viewing a romance, an actioner, and a documentary (see Schultheiss, Wirth, and Stanton). Society is biochemically diverse in its engagement with printed culture, which raises questions about equality in the arts. Motion picture prints probably comprise around one third of internet traffic, in the form of stolen digitized movie files pirated across the globe via peer-to-peer file transfer networks (p2p), and burnt as DVD laser prints (BBC). There is also a US 40 billion dollar per annum legitimate commerce in DVD laser pressings (Grassl), which would suggest an US 80 billion per annum world total in legitimate laser disc print culture. The actively screen literate, or the ‘sliterati’ as I prefer to call them, research this world of motion picture prints via their peers, their internet information channels, their television programming, and their web forums. Most of this activity occurs outside the ambit of universities and schools. One large site of sliterate (screen literate) practice outside most schooling and official research is the net of online forums at imdb.com (International Movie Data Base). Imdb.com ‘prints’ about 25,000,000 top pages per month to client browsers. Hundreds of sliterati forums are located at imdb, including a forum for the Australian movie, Muriel’s Wedding (Hogan). Ten years after the release of Muriel’s Wedding, young people who are concerned with victimization and bullying still log on to http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0110598/board/> and put their thoughts into print: I still feel so bad for Muriel in the beginning of the movie, when the girls ‘dump’ her, and how much the poor girl cried and cried! Those girls were such biartches…I love how they got their comeuppance! bunniesormaybemidgets’s comment is typical of the current discussion. Muriel’s Wedding was a very popular film in its first cinema edition in Australia and elsewhere. About 30% of the entire over-14 Australian population went to see this photochemical polyester print in the cinemas on its first release. A decade on, the distributors printed a DVD laser disc edition. The story concerns Muriel (played by Toni Collette), the unemployed daughter of a corrupt, ‘police state’ politician. Muriel is bullied by her peers and she withdraws into a fantasy world, deluding herself that a white wedding will rescue her from the torments of her blighted life. Through theft and deceit (the modus operandi of her father) Muriel escapes to the entertainment industry and finds a ‘wicked’ girlfriend mentor. From a rebellious position of stubborn independence, Muriel plays out her fantasy. She gets her white wedding, before seeing both her father and her new married life as hollow shams which have goaded her abandoned mother to suicide. Redefining her life as a ‘game’ and assuming responsibility for her independence, Muriel turns her back on the mainstream, image-conscious, female gang of her oppressed youth. Muriel leaves the story, having rekindled her friendship with her rebel mentor. My methodological approach to viewing the laser disc print was to first make a more accessible, coded record of the entire movie. I was able to code and record the print in real time, using a new metalanguage (Watson, “Eyes”). The advantage of Coding is that ‘thinks’ the same way as film making, it does not sidetrack the analyst into prose. The Code splits the movie print into Vision Action [vision graphic elements, including text] (sound) The Coding splits the vision track into normal action and graphic elements, such as text, so this Coding is an ideal method for extracting all the text elements of a film in real time. After playing the film once, I had four and a half tightly packed pages of the coded story, including all its text elements in square brackets. Being a unique, indexed hard copy, the Coded copy allowed me immediate access to any point of the Muriel’s Wedding saga without having to search the DVD laser print. How are ‘print’ elements used in Muriel’s Wedding? Firstly, a rose-coloured monoprint of Muriel Heslop’s smiling face stares enigmatically from the plastic surface of the DVD picture disc. The print is a still photo captured from her smile as she walked down the aisle of her white wedding. In this print, Toni Collette is the Mona Lisa of Australian culture, except that fans of Muriel’s Wedding know the meaning of that smile is a magical combination of the actor’s art: the smile is both the flush of dreams come true and the frightening self deception that will kill her mother. Inserting and playing the disc, the text-dominant menu appears, and the film commences with the text-dominant opening titles. Text and titles confer a legitimacy on a work, whether it is a trade mark of the laser print owners, or the household names of stars. Text titles confer status relationships on both the presenters of the cultural artifact and the viewer who has entered into a legal license agreement with the owners of the movie. A title makes us comfortable, because the mind always seeks to name the unfamiliar, and a set of text titles does that job for us so that we can navigate the ‘tracks’ and settle into our engagement with the unfamiliar. The apparent ‘truth’ and ‘stability’ of printed text calms our fears and beguiles our uncertainties. Muriel attends the white wedding of a school bully bride, wearing a leopard print dress she has stolen. Muriel’s spotted wild animal print contrasts with the pure white handmade dress of the bride. In Muriel’s leopard textile print, we have the wild, rebellious, impoverished, inappropriate intrusion into the social ritual and fantasy of her high-status tormentor. An off-duty store detective recognizes the printed dress and calls the police. The police are themselves distinguished by their blue-and-white checked prints and other mechanically reproduced impressions of cultural symbols: in steel, brass, embroidery, leather and plastics. Muriel is driven in the police car past the stenciled town sign (‘Welcome To Porpoise Spit’ heads a paragraph of small print). She is delivered to her father, a politician who presides over the policing of his town. In a state where the judiciary, police and executive are hijacked by the same tyrant, Muriel’s father, Bill, pays off the police constables with a carton of legal drugs (beer) and Muriel must face her father’s wrath, which he proceeds to transfer to his detested wife. Like his daughter, the father also wears a spotted brown print costume, but his is a batik print from neighbouring Indonesia (incidentally, in a nation that takes the political status of its batik prints very seriously). Bill demands that Muriel find the receipt for the leopard print dress she claims she has purchased. The legitimate ownership of the object is enmeshed with a printed receipt, the printed evidence of trade. The law (and the paramilitary power behind the law) are legitimized, or contested, by the presence or absence of printed text. Muriel hides in her bedroom, surround by poster prints of the pop group ABBA. Torn-out prints of other people’s weddings adorn her mirror. Her face is embossed with the clown-like primary colours of the marionette as she lifts a bouquet to her chin and stares into the real time ‘print’ of her mirror image. Bill takes the opportunity of a business meeting with Japanese investors to feed his entire family at ‘Charlie Chan’’s restaurant. Muriel’s middle sister sloppily wears her father’s state election tee shirt, printed with the text: ‘Vote 1, Bill Heslop. You can’t stop progress.’ The text sets up two ironic gags that are paid off on the dialogue track: “He lost,’ we are told. ‘Progress’ turns out to be funding the concreting of a beach. Bill berates his daughter Muriel: she has no chance of becoming a printer’s apprentice and she has failed a typing course. Her dysfunction in printed text has been covered up by Bill: he has bribed the typing teacher to issue a printed diploma to his daughter. In the gambling saloon of the club, under the arrays of mechanically repeated cultural symbols lit above the poker machines (‘A’ for ace, ‘Q’ for queen, etc.), Bill’s secret girlfriend Diedre risks giving Muriel a cosmetics job. Another text icon in lights announces the surf nightclub ‘Breakers’. Tania, the newly married queen bitch who has made Muriel’s teenage years a living hell, breaks up with her husband, deciding to cash in his negotiable text documents – his Bali honeymoon tickets – and go on an island holiday with her girlfriends instead. Text documents are the enduring site of agreements between people and also the site of mutations to those agreements. Tania dumps Muriel, who sobs and sobs. Sobs are a mechanical, percussive reproduction impressed on the sound track. Returning home, we discover that Muriel’s older brother has failed a printed test and been rejected for police recruitment. There is a high incidence of print illiteracy in the Heslop family. Mrs Heslop (Jeannie Drynan), for instance, regularly has trouble at the post office. Muriel sees a chance to escape the oppression of her family by tricking her mother into giving her a blank cheque. Here is the confluence of the legitimacy of a bank’s printed negotiable document with the risk and freedom of a blank space for rebel Muriel’s handwriting. Unable to type, her handwriting has the power to steal every cent of her father’s savings. She leaves home and spends the family’s savings at an island resort. On the island, the text print-challenged Muriel dances to a recording (sound print) of ABBA, her hand gestures emphasizing her bewigged face, which is made up in an impression of her pop idol. Her imitation of her goddesses – the ABBA women, her only hope in a real world of people who hate or avoid her – is accompanied by her goddesses’ voices singing: ‘the mystery book on the shelf is always repeating itself.’ Before jpeg and gif image downloads, we had postcard prints and snail mail. Muriel sends a postcard to her family, lying about her ‘success’ in the cosmetics business. The printed missal is clutched by her father Bill (Bill Hunter), who proclaims about his daughter, ‘you can’t type but you really impress me’. Meanwhile, on Hibiscus Island, Muriel lies under a moonlit palm tree with her newly found mentor, ‘bad girl’ Ronda (Rachel Griffiths). In this critical scene, where foolish Muriel opens her heart’s yearnings to a confidante she can finally trust, the director and DP have chosen to shoot a flat, high contrast blue filtered image. The visual result is very much like the semiabstract Japanese Ukiyo-e woodblock prints by Utamaro. This Japanese printing style informed the rise of European modern painting (Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, etc., were all important collectors and students of Ukiyo-e prints). The above print and text elements in Muriel’s Wedding take us 27 minutes into her story, as recorded on a single page of real-time handwritten Coding. Although not discussed here, the Coding recorded the complete film – a total of 106 minutes of text elements and main graphic elements – as four pages of Code. Referring to this Coding some weeks after it was made, I looked up the final code on page four: taxi [food of the sea] bq. Translation: a shop sign whizzes past in the film’s background, as Muriel and Ronda leave Porpoise Spit in a taxi. Over their heads the text ‘Food Of The Sea’ flashes. We are reminded that Muriel and Ronda are mermaids, fantastic creatures sprung from the brow of author PJ Hogan, and illuminated even today in the pantheon of women’s coming-of-age art works. That the movie is relevant ten years on is evidenced by the current usage of the Muriel’s Wedding online forum, an intersection of wider discussions by sliterate women on imdb.com who, like Muriel, are observers (and in some cases victims) of horrific pressure from ambitious female gangs and bullies. Text is always a minor element in a motion picture (unless it is a subtitled foreign film) and text usually whizzes by subliminally while viewing a film. By Coding the work for [text], all the text nuances made by the film makers come to light. While I have viewed Muriel’s Wedding on many occasions, it has only been in Coding it specifically for text that I have noticed that Muriel is a representative of that vast class of talented youth who are discriminated against by print (as in text) educators who cannot offer her a life-affirming identity in the English classroom. Severely depressed at school, and failing to type or get a printer’s apprenticeship, Muriel finds paid work (and hence, freedom, life, identity, independence) working in her audio visual printed medium of choice: a video store in a new city. Muriel found a sliterate admirer at the video store but she later dumped him for her fantasy man, before leaving him too. One of the points of conjecture on the imdb Muriel’s Wedding site is, did Muriel (in the unwritten future) get back together with admirer Brice Nobes? That we will never know. While a print forms a track that tells us where culture has been, a print cannot be the future, a print is never animate reality. At the end of any trail of prints, one must lift one’s head from the last impression, and negotiate satisfaction in the happening world. References Australian Broadcasting Corporation. “Memo Shows US General Approved Interrogations.” 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. British Broadcasting Commission. “Films ‘Fuel Online File-Sharing’.’’ 22 Feb. 2005 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/3890527.stm>. Bretherton, I. “The Origins of Attachment Theory: John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth.” 1994. 23 Jan. 2005 http://www.psy.med.br/livros/autores/bowlby/bowlby.pdf>. Bunniesormaybemidgets. Chat Room Comment. “What Did Those Girls Do to Rhonda?” 28 Mar. 2005 http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0110598/board/>. Chinese Graphic Arts Net. Mantras of the Dharani Sutra. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.cgan.com/english/english/cpg/engcp10.htm>. Ewins, R. Barkcloth and the Origins of Paper. 1991. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.justpacific.com/pacific/papers/barkcloth~paper.html>. Grassl K.R. The DVD Statistical Report. 14 Mar. 2005 http://www.corbell.com>. Hahn, C. M. The Topic Is Paper. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.nystamp.org/Topic_is_paper.html>. Harper, D. Online Etymology Dictionary. 14 Mar. 2005 http://www.etymonline.com/>. Mask of Zorro, The. Screenplay by J McCulley. UA, 1920. Muriel’s Wedding. Dir. PJ Hogan. Perf. Toni Collette, Rachel Griffiths, Bill Hunter, and Jeannie Drynan. Village Roadshow, 1994. O’Hagan, Jack. On The Road to Gundagai. 1922. 2 Apr. 2005 http://ingeb.org/songs/roadtogu.html>. Poole, J.H., P.L. Tyack, A.S. Stoeger-Horwath, and S. Watwood. “Animal Behaviour: Elephants Are Capable of Vocal Learning.” Nature 24 Mar. 2005. Sanchez, R. “Interrogation and Counter-Resistance Policy.” 14 Sept. 2003. 30 Mar. 2005 http://www.abc.net.au>. Schultheiss, O.C., M.M. Wirth, and S.J. Stanton. “Effects of Affiliation and Power Motivation Arousal on Salivary Progesterone and Testosterone.” Hormones and Behavior 46 (2005). Sherry, N. The Life of Graham Greene. 3 vols. London: Jonathan Cape 2004, 1994, 1989. Silk Road. Printing. 2000. 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.silk-road.com/artl/printing.shtml>. Smith, T. “Elpida Licenses ‘DVD on a Chip’ Memory Tech.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. —. “Intel Boffins Build First Continuous Beam Silicon Laser.” The Register 20 Feb. 2005 http://www.theregister.co.uk/2005/02>. Watson, R. S. “Eyes And Ears: Dramatic Memory Slicing and Salable Media Content.” Innovation and Speculation, ed. Brad Haseman. Brisbane: QUT. [in press] Watson, R. S. Visions. Melbourne: Curriculum Corporation, 1994. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Watson, Robert. "E-Press and Oppress: Audio Visual Print Drama, Identity, Text and Motion Picture Rebellion." M/C Journal 8.2 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/08-watson.php>. APA Style Watson, R. (Jun. 2005) "E-Press and Oppress: Audio Visual Print Drama, Identity, Text and Motion Picture Rebellion," M/C Journal, 8(2). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0506/08-watson.php>.

This paper argues that artist Dope Saint Jude is transforming South African hip-hop by queering a genre that has predominantly been male and heteronormative. Specifically, I analyse the opening skit of her music video “Keep in Touch” in order to unpack the ways which she revives Gayle, a gay language that adopted double-coded forms of speech during the apartheid era—a context in which homosexuals were criminalised. The use of Gayle and spaces close to the city centre of Cape Town (such as Salt River and Woodstock) speaks to the city as it was before it was transformed by the decline of industries due to the country’s adoption of neoliberal economics and, more recently, by the gentrification of these spaces. Dope Saint Jude therefore reclaims these city spaces through her use of gay modes of speech that have a long history in Cape Town and by positioning her work as hip-hop, which has been popular in the city for well over two decades. Her inclusion of transgender MC and DJ Angel Ho pushes the boundaries of hegemonic and binary conceptions of gender identity even further. In essence, Dope Saint Jude is transforming local hip-hop in a context that is shaped significantly by US cultural imperialism. The artist is also transforming our perspective of spaces that have been altered by neoliberal economics.Setting the SceneDope Saint Jude (DSJ) is a queer MC from Elsies River, a working class township located on Cape Town's Cape Flats in South Africa. Elsies River was defined as a “coloured” neighbourhood under the apartheid state's Group Areas Act, which segregated South Africans racially. With the aid of the Population Registration Act, citizens were classified, not merely along the lines of white, Asian, or black—black subjects were also divided into further categories. The apartheid state also distinguished between black and “coloured” subjects. Michael MacDonald contends that segregation “ordained blacks to be inferior to whites; apartheid cast them to be indelibly different” (11). Apartheid declared “African claims in South Africa to be inferior to white claims” and effectively claimed that black subjects “belonged elsewhere, in societies of their own, because their race was different” (ibid). The term “coloured” defined people as “mixed race” to separate communities that might otherwise have identified as black in the broad and inclusive sense (Erasmus 16). Racial categorisation was used to create a racial hierarchy with white subjects at the top of that hierarchy and those classified as black receiving the least resources and benefits. This frustrated attempts to establish broad alliances of black struggles against apartheid. It is in this sense that race is socially and politically constructed and continues to have currency, despite the fact that biologically essentialist understandings of race have been discredited (Yudell 13–14). Thanks to apartheid town planning and resource allocation, many townships on the Cape Flats were poverty-stricken and plagued by gang violence (Salo 363). This continues to be the case because post-apartheid South Africa's embrace of neoliberal economics failed to address racialised class inequalities significantly (Haupt, Static 6–8). This is the '90s context in which socially conscious hip-hop crews, such as Prophets of da City or Black Noise, came together. They drew inspiration from Black Consciousness philosophy via their exposure to US hip-hop crews such as Public Enemy in order to challenge apartheid policies, including their racial interpellation as “coloured” as distinct from the more inclusive category, black (Haupt, “Black Thing” 178). Prophets of da City—whose co-founding member, Shaheen Ariefdien, also lived in Elsies River—was the first South African hip-hop outfit to record an album. Whilst much of their work was performed in English, they quickly transformed the genre by rapping in non-standard varieties of Afrikaans and by including MCs who rap in African languages (ibid). They therefore succeeded in addressing key issues related to race, language, and class disparities in relation to South Africa's transition to democracy (Haupt, “Black Thing”; Haupt, Stealing Empire). However, as is the case with mainstream US hip-hop, specifically gangsta rap (Clay 149), South African hip-hop has been largely dominated by heterosexual men. This includes the more commercial hip-hop scene, which is largely perceived to be located in Johannesburg, where male MCs like AKA and Cassper Nyovest became celebrities. However, certain female MCs have claimed the genre, notably EJ von Lyrik and Burni Aman who are formerly of Godessa, the first female hip-hop crew to record and perform locally and internationally (Haupt, Stealing Empire 166; Haupt, “Can a Woman in Hip-Hop”). DSJ therefore presents the exception to a largely heteronormative and male-dominated South African music industry and hip-hop scene as she transforms it with her queer politics. While queer hip-hop is not new in the US (Pabón and Smalls), this is new territory for South Africa. Writing about the US MC Jean Grae in the context of a “male-dominated music industry and genre,” Shanté Paradigm Smalls contends,Heteronormativity blocks the materiality of the experiences of Black people. Yet, many Black people strive for a heteronormative effect if not “reality”. In hip hop, there is a particular emphasis on maintaining the rigidity of categories, even if those categories fail [sic]. (87) DSJ challenges these rigid categories. Keep in TouchDSJ's most visible entry onto the media landscape to date has been her appearance in an H&M recycling campaign with British Sri Lankan artist MIA (H&M), some fashion shoots, her new EP—Reimagine (Dope Saint Jude)—and recent Finnish, US and French tours as well as her YouTube channel, which features her music videos. As the characters’ theatrical costumes suggest, “Keep in Touch” is possibly the most camp and playful music video she has produced. It commences somewhat comically with Dope Saint Jude walking down Salt River main road to a public telephone, where she and a young woman in pig tails exchange dirty looks. Salt River is located at the foot of Devil's Peak not far from Cape Town's CBD. Many factories were located there, but the area is also surrounded by low-income housing, which was designated a “coloured” area under apartheid. After apartheid, neighbourhoods such as Salt River, Woodstock, and the Bo-Kaap became increasingly gentrified and, instead of becoming more inclusive, many parts of Cape Town continued to be influenced by policies that enable racialised inequalities. Dope Saint Jude calls Angel Ho: DSJ: Awêh, Angie! Yoh, you must check this kak sturvy girl here by the pay phone. [Turns to the girl, who walks away as she bursts a chewing gum bubble.] Ja, you better keep in touch. Anyway, listen here, what are you wys?Angel Ho: Ah, just at the salon getting my hair did. What's good? DSJ: Wanna catch on kak today?Angel Ho: Yes, honey. But, first, let me Gayle you this. By the jol by the art gallery, this Wendy, nuh. This Wendy tapped me on the shoulder and wys me, “This is a place of decorum.”DSJ: What did she wys?Angel Ho: De-corum. She basically told me this is not your house. DSJ: I know you told that girl to keep in touch!Angel Ho: Yes, Mama! I'm Paula, I told that bitch, “Keep in touch!” [Points index finger in the air.](Saint Jude, Dope, “Keep in Touch”)Angel Ho's name is a play on the male name Angelo and refers to the trope of the ho (whore) in gangsta rap lyrics and in music videos that present objectified women as secondary to male, heterosexual narratives (Sharpley-Whiting 23; Collins 27). The queering of Angelo, along with Angel Ho’s non-binary styling in terms of hair, make-up, and attire, appropriates a heterosexist, sexualised stereotype of women in order to create room for a gender identity that operates beyond heteronormative male-female binaries. Angel Ho’s location in a hair salon also speaks to stereotypical associations of salons with women and gay subjects. In a discussion of gender stereotypes about hair salons, Kristen Barber argues that beauty work has traditionally been “associated with women and with gay men” and that “the body beautiful has been tightly linked to the concept of femininity” (455–56). During the telephonic exchange, Angel Ho and Dope Saint Jude code-switch between standard and non-standard varieties of English and Afrikaans, as the opening appellation, “Awêh,” suggests. In this context, the term is a friendly greeting, which intimates solidarity. “Sturvy” means pretentious, whilst “kak” means shit, but here it is used to qualify “sturvy” and means that the girl at the pay phone is very pretentious or “full of airs.” To be “wys” means to be wise, but it can also mean that you are showing someone something or educating them. The meanings of these terms shift, depending on the context. The language practices in this skit are in line with the work of earlier hip-hop crews, such as Prophets of da City and Brasse vannie Kaap, to validate black, multilingual forms of speech and expression that challenge the linguistic imperialism of standard English and Afrikaans in South Africa, which has eleven official languages (Haupt, “Black Thing”; Haupt, Stealing Empire; Williams). Henry Louis Gates’s research on African American speech varieties and literary practices emerging from the repressive context of slavery is essential to understanding hip-hop’s language politics. Hip-hop artists' multilingual wordplay creates parallel discursive universes that operate both on the syntagmatic axis of meaning-making and the paradigmatic axis (Gates 49; Haupt, “Stealing Empire” 76–77). Historically, these discursive universes were those of the slave masters and the slaves, respectively. While white hegemonic meanings are produced on the syntagmatic axis (which is ordered and linear), black modes of speech as seen in hip-hop word play operate on the paradigmatic axis, which is connotative and non-linear (ibid). Distinguishing between Signifyin(g) / Signification (upper case, meaning black expression) and signification (lower case, meaning white dominant expression), he argues that “the signifier ‘Signification’ has remained identical in spelling to its white counterpart to demonstrate [. . .] that a simultaneous, but negated, parallel discursive (ontological, political) universe exists within the larger white discursive universe” (Gates 49). The meanings of terms and expressions can change, depending on the context and manner in which they are used. It is therefore the shared experiences of speech communities (such as slavery or racist/sexist oppression) that determine the negotiated meanings of certain forms of expression. Gayle as a Parallel Discursive UniverseDSJ and Angel Ho's performance of Gayle takes these linguistic practices further. Viewers are offered points of entry into Gayle via the music video’s subtitles. We learn that Wendy is code for a white person and that to keep in touch means exactly the opposite. Saint Jude explains that Gayle is a very fun queer language that was used to kind of mask what people were saying [. . .] It hides meanings and it makes use of women's names [. . . .] But the thing about Gayle is it's constantly changing [. . .] So everywhere you go, you kind of have to pick it up according to the context that you're in. (Ovens, Saint Jude and Haupt)According to Kathryn Luyt, “Gayle originated as Moffietaal [gay language] in the coloured gay drag culture of the Western Cape as a form of slang amongst Afrikaans-speakers which over time, grew into a stylect used by gay English and Afrikaans-speakers across South Africa” (Luyt 8; Cage 4). Given that the apartheid state criminalised homosexuals, Gayle was coded to evade detection and to seek out other members of this speech community (Luyt 8). Luyt qualifies the term “language” by arguing, “The term ‘language’ here, is used not as a constructed language with its own grammar, syntax, morphology and phonology, but in the same way as linguists would discuss women’s language, as a way of speaking, a kind of sociolect” (Luyt 8; Cage 1). However, the double-coded nature of Gayle allows one to think of it as creating a parallel discursive universe as Gates describes it (49). Whereas African American and Cape Flats discursive practices function parallel to white, hegemonic discourses, gay modes of speech run parallel to heteronormative communication. Exclusion and MicroaggressionsThe skit brings both discursive practices into play by creating room for one to consider that DSJ queers a male-dominated genre that is shaped by US cultural imperialism (Haupt, Stealing Empire 166) as a way of speaking back to intersectional forms of marginalisation (Crenshaw 1244), which are created by “white supremacist capitalist patriarchy” (hooks 116). This is significant in South Africa where “curative rape” of lesbians and other forms of homophobic violence are prominent (cf. Gqola; Hames; Msibi). Angel Ho's anecdote conveys a sense of the extent to which black individuals are subject to scrutiny. Ho's interpretation of the claim that the gallery “is a place of decorum” is correct: it is not Ho's house. Black queer subjects are not meant to feel at home or feel a sense of ownership. This functions as a racial microaggression: “subtle insults (verbal, nonverbal, and/or visual) directed toward people of color, often automatically or unconsciously” (Solorzano, Ceja, and Yosso 60). This speaks to DSJ's use of Salt River, Woodstock, and Bo-Kaap for the music video, which features black queer bodies in performance—all of these spaces are being gentrified, effectively pushing working class people of colour out of the city (cf. Didier, Morange, and Peyroux; Lemanski). Gustav Visser explains that gentrification has come to mean a unit-by-unit acquisition of housing which replaces low-income residents with high-income residents, and which occurs independent of the structural condition, architecture, tenure or original cost level of the housing (although it is usually renovated for or by the new occupiers). (81–82) In South Africa this inequity plays out along racial lines because its neoliberal economic policies created a small black elite without improving the lives of the black working class. Instead, the “new African bourgeoisie, because it shares racial identities with the bulk of the poor and class interests with white economic elites, is in position to mediate the reinforcing cleavages between rich whites and poor blacks without having to make more radical changes” (MacDonald 158). In a news article about a working class Salt River family of colour’s battle against an eviction, Christine Hogg explains, “Gentrification often means the poor are displaced as the rich move in or buildings are upgraded by new businesses. In Woodstock and Salt River both are happening at a pace.” Angel Ho’s anecdote, as told from a Woodstock hair salon, conveys a sense of what Woodstock’s transformation from a coloured, working class Group Area to an upmarket, trendy, and arty space would mean for people of colour, including black, queer subjects. One could argue that this reading of the video is undermined by DSJ’s work with global brand H&M. Was she was snared by neoliberal economics? Perhaps, but one response is that the seeds of any subculture’s commercial co-option lie in the fact it speaks through commodities (for example clothing, make-up, CDs, vinyl, or iTunes / mp3 downloads (Hebdige 95; Haupt, Stealing Empire 144–45). Subcultures have a window period in which to challenge hegemonic ideologies before they are delegitimated or commercially co-opted. Hardt and Negri contend that the means that extend the reach of corporate globalisation could be used to challenge it from within it (44–46; Haupt, Stealing Empire 26). DSJ utilises her H&M work, social media, the hip-hop genre, and international networks to exploit that window period to help mainstream black queer identity politics.ConclusionDSJ speaks back to processes of exclusion from the city, which was transformed by apartheid and, more recently, gentrification, by claiming it as a creative and playful space for queer subjects of colour. She uses Gayle to lay claim to the city as it has a long history in Cape Town. In fact, she says that she is not reviving Gayle, but is simply “putting it on a bigger platform” (Ovens, Saint Jude, and Haupt). The use of subtitles in the video suggests that she wants to mainstream queer identity politics. Saint Jude also transforms hip-hop heteronormativity by queering the genre and by locating her work within the history of Cape hip-hop’s multilingual wordplay. ReferencesBarber, Kristin. “The Well-Coiffed Man: Class, Race, and Heterosexual Masculinity in the Hair Salon.” Gender and Society 22.4 (2008): 455–76.Cage, Ken. “An Investigation into the Form and Function of Language Used by Gay Men in South Africa.” Rand Afrikaans University: MA thesis, 1999.Clay, Andreana. “‘I Used to Be Scared of the Dick’: Queer Women of Color and Hip-Hop Masculinity.” Home Girls Make Some Noise: Hip Hop Feminism Anthology. Ed. Gwendolyn D. Pough, Elain Richardson, Aisha Durham, and Rachel Raimist. California: Sojourns, 2007.Collins, Patricia Hill. Black Sexual Politics: African Americans, Gender, and the New Racism. New York: Routledge, 2005. Crenshaw, Kimberle. “Mapping the Margins: Intersectionality, Identity Politics, and Violence against Women of Color”. Stanford Law Review 43.6 (1991): 1241–299.Didier, Sophie, Marianne Morange, and Elisabeth Peyroux. “The Adaptative Nature of Neoliberalism at the Local Scale: Fifteen Years of City Improvement Districts in Cape Town and Johannesburg.” Antipode 45.1 (2012): 121–39.Erasmus, Zimitri. “Introduction.” Coloured by History, Shaped by Place. Ed. Zimitri Erasmus. Cape Town: Kwela Books & SA History Online, 2001. Gates, Henry Louis. The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1988.Gqola, Pumla Dineo. Rape: A South African Nightmare. Johannesburg: Jacana, 2015.Hames, Mary. “Violence against Black Lesbians: Minding Our Language.” Agenda 25.4 (2011): 87–91.Hardt, Michael, and Antonio Negri. Empire. London: Harvard UP, 2000.Haupt, Adam. “Can a Woman in Hip Hop Speak on Her Own Terms?” Africa Is a Country. 23 Mar. 2015. <http://africasacountry.com/2015/03/the-double-consciousness-of-burni-aman-can-a-woman-in-hip-hop-speak-on-her-own-terms/>.Haupt, Adam. Static: Race & Representation in Post-Apartheid Music, Media & Film. Cape Town: HSRC Press, 2012. Haupt, Adam. Stealing Empire: P2P, Intellectual Property and Hip-Hop Subversion. Cape Town: HSRC Press, 2008. Haupt, Adam. “Black Thing: Hip-Hop Nationalism, ‘Race’ and Gender in Prophets of da City and Brasse vannie Kaap.” Coloured by History, Shaped by Place. Ed. Zimitri Erasmus. Cape Town: Kwela Books & SA History Online, 2001. Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Routledge, 1979.Hogg, Christine. “In Salt River Gentrification Often Means Eviction: Family Set to Lose Their Home of 11 Years.” Ground Up. 15 June 2016. <http://www.groundup.org.za/article/salt-river-gentrification-often-means-eviction/>.hooks, bell. Outlaw: Culture: Resisting Representations. New York: Routledge, 1994.Lemanski, Charlotte. “Hybrid Gentrification in South Africa: Theorising across Southern and Northern Cities.” Urban Studies 51.14 (2014): 2943–60.Luyt, Kathryn. “Gay Language in Cape Town: A Study of Gayle – Attitudes, History and Usage.” University of Cape Town: MA thesis, 2014.MacDonald, Michael. Why Race Matters in South Africa. University of Kwazulu-Natal Press: Scottsville, 2006.Msibi, Thabo. “Not Crossing the Line: Masculinities and Homophobic Violence in South Africa”. Agenda. 23.80 (2009): 50–54.Pabón, Jessica N., and Shanté Paradigm Smalls. “Critical Intimacies: Hip Hop as Queer Feminist Pedagogy.” Women & Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory (2014): 1–7.Salo, Elaine. “Negotiating Gender and Personhood in the New South Africa: Adolescent Women and Gangsters in Manenberg Township on the Cape Flats.” Journal of European Cultural Studies 6.3 (2003): 345–65.Solórzano, Daniel, Miguel Ceja, and Tara Yosso. “Critical Race Theory, Racial Microaggressions, and Campus Racial Climate: The Experiences of African American College Students.” Journal of Negro Education 69.1/2 (2000): 60–73.Sharpley-Whiting, T. Denean. Pimps Up, Ho’s Down: Hip Hop’s Hold on Young Black Women. New York: New York UP, 2007.Smalls, Shanté Paradigm. “‘The Rain Comes Down’: Jean Grae and Hip Hop Heteronormativity.” American Behavioral Scientist 55.1 (2011): 86–95.Visser, Gustav. “Gentrification: Prospects for Urban South African Society?” Acta Academica Supplementum 1 (2003): 79–104.Williams, Quentin E. “Youth Multilingualism in South Africa’s Hip-Hop Culture: a Metapragmatic Analysis.” Sociolinguistic Studies 10.1 (2016): 109–33.Yudell, Michael. “A Short History of the Race Concept.” Race and the Genetic Revolution: Science, Myth, and Culture. Ed. Sheldon Krimsky and Kathleen Sloan. New York: Columbia UP, 2011.InterviewsOvens, Neil, Dope Saint Jude, and Adam Haupt. One FM Radio interview. Cape Town. 21 Apr. 2016.VideosSaint Jude, Dope. “Keep in Touch.” YouTube. 23 Feb. 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w2ux9R839lE>. H&M. “H&M World Recycle Week Featuring M.I.A.” YouTube. 11 Apr. 2016. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f7MskKkn2Jg>. MusicSaint Jude, Dope. Reimagine. 15 June 2016. <https://dopesaintjude.bandcamp.com/album/reimagine>.

IntroductionThis paper argues that the industrial contexts of re-imagining, or transforming, literary icons deploy the promotional strategies that are associated with what are usually seen as lesser, or purely commercial, genres. Promotional paratexts (Genette Paratexts; Gray; Hills) reveal transformations of content that position audiences to receive them as creative innovations, superior in many senses to their literary precursors due to the distinctive expertise of creative professionals. This interpretation leverages Matt Hills’ argument that certain kinds of “quality” screened drama are discursively framed as possessing the cultural capital associated with auterist cinema, despite their participation in the marketing logics of media franchising (Johnson). Adaptation theorist Linda Hutcheon proposes that when audiences receive literary adaptations, their pleasure inheres in a mixture of “repetition and difference”, “familiarity and novelty” (114). The difference can take many forms, but may be framed as guaranteed by the “distinction”, or—in Bourdieu’s terms—the cultural capital, of talented individuals and companies. Gerard Genette (Palimpsests) argued that “proximations” or updatings of classic literature involve acknowledging historical shifts in ideological norms as well as aesthetic techniques and tastes. When literary brands are made over using different media, there are economic lures to participation in currently fashionable technologies, as well as current political values. Linda Hutcheon also underlines the pragmatic constraints on the re-imagining of literary brands. “Expensive collaborative art forms” (87) such as films and large stage productions look for safe bets, seeking properties that have the potential to increase the audience for their franchise. Thus the marketplace influences both production and the experience of audiences. While this paper does not attempt a thoroughgoing analysis of audience reception appropriate to a fan studies approach, it borrows concepts from Matt Hills’s theorisation of marketing communication associated with screen “makeovers”. It shows that literary fiction and cinematic texts associated with celebrated authors or auteurist producer-directors share branding discourses characteristic of contemporary consumer culture. Strategies include marketing “reveals” of transformed content (Hills 319). Transformed content is presented not only as demonstrating originality and novelty; these promotional paratexts also perform displays of cultural capital on the part of production teams or of auteurist creatives (321). Case Study 1: Steven Spielberg, The Adventures of Tintin (2011) The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn is itself an adaptation of a literary brand that reimagines earlier transmedia genres. According to Spielberg’s biographer, the Tintin series of bandes dessinée (comics or graphic novels) by Belgian artist Hergé (Georges Remi), has affinities with “boys’ adventure yarns” referencing and paying homage to the “silent filmmaking and the movie serials of the 1930s and ‘40s” (McBride 530). The three comics adapted by Spielberg belong to the more escapist and less “political” phase of Hergé’s career (531). As a fast-paced action movie, building to a dramatic and spectacular closure, the major plot lines of Spielberg’s film centre on Tintin’s search for clues to the secret of a model ship he buys at a street market. Teaming up with an alcoholic sea captain, Tintin solves the mystery while bullying Captain Haddock into regaining his sobriety, his family seat, and his eagerness to partner in further heroic adventures. Spielberg’s industry stature allowed him the autonomy to combine the commercial motivations of contemporary “tentpole” cinema adaptations with aspirations towards personal reputation as an auteurist director. Many of the promotional paratexts associated with the film stress the aesthetic distinction of the director’s practice alongside the blockbuster spectacle of an action film. Reinventing the Literary Brand as FranchiseComic books constitute the “mother lode of franchises” (Balio 26) in a industry that has become increasingly global and risk-adverse (see also Burke). The fan base for comic book movies is substantial and studios pre-promote their investments at events such as the four-day Comic-Con festival held annually in San Diego (Balio 26). Described as “tentpole” films, these adaptations—often of superhero genres—are considered conservative investments by the Hollywood studios because they “constitute media events; […] lend themselves to promotional tie-ins”; are “easy sells in world markets and […] have the ability to spin off sequels to create a franchise” (Balio 26). However, Spielberg chose to adapt a brand little known in the primary market (the US), thus lacking the huge fan-based to which pre-release promotional paratexts might normally be targeted. While this might seem a risky undertaking, it does reflect “changed industry realities” that seek to leverage important international markets (McBride 531). As a producer Spielberg pursued his own strategies to minimise economic risk while allowing him creative choices. This facilitated the pursuit of professional reputation alongside commercial success. The dual release of both War Horse and Tintin exemplify the director-producer’s career practice of bracketing an “entertainment” film with a “more serious work” (McBride 530). The Adventures of Tintin was promoted largely as technical tour de force and spectacle. Conversely War Horse—also adapted from a children’s text—was conceived as a heritage/nostalgia film, marked with the attention to period detail and lyric cinematography of what Matt Hills describes as “aestheticized fiction”. Nevertheless, promotional paratexts stress the discourse of auteurist transformation even in the case of the designedly more commercial Tintin film, as I discuss further below. These pre-release promotions emphasise Spielberg’s “painterly” directorial hand, as well as the professional partnership with Peter Jackson that enabled cutting edge innovation in animation. As McBride explains, the “dual release of the two films in the US was an unusual marketing move” seemingly designed to “showcase Spielberg’s artistic versatility” (McBride 530).Promotional Paratexts and Pre-Recruitment of FansAs Jonathan Gray and Jason Mittell have explained, marketing paratexts predate screen adaptations (Gray; Mittell). As part of the commercial logic of franchise development, selective release of information about a literary brand’s transformation are designed to bring fans of the “original,” or of genre communities such as fantasy or comics audiences, on board with the adaptation. Analysing Steven Moffat’s revelations about the process of adapting and creating a modern TV series from Conan Doyle’s canon (Sherlock), Matt Hills draws attention to the focus on the literary, rather than the many screen reinventions. Moffat’s focus on his childhood passion for the Holmes stories thus grounds the team’s adaptation in a period prior to any “knowledge of rival adaptations […] and any detailed awareness of canon” (326). Spielberg (unlike Jackson) denied any such childhood affective investment, claiming to have been unaware of the similarities between Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and the Tintin series until alerted by a French reviewer of Raiders (McBride 530). In discussing the paradoxical fidelity of his and Jackson’s reimagining of Tintin, Spielberg performed homage to the literary brand while emphasising the aesthetic limitations within the canon of prior adaptations:‘We want Tintin’s adventures to have the reality of a live-action film’, Spielberg explained during preproduction, ‘and yet Peter and I felt that shooting them in a traditional live-action format would simply not honor the distinctive look of the characters and world that Hergé created. Hergé’s characters have been reborn as living beings, expressing emotion and a soul that goes far beyond anything we’ve been able to create with computer-animated characters.’ (McBride 531)In these “reveals”, the discourse positions Spielberg and Jackson as both fans and auteurs, demonstrating affective investment in Hergé’s concepts and world-building while displaying the ingenuity of the partners as cinematic innovators.The Branded Reveal of Transformed ContentAccording to Hills, “quality TV drama” no less than “makeover TV,” is subject to branding practices such as the “reveal” of innovations attributed to creative professionals. Marketing paratexts discursively frame the “professional and creative distinction” of the teams that share and expand the narrative universe of the show’s screen or literary precursors (319–20). Distinction here refers to the cultural capital of the creative teams, as well as to the essential differences between what adaptation theorists refer to as the “hypotext” (source/original) and “hypertext” (adaptation) (Genette Paratexts; Hutcheon). The adaptation’s individualism is fore-grounded, as are the rights of creative teams to inherit, transform, and add richness to the textual universe of the precursor texts. Spielberg denied the “anxiety of influence” (Bloom) linking Tintin and Raiders, though he is reported to have enthusiastically acknowledged the similarities once alerted to them. Nevertheless, Spielberg first optioned Hergé’s series only two years later (1983). Paratexts “reveal” Hergé’s passing of the mantle from author to director, quoting his: “ ‘Yes, I think this guy can make this film. Of course it will not be my Tintin, but it can be a great Tintin’” (McBride 531).Promotional reveals in preproduction show both Spielberg and Jackson performing mutually admiring displays of distinction. Much of this is focused on the choice of motion capture animation, involving attachment of motion sensors to an actor’s body during performance, permitting mapping of realistic motion onto the animated figure. While Spielberg paid tribute to Jackson’s industry pre-eminence in this technical field, the discourse also underlines Spielberg’s own status as auteur. He claimed that Tintin allowed him to feel more like a painter than any prior film. Jackson also underlines the theme of direct imaginative control:The process of operating the small motion-capture virtual camera […] enabled Spielberg to return to the simplicity and fluidity of his 8mm amateur films […] [The small motion-capture camera] enabled Spielberg to put himself literally in the spaces occupied by the actors […] He could walk around with them […] and improvise movements for a film Jackson said they decided should have a handheld feel as much as possible […] All the production was from the imagination right to the computer. (McBride 532)Along with cinematic innovation, pre-release promotions thus rehearse the imaginative pre-eminence of Spielberg’s vision, alongside Jackson and his WETA company’s fantasy credentials, their reputation for meticulous detail, and their innovation in the use of performance capture in live-action features. This rehearsal of professional capital showcases the difference and superiority of The Adventures of Tintin to previous animated adaptations.Case Study 2: Andrew Motion: Silver, Return to Treasure Island (2012)At first glance, literary fiction would seem to be a far-cry from the commercial logics of tentpole cinema. The first work of pure fiction by a former Poet Laureate of Great Britain, updating a children’s classic, Silver: Return to Treasure Island signals itself as an exemplar of quality fiction. Yet the commercial logics of the publishing industry, no less than other media franchises, routinise practices such as author interviews at bookshop visits and festivals, generating paratexts that serve its promotional cycle. Motion’s choice of this classic for adaptation is a step further towards a popular readership than his poetry—or the memoirs, literary criticism, or creative non-fiction (“fabricated” or speculative biographies) (see Mars-Jones)—that constitute his earlier prose output. Treasure Island’s cultural status as boy’s adventure, its exotic setting, its dramatic characters long available in the public domain through earlier screen adaptations, make it a shrewd choice for appropriation in the niche market of literary fiction. Michael Cathcart’s introduction to his ABC Radio National interview with the author hones in on this:Treasure Island is one of those books that you feel as if you’ve read, event if you haven’t. Long John Silver, young Jim Hawkins, Blind Pew, Israel Hands […], these are people who stalk our collective unconscious, and they’re back. (Cathcart)Motion agrees with Cathcart that Treasure Island constitutes literary and common cultural heritage. In both interviews I analyse in the discussion here, Motion states that he “absorbed” the book, “almost by osmosis” as a child, yet returned to it with the mature, critical, evaluative appreciation of the young adult and budding poet (Darragh 27). Stevenson’s original is a “bloody good book”; the implication is that it would not otherwise have met the standards of a literary doyen, possessing a deep knowledge of, and affect for, the canon of English literature. Commercial Logic and Cultural UpdatingSilver is an unauthorised sequel—in Genette’s taxonomy, a “continuation”. However, in promotional interviews on the book and broadcast circuit, Motion claimed a kind of license from the practice of Stevenson, a fellow writer. Stevenson himself notes that a significant portion of the “bar silver” remained on the island, leaving room for a sequel to be generated. In Silver, Jim, the son of Stevenson’s Jim Hawkins, and Natty, daughter of Long John Silver and the “woman of colour”, take off to complete and confront the consequences of their parents’ adventures. In interviews, Motion identifies structural gaps in the precursor text that are discursively positioned to demand completion from, in effect, Stevenson’s literary heir: [Stevenson] was a person who was interested in sequels himself, indeed he wrote a sequel to Kidnapped [which is] proof he was interested in these things. (Cathcart)He does leave lots of doors and windows open at the end of Treasure Island […] perhaps most bewitchingly for me, as the Hispaniola sails away, they leave behind three maroons. So what happened to them? (Darragh)These promotional paratexts drop references to Great Expectations, Heart of Darkness, Lord of the Flies, Wild Sargasso Sea, the plays of Shakespeare and Tom Stoppard, the poetry of Auden and John Clare, and Stevenson’s own “self-conscious” sources: Defoe, Marryat. Discursively, they evidence “double coding” (Hills) as both homage for the canon and the literary “brand” of Stevenson’s popular original, while implicated in the commercial logic of the book industry’s marketing practices.Displays of DistinctionMotion’s interview with Sarah Darragh, for the National Association of Teachers of English, performs the role of man of letters; Motion “professes” and embodies the expertise to speak authoritatively on literature, its criticism, and its teaching. Literature in general, and Silver in particular, he claims, is not “just polemic”, that is “not how it works”, but it does has the ability to recruit readers to moral perspectives, to convey “ new ideas[s] of the self.” Silver’s distinction from Treasure Island lies in its ability to position “deep” readers to develop what is often labelled “theory of mind” (Wolf and Barzillai): “what good literature does, whether you know it or not, is to allow you to be someone else for a bit,” giving us “imaginative projection into another person’s experience” (Darragh 29). A discourse of difference and superiority is also associated with the transformed “brand.” Motion is emphatic that Silver is not a children’s book—“I wouldn’t know how to do that” (Darragh 28)—a “lesser” genre in canonical hierarchies. It is a writerly and morally purposeful fiction, “haunted” by greats of the canon and grounded in expertise in philosophical and literary heritage. In addition, he stresses the embedded seriousness of his reinvention: it is “about how to be a modern person and about greed and imperialism” (Darragh 27), as well as a deliberatively transformed artefact:The road to literary damnation is […] paved with bad sequels and prequels, and the reason that they fail […] is that they take the original on at its own game too precisely […] so I thought, casting my mind around those that work [such as] Tom Stoppard’s play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead […] or Jean Rhys’ wonderful novel Wide Sargasso Sea which is about the first Mrs Rochester in Jane Eyre […] that if I took a big step away from the original book I would solve this problem of competing with something I was likely to lose in competition with and to create something that was a sort of homage […] towards it, but that stood at a significant distance from it […]. (Cathcart) Motion thus rehearses homage and humility, while implicitly defending the transformative imagination of his “sequel” against the practice of lesser, failed, clonings.Motion’s narrative expansion of Stevenson’s fictional universe is an example of “overwriting continuity” established by his predecessor, and thus allowing him to make “meaningful claims to creative and professional distinction” while demonstrating his own “creative viewpoint” (Hills 320). The novel boldly recapitulates incidental details, settings, and dramatic embedded character-narrations from Treasure Island. Distinctively, though, its opening sequence is a paean to romantic sensibility in the tradition of Wordsworth’s The Prelude (1799–1850).The Branded Reveal of Transformed ContentSilver’s paratexts discursively construct its transformation and, by implication, improvement, from Stevenson’s original. Motion reveals the sequel’s change of zeitgeist, its ideological complexity and proximity to contemporary environmental and postcolonial values. These are represented through the superior perspective of romanticism and the scientific lens on the natural world:Treasure Island is a pre-Enlightenment story, it is pre-French Revolution, it’s the bad old world […] where people have a different ideas of democracy […] Also […] Jim is beginning to be aware of nature in a new way […] [The romantic poet, John Clare] was publishing in the 1820s but a child in the early 1800s, I rather had him in mind for Jim as somebody who was seeing the world in the same sort of way […] paying attention to the little things in nature, and feeling a sort of kinship with the natural world that we of course want to put an environmental spin on these days, but [at] the beginning of the 1800s was a new and important thing, a romantic preoccupation. (Cathcart)Motion’s allusion to Wild Sargasso Sea discursively appropriates Rhys’s feminist and postcolonial reimagination of Rochester’s creole wife, to validate his portrayal of Long John Silver’s wife, the “woman of colour.” As Christian Moraru has shown, this rewriting of race is part of a book industry trend in contemporary American adaptations of nineteenth-century texts. Interviews position readers of Silver to receive the novel in terms of increased moral complexity, sharing its awareness of the evils of slavery and violence silenced in prior adaptations.Two streams of influence [come] out of Treasure Island […] one is Pirates of the Caribbean and all that jolly jape type stuff, pirates who are essentially comic [or pantomime] characters […] And the other stream, which is the other face of Long John Silver in the original is a real menace […] What we are talking about is Somalia. Piracy is essentially a profoundly serious and repellent thing […]. (Cathcart)Motion’s transformation of Treasure Island, thus, improves on Stevenson by taking some of the menace that is “latent in the original”, yet downplayed by the genre reinvented as “jolly jape” or “gorefest.” In contrast, Silver is “a book about serious things” (Cathcart), about “greed and imperialism” and “how to be a modern person,” ideologically reconstructed as “philosophical history” by a consummate man of letters (Darragh).ConclusionWhen iconic literary brands are reimagined across media, genres and modes, creative professionals frequently need to balance various affective and commercial investments in the precursor text or property. Updatings of classic texts require interpretation and the negotiation of subtle changes in values that have occurred since the creation of the “original.” Producers in risk-averse industries such as screen and publishing media practice a certain pragmatism to ensure that fans’ nostalgia for a popular brand is not too violently scandalised, while taking care to reproduce currently popular technologies and generic conventions in the interest of maximising audience. As my analysis shows, promotional circuits associated with “quality” fiction and cinema mirror the commercial logics associated with less valorised genres. Promotional paratexts reveal transformations of content that position audiences to receive them as creative innovations, superior in many senses to their literary precursors due to the distinctive expertise of creative professionals. Paying lip-service the sophisticated reading practices of contemporary fans of both cinema and literary fiction, their discourse shows the conflicting impulses to homage, critique, originality, and recruitment of audiences.ReferencesBalio, Tino. Hollywood in the New Millennium. London: Palgrave Macmillan/British Film Institute, 2013.Bloom, Harold. The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry. 2nd ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1997.Bourdieu, Pierre. Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste. Trans. Richard Nice. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1987. Burke, Liam. The Comic Book Film Adaptation: Exploring Modern Hollywood's Leading Genre. Jackson, MS: UP of Mississippi, 2015. Cathcart, Michael (Interviewer). Andrew Motion's Silver: Return to Treasure Island. 2013. Transcript of Radio Interview. Prod. Kate Evans. 26 Jan. 2013. 10 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.abc.net.au/radionational/booksplus/silver/4293244#transcript›.Darragh, Sarah. "In Conversation with Andrew Motion." NATE Classroom 17 (2012): 27–30.Genette, Gérard. Palimpsests: Literature in the Second Degree. Lincoln, NE: U of Nebraska P, 1997. ———. Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1997. Gray, Jonathan. Show Sold Separately: Promos, Spoilers, and Other Media Paratexts. New York: New York UP, 2010.Hills, Matt. "Rebranding Dr Who and Reimagining Sherlock: 'Quality' Television as 'Makeover TV Drama'." International Journal of Cultural Studies 18.3 (2015): 317–31.Johnson, Derek. Media Franchising: Creative License and Collaboration in the Culture Industries. Postmillennial Pop. New York: New York UP, 2013.Mars-Jones, Adam. "A Thin Slice of Cake." The Guardian, 16 Feb. 2003. 5 Oct. 2015 ‹http://www.theguardian.com/books/2003/feb/16/andrewmotion.fiction›.McBride, Joseph. Steven Spielberg: A Biography. 3rd ed. London: Faber & Faber, 2012.Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. New York: New York UP, 2015.Moraru, Christian. Rewriting: Postmodern Narrative and Cultural Critique in the Age of Cloning. Herndon, VA: State U of New York P, 2001. Motion, Andrew. Silver: Return to Treasure Island. London: Jonathan Cape, 2012.Raiders of the Lost Ark. Dir. Steven Spielberg. Paramount/Columbia Pictures, 1981.Wolf, Maryanne, and Mirit Barzillai. "The Importance of Deep Reading." Educational Leadership. March (2009): 32–36.Wordsworth, William. The Prelude, or, Growth of a Poet's Mind: An Autobiographical Poem. London: Edward Moxon, 1850.

Photograph by Gonzalo Echeverria (2010)We need to get some broad-based support, to capture the public’s imagination … so we have to offer up scary scenarios, make simplified, dramatic statements and make little mention of any doubts … each of us has to decide what the right balance is between being effective and being honest (Hulme 347). Acclaimed climate scientist, the late Stephen Schneider, made this comment in 1988. Later he regretted it and said that there are ways of using metaphors that can “convey both urgency and uncertainty” (Hulme 347). What Schneider encapsulates here is the great conundrum for those attempting to communicate climate change to the everyday public. How do scientists capture the public’s imagination and convey the desperation they feel about climate change, but do it ethically? If scientific findings are presented carefully, in boring technical jargon that few can understand, then they are unlikely to attract audiences or provide an impetus for behavioural change. “What can move someone to act?” asks communication theorists Susan Moser and Lisa Dilling (37). “If a red light blinks on in a cockpit” asks Donella Meadows, “should the pilot ignore it until in speaks in an unexcited tone? … Is there any way to say [it] sweetly? Patiently? If one did, would anyone pay attention?” (Moser and Dilling 37). In 2010 Tim Flannery was appointed Panasonic Chair in Environmental Sustainability at Macquarie University. His main teaching role remains within the new science communication programme. One of the first things Flannery was emphatic about was acquainting students with Karl Popper and the origin of the scientific method. “There is no truth in science”, he proclaimed in his first lecture to students “only theories, hypotheses and falsifiabilities”. In other words, science’s epistemological limits are framed such that, as Michael Lemonick argues, “a statement that cannot be proven false is generally not considered to be scientific” (n.p., my emphasis). The impetus for the following paper emanates precisely from this issue of scientific uncertainty — more specifically from teaching a course with Tim Flannery called Communicating climate change to a highly motivated group of undergraduate science communication students. I attempt to illuminate how uncertainty is constructed differently by different groups and that the “public” does not necessarily interpret uncertainty in the same way the sciences do. This paper also analyses how doubt has been politicised and operates polemically in media coverage of climate change. As Andrew Gorman-Murray and Gordon Waitt highlight in an earlier issue of M/C Journal that focused on the climate-culture nexus, an understanding of the science alone is not adequate to deal with the cultural change necessary to address the challenges climate change brings (n.p). Far from being redundant in debates around climate change, the humanities have much to offer. Erosion of Trust in Science The objectives of Macquarie’s science communication program are far more ambitious than it can ever hope to achieve. But this is not necessarily a bad thing. The initiative is a response to declining student numbers in maths and science programmes around the country and is designed to address the perceived lack of communication skills in science graduates that the Australian Council of Deans of Science identified in their 2001 report. According to Macquarie Vice Chancellor Steven Schwartz’s blog, a broader, and much more ambitious aim of the program is to “restore public trust in science and scientists in the face of widespread cynicism” (n.p.). In recent times the erosion of public trust in science was exacerbated through the theft of e-mails from East Anglia University’s Climate Research Unit and the so-called “climategate scandal” which ensued. With the illegal publication of the e-mails came claims against the Research Unit that climate experts had been manipulating scientific data to suit a pro-global warming agenda. Three inquiries later, all the scientists involved were cleared of any wrongdoing, however the damage had already been done. To the public, what this scandal revealed was a certain level of scientific hubris around the uncertainties of the science and an unwillingness to explain the nature of these uncertainties. The prevailing notion remained that the experts were keeping information from public scrutiny and not being totally honest with them, which at least in the short term, damaged the scientists’s credibility. Many argued that this signalled a shift in public opinion and media portrayal on the issue of climate change in late 2009. University of Sydney academic, Rod Tiffen, claimed in the Sydney Morning Herald that the climategate scandal was “one of the pivotal moments in changing the politics of climate change” (n.p). In Australia this had profound implications and meant that the bipartisan agreement on an emissions trading scheme (ETS) that had almost been reached, subsequently collapsed with (climate sceptic) Tony Abbott's defeat of (ETS advocate) Malcolm Turnbull to become opposition leader (Tiffen). Not long after the reputation of science received this almighty blow, albeit unfairly, the federal government released a report in February 2010, Inspiring Australia – A national strategy for engagement with the sciences as part of the country’s innovation agenda. The report outlines a commitment from the Australian government and universities around the country to address the challenges of not only communicating science to the broader community but, in the process, renewing public trust and engagement in science. The report states that: in order to achieve a scientifically engaged Australia, it will be necessary to develop a culture where the sciences are recognized as relevant to everyday life … Our science institutions will be expected to share their knowledge and to help realize full social, economic, health and environmental benefits of scientific research and in return win ongoing public support. (xiv-xv) After launching the report, Innovation Minister Kim Carr went so far as to conflate “hope” with “science” and in the process elevate a discourse of technological determinism: “it’s time for all true friends of science to step up and defend its values and achievements” adding that, "when you denigrate science, you destroy hope” (n.p.). Forever gone is our naïve post-war world when scientists were held in such high esteem that they could virtually use humans as guinea pigs to test out new wonder chemicals; such as organochlorines, of which DDT is the most widely known (Carson). Thanks to government-sponsored nuclear testing programs, if you were born in the 1950s, 1960s or early 1970s, your brain carries a permanent nuclear legacy (Flannery, Here On Earth 158). So surely, for the most part, questioning the authority and hubristic tendencies of science is a good thing. And I might add, it’s not just scientists who bear this critical burden, the same scepticism is directed towards journalists, politicians and academics alike – something that many cultural theorists have noted is characteristic of our contemporary postmodern world (Lyotard). So far from destroying hope, as the former Innovation Minister Kim Carr (now Minister for Innovation, Industry, Science and Research) suggests, surely we need to use the criticisms of science as a vehicle upon which to initiate hope and humility. Different Ways of Knowing: Bayesian Beliefs and Matters of Concern At best, [science] produces a robust consensus based on a process of inquiry that allows for continued scrutiny, re-examination, and revision. (Oreskes 370) In an attempt to capitalise on the Macquarie Science Faculty’s expertise in climate science, I convened a course in second semester 2010 called SCOM201 Science, Media, Community: Communicating Climate Change, with invaluable assistance from Penny Wilson, Elaine Kelly and Liz Morgan. Mike Hulme’s provocative text, Why we disagree about climate change: Understanding controversy, inaction and opportunity provided an invaluable framework for the course. Hulme’s book brings other types of knowledge, beyond the scientific, to bear on our attitudes towards climate change. Climate change, he claims, has moved from being just a physical, scientific, and measurable phenomenon to becoming a social and cultural phenomenon. In order to understand the contested nature of climate change we need to acknowledge the dynamic and varied meanings climate has played in different cultures throughout history as well as the role that our own subjective attitudes and judgements play. Climate change has become a battleground between different ways of knowing, alternative visions of the future, competing ideas about what’s ethical and what’s not. Hulme makes the point that one of the reasons that we disagree about climate change is because we disagree about the role of science in today’s society. He encourages readers to use climate change as a tool to rigorously question the basis of our beliefs, assumptions and prejudices. Since uncertainty was the course’s raison d’etre, I was fortunate to have an extraordinary cohort of students who readily engaged with a course that forced them to confront their own epistemological limits — both personally and in a disciplinary sense. (See their blog: https://scom201.wordpress.com/). Science is often associated with objective realities. It thus tends to distinguish itself from the post-structuralist vein of critique that dominates much of the contemporary humanities. At the core of post-structuralism is scepticism about everyday, commonly accepted “truths” or what some call “meta-narratives” as well as an acknowledgement of the role that subjectivity plays in the pursuit of knowledge (Lyotard). However if we can’t rely on objective truths or impartial facts then where does this leave us when it comes to generating policy or encouraging behavioural change around the issue of climate change? Controversial philosophy of science scholar Bruno Latour sits squarely in the post-structuralist camp. In his 2004 article, “Why has critique run out of steam? From matters of fact to matters of concern”, he laments the way the right wing has managed to gain ground in the climate change debate through arguing that uncertainty and lack of proof is reason enough to deny demands for action. Or to use his turn-of-phrase, “dangerous extremists are using the very same argument of social construction to destroy hard-won evidence that could save our lives” (Latour n.p). Through co-opting (the Left’s dearly held notion of) scepticism and even calling themselves “climate sceptics”, they exploited doubt as a rationale for why we should do nothing about climate change. Uncertainty is not only an important part of science, but also of the human condition. However, as sociologist Sheila Jasanoff explains in her Nature article, “Technologies of Humility”, uncertainty has become like a disease: Uncertainty has become a threat to collective action, the disease that knowledge must cure. It is the condition that poses cruel dilemmas for decision makers; that must be reduced at all costs; that is tamed with scenarios and assessments; and that feeds the frenzy for new knowledge, much of it scientific. (Jasanoff 33) If we move from talking about climate change as “a matter of fact” to “a matter of concern”, argues Bruno Latour, then we can start talking about useful ways to combat it, rather than talking about whether the science is “in” or not. Facts certainly matter, claims Latour, but they can’t give us the whole story, rather “they assemble with other ingredients to produce a matter of concern” (Potter and Oster 123). Emily Potter and Candice Oster suggest that climate change can’t be understood through either natural or cultural frames alone and, “unlike a matter of fact, matters of concern cannot be explained through a single point of view or discursive frame” (123). This makes a lot of what Hulme argues far more useful because it enables the debate to be taken to another level. Those of us with non-scientific expertise can centre debates around the kinds of societies we want, rather than being caught up in the scientific (un)certainties. If we translate Latour’s concept of climate change being “a matter of concern” into the discourse of environmental management then what we come up with, I think, is the “precautionary principle”. In the YouTube clip, “Stephen Schneider vs Skeptics”, Schneider argues that when in doubt about the potential environmental impacts of climate change, we should always apply the precautionary principle. This principle emerged from the UN conference on Environment and Development in Rio de Janeiro in 1992 and concerns the management of scientific risk. However its origins are evident much earlier in documents such as the “Use of Pesticides” from US President’s Science Advisory Committee in 1962. Unlike in criminal and other types of law where the burden of proof is on the prosecutor to show that the person charged is guilty of a particular offence, in environmental law the onus of proof is on the manufacturers to demonstrate the safety of their product. For instance, a pesticide should be restricted or disproved for use if there is “reasonable doubt” about its safety (Oreskes 374). Principle 15 of the Rio Declaration on Environment and Development in 1992 has its foundations in the precautionary principle: “Where there are threats of serious or irreversible environmental damage, lack of full scientific certainty should not be used as a reason for postponing measures to prevent environmental degradation” (n.p). According to Environmental Law Online, the Rio declaration suggests that, “The precautionary principle applies where there is a ‘lack of full scientific certainty’ – that is, when science cannot say what consequences to expect, how grave they are, or how likely they are to occur” (n.p.). In order to make predictions about the likelihood of an event occurring, scientists employ a level of subjectivity, or need to “reveal their degree of belief that a prediction will turn out to be correct … [S]omething has to substitute for this lack of certainty” otherwise “the only alternative is to admit that absolutely nothing is known” (Hulme 85). These statements of “subjective probabilities or beliefs” are called Bayesian, after eighteenth century English mathematician Sir Thomas Bayes who developed the theory of evidential probability. These “probabilities” are estimates, or in other words, subjective, informed judgements that draw upon evidence and experience about the likelihood of event occurring. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) uses Bayesian beliefs to determine the risk or likelihood of an event occurring. The IPCC provides the largest international scientific assessment of climate change and often adopts a consensus model where viewpoint reached by the majority of scientists is used to establish knowledge amongst an interdisciplinary community of scientists and then communicate it to the public (Hulme 88). According to the IPCC, this consensus is reached amongst more than more than 450 lead authors, more than 800 contributing authors, and 2500 scientific reviewers. While it is an advisory body and is not policy-prescriptive, the IPCC adopts particular linguistic conventions to indicate the probability of a statement being correct. Stephen Schneider convinced the IPCC to use this approach to systemise uncertainty (Lemonick). So for instance, in the IPCC reports, the term “likely” denotes a chance of 66%-90% of the statement being correct, while “very likely” denotes more than a 90% chance. Note the change from the Third Assessment Report (2001), indicating that “most of the observed warming in over the last fifty years is likely to have been due to the increase in greenhouse gas emissions” to the Fourth Assessment (February 2007) which more strongly states: “Most of the observed increase in global average temperatures since the mid twentieth century is very likely due to the observed increase in anthropogenic greenhouse gas concentrations” (Hulme 51, my italics). A fiery attack on Tim Flannery by Andrew Bolt on Steve Price’s talkback radio show in June 2010 illustrates just how misunderstood scientific uncertainty is in the broader community. When Price introduces Flannery as former Australian of the Year, Bolt intercedes, claiming Flannery is “Alarmist of the Year”, then goes on to chastise Flannery for making various forecasts which didn’t eventuate, such as that Perth and Brisbane might run out of water by 2009. “How much are you to blame for the swing in sentiment, the retreat from global warming policy and rise of scepticism?” demands Bolt. In the context of the events of late 2009 and early 2010, the fact that these events didn’t materialise made Flannery, and others, seem unreliable. And what Bolt had to say on talkback radio, I suspect, resonated with a good proportion of its audience. What Bolt was trying to do was discredit Flannery’s scientific credentials and in the process erode trust in the expert. Flannery’s response was to claim that, what he said was that these events might eventuate. In much the same way that the climate sceptics have managed to co-opt scepticism and use it as a rationale for inaction on climate change, Andrew Bolt here either misunderstands basic scientific method or quite consciously misleads and manipulates the public. As Naomi Oreskes argues, “proof does not play the role in science that most people think it does (or should), and therefore it cannot play the role in policy that skeptics demand it should” (Oreskes 370). Doubt and ‘Situated’ Hope Uncertainty and ambiguity then emerge here as resources because they force us to confront those things we really want–not safety in some distant, contested future but justice and self-understanding now. (Sheila Jasanoff, cited in Hulme, back cover) In his last published book before his death in mid-2010, Science as a contact sport, Stephen Schneider’s advice to aspiring science communicators is that they should engage with the media “not at all, or a lot”. Climate scientist Ann Henderson-Sellers adds that there are very few scientists “who have the natural ability, and learn or cultivate the talents, of effective communication with and through the media” (430). In order to attract the public’s attention, it was once commonplace for scientists to write editorials and exploit fear-provoking measures by including a “useful catastrophe or two” (Moser and Dilling 37). But are these tactics effective? Susanne Moser thinks not. She argues that “numerous studies show that … fear may change attitudes … but not necessarily increase active engagement or behaviour change” (Moser 70). Furthermore, risk psychologists argue that danger is always context specific (Hulme 196). If the risk or danger is “situated” and “tangible” (such as lead toxicity levels in children in Mt Isa from the Xstrata mine) then the public will engage with it. However if it is “un-situated” (distant, intangible and diffuse) like climate change, the audience is less likely to. In my SCOM201 class we examined the impact of two climate change-related campaigns. The first one was a short film used to promote the 2010 Copenhagen Climate Change Summit (“Scary”) and the second was the State Government of Victoria’s “You have the power: Save Energy” public awareness campaign (“You”). Using Moser’s article to guide them, students evaluated each campaign’s effectiveness. Their conclusions were that the “You have the power” campaign had far more impact because it a) had very clear objectives (to cut domestic power consumption) b) provided a very clear visualisation of carbon dioxide through the metaphor of black balloons wafting up into the atmosphere, c) gave viewers a sense of empowerment and hope through describing simple measures to cut power consumption and, d) used simple but effective metaphors to convey a world progressed beyond human control, such as household appliances robotically operating themselves in the absence of humans. Despite its high production values, in comparison, the Copenhagen Summit promotion was more than ineffective and bordered on propaganda. It actually turned viewers off with its whining, righteous appeal of, “please help the world”. Its message and objectives were ambiguous, it conveyed environmental catastrophe through hackneyed images, exploited children through a narrative based on fear and gave no real sense of hope or empowerment. In contrast the Victorian Government’s campaign focused on just one aspect of climate change that was made both tangible and situated. Doubt and uncertainty are productive tools in the pursuit of knowledge. Whether it is scientific or otherwise, uncertainty will always be the motivation that “feeds the frenzy for new knowledge” (Jasanoff 33). Articulating the importance of Hulme’s book, Sheila Jasanoff indicates we should make doubt our friend, “Without downplaying its seriousness, Hulme demotes climate change from ultimate threat to constant companion, whose murmurs unlock in us the instinct for justice and equality” (Hulme back cover). The “murmurs” that Jasanoff gestures to here, I think, can also be articulated as hope. And it is in this discussion of climate change that doubt and hope sit side-by-side as bedfellows, mutually entangled. Since the “failed” Copenhagen Summit, there has been a distinct shift in climate change discourse from “experts”. We have moved away from doom and gloom discourses and into the realm of what I shall call “situated” hope. “Situated” hope is not based on blind faith alone, but rather hope grounded in evidence, informed judgements and experience. For instance, in distinct contrast to his cautionary tale The Weather Makers: The History & Future Impact of Climate Change, Tim Flannery’s latest book, Here on Earth is a biography of our Earth; a planet that throughout its history has oscillated between Gaian and Medean impulses. However Flannery’s wonder about the natural world and our potential to mitigate the impacts of climate change is not founded on empty rhetoric but rather tempered by evidence; he presents a series of case studies where humanity has managed to come together for a global good. Whether it’s the 1987 Montreal ban on CFCs (chlorinated fluorocarbons) or the lesser-known 2001 Stockholm Convention on POP (Persistent Organic Pollutants), what Flannery envisions is an emerging global civilisation, a giant, intelligent super-organism glued together through social bonds. He says: If that is ever achieved, the greatest transformation in the history of our planet would have occurred, for Earth would then be able to act as if it were as Francis Bacon put it all those centuries ago, ‘one entire, perfect living creature’. (Here on Earth, 279) While science might give us “our most reliable understanding of the natural world” (Oreskes 370), “situated” hope is the only productive and ethical currency we have. ReferencesAustralian Council of Deans of Science. What Did You Do with Your Science Degree? A National Study of Employment Outcomes for Science Degree Holders 1990-2000. Melbourne: Centre for the Study of Higher Education, University of Melbourne, 2001. Australian Government Department of Innovation, Industry, Science and Research, Inspiring Australia – A National Strategy for Engagement with the Sciences. Executive summary. Canberra: DIISR, 2010. 24 May 2010 ‹http://www.innovation.gov.au/SCIENCE/INSPIRINGAUSTRALIA/Documents/InspiringAustraliaSummary.pdf›. “Andrew Bolt with Tim Flannery.” Steve Price. Hosted by Steve Price. Melbourne: Melbourne Talkback Radio, 2010. 9 June 2010 ‹http://www.mtr1377.com.au/index2.php?option=com_newsmanager&task=view&id=6209›. Carson, Rachel. Silent Spring. London: Penguin, 1962 (2000). Carr, Kim. “Celebrating Nobel Laureate Professor Elizabeth Blackburn.” Canberra: DIISR, 2010. 19 Feb. 2010 ‹http://minister.innovation.gov.au/Carr/Pages/CELEBRATINGNOBELLAUREATEPROFESSORELIZABETHBLACKBURN.aspx›. Environmental Law Online. “The Precautionary Principle.” N.d. 19 Jan 2011 ‹http://www.envirolaw.org.au/articles/precautionary_principle›. Flannery, Tim. The Weather Makers: The History & Future Impact of Climate Change. Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2005. ———. Here on Earth: An Argument for Hope. Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2010. Gorman-Murray, Andrew, and Gordon Waitt. “Climate and Culture.” M/C Journal 12.4 (2009). 9 Mar 2011 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/184/0›. Harrison, Karey. “How ‘Inconvenient’ Is Al Gore’s Climate Change Message?” M/C Journal 12.4 (2009). 9 Mar 2011 ‹http://journal.media-culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/viewArticle/175›. Henderson-Sellers, Ann. “Climate Whispers: Media Communication about Climate Change.” Climatic Change 40 (1998): 421–456. Hulme, Mike. Why We Disagree about Climate Change: Understanding, Controversy, Inaction and Opportunity. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2009. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. A Picture of Climate Change: The Current State of Understanding. 2007. 11 Jan 2011 ‹http://www.ipcc.ch/pdf/press-ar4/ipcc-flyer-low.pdf›. Jasanoff, Sheila. “Technologies of Humility.” Nature 450 (2007): 33. Latour, Bruno. “Why Has Critique Run Out of Steam? From Matters of Fact to Matters of Concern.” Critical Inquiry 30.2 (2004). 19 Jan 2011 ‹http://criticalinquiry.uchicago.edu/issues/v30/30n2.Latour.html›. Lemonick, Michael D. “Climate Heretic: Judith Curry Turns on Her Colleagues.” Nature News 1 Nov. 2010. 9 Mar 2011 ‹http://www.nature.com/news/2010/101101/full/news.2010.577.html›. Lyotard, Jean-Francois. The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1984. Moser, Susanne, and Lisa Dilling. “Making Climate Hot: Communicating the Urgency and Challenge of Global Climate Change.” Environment 46.10 (2004): 32-46. Moser, Susie. “More Bad News: The Risk of Neglecting Emotional Responses to Climate Change Information.” In Susanne Moser and Lisa Dilling (eds.), Creating a Climate for Change: Communicating Climate Change and Facilitating Social Change. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2007. 64-81. Oreskes, Naomi. “Science and Public Policy: What’s Proof Got to Do with It?” Environmental Science and Policy 7 (2004): 369-383. Potter, Emily, and Candice Oster. “Communicating Climate Change: Public Responsiveness and Matters of Concern.” Media International Australia 127 (2008): 116-126. President’s Science Advisory Committee. “Use of Pesticides”. Washington, D.C.: The White House, 1963. United Nations Declaration on Environment and Development. Rio de Janeiro, 1992. 19 Jan 2011 ‹http://www.unep.org/Documents.Multilingual/Default.asp?DocumentID=78&ArticleID=1163›. “Scary Global Warming Propaganda Video Shown at the Copenhagen Climate Meeting – 7 Dec. 2009.” YouTube. 21 Mar. 2011‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzSuP_TMFtk&feature=related›. Schneider, Stephen. Science as a Contact Sport: Inside the Battle to Save Earth’s Climate. National Geographic Society, 2010. ———. “Stephen Schneider vs. the Sceptics”. YouTube. 21 Mar. 2011 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rj1QcdEqU0›. Schwartz, Steven. “Science in Search of a New Formula.” 2010. 20 May 2010 ‹http://www.vc.mq.edu.au/blog/2010/03/11/science-in-search-of-a-new-formula/›. Tiffen, Rodney. "You Wouldn't Read about It: Climate Scientists Right." Sydney Morning Herald 26 July 2010. 19 Jan 2011 ‹http://www.smh.com.au/environment/climate-change/you-wouldnt-read-about-it-climate-scientists-right-20100727-10t5i.html›. “You Have the Power: Save Energy.” YouTube. 21 Mar. 2011 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SCiS5k_uPbQ›.

Susanne Bier and David Farr’s 2016 television adaptation of John le Carré’s novel The Night Manager (“Manager”) indexes the resilience of traditional Christian misogyny in contemporary British-American media. In the first episode of the series, Sophie (Aure Atika)’s partner Freddie Hamid (David Avery) brutally beats her. In the subsequent scene, despite her scars, Sophie has a sex scene with the eponymous night manager Pine (Tom Hiddlestone). Sophie’s eye socket and the left side of her face bear fresh bruises and wounds throughout the sex scene. And in the sixth and final episode, Pine and Jed (Elizabeth Debicki) have sex after she has been tortured at length by her partner Roper’s (Hugh Laurie) henchman, at Roper’s request. Jed’s neck, face, and arms bear bruises from the torture.These sex scenes function as a space of revelation. I interpret the women’s wounds and injuries alongside a feminist-critical tradition of reading noir on screen. Inaugurated by Ann Kaplan’s 1978 Women in Film Noir, many feminist commentators have since made the claim that women in noir achieve a peculiar significance, and their key scenes a subversive meaning; “in excess of” their punitive treatment within the narrative (Kaplan 5; Harvey 31; Tasker Working Girls 117). My reading emphasizes a tension between Manager’s patriarchal narrative framing and these two sex scenes that I argue disrupt and subvert the former.That Sophie and Jed are brutalised by their partners does not tell us much: it is a routine expectation in British-American film and television that “bad guys” are tough on “their” chicks. It is only after these violent encounters with their partners, when the women share “romantic” moments with Pine, that the text’s patriarchal entitlement is laid bare (“revelation” stems from Late Latin revelare to “lay bare”). Forgetting about their cuts, injuries and bruises, they desire Pine, remove their clothes, and are stimulated, stimulating, pleasuring, and pleasured. Director Bier and writer Farr assume that a 2016 British and American audience will (i) find these encounters between Sophie and Pine, and Pine and Jed, to be romantic and tender; and also (ii) find Pine’s behavior consistent with that of a “savior”. These expectations regarding audience complicity are truly revelatory.Sophie and Jed’s wounds constitute a space of revelation: the wounds are in excess of, and spill over, the patriarchal narrative framing. Their wounds indicate that the narrative has approached a moment of excessive patriarchal entitlement—emphasising extreme power imbalances between Pine and the women—and break through the narrative framing and encourage feminist enquiry. I use feminist legal theorist Catharine MacKinnon’s theory of consent to argue that, given this blatant power inequity, it could be interpreted the characters have different perspectives of the sexual act and it is questionable whether the women are in fact consenting (182).Critical ReceptionAcademic engagement with John le Carré’s well-respected espionage novels continues to emerge, including the books of Myron Aronoff, Tony Barley, Matthew Bruccoli and Judith Baughman, John Cobbs, David Monaghan, Peter Lewis and Peter Wolfe. There are a small number of academic commentaries exploring the screen adaptations of his novels, including Eric Morgan’s “Whores and Angels” and Geraint D’Arcy’s “Essentially, Another Man’s Woman”. Unfortunately, there are almost no academic commentaries on Manager, with the exception of Gunhild Agger’s “Geopolitical Location and Plot in The Night Manager”, and none that focus on the handling of gender themes within it.However, there are abundant mainstream media articles and reviews of Manager. I randomly selected seven of these articles and reviews in order to gauge the response to these sex scenes within a 2016 British-American media community. I looked at articles and reviews by Hal Boedeker, Caitlin Flynn, Tim Goodman, Jeff Jensen, Tom Lamont, Jasper Rees, and Claire Webb. None of the articles mention the theme of “gender” or note the gendered violence in the series. The reviews are complicit with the patriarchal narrative framing, and introduce Sophie and Jed in terms of their physical appearances and in their relation to principal male characters. “Beautiful and pale” Jed is “girlfriend of Bogeyman arms dealer” (Jensen), and is also referred to as “Roper’s long-legged trophy girlfriend” (Rees). Sophie, in a “sultry brunette corner” is a “tempting, tragic damsel-in-distress” (Rees) and “arouses Pine” (Jensen). However, reviewers describe the character Burr (who is male in the novel but played by Olivia Colman in the series) with greater dignity and detail. Introducing the character Sophie (Aure Atika), reviewer Tom Goodman does not refer to her by character or actress name despite the fact he introduces male characters by both. Instead, Sophie is a “beautiful connected woman” and is subsequently referred to as “the woman” (Goodman). This anonymity of Sophie as character, and Atika as actor, indexes the Christian misogyny in operation here: in Genesis, Adam only names Eve after the fall of man (New International Version, Gen. 3:20). Goodman’s textual erasure supports Sophie’s vulnerability and expendability within the narrative logic. Indeed, the reviews recapitulate stock noir themes, suggesting that the women are seductively manipulative: Goodman implies that both Bier and Debicki both deploy beauty so as to distract or beguile (Goodman), and Jensen notes that the women are “sultry with danger” (Jensen).Commentators and reviewers have likened Manager, with good reason, to screen adaptations of Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels. This is a useful comparison for the purposes of clarifying my own analytical approach. Lisa Funnell and Klaus Dodds’s Geographies, Genders and Geopolitics of James Bond, endorse a feminist geopolitical sensibility that audits which bodies are vulnerable, and which are disposable (14). Bond, like Manager’s Pine, is fundamentally privileged and invulnerable (14). Their account of Bond also describes Pine: “white, cis-gender, middle-class, heterosexual, able-bodied… British, attended Cambridge… he can move, act, and perform; gain access to places, spaces and resources” (1). Sophie’s vulnerability counterpoints Pine’s privilege. Against Pine’s athletic form and blond features stands the “foreign” Sophie, iterated through an emphasis on her dark features, silk dresses (that reference kaftans), and accented language (she delivers English language lines with a strong accent and discloses to Pine that she has tried to “Anglicise” her identity and has changed name). Sophie’s social and financial precarity seems behind her decision to become the mistress of violent gangster Freddie Hamid (in “Episode One” Sophie explains that Hamid “owns her”). By the end of this episode Hamid has violently beaten her then later murdered her. And even though the character Jed is white and American, it is implied that financial necessity is behind her choice of Richard Roper as partner. Jed is violently tortured and beaten in “Episode Six”.Funnell and Dodds also note Bond’s capacity to sexually satisfy women as a key dimension of his hegemonic masculinity (1). In Manager, the spectator is presumed complicit with the narrative framing and is expected to uncritically accept Pine’s extreme desirability to women. The assumption of Pine’s sexiness and sexual competency together constitute his entitlement, made clear in sex scenes between him and Sophie, and him and Jed. These sex scenes follow events of gendered violence and I raise the possibility that they also constitute instances of gendered violence.Noir Feminine ArchetypesReviewers have pointed out that Manager engages with the noir tradition (Jensen). Sophie and Jed are both “fallen” women, reflecting the Christian heritage of the noir tradition, though incarnate different noir archetypes (Allen 6). Mysterious and seductive Sophie emerges as a femme fatale in the first episode: the dark and seductive girlfriend of gangster Freddie Hamid, Sophie entrusts Pine with delicate and dangerous information, leading him into a dark world. In Milton’s Paradise Lost, the snake convinces Eve that the fruit does not bring death but instead knowledge. Eve wishes to share this knowledge with her partner “but keep the odds of knowledge in my power / without co-partner?” ultimately precipitating the fall of Adam and mankind (Milton 818). Sophie shares information regarding Hamid and Roper’s illegal arms deal with Pine. There are two transgressions on her part: she shares her partner’s confidential information with Pine and then has an affair with him. Hamid murders Sophie for the betrayals. However, Sophie’s murder does not erase her narrative significance: the event motivates protagonist Pine in his chief quest to ‘bring Roper down’, and as Boedeker concurs, the narrative’s action is “driven by this event”. Indeed, Yvonne Tasker notes the dual function of the femme fatale: she is both “an archetype which suggests an equation between female sexuality, death and danger” and also “functions as the vibrant centre of the narrative” (Tasker 117).Pine’s later love interest Jed is an example of the more complicated “good-bad girl” noir type, as Andrew Spicer has usefully coined it (92). The “good-bad girl” occupies a morally ambiguous space between the (dangerously sexy) femme fatale and (fundamentally decent) “girl-next-door” (Spicer 92). Both “good” and “bad”, Jed is unmarried but living with villain Roper, whom she has presumably selected out of economic necessity; she is a mother, but this does not bestow her with maternal legitimacy as she keeps her son a secret and is physically remote from him. Jed finds “real love” with Pine and betrays Roper in assisting Pine’s espionage plot. Roper’s henchman punishes Jed for the betrayal (in the torture scene Roper laments “I saw how you looked at him last night”; “Episode 6”).Despite the routine sexism and punitive thrust of the noir narrative, the women’s “romantic” sex scenes with Pine are laden with subversive significance. In her analysis of women in noir, Sylvia Harvey argues:Despite the ritual punishment of acts of transgression, the vitality with which these acts are endowed produces an excess of meaning which cannot finally be contained. Narrative resolutions cannot recuperate their subversive significance. (31)The visibility of Sophie and Jed’s wounds throughout their respective sex scenes with Pine signals an excessive patriarchal entitlement that disrupts the narrative logic and invites us to question the women’s perspectives. My analysis of the scenes is informed by feminist legal theorist Catharine MacKinnon’s argument that under unequal power relations consent is fraught, if not impossible (180). MacKinnon argues that women’s beliefs and reactions are shaped by power inequality, including the threat of male violence, economic dependence, and need (175).Analysis of Sophie and Pine’s InteractionsI first analyse Sophie’s dialogue because I seek to demonstrate that there is a communication breakdown in play: Sophie is asking Pine for help and safety while Pine thinks she is seducing him. Sophie’s verbal exchanges with Pine can be read in two different ways: (i) according to the patriarchal narrative framing (the spectator is positioned alongside Pine, seeing Sophie as scopophilic object); or (ii) from a feminist perspective that takes Sophie’s situation and perspective into account (Mulvey 835-36). Sophie’s language is legible as flirtation. If we are uncritically complicit with the narrative framing, Sophie is usually trying to arrange time alone with Pine because she desires him. However, if we emphasise Sophie’s perspective, she is asking for privacy, discretion, and help to stay alive (and to save the lives of others too, given that she is foiling an arms deal). Catharine MacKinnon’s observation that “men are systematically conditioned not even to notice what women want” plays out elegantly in the scenes between Pine and Sophie (181). Pine manages to discern that Sophie needs some sort of help, but shows no regard for her perspective or the significant power inequality between the two of them. From their earliest interaction in “Episode One” Sophie addresses Pine in a flirtatious way. In an audacious request, although it is ‘below’ his duties as manager she insists he make her a coffee and cheekily demands he sit with her while she drinks it. Their interaction is a standard flirtatious tête-à-tête, entailing the playful query “what do you [Pine] know of me?” Sophie begs Pine to copy some documents for her in his office even though he points out that his colleague performs such duties. Sophie suggestively demands “I would prefer to use your office”. It seems that by insisting on time alone with him, Sophie’s goal is that Pine does the task, rather than the task be done per se. However, it promptly transpires that Sophie sought a private location in order to share classified information with him, having noted at an earlier date Pine’s friendship with a British diplomat. She asks him to “hold onto” the documents “in case something happens to her”.Pine nonetheless passes on these classified documents to this contact.Sophie and Pine’s next interaction follows a similar pattern: she rings him from her hotel room and asks him to bring her a scotch. He suggests alternative ways she can procure a drink, yet she confirms the real object of her desire (“I want you”). Pine smirks as he approaches her room. Sophie’s declaration appears as (i) a desirous statement and invitation to come to her room for sex but it is in fact (ii) a demand that Pine (specifically) comes to her room, because she wants to know with whom he shared the documents and to reveal to him the injuries she received as a punishment for his leak.After realising the danger he has put her in, Pine takes her to a remote house to secure her safety. Once inside, she implores “why do you sit so far away?” which sounds like a request for closeness, perhaps even that he touch her. Yet the extent of her desired proximity, and the nature of the touch she requests, can be interpreted in (at least) two ways. Certainly, Pine believes that she desires sexual intercourse with him. The spectator is meant to interpret this request along those lines by virtue of Atika’s seductive delivery. Pine explains that he sits with distance “out of respect” and Sophie teases “is that why you came all the way here, to respect me?” This remark reveals Sophie’s assumption that Pine’s assistance has been transactional (help in exchange for sex) and the content indicates the kind of sex she assumes he expects (“disrespectful” sex, or at least sex that playfully skirts the boundaries of respect). In a declaration that stands up as a positive affirmation of consent under British and American law, Sophie announces: “I want one of your many selves to sleep with me tonight.”From a freshly bruised eye socket, Sophie lovingly stares at Pine. Extra-diegetic strings instruct us that the moment is romantic. Pine strokes the (unbruised side) side of her face. Could her question “why do you sit so far away?” have been a request that he sit near her, place an arm around her shoulder, hold her hand, stroke her forehead, perhaps even tend to her wounds? Might the request that he “sleep with [her] tonight” have been a request that he sleep in the cottage, albeit on the floor?Sophie and Pine are subsequently displayed naked, limbs entangled. A new shot, a close-up of the right side of her face, displays a scab atop her eyebrow, a deeply bruised eye socket, further bruises down her cheeks, and a split lip. The muscular, broad Pine is atop Sophie and thrusting; Sophie’s split lip smiles in ecstasy and gratitude. A post-coital shot follows: she stares lovingly down at him with her facial injuries on full display, her dark eyes stare into his lucid green. Pine asks Sophie’s “real name”. Samira recounts that she changed her name to Sophie in order to “be more Western”. The power inequality is manifest on gendered, cultural, social, and physical lines: in order to advance her social position, Samira has sought to Anglicise herself and partnered with a violent (though influential) criminal (who has recently brutalised her). Her life is in danger, she is (depicted as) dark and foreign and ostensibly has no social or support network (is isolated enough to appeal to a hotel manager for help). Meanwhile, Pine is Western university-educated, a spectacle of white male athletic privilege, and has elite connections with British intelligence.Catharine MacKinnnon argues that consent is only a meaningful option if the parties are equally powerful (174). Sophie’s extreme vulnerability renders their situations patently unequal. As MacKinnon argues “when perspective is bound up with situation, and [that] situation is unequal, whether or not a contested interaction is authoritatively considered rape comes down to whose meaning wins” (182). I do not argue that Pine rapes Sophie per se. However, the revealing of Sophie’s injuries efficiently articulates the power inequality in their situations and thus problematises a straightforward assumption of her consent. MacKinnon’s argues that rape occurs “somewhere between” the following three factors (182). First, “what the woman actually wanted” (Sophie wanted to save the lives of others (by foiling an arms deal) and not die for the breach). Second, “what she was able to express about what she wanted” (class/gender/race power dynamics may have frustrated Sophie’s ability to articulate her needs and might have motivated her sexually suggestive tenor). Third, “what the man comprehended she wanted” (Pine assumes that Sophie, like all women, sexually desire him).Analysis of Jed and Pine’s InteractionsThe injustice of Pine and Sophie’s sexual encounter finds its counterpart in Pine’s sexual encounter with Jed in the final episode of the series (“Episode Six”). Roper discovers that Jed has given a third party (Pine and his colleagues) access to his private (incriminating) files. Roper instructs his henchman to torture Jed until she identifies this third party. The henchman holds Jed by the back of her neck and dunks her head repeatedly into bathwater. The camera reveals deep bruises on her arms. Jed refuses to identify her beloved (Pine) as the ‘rat’, yet the astute Roper nevertheless surmises “you must care deeply about the person you are protecting”.Alas, the dominant narrative must go on: Roper and Pine attend to an arms deal; the deal fails because Pine has set Roper up to appear as though he has robbed the buyers (and so on). Burr and Pine’s mission to “bring down” Roper has been completed. I keep wondering what Roper’s henchman has been doing to Jed during this “men’s business”. Alas, after Pine has completed the job, we encounter Jed again. She is in bed, her limbs entangled with Pine’s. The camera positioning and shot sequencing are almost identical to the sex scene between Pine and Sophie in “Episode One”. A medium close-up from the left reveals Pine thrusting atop Jed. Through pale moonlight the viewer discerns injures on Jed’s face and chin.The morning after this (brief) sex scene, Pine and Jed discuss her imminent departure (“home” to New York, to be reunited with her son). Debicki’s performance is tremendously tender: her lip trembles, her voice shakes as she swallows tears. Jed is sad because she is bidding Pine farewell, and, as she verbalises to Pine, she is nervous about whether her son will “recognise her”. Does Jed’s torture also give her grounds to weep and tremble? Ever a gentleman, Pine clasps her hand, and while marching her to her taxi, we see more bruises atop her left arm.I am also not arguing that Pine raped Jed. Yet given what Jed had endured earlier that day – torture by drowning, as commissioned and witnessed by her own partner – was sexual intercourse what she desired or needed? The visibility of Jed’s injuries throughout the sex scene marks an apotheosis of patriarchal entitlement. Might a fraternal or (even remedial) touch have been Pine’s first priority? Does Jed need a hug? Does she need ice? Had Pine been educated or socialised in a different tradition, one remotely attuned to what anyone might need after a disastrously traumatic and violent event, he might not have found penetrative sex an appropriate remedy. Pine’s absolute security in his own sexual desirability meant that he found the activity suitable, yet her injuries break my blind faith in his sexiness. I wish to raise the possibility that intercourse after this event might have compounded the violent events Jed endured that day. Contrary to the narrative’s implication, penetrative intercourse (even with Tom Hiddleston) might not heal Sophie or Jed’s wounds.ConclusionI am not a humourless feminist immune to the entertaining (and often entertainingly preposterous) dimensions of the spy and action genre. In fact, I enthusiastically await subsequent screen adaptations of le Carré’s work and the next Bond instalment. This is not a call to “cancel” a genre, text, director or writer. Biblically, a “revelation” has always instructed humans on how to live in this life. These sex scenes do not merely lay bare extreme patriarchal entitlement but might instruct directors and writers working within the genre to keep wounds, and wounded women, out of their sex scenes. I think that is a modest request. ReferencesAgger, Gunhild. “Geopolitical Location and Plot in The Night Manager.” Journal of Scandinavian Cinema 7 (2017): 27-42.Allen, Virginia. The Femme Fatale: Erotic Icon. Troy, New York: The Whitston Publishing Company, 1983.Aronoff, Myron. The Spy Novels of John le Carré: Balancing Ethics and Politics. New York: St. Martin’s, 1999.Barley, Tony. Taking Sides: The Fiction of John le Carré. Philadelphia: Open U, 1986.Boedeker, Hal. “‘Night Manager’: Check in for Tom Hiddleston.” Orlando Sentinel, 16 Apr. 2016. 7 June 2020 <https://www.orlandosentinel.com/entertainment/tv-guy/os-night-manager-check-in-for-tom-hiddleston-20160416-story.html>.Bruccoli, Matthew, and Judith Baughman. Conversations with John le Carré. Oxford: U of Mississippi P, 2004.Cobbs, John. Understanding John le Carré. Columbia: U of South Carolina P, 1998.D’arcy, Geraint. “‘Essentially, Another Man’s Woman’: Information and Gender in the Novel and Adaptations of John le Carré’s Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy.” Adaptation 7.3 (2014): 275-90.Funnell, Lisa, and Klaus Dodds. Geographies, Genders and Geopolitics of James Bond. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017.Flynn, Caitlin. “Who Is Sophie on ‘The Night Manager’? 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When characters in the Fox Television sitcom The Mindy Project call Mindy Lahiri fat, Mindy sees it as a case of misidentification. She reminds the character that she is a “petite Asian woman,” that she has large, beautiful breasts, that she has nothing in common with fat people, and the terms “chubbster” and “BBW – Big Beautiful Woman” are offensive and do not apply to her. Mindy spends some of each episode on her love for food and more food, and her hatred of fitness regimes, while repeatedly falling for meticulously fit men. She dates, has a string of failed relationships, adventurous sexual techniques, a Bridget Jones-scale search for perfect love, and yet admits to shame in showing her naked body to lovers. Her contradictory feelings about food and body image mirror our own confusions, and reveal the fear and fascination we feel for fat in our fat-obsessed culture. I argue that by creating herself as sexy, successful, popular, sporadically confident and insecure, Mindy works against stigmas that attach both to big women – women who are considered big in comparison to the societal size-zero ideal – and women who have historically been seen as belonging to “primitive” or colonized cultures, and therefore she disrupts the conflation of thinness to civilization. In this article, I look at the performance of fat and ethnic identity on American television, and examine the bodily mechanisms through which Mindy disrupts these. I argue that Mindy uses issues of fat and body image to disrupt stereotypical iterations of race. In the first part of the paper, I look at the construction of South Asian femininity in American pop culture, to set up the discussion of fat, gender and race as interrelated performative categories. Race, Gender, Performativity As Judith Butler says of gender, “performativity must be understood not as a singular or deliberate ‘act,’ but, rather as the reiterative and citational practice by which discourse produces the effects that it names” (Bodies, 2). Bodies produce and perform their gender through repeating and imitating norms of clothing, body movement, choices in gesture, action, mannerism, as well as gender roles. They do so in such a way that the discourses and histories that are embedded in them start to seem natural; they are seen to be the truth, instead of as actions that have a history. These choices do not just reflect or reveal gender, but rather produce and create it. Nadine Ehlers takes performativity into the realm of race. Ehlers says that “racial performativity always works within and through the modalities of gender and sexuality, and vice versa, and these categories are constituted through one another” (65). In this sense, neither race nor gender are produced or iterated without also producing their interrelationship. They are in fact produced through this interrelationship. So, for example, when studying the performativity of black bodies, you would need to specify whether you are looking at black femininity or masculinity. And on the other hand, when studying gender, it is important to specify gender where? And when? You couldn’t simply pry open the link between race and gender and expect to successfully theorize either on its own. Mindy’s performance of femininity, including her questions about body image and weight, her attractive though odd clothing choices, her search for love, these are all bound to her iteration of race. She often explains her body through defining herself as Asian. Yet, I suggest in a seeming contradiction that her othering of herself as a big woman (relative to normative body size for women in American film and television) who breaks chairs when she sits on them and is insecure about her body, keeps the audience from othering her because of race. Her weight, clumsiness, failures in love, her heartbreaks all make her a “normal” woman. They make her easy to identify with. They suggest that she is just a woman, an American woman, instead of othering her as a South Asian woman, or a woman from a “primitive”, colonized or minority culture.Being South Asian on American Television Mindy Lahiri (played by writer, producer and actor Mindy Kaling) is a successful American obstetrician/gynaecologist, who works in a successful practice in New York. She breaks stereotypes of South Asian women that are repeated in American television and film. Opposite to the stereotype of the traditional, dutiful South Asian who agrees to an arranged marriage, and has little to say for him or herself beyond academic achievement that is generally seen in American and British media, Mindy sleeps with as many men as she can possibly fit into a calendar year, is funny, self-deprecating, and has little interest in religion, tradition or family, and is obsessed with popular culture. The stereotypical characteristics of South Asians in the popular British media, listed by Anne Ciecko (69), include passive, law-abiding, following traditional gender roles and traditions, living in the “pathologized” Asian family, struggling to find self-definitions that incorporate their placement as both belonging to and separate from British culture. Similarly, South Asian actors on American television often play vaguely-comic doctors and lawyers, seemingly with no personal life or sexual desire. They are simply South Asians, with no further defining personality traits or quirks. It is as if being South Asian overrides any other character trait. They are rarely in lead roles, and Mindy is certainly the first South Asian-American woman to have her own sitcom, in which she plays the lead. What do South Asians on American television look and sound like? In her study on performativity of race and gender, Ehlers looks at various constructions of black femininity, and suggests that black femininity is often constructed in the media in terms of promiscuity and aggression (83), and, I would add, the image of the mama with the big heart and even bigger bosom. Contrary to black femininity, South Asian femininity in American media is often repressed, serious, concerned with work and achievement or alternatively with menial roles, with little in terms of a personal or sexual life. As Shilpa S. Dave says in her book on South Asians in American television, most South Asians that appear in American television are shown as immigrants with accents (8). That is what makes them recognizably different and other, more so even than any visual identification. It is much more common to see immigrants of Chinese or Korean descent in American television as people with American accents, as people who are not first generation immigrants. South Asians, on the other hand, almost always have South Asian accents. There are exceptions to this rule, however, the exceptions are othered and/or made more mainstream using various mechanisms. Neela in ER (played by Parminder Nagra) and Cece in New Girl (played by Hannah Simone) are examples of this. In both instances the characters are part of either an ensemble cast, or in a supporting role. Neela is a step removed from American and South Asian femininity, in that she is British, with a British accent – she is othered, but this othering makes her more mainstream than the marking that takes place with a South Asian accent. The British accent and a tragic marriage, I would say, allow her to have a personal and sexual life, beyond work. Cece goes through an arranged marriage scenario, full with saris and a South Asian wedding that is the more recognized and acceptable narrative for South Asian women in American media. The characters are made more acceptable and recognizable through these mechanisms. Bhoomi K. Thakore, in an article on the representation of South Asians in American television, briefly explains that after the 1965 Immigration and Nationality act, highly-educated South Asians could immigrate to the United States, either to get further education, or as highly skilled workers (149) – a phenomenon often called “brain-drain.” In addition, says Thakore, family members of these educated South Asians immigrated to the States as well, and these were people that were less educated and worked often in convenience stores and motels. Thakore suggests that immigrants to the United States experience a segmented assimilation, meaning that not all immigrants (first and second generation) will assimilate to the same extent or in the same way. I would say from my own experience that the degree to which immigrants can assimilate into American society often depends on not only financial prospects or education, but also attractiveness, skin tone, accent, English-speaking ability, interests and knowledge of American popular culture, interest in an American way of life and American social customs, and so on. Until recently, I would say that South Asian characters in American television shows have tended to represent either first-generation immigrants with South Asian accents and an inability or lack of desire to assimilate fully into American society, or second-generation immigrants whose personal and sexual lives are never part of the narrative. Examples of the former include South Asians who play nameless doctors and cops in American television. Kal Penn’s character Lawrence Kutner in the television series House is an example of the latter. Kutner, one of the doctors on Dr. House’s team, did not have a South Asian accent. However, he also had no personal narrative. All doctors on House came with their relationship troubles and baggage, their emotional turmoil, their sexual and romantic ups and downs – all but Kutner, whose suicide in the show (when he left it to join the Obama administration) is framed around the question – do we ever really know the people we see every day? Yet, we do know the other doctors on House. But we never know anything about Kutner’s private life. His character is all about academic knowledge and career achievement. This is the stereotype of the South Asian character in American television. Yet, Mindy, with her American accent, sees herself as American, doesn’t obsess about race or skin colour, and has no signs of a poor-me narrative in the way she presents herself. She does not seem to have any diasporic longings or group belongings. Mindy doesn’t ignore race on the show. In fact, she deploys it strategically. She describes herself as Asian on more than one occasion, often to explain her size, her breasts and femininity, and in one episode she goes to a party because she expects to see black sportsmen there, and she explains, “It’s a scientific fact that black men love South Asian girls.” Her production of her femininity is inextricably bound up with race. However, Mindy avoids marking herself as a racial minority by making her quest for love and her confusions about body image something all women can identify with. But she goes further in that she does not place herself in a diaspora community, she does not speak in a South Asian accent, she doesn’t hide her personal life or the contours of her body, and she doesn’t harp on parents who want her to get married. By not using the usual stereotypes of South Asians and Asians on American television, while at the same time acknowledging race, I suggest that she makes herself a citizen of the alleged “melting pot” as the melting pot should be, a hybrid space for hybrid identities. Mindy constructs herself as an American woman, and suggests that being a racial minority is simply part of the experience of being American. I am not suggesting that this reflects the reality of experience for many women in the USA who belong to ethnic minorities. I am suggesting that Mindy is creating a possible or potential reality, in which neither size nor being a racial minority are causes for shame. In a scene in the second season, a police officer chastises Mindy for prescribing birth control to his young daughter. He charges out of her office, and she follows him in to the street. She is wearing a version of her usual gear – a check-pinafore, belted over a printed shirt – her shoulders curved forward, arms folded, in the characteristic posture of the big-breasted, curvy woman. She screams at the officer for his outdated views on birth-control. He questions if she even has kids, suggesting that she knows nothing about raising them. She says, “How dare you? Do I look like a woman who’s had kids? I have the hips of an eleven-year-old boy.” She then informs him that she wolfed down a steak sandwich at lunch, has misgivings about the outfit she is wearing, and says that she is not a sex-crazed lunatic. He charges her for public female hysteria. She screams after him as he drives off, “Everyone see this!” She holds up the citation. “It’s for walking, while being a person of colour.” She manages in the space of a two-minute clip to deploy race, size and femininity, without shame or apology, and with humour. It is interesting to note that, contrary to her persona on the show, in interviews in the media, Kaling suggests that she is not that concerned with the question of weight. She says that though she would like to lose fifteen pounds, she is not hung up on this quest. On the other hand, she suggests that she considers herself a role model for minority women. In fact, in real life she makes the question of race as something more important to her than weight – which is opposite to the way she treats the two issues in her television show. I suggest that in real life, Kaling projects herself as a feminist, as someone not so concerned about size and weight, an intelligent woman who is concerned about race. On the show, however, she plays an everywoman, for whom weight is a much bigger deal than race. Neither persona is necessarily real or assumed – rather, they both reveal the complexities by which race, gender and body size constitute each other, and become cruxes for identification and misidentification. Is It Civilized to Be Fat? When Mindy and her colleague Danny Castellano get together in the second season of the show, you find yourself wondering how on earth they are going to sustain this sitcom, without an on-again/off-again romance, or one that takes about five years to start. When Danny does not want to go public with the relationship, Mindy asks him if he is ashamed of her. Imagine one of the Friends or Sex in the City women asking this question to see just how astonishing it is for a successful, attractive woman to ask a man if he is ashamed to be seen with her. She doesn’t say is it because of my weight, yet the question hangs in the air. When Danny does break up with her, again Mindy feels all the self-disgust of a woman rejected for no clear reason. As Amy Erdman Farrell suggests in her book on fat in American culture and television, fat people are not expected to find love or success. They are expected to be self-deprecating. They are supposed to expect rejection and failure. She says that not only do fat people bear a physical but also a character stigma, in that not only are they considered visually unappealing, but this comes with the idea that they have uncontrolled desires and urges (7-10). Kaling suggests through her cleverly-woven writing that it is because of her body image that Mindy feels self-loathing when Danny breaks up with her. She manages again to make her character an everywoman. Not a fat South Asian woman, but simply an American woman who feels all the shame that seems to go with weight and body image in American culture. However, this assumed connection of fat with immorality and laziness goes a step further. Farrell goes on to say that fat denigration and ethnic discrimination are linked, that popularity and the right to belong and be a citizen are based both on body size and ethnicity. Says Farrell, “our culture assigns many meanings to fatness beyond the actual physical trait – that a person is gluttonous, or filling a deeply disturbed psychological need, or is irresponsible and unable to control primitive urges” (6) – psychological traits that have historically been used to describe people in colonized cultures. Farrell provides an intriguing analysis of Oprah Winfrey and her public ups and downs with weight. She suggests that Winfrey’s public obsession with her own weight, and her struggles with it, are an attempt to be an “everywoman”, to be someone all and not only black women can identify with. Says Farrell, “in order to deracinate herself, to prove that ‘anyone’ can make it, Winfrey must lose weight. Otherwise, the weight of all that fat will always, de facto, mark her as a ‘black woman’, with all the accompanying connotations of inferior, primitive, bodily and out of control” (126). She goes on to say that, “Since the end of the 19th century, fatness has … served as a potent signifier of the line between the primitive and the civilized, feminine and masculine, ethnicity and whiteness, poverty and wealth, homosexuality and heterosexuality, past and future” (126). This suggests that Winfrey’s public confrontations with the question of weight help the women in the audience identify with her as a woman, rather than as a black woman. In a volume on fat studies, Farrell explains that health professionals have further demarcated lines between “civilization and primitive cultures, whiteness and blackness, sexual restraint and sexual promiscuity, beauty and ugliness, progress and the past” (260). She suggests that fat is not just part of discourses on health and beauty, but also intelligence, enterprise, work ethics, as well as race, ethnicity, sexuality and class. These connections are of course repeated in media representations, across media genres and platforms. In women’s magazines, an imperative towards weightloss comes hand-in-hand with the search for love, a woman’s ability to satisfy a man’s as well as her own desires, and with success in glamorous jobs. Sitcom couples on American television often feature men who are ineffectual but funny slobs, married to determined, fit women who are mainly homemakers, and in fact, responsible for the proper functioning of the family, and consequentially, society. In general, bigger women in American and British media are on a quest both for love and weight loss, and the implication is that deep-seated insecurities are connected to both weight gain, as well as failures in love, and that only a resolution of these insecurities will lead to weight loss, which will further lead to success in love. Films such as My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Bridget Jones’s Diary are examples of this prevailing narrative. Thakore investigates the changing image of South Asians on American television, suggesting that South Asians are represented more and more frequently, and in increasingly more central roles. However, Thakore suggests that, “all women of colour deal with hegemonic skin tone ideologies in their racial/ethnic communities, with lighter skin tone and Caucasian facial features considered more appealing and attractive … . As media producers favour casting women who are attractive, so too do the same media producers favour casting women of colour who are attractive in terms of their proximity to White physical characteristics” (153). Similarly, Lee and Vaught suggest that in American popular culture, “both White women and women of colour are represented as reflecting a White ideal or aesthetic. These women conform to a body ideal that reflects White middle class ideals: exceedingly thin, long, flowing hair, and voluptuous” (458). She goes on to say that Asian American women would need to take on a White middle class standing and a simultaneous White notion of the exotic in order to assimilate. For Mindy, then, fat allows her to be an everywoman, but also allows her to adopt her own otherness as a South Asian, and make it her own. This trend shows some signs of changing, however, and I expect that women like Lena Dunham in the HBO comedy Girls and Mindy Kaling are leading the march towards productions of diverse femininities that are at the same time iterated as attractive and desirable. On The Hollywood Reporter, when asked about the more ludicrous questions or comments she faces on social media, Kaling puts on a male voice and says, “You’re ugly and fat, it’s so refreshing to watch!” and “We’re used to skinny people, and you’re so ugly, we love it!” On David Letterman, she mentions having dark skin, and says that lazy beach holidays don’t work for her because she doesn’t understand the trend for tanning, and she can’t really relax. Mindy’s confusions about her weight and body image make her a woman for everyone – not just for South Asian women. Whereas Kaling’s concern over the question of race – and her relative lack of concern over weight – make her a feminist, a professional writer, a woman with a conscience. These personas interweave. They question both normative performances of gender and race, and question the historical conflation of size and minority identity with shame and immorality. Butler suggests that gender is “the repeated stylisation of the body” (Gender, 33). She argues that gender roles can be challenged through a “subversive reiteration” of gender (Gender, 32). In this way, women like Dunham and Kaling, through their deployment of diverse female bodies and femininities, can disrupt the normative iteration of gender and race. Their production of femininity in bodies that are attractive (just not normatively so) has more than just an impact on how we look at fat. They bring to us women that are flawed, assertive, insecure, confident, contradictory, talented, creative, that make difficult choices in love and work, and that don’t make an obsession with weight or even race their markers of self worth.References Bridget Jones’s Diary. Dir. Sharon Maguire. Miramax and Universal Pictures, 2001. Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble. London: Routledge, 1990. Butler, Judith. Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of Sex. London: Routledge, 1993. Ciecko, Anne. “Representing the Spaces of Diaspora in Contemporary British Films by Women Directors.” Cinema Journal 38.3 (Spring 1999): 67-90. Dave, Shilpa S. Indian Accents: Brown Voice and Racial Performance in American Television. U of Illinois, 2013. Ehlers, Nadine. Racial Imperatives: Discipline, Performativity, and Struggles against Subjection. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2012. ER. Warner Bros. Television. NBC, 1994-2009. Farrell, Amy. “‘The White Man’s Burden’”: Female Sexuality, Tourist Postcards, and the Place of the Fat Woman in Early 20th-Century U.S. Culture.” In Esther Rothblum and Sondra Solovay (eds.), The Fat Studies Reader. New York: New York University Press, 2009. Farrell, Amy Erdman. Fat Shame: Stigma and the Fat Body in American Culture. New York: New York University Press, 2011. Friends. Warner Bros. Television. NBC, 1994-2004. Girls. HBO Entertainment and Apatow Productions. HBO, 2012-present. House. Universal Television. Fox, 2004-2012. Lee, Stacey J., and Sabina Vaught. “‘You Can Never Be Too Rich or Too Thin’: Popular and Consumer Culture and the Americanization of Asian American Girls and Young Women.” The Journal of Negro Education 72.4 (2003): 457-466. My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Dir. Joel Zwick. Playtone, 2002. New Girl. 20th Century Fox. Fox, 2011-present. Nicholson, Rebecca. “Mindy Kaling: ‘I Wasn’t Considered Attractive or Funny Enough to Play Myself.’” The Observer 1 June 2014. ‹http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2014/jun/01/mindy-kaling-project›. Sex in the City. Warner Bros. Television and HBO Original Programming. HBO, 1998-2004. Strauss, Elissa. “Why Mindy Kaling – Not Lena Dunham – Is the Body Positive Icon of the Moment.” The Week 22 April 2014. ‹http://theweek.com/article/index/260126/why-mindy-kaling-mdash-not-lena-dunham-mdash-is-the-body-positive-icon-of-the-moment›. Thakore, Bhoomi K. “Must-See TV: South Asian Characterizations in American Popular Media.” Sociology Compass 8.2 (2014): 149-156. The Mindy Project. Universal Television, 3 Arts Entertainment, Kaling International. Fox, 2012-present. Ugly Betty. ABC Studios. ABC, 2006-2010. YouTube. “Mindy Kaling on David Letterman.” 29 April 2013. 21 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8K1ye2gnJw›. YouTube. “Mindy on Being Called Fat and Ugly on Social Media.” The Hollywood Reporter 14 June 2014. 21 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ockt-BeMOWk›. YouTube. “Chris Messina: ‘I Think Mindy Kaling’s Beautiful.’” HuffPost Live 24 April 2014. 21 Oct. 2014 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3HtCjGNERKQ›.

The Netflix/BBC eight-part limited true crime series The Serpent (2021) provides a commentary on the impact of the tourist industry in South-East Asia in the 1970s. The series portrays the story of French serial killer Charles Sobhraj (played by Tahar Rahim)—a psychopathic international con artist of Vietnamese-Indian descent—who regularly targeted Western travellers, especially the long-term wanderers of the legendary “Hippie Trail” (or the “Overland”), running between eastern Europe and Asia. The series, which was filmed on location in Thailand—in Bangkok and the Thai town of Hua Hin—is set in a range of travel destinations along the route of the Hippie Trail, as the narrative follows the many crimes of Sobhraj. Cities such as Kathmandu, Goa, Varanasi, Hong Kong, and Kabul are featured on the show. The series is loosely based upon Australian writers Richard Neville and Julie Clarke’s true crime biography The Life and Crimes of Charles Sobhraj (1979). Another true crime text by Thomas Thompson called Serpentine: Charles Sobhraj’s Reign of Terror from Europe to South Asia (also published in 1979) is a second reference. The show portrays the disappearance and murders of many young victims at the hands of Sobhraj. Certainly, Sobhraj is represented as a monstrous figure, but what about the business of tourism itself? Arguably, in its reflective examination of twentieth-century travel, the series also poses the hedonism of tourism as monstrous. Here, attention is drawn to Western privilege and a neo-orientalist gaze that presented Asia as an exotic playground for its visitors. The television series focuses on Sobhraj, his French-Canadian girlfriend Marie-Andrée Leclerc (played by Jenna Coleman), and the glamourous life they lead in Bangkok. The fashionable couple’s operation presents Sobhraj as a legitimate gem dealer: outwardly, they seem to embody the epitome of fun and glamour, as well as the cross-cultural sophistication of the international jet set. In reality, they drug and then steal from tourists who believe their story. Sobhraj uses stolen passports and cash to travel internationally and acquire more gems. Then, with an accomplice called Ajay Chowdhury (played by Amesh Adireweera), Sobhraj murders his victims if he thinks they could expose his fraud. Often depicted as humourless and seething with anger, the Sobhraj of the series often wears dark aviator sunglasses, a detail that enhances the sense of his impenetrability. One of the first crimes featured in The Serpent is the double-murder of an innocent Dutch couple. The murders lead to an investigation by Dutch diplomat Herman Knippenberg (played by Billy Howle), wanting to provide closure for the families of the victims. Knippenberg enlists neighbours to go undercover at Sobhraj’s home to collect evidence. This exposes Sobhraj’s crimes, so he flees the country with Marie-Andrée and Ajay. While they were apprehended, Sobhraj would be later given pardon from a prison in India: he would only received a life sentence for murder when he is arrested in Nepal in 2003. His ability to evade punishment—and inability to admit to and atone for his crimes—become features of his monstrosity in the television series. Clearly, Sobhraj is represented as the “serpent” of this drama, a metaphor regularly reinforced both textually and visually across the length of the series. As an example, the opening credit sequence for the series coalesces shots of vintage film in Asia—including hitchhiking backpackers, VW Kombi vans, swimming pools, religious tourist sites, corrupt Asian police forces—against an animated map of central and South-East Asia and the Hippie Trail. The map is encased by the giant, slithering tail of some monstrous, reptilian creature. Situating the geographic context of the narrative, the serpentine monster appears to be rising out of continental Asia itself, figuratively stalking and then entrapping the tourists and travellers who move along its route. So, what of the other readings about the monstrosity of the tourism industry that appears on the show? The Hippie Trail was arguably a site—a serpentine cross-continental thoroughfare—of Western excess. The Hippie Trail emerged as the result of the ease of travel across continental Europe and Asia. It was an extension of a countercultural movement that first emerged in the United States in the mid 1960s. Agnieszka Sobocinska has suggested that the travellers of the Hippie Trail were motivated by “widespread dissatisfaction with the perceived conservatism of Western society and its conventions”, and that it was characterised by “youth, rebellion, self-expression and the performance of personal freedom” (par. 8). The Trail appealed to a particular subcultural group who wanted to differentiate themselves from other travellers. Culturally, the Hippie Trail has become a historical site of enduring fascination, written about in popular histories and Western travel narratives, such as A Season in Heaven: True Tales from the Road to Kathmandu (Tomory 1998), Magic Bus: On the Hippie Trail from Istanbul to India (MacLean 2007), The Hippie Trail: A History (Gemie and Ireland 2017), and The Hippie Trail: After Europe, Turn Left (Kreamer 2019). Despite these positive memoirs, the route also has a reputation for being destructive and even neo-imperialist: it irrevocably altered the politics of these Asian regions, especially as crowds of Western visitors would party at its cities along the way. In The Serpent, while the crimes take place on its route, on face value the Hippie Trail still appears to be romanticised and nostalgically re-imagined, especially as it represents a stark difference from our contemporary world with its heavily-policed international borders. Indeed, the travellers seem even freer from the perspective of 2021, given the show’s production phase and release in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, when international travel was halted for many. As Kylie Northover has written in a review for the series in the Sydney Morning Herald, the production design of the programme and the on-location shoot in Thailand is affectionately evocative and nostalgic. Northover suggests that it “successfully evokes a very specific era of travel—the Vietnam War has just ended, the Summer of Love is over and contact with family back home was usually only through the post restante” (13). On the show, there is certainly critique of the tourist industry. For example, one scene demonstrates the “dark side” of the Hippie Trail dream. Firstly, we see a psychedelic-coloured bus of travellers driving through Nepal. The outside of the bus is covered with its planned destinations: “Istanbul. Teheran. Kabul. Delhi”. The Western travellers are young and dressed in peasant clothing and smoking marijuana. Looking over at the Himalayas, one hippie calls the mountains a “Shangri-La”, the fictional utopia of an Eastern mountain paradise. Then, the screen contracts to show old footage of Kathmandu— using the small-screen dimensions of a Super-8 film—which highlights a “hashish centre” with young children working at the front. The child labour is ignored. As the foreign hippie travellers—American and English—move through Kathmandu, they seem self-absorbed and anti-social. Rather than meeting and learning from locals, they just gather at parties with other hippies. By night-time, the series depicts drugged up travellers on heroin or other opiates, disconnected from place and culture as they stare around aimlessly. The negative representation of hippies has been observed in some of the critical reviews about The Serpent. For example, writing about the series for The Guardian, Dorian Lynskey cites Joan Didion’s famous “serpentine” interpretation of the hippie culture in the United States, applying this to the search for meaning on the Hippie Trail: the subculture of expats and travellers in south-east Asia feels rather like Joan Didion’s 60s California, crisscrossed by lost young people trying to find themselves anew in religion, drugs, or simply unfamiliar places. In Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Didion writes of those who “drifted from city to torn city, sloughing off both the past and the future as snakes shed their skins”. (Lynskey) We could apply cultural theories about tourism to a critique of the industry in the series too. Many cultural researchers have critiqued tourists and the tourism industry, as well as the powers that tourists can wield over destination cultures. In Time and Commodity Culture, John Frow has suggested that the logic of tourism is “that of a relentless extension of commodity relations, and the consequent inequalities of power, between centre and periphery, First and Third World, developed and undeveloped regions, metropolis and countryside”, as well as one that has developed from the colonial era (151). Similarly, Derek Gregory’s sensitive analyses of cultural geographies of postcolonial space showed that Nineteenth-century Orientalism is a continuing process within globalised mass tourism (114). The problem of Orientalism as a Western travel ideology is made prominent in The Serpent through Sobhraj’s denouncement of Western tourists, even though there is much irony at play here, as the series itself arguably is presenting its own retro version of Orientalism to Western audiences. Even the choice of Netflix to produce this true crime story—with its two murderers of Asian descent—is arguably a way of reinforcing negative representations about Asian identity. Then, Western characters take on the role of hero and/or central protagonist, especially the character of Knippenberg. One could ask: where is the Netflix show that depicts a positive story about a central character of Vietnamese-Indian descent? Edward Said famously defined Orientalism as “a way of coming to terms with the Orient that is based on the Orient’s special place in European Western experience” (1). It became a way for Western cultures to interpret and understand the East, and for reducing and homogenising it into a more simplistic package. Orientalism explored discourses that grew to encompass India and the Far East in tandem with the expansion of Western imperialism in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. It examined a dualistic ideology: a way of looking that divided the globe into two limited types without any room for nuance and diversity. Inclusive and exclusive, Orientalism assumed and promoted an “us and them” binary, privileging a Western gaze as the normative cultural position, while the East was relegated to the ambiguous role of “other”. Orientalism is a field in which stereotypes of the East and West have power: as Said suggests, “the West is the actor, the Orient is a passive reactor… . The West is the spectator, the judge and jury, of every facet of Oriental behaviour” (109). Interestingly, despite the primacy in which Sobhraj is posited as the show’s central monster, he is also the character in the series most critical of the neo-colonial oppression caused by this counter-cultural tourism, which indicates ambiguity and complexity in the representation of monstrosity. Sobhraj appears to have read Said. As he looks scornfully at a stoner hippie woman who has befriended Ajay, he seems to perceive the hippies as drop-outs and drifters, but he also connects them more thoroughly as perpetrators of neo-imperialist processes. Indicating his contempt for the sightseers of the Hippie Trail as they seek enlightenment on their travels, he interrogates his companion Ajay: why do you think these white children deny the comfort and wealth of the life they were given to come to a place like this? Worship the same gods. Wear the same rags. Live in the same filth. Each experience is only then taken home to wear like a piece of fake tribal jewellery. They travel only to acquire. It’s another form of imperialism. And she has just colonised you! Sobhraj’s speech is political but it is also menacing, and he quickly sets upon Ajay and physically punishes him for his tryst with the hippie woman. Yet, ultimately, the main Western tourists of the Hippie Trail are presented positively in The Serpent, especially as many of them are depcited as naïve innocents within the story—hopeful, idealistic and excited to travel—and simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time. In this way, the series still draws upon the conventions of the true crime genre, which is to differentiate clearly between good/evil and right/wrong, and to create an emotional connection to the victims as symbols of virtue. As the crimes and deaths accumulate within the series, Sobhraj’s opinions are deceptive, designed to manipulate those around him (such as Ajay) rather than being drawn from genuine feelings of political angst about the neo-imperialist project of Western tourism. The uncertainty around Sobhraj’s motivation for his crimes remains one of the fascinating aspects of the series. It problematises the way that the monstrosity of this character is constructed within the narrative of the show. The character of Sobhraj frequently engages with these essentialising issues about Orientalism, but he appears to do so with the aim to remove the privilege that comes from a Western gaze. In the series, Sobhraj’s motivations for targeting Western travellers are often insinuated as being due to personal reasons, such as revenge for his treatment as a child in Europe, where he says he was disparaged for being of Asian heritage. For example, as he speaks to one of his drugged French-speaking victims, Sobhraj suggests that when he moved from Vietnam to France as a child, he was subject to violence and poor treatment from others: “a half-caste boy from Saigon. You can imagine how I was bullied”. In this instance, the suffering French man placed in Sobhraj’s power has been promoted as fitting into one of these “us and them” binaries, but in this set-up, there is also a reversal of power relations and Sobhraj has set himself as both the “actor” and the “spectator”. Here, he has reversed the “Orientalist” gaze onto a passive Western man, homogenising a “Western body”, and hence radically destabilising the construct of Orientalism as an ideological force. This is also deeply troubling: it goes on to sustain a problematic and essentialising binary that, no matter which way it faces, aims to denigrate and stereotype a cultural group. In this way, the character of Sobhraj demonstrates that while he is angry at the way that Orientalist ideologies have victimised him in the past, he will continue to perpetrate its basic ideological assumptions as a way of administering justice and seeking personal retribution. Ultimately, perhaps one of the more powerful readings of The Serpent is that it is difficult to move away from the ideological constructs of travel. We could also suggest that same thing for the tourists. In her real-life analysis of the Hippie Trail, Agnieszka Sobocinska has suggested that while it was presented and understood as something profoundly different from older travel tours and expeditions, it could not help but be bound up in the same ideological colonial and imperial impulses that constituted earlier forms of travel: Orientalist images and imperial behaviours were augmented to suit a new generation that liked to think of itself as radically breaking from the past. Ironically, this facilitated the view that ‘alternative’ travel was a statement in anti-colonial politics, even as it perpetuated some of the inequalities inherent to imperialism. This plays out in The Serpent. We see that this supposedly radically different new group – with a relaxed and open-minded identity—is bound within the same old ideological constructs. Part of the problem of the Hippie Trail traveller was a failure to recognise the fundamentally imperialist origins of their understanding of travel. This is the same kind of concern mapped out by Turner and Ash in their analysis of neo-imperial forms of travel called The Golden Hordes: International Tourism and the Pleasure Periphery (1976), written and published in the same era as the events of The Serpent. Presciently gauging the effect that mass tourism would have on developing nations, Turner and Ash used the metaphor of “hordes” of tourists taking over various poorer destinations to intend a complete reversal of the stereotype of a horde of barbaric and non-Western hosts. By inferring that tourists are the “hordes” reverses Orientalist conceptions of de-personalised non-Western cultures, and shows the problem that over-tourism and unsustainable visitation can pose to host locations, especially with the acceleration of mass travel in the late Twentieth century. Certainly, the concept of a touristic “horde” is one of the monstrous ideas in travel, and can signify the worst aspects contained within mass tourism. To conclude, it is useful to return to the consideration of what is presented as monstrous in The Serpent. Here, there is the obvious monster in the sinister, impassive figure of serial killer Charles Sobhraj. Julie Clarke, in a new epilogue for The Life and Crimes of Charles Sobhraj (2020), posits that Sobhraj’s actions are monstrous and unchangeable, demonstrating the need to understand impermeable cases of human evil as a part of human society: one of the lessons of this cautionary tale should be an awareness that such ‘inhuman humans’ do live amongst us. Many don’t end up in jail, but rather reach the highest level in the corporate and political spheres. (Neville and Clarke, 2020) Then, there is the exploitational spectre of mass tourism from the Hippie Trail that has had the ability to “invade” and ruin the authenticity and/or sustainability of a particular place or location as it is overrun by the “golden hordes”. Finally, we might consider the Orientalist, imperialist and globalised ideologies of mass tourism as one of the insidious and serpentine forces that entrap the central characters in this television series. 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