Littérature scientifique sur le sujet « Orti operai »

El artículo presenta la trayectoria del artista John Mario Ortiz. A través del análisis de sus obras e intervenciones, plantea las inquietudes temáticas más relevantes de su trabajo: crítica a las representaciones de la naturaleza, a la estética serial de los proyectos urbanísticos y a la idealización de la proyección arquitectónica y urbanística. El uso de diversos recursos plásticos insinúa una hipótesis de sentido en su trabajo: el artista opera como un traductor, como alguien que transita entre diversos sistemas de representación y construcción, los cuales se revisan en sus implicaciones ideológicas y políticas.

Resumo: Neste texto procuro descrever, de modo sintético, o processo de configuração do Movimento Negro Evangélico (MNE) no contexto brasileiro e o modo como os símbolos da herança africana no Brasil são acionados nas ações desses grupos. Com base em análise documental, entrevistas e pesquisa de campo, argumenta-se que a) é possível traçar algumas linhas gerais que balizam as ações do MNE - dentre elas o combate ao racismo; b) há uma rejeição das religiões afro-brasileiras como sendo o único lócus da “cultura negra no Brasil” sem, no entanto, difundir práticas discriminatórias; c) opera-se uma radicalização do movimento de “africanização” iniciado por alguns pais e mães de santo, a ponto de também o cristianismo ser considerado uma “religião de matriz africana”.

Ajuar funerario, publicado en 2004 por el peruano Fernando Iwasaki, constituye una de las obras canónicas de la minificción contemporánea. Esta colección de microrrelatos fantásticos insertados en la literatura de terror posee reescrituras de diversa índole a las que se suma en 2018 su adaptación al cómic. Las dieciocho micronarrativas que forman el volumen, seleccionadas por Imanol Ortiz López e ilustradas por Beñat Olea., son el resultado de un proceso de adaptación en el que las transformaciones formales operan en dos niveles, intramedial e intermedial. El primero, anclado al hipotexto, advierte alteraciones intrínsecas (usos y modos del lenguaje) y extrínsecas (configuración, formato y extensión). Por el contrario, el segundo, centrado en los microcómics que integran las series Difuntos, infantes y monstruos, son el resultado de una metamorfosis intermedial. En este sentido, la implementación de un nuevo código enriquecerá la interacción entre ambos ejes gracias el concepto de narrativa aumentada.

Cada vez mais os conceitos de colonialidade e decolonialidade ocupam espaço nas pesquisas acadêmicas, gerando uma série crescente de novas categorias, noções, métodos, princípios e conceitos, muitos deles voltados à interpretação da realidade sociocultural e política de países que se encontram à margem da globalização excludente que se verifica na contemporaneidade, em especial no continente latinoamericano. Um dos conceitos mais produtivos, proveniente da reflexão continuada acerca das implicações que a colonialidade/decolonialidade em nossa vida cotidiana é o de pedagogia decolonial, já bastante explorado em livros e artigos, mas ainda necessitando de maior divulgação e, principalmente, aplicação em nosso meio. Trata-se de um conceito que, entre outras coisas, prevê, segundo Luiz Fernandes Oliveira (2016), "a construção de um novo espaço epistemológico que promove a interação entre conhecimentos subalternizados e ocidentais, questionando a hegemonia destes e a invizibilização daqueles" (p. 3). Formulada por Catherine Walsh, professora e pesquisadora norte-americana radicada no Equador, a pedagogia colonial diz respeito a uma intervenção política e pedagógica a partir dos pressupostos do pensamento decolonial; trata-se, em outros termos, de um trabalho de politização da ação pedagógica (WALSH, OLIVEIRA CANDAU, 2018).Esse é também o tema principal, mas não exclusivo, do livro Decolonialidad de la educación. Emergencia/urgencia de uma pedagogía decolonial, escrito pelos pesquisadores colombianos Alexander Ocaña, María Isabel López e Zaira Pedrozo Conedo, da Universidad del Magdalena, em Santa Marta. Nele, os autores começam lembrando que a história da ciência e da epistemologia não pode ser escrita apenas com a “retórica de la modernidad” (p. 9), mas a partir de novas leituras, como propõem os “enfoques decoloniales” (p. 9), ou seja, a partir da perspectiva da decolonialidade, num claro movimento de “resistencia epistemológica” (p. 9) e de “desobediencia epistémica” (p. 9), sobretudo quando se pensa em termos de educação. Assim, a proposta do livro é, em suma, analisar a diversidade da educação, a interculturalidade e o multiculturalismo pela chave decolonial, já que, segundo os próprios autores, “debemos educar para decolonizar, argumentar la esencia del currículo decolonial y de la didáctica decolonizante. Debemos abordar la enseñanza, el aprendizage y la evaluación desde la perspectiva de la decolonizalidad. Desde esta mirada, urge decolonizar da pedagogía, el currículo y la didáctica, pero urge también decolonizar la ciência, la epistemologia y la metodologia de la investigación” (p. 10). No século XXI, explicam, emerge o que se poderia chamar de razão decolonial – pensar, nesse contexto, a decolonialidade da educação é pensar em uma Pedagogia Decolonial, diante da necessidade de re-pensar, re-educar e re-configurar o universo dos mais necessitados, sobretudo na América Latina e Caribe, desconstruindo a configuração colonial que, historicamente, tem marcado este espaço geográfico e humano. Assim, faz necessário, antes de tudo, diferenciarmos colonialismo (configuração de poder, exploração e dominação de uma região sobre outra, afirmando-se com a essência do imperialismo) e colonialidade (imposição sutil à subjetividade humana, mais enraizada, penetrante e prolongada, resultado do colonalismo, mas adquirindo autonomia e independência em relação a ele, articulando-se, inclusive, como domínio do conhecimento). Daí a urgência em se estabelecerem outros modos de conhecimento, num “proceso de reconfiguración epistémica” (p. 22), ou seja, “una configuración alternativa al occidentalismo, una perspectiva que cuestiona la modernidad eurocéntrica, no solo sus propuestas epistemológicas y epistémicas sino también de manera significativa su proyecto sociocultural y sus concepción de progreso, desarrollo y civilización, que nos han inpuesto durante más de 500 años” (p. 23). Tendo como base a ideia (proveniente de Mignolo), de que a colonialidade é constitutiva – e não derivada – da modernidade, os intelectuais comprometidos com essa nova perspectiva (além de Mignolo, Quijano, Walsh, Dussel, Escobar, Maldonado, Castro-Gómez, Grosfoguel, Wallerstein e outros) reconhecem que, apesar de não mais existir o colonialismo clássico, permanece suas configurações subjetivas socioculturais, imaginários, crenças e percepções ligadas ao colonialismo, além de modelos de pensamento, teorias e ideologias eurocêntricas, portanto, persiste a colonialidade. Sendo a história da modernidade europeia uma história de autorreconhecimento, autoafirmação, de centralidade epistêmica e epistemológica, de imposição global, em que outras histórias foram silenciadas e apagadas, torna-se necessário, como contraponto a essa configuração da Europa como “centro cognitivo del mundo y del universo” (p. 26), um esforço conjunto no sentido de introduzir “epistemes invisibilizadas y subalternizadas” (p. 27), por meio de uma teoria da decolonialidade, baseada nas noções de interculturalidade e de diferença colonial.A colonialidade, completam os autores, apresentam-se, ainda, sob diferentes tipos. Primeiro, a colonialidade do poder, relacionada à “occidentalización del otro” (p. 29), reconfigurando sua identidade e reorientando-a para um direcionamento eurocêntrico; segundo, a colonialidade do saber, relacionado à opressão, pelo colonizador, de outros saberes e outras maneiras de configurar o conhecimento, negando-se o legado epistêmico e histórico de outros povos não europeus; terceiro, a colonialidade do ser, direcionadas às relações humanas. Para combater essas formas de colonialidade, completam os autores, faz-se necessário transitarmos para da decolonialidade do viver, buscado um vida decolonial.Buscando explicar ainda o conceito de decolonialidade, os autores destacam sua relação com a resistência e a insurgência, definindo-a nos seguintes termos: “la decolonialidad se refiere al proceso encaminado a trascender históricamente la modernidad/colonialidad. La decolonialidad no es un acto ni una actividad, no es un momento especifico de la lucha libertaria, es un proceso, una configuración de acciones biopráxicas que transitan mediante una deriva intencional caracterizada por la afluência del ser/hacer/saber/vivir, con un nível de profundidad jamás igualado por la descolonización” (p. 39). Diferentemente da colonização, a colonialidade encontra-se, ainda hoje, presente em nosso cotidiano como colonialidade do saber, do poder, do ser, do viver, motivo pelo qual torna-se imperativo a descolonização da vida, desprendendo-nos das “epistemes configuradas por el discurso eurocêntrico de Occidente” (p. 40). A colonialidade atinge assim todos os âmbitos da vivência humana, especialmente a linguagem, por meio do emprego de signos linguísticos “viciados”, apontando ainda, nesse sentido, para a urgência de um processo de autodecolonialidade: “no hay justicia social y cultural sin justicia cognitiva e intelectual” (p. 41). Por isso, insistem os autores, a diferença entre descolonizar (superar uma situação de colonização) e decolonizar (assumir uma postura insurgente, reconfigurando formas e lugares de viver), sendo o primeiro um resultado e o segundo, um processo. Ao tratarem especialmente da educação, no contexto acima exposto, os autores lembram que, ainda hoje, persiste uma perspectiva reducionista, estática, fragmentária e determinista da investigação educativa, revelando um atraso epistemológico, ontológico e metodológico evidente. Urge, portanto, edificar uma teoria da decolonialidade, baseada em autores seminais como Césaire, Fanon, Hall, Freire, Olivella e outros, recuando até autores dos séculos XVII (Felipe Ayala) e XVIII (Ottobbah Cugoano); presentemente, os autores que têm contribuído para a formulação desta teoria são Dussel, Mignolo, Quijano, Walsh, Castro-Gómez, Grosfoguel, Maldonado-Torres, Lander (colonialidade do saber), Tubino (interculturalidade crítica), Tuhiwai Smith (metodologias decolonizantes) e outros. Assim, pensar uma Pedagogia Decolonial é pensar a decolonização das práticas educativas, em direção a uma educação intercultural, a qual se vincula a uma crítica ao eurocentrismo, sobretudo o eurocentrismo pedagógico, curricular e didático, que traz arraigado em si uma lógica colonial: “Decolonizar la educación significa, entre otros argumentos, reconocer que los indígenas, campesinos, afros o sordos, vienen a la universidad no solo a aprender y transformarse sino también a enseñar. La decolonialidad de la educación se logra en la misma medida en que se reconoce la validez e importancia de los saberes ‘otros’ no oficializados por la matriz colonial” (p. 78). Considerando que a colonialidade opera também nos sistemas educativos e nas teorias pedagógicas, torna-se imperativo, então, decolonizar a educação, sobretudo por meio de pedagogias ‘outras’, ao construir uma prática pedagógica baseada em “novos caminos espistémicos y epistemológicos (...) caminos fronterizos por donde transitar decolonialmente” (p. 83). Assim, a pedagogia decolonial refere-se a uma série de ações formativas que se constituem a partir de uma perspectiva decolonial: “si nosotros queremos desplegar biopráxis pedagógicas decoloniales, debemos hacerlo con la intencionalidad de configurar un pensamiento decolonial y, a su vez, estas pedagogias decoloniales exigem que los profesores desarrollemos nuestro pensamiento desde los bordes y la frontera, de ahí que uma condición sine qua non para el despliegue de biopraxis pedagógicas decoloniales es precisamente el desarollo de um pensamiento fronterizo y un posicionamento sustentado en la opción decolonial, de ahí que las configuraciones pedagógicas, curriculares y didácticas no pueden ser universales sino diversas, plurales y pluri-versales” (p. 101).Considerando o pensamento decolonial é uma autêntica teoría crítica latinoamericana y caribeña, os autores de Decolonialidad de la educación seguem de perto a ideia de uma de suas principais idealizadoras, para quem a aplicação da educação intercultural no contexto escolar requer compromisso e envolvimento amplo de todos (WALSH, 2005). Por esses e outros motivos, trata-se de uma obra que, mais do que conhecida, merece ser efetivamente aplicada no cotidiano da famigerada educação brasileira contemporânea

La reciente indexación de nuestra revista en la categoría C del IBN Publindex de Colciencias, ha traído múltiples exigencias en su organización. Por ello, desde el número anterior se han venido realizando ajustes que nos permitan a futuro ascender en el escalafón de revistas indexadas.Cabe recordar que para su indexación, Colciencias ha establecido dos aspectos básicos que deben ser cumplidos por una revista para su categorización, ellos son la calidad editorial y la calidad científicaEntre los primeros se encuentran visibilidad, estabilidad, presentar palabras clave tanto en español como en inglés y que los documentos cumplan con la estructura establecida por Colciencias para los artículos de investigación, reflexión y revisión.La calidad científica hace referencia al número de artículos que deben ser publicados por año, a las condiciones que deben cumplir los evaluadores y al origen de los artículos, que para la categoría B deberán corresponder en un 30% a instituciones externas a la universidad sede.Igualmente, en este aspecto se indican las calidades de los integrantes del comité editorial, que incluyen exigencias como pertenencia a instituciones externas a la UPTC, formación a nivel doctoral y haber publicado, durante los dos últimos años, en revistas diferentes a la cual se vinculan.Por este motivo se reorganizó el comité editorial, quedando integrado de la siguiente manera: Gabriel Ordóñez Plata de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Julio Enrique Duarte de la Universidad Pedagógica y Tecnológica de Colombia, Alexánder Luís Ortiz Ocaña de la Universidad del Magdalena, Héctor Augusto Rodríguez Orejuela de la Universidad del Valle y Alejandro Cotes Torres de la Universidad Nacional de Colombia.Sea el momento de agradecer, muy sinceramente, a las profesoras Lilia Teresa Bermúdez Correa, Carmen Helena Cepeda Araque y María Luisa Pinto Salamanca por el apoyo que le brindaron a este proyecto con su participación desinteresada en el comité editorial de la revista, fruto de ese apoyo contamos hoy en día con la indexación, algo impensable cuando iniciamos con éste sueño. Muchas gracias y desde ya las invito a continuar divulgando nuestro trabajo.En el presente número se incluyen seis artículos, resultado del proceso investigativo en temáticas relacionadas con administración e ingeniería, correspondientes a algunos grupos de investigación de nuestra universidad. También contamos con artículos de la Universidad Nacional de Colombia, con lo cual cabe resaltar la confianza que nuestra revista ha despertado en investigadores externos a nuestra institución.En el primer artículo: Importancia de la intervención de la administración en el proceso de transición a NIIF a las PYMES de Sogamoso, Boyacá, trabajo de la Maestría en Administración, de la Universidad Nacional de Colombia, la autora realiza una reflexión sobre las normas internacionales de información financiera, NIIF, y los retos que su implementación imponen al nivel gerencial de las PYMES de Sogamoso.En el segundo artículo: Determinación de la productividad y competitividad de la pequeña minería del distrito minero del norte de Boyacá, resultado de un proyecto de investigación de la Maestría en Administración, de la Universidad Nacional de Colombia, la autora identificó las debilidades y fortalezas relacionadas con la productividad y competitividad de la pequeña minería del norte de Boyacá, para proponer algunas estrategias que permitan superar las falencias encontradas.En el tercer artículo: El diseño organizacional como estrategia de fortalecimiento para la empresa Calcalizas de Nobsa, Boyacá, resultado de un proyecto de investigación del grupo SÍMILES, adscrito a la Escuela de Administración Industrial, se describe el diseño organizacional de la empresa Calcalizas, con el fin de proporcionar a la empresa una estructura organizacional que le permita afrontar con éxito los retos del mercado.En el cuarto artículo: La planificación turística: un aspecto clave para el desarrollo sostenible y regional de Boyacá, resultado de la reflexión del grupo MUISUATA, adscrito a la Escuela de Administración Turística y Hotelera, la autora presenta una revisión del contexto del turismo en Boyacá, la cual sirvió como insumo para la elaboración de la propuesta de especialización en planificación del turismo sostenible, recientemente creada en la Facultad Seccional Duitama de la UPTC.En el quinto artículo: Desarrollo poscosecha de lirios (Lilium spp.) producidos en Duitama, Boyacá, y la determinación del punto de corte, resultado de un proyecto de investigación del grupo SERES, adscrito a la Escuela de Administración de Empresas Agropecuarias, se describe el procedimiento seguido para determinar el punto de corte óptimo para los lirios, de forma que se garantice una mayor vida útil en florero, especialmente cuando la flor se lleva a zonas cálidas.En el sexto artículo: Protección radiológica a trabajadores y público en instalaciones que operan radioisótopos industriales, resultado de un proyecto de investigación del grupo FINUAS, adscrito a la Escuela de Física, los autores realizan el modelado de las instalaciones del Laboratorio de Radiaciones Nucleares de la UPTC, con el fin de determinar el cumplimiento de los protocolos internacionales en lo referente a la protección radiológica de los usuarios de dichas instalaciones.Nuevamente se invita a los interesados en publicar los resultados de sus trabajos de investigación, a que envíen sus manuscritos, los cuales deben corresponder a uno de los tres tipos aceptados por Colciencias para reconocer una revista científica: artículos de investigación, artículos de revisión y artículos de reflexión, los requisitos de forma se pueden consultar al final de éste número o en nuestra página WEB, en las instrucciones para los autores.

Éste es un año de grandes conmemoraciones para nuestro país. La presencia constante de alusiones al bicentenario de la guerra de insurgencia y el centenario de la revolución nos invita no sólo a la celebración patriótica, sino a una profunda reflexión sobre lo que ha significado doscientos años de vida independiente en México. Aunque un balance general de lo acontecido durante dos centurias resulta complejo, o tal vez, incluso, poco útil si no se aborda de manera diferenciada, es posible realizar acercamientos disciplinarios que permitan recuentos más precisos en las distintas esferas de la vida social.En este marco festivo, me interesa destacar la importancia que cobra la historia, no únicamente desde la reconstrucción historiográfica de sucesos y personajes, sino desde una perspectiva mucho más crítica. Un abordaje crítico permitiría contemplar el pasado de forma no monolítica o teleológica, sino en función de correlaciones de fuerzas entre instituciones, grupos o personas que, a partir de vaivenes en los balances de poder, imprimen sobre ese pasado unos imperativos, una intencionalidad particular, cuya aparente universalidad oculta mudanzas que operan de acuerdo con las necesidades del poder en turno.Así, el rescate de aspectos que tuvieron devenires específicos en la historia de nuestro país, puede arrojar luz acerca de la manera en que el presente se enfrenta a mitos, continuidades, cambios, o bien interpretaciones parciales de aquello que Wilhelm Dilthey (1994) ha llamado “la razón histórica”. Para ilustrar este punto, analizar el papel que ocupan las mujeres en el imaginario culturalmente construido puede resultar altamente revelador del proceso de invisibilización de una presencia siempre constante, pero negada, que se disfraza a futuro a manera de derechos logrados en la lucha y graciosas concesiones del poder. ¿Por qué pareciera que las mujeres tenemos que defender a cada paso nuestros derechos, sin que cristalicen de manera efectiva las luchas, los logros y los espacios ganados en el pasado?Si revisamos el registro de hechos históricos acaecidos desde hace doscientos años, encontraremos la constante alusión a una participación femenina anónima, colectiva, poco identificable, pero que no hace más que demostrar que las mujeres hemos estado siempre ahí, aunque no se nos considere lo suficientemente significativas en la arena social que amerite una mención clara, distinguible de nuestro actuar. Desde finales del siglo XVIII y principios del XIX, en la efervescencia de las conspiraciones y conjuras tramadas para hacer partícipes a los nacidos americanos de los privilegios concedidos sólo a los peninsulares, las actividades femeninas como anfitrionas de tertulias, conspiradoras, mensajeras o espías fueron lo suficientemente importantes como para merecer alguna mención de los historiadores de la época. No por casualidad el comandante de la plaza realista de Sultépec afirmó que había que extremar precauciones contra las mujeres porque no existía ninguna que no fuera “una berdadera insurgenta” (García, 1985)Es importante señalar que las mujeres hacían frente a las desventajas que su condición imponía durante la Colonia. Ser mujer implicaba recibir, en el mejor de los casos, una educación muy precaria, centrada en el aprendizaje de la doctrina católica y la buena administración del hogar. Por ejemplo, se dice, aunque es bastante poco realista sostenerlo, que la misma Josefa Ortiz no sabía escribir, aunque sí leer, y transmitía sus mensajes a los conspiradores recortando letras de materiales impresos. No es difícil, sin embargo, que sus conocimientos formales no pasaran mucho de ahí.En esta dirección, aunque las mujeres de las clases hegemónicas recibieran algún tipo de educación en las escuelas llamadas “amigas”, en los conventos y aún en sus mismos hogares, además de la lectoescritura, la aritmética básica y la formación religiosa, el resto de la educación estaba destinada a la adquisición de modales refinados (Carner, 1992). No obstante, existían ya desde principios del siglo XIX voces ilustradas que pugnaban por incluir en la formación femenina algún adiestramiento en la administración de los bienes y la capacitación para ejercer un oficio digno y remunerado en caso de viudez. Lizardi planteaba la necesidad de que las mujeres “decentes” vigilaran la educación, higiene y salud de los hijos, para lo cual requerirían un aprendizaje específico. Las mujeres del “pueblo llano” podrían aspirar a la servidumbre y evitar así la caída a la prostitución.La idea de mejorar la educación de las mujeres no estuvo exenta de acalorados debates entre los que temían que ello acarrearía una pérdida de autoridad de los varones y los que estimaban que la sociedad se beneficiaría con madres mejor preparadas para educar eficientemente a los niños (Tuñón,1991). Este debate da cuenta de que la necesidad de discutir, tomando la debida distancia, alguna suerte de proceso de ciudadanización femenina empezaba a gestarse en muchas conciencias.Así, es posible encontrar esfuerzos por la reivindicación de los derechos de las mujeres desde la segunda mitad del siglo XIX (Alvarado, 2005), su manifestación pública durante el porfiriato, así como una presencia inocultable durante la lucha revolucionaria –siempre como soldaderas, nunca como protagonistas-- y su posterior consolidación. Sin embargo, la historia no vacila en presentarnos la contienda, por ejemplo, por el logro del voto femenino como una graciosa concesión masculina hacia la causa de las mujeres. El realce de personajes como Salvador Alvarado en Yucatán, o César Córdova en Chiapas, como paladines de la promoción de la ciudadanía femenina y sus derechos políticos, ocultan la dura lucha que significó para las mujeres la obtención del voto universal en 1953.No siendo éstos más que meros esbozos para sugerir una línea de pensamiento más productiva y crítica a la luz de nuestros centenarios, sirva el presente apunte como inicio para semblantear una posible reflexión, menos para la autoindulgencia y más para el examen crítico de nuestro posicionamiento, a dos siglos de construcción como país soberano. Instituto de Investigaciones Histórico-Sociales Universidad Veracruzana ReferenciasAlvarado, L. (2005). Educación y superación femenina en el siglo XIX: dos ensayos de Laureana Wright. Cuadernos del archivo histórico de la UNAM, 19.Carner, F. (1992). Estereotipos femeninos en el siglo XIX. En C. Ramos, M. de J. Rodríguez y otros, Presencia y transparencia: La mujer en la historia de México, México: El Colegio de México.Dilthey, W. (1994). Crítica de la razón histórica. Barcelona: Península.García, G. (1985). Documentos Históricos Mexicanos, tomo V. México: SEP.Tuñón, J. (1991). El álbum de la mujer. Antología ilustrada de las mexicanas. Volumen III/El siglo XIX (1821-1880). México: INAH..

We take as our subject what many would deem a waste of good celluloid: the degraded cultural form of the stoner film. Stoner films plot the experiences of the wasted (those intoxicated on marijuana) as they exhibit wastefulness—excessiveness, improvidence, decay—on a number of fronts. Stoners waste time in constantly hunting for pot and in failing to pursue more productive activity whilst wasted. Stoners waste their minds, both literally, if we believe contested studies that indicate marijuana smoking kills brains cells, and figuratively, in rendering themselves cognitively impaired. Stoners waste their bodies through the dangerous practice of smoking and through the tendency toward physical inertia. Stoners waste money on marijuana firstly, but also on such sophomoric accoutrements as the stoner film itself. Stoners lay waste to convention in excessively seeking pleasure and in dressing and acting outrageously. And stoners, if the scatological humour of so many stoner films is any index, are preoccupied with bodily waste. Stoners, we argue here, waste whiteness as well. As the likes of Jesse and Chester (Dude, Where’s My Car?), Wayne and Garth (Wayne’s World), Bill and Ted (Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure) and Jay and Silent Bob (Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back) make clear, whiteness looms large in stoner films. Yet the genre, we argue, disavows its own whiteness, in favour of a post-white hybridity that lavishly squanders white privilege. For all its focus on whiteness, filmic wastedness has always been an ethnically diverse and ambiguous category. The genre’s origins in the work of Cheech Marin, a Chicano, and Tommy Chong, a Chinese-European Canadian, have been buttressed in this regard by many African American contributions to the stoner oeuvre, including How High, Half Baked and Friday, as well as by Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, and its Korean-American and Indian-American protagonists. Cheech and Chong initiated the genre with the release of Up in Smoke in 1978. A host of films have followed featuring protagonists who spend much of their time smoking and seeking marijuana (or—in the case of stoner films such as Dude, Where’s My Car? released during the height of the War on Drugs—acting stoned without ever being seen to get stoned). Inspired in part by the 1938 anti-marijuana film Reefer Madness, and the unintended humour such propaganda films begat amongst marijuana smokers, stoner films are comedies that satirise both marijuana culture and its prohibition. Self-consciously slapstick, the stoner genre excludes more serious films about drugs, from Easy Rider to Shaft, as well as films such as The Wizard of Oz, Yellow Submarine, the Muppet movies, and others popular amongst marijuana smokers because of surreal content. Likewise, a host of films that include secondary stoner characters, such as Jeff Spicoli in Fast Times at Ridgemont High and Wooderson in Dazed and Confused, are commonly excluded from the genre on the grounds that the stoner film, first and foremost, celebrates stonerism, that is “serious commitment to smoking and acquiring marijuana as a lifestyle choice.” (Meltzer). Often taking the form of the “buddy film,” stoner flicks generally feature male leads and frequently exhibit a decidedly masculinist orientation, with women, for the most part reduced to little more than the object of the white male gaze.The plot, such as it is, of the typical stoner film concerns the search for marijuana (or an accessory, such as junk food) and the improbable misadventures that ensue. While frequently represented as resourceful and energetic in their quest for marijuana, filmic stoners otherwise exhibit ambivalent attitudes toward enterprise that involves significant effort. Typically represented as happy and peaceable, filmic stoners rarely engage in conflict beyond regular clashes with authority figures determined to enforce anti-drug laws, and other measures that stoners take to be infringements upon happiness. While Hollywood’s stoners thus share a sense of entitlement to pleasure, they do not otherwise exhibit a coherent ideological orthodoxy beyond a certain libertarian and relativistic open-mindedness. More likely to take inspiration from comic book heroes than Aldous Huxley or Timothy Leary, stoners are most often portrayed as ‘dazed and confused,’ and could be said to waste the intellectual tradition of mind expansion that Leary represents. That stoner films are, at times, misunderstood to be quintessentially white is hardly suprising. As a social construct that creates, maintains and legitimates white domination, whiteness manifests, as one of its most defining features, an ability to swallow up difference and to insist upon, at critical junctures, a universal subjectivity that disallows for difference (hooks 167). Such universalising not only sanctions co-optation of ethnic cultural expression, it also functions to mask whiteness’s existence, thus reinforcing its very power. Whiteness, as Richard Dyer argues, is simultaneously everywhere and nowhere. It obfuscates itself and its relationship to the particular traits it is said to embody—disinterest, prudence, temperance, rationality, bodily restraint, industriousness (3). Whiteness is thus constructed as neither an ethnic nor racial particularity, but rather the transcendence of such positionality (Wiegman 139). While non-whites are raced, to be white is to be “just human” and thus to possess the power to “claim to speak for the commonality of humanity” whilst denying the accrual of any particular racial privilege (Dyer 2). In refuting its own advantages—which are so wide ranging (from preferential treatment in housing loans, to the freedom to fail without fear of reflecting badly on other whites) that they are, like whiteness itself, both assumed and unproblematic—whiteness instantiates individualism, allowing whites to believe that their successes are in no way the outcome of systematic racial advantage, but rather the product of individual toil (McIntosh; Lipsitz). An examination of the 1978 stoner film Up in Smoke suggests that whatever the ethnic ambiguity of the figure of the stoner, the genre of the stoner film is all about the wasting of whiteness. Up in Smoke opens with two alternating domestic scenes. We first encounter Pedro De Pacas (Cheech Marin) in a cluttered and shadowy room as his siblings romp affectionately upon his back, waking him from his slumber on the couch. Pedro rises, stepping into a bowl of cereal on the floor. He stumbles to the bathroom, where, sleepy and disoriented, he urinates into the laundry hamper. The chaos of Pedro’s disrupted sleep is followed in the film by a more metaphoric awakening as Anthony Stoner (Tommy Chong) determines to leave home. The scene takes place in a far more orderly, light and lavish room. The space’s overpowering whiteness is breached only by the figure of Anthony and his unruly black hair, bushy black beard, and loud Hawaiian shirt, which vibrates with colour against the white walls, white furnishings and white curtains. We watch as Anthony, behind an elaborate bar, prepares a banana protein shake, impassively ignoring his parents, both clothed in all-white, as they clutch martini glasses and berate their son for his lack of ambition. Arnold Stoner [father]: Son, your mother and me would like for you to cozy up to the Finkelstein boy. He's a bright kid, and, uh... he's going to military school, and remember, he was an Eagle Scout. Tempest Stoner [mother]: Arnold…Arnold Stoner: [shouts over/to his wife] Will you shut up? We’re not going to have a family brawl!Tempest Stoner: [continues talking as her husband shouts]…. Retard.Arnold Stoner: [to Anthony] We've put up with a hell of a lot.[Anthony starts blender] Can this wait? ... Build your goddamn muscles, huh? You know, you could build your muscles picking strawberries.You know, bend and scoop... like the Mexicans. Shit, maybe I could get you a job with United Fruit. I got a buddy with United Fruit. ... Get you started. Start with strawberries, you might work your way up to these goddamn bananas! When, boy? When...are you going to get your act together?Anthony: [Burps]Tempest Stoner: Gross.Arnold Stoner: Oh, good God Almighty me. I think he's the Antichrist. Anthony, I want to talk to you. [Anthony gathers his smoothie supplements and begins to walk out of the room.] Now, listen! Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you! You get a goddamn job before sundown, or we're shipping you off to military school with that goddamn Finkelstein shit kid! Son of a bitch!The whiteness of Anthony’s parents is signified so pervasively and so strikingly in this scene—in their improbable white outfits and in the room’s insufferably white décor—that we come to understand it as causative. The rage and racism of Mr. Stoner’s tirade, the scene suggests, is a product of whiteness itself. Given that whiteness achieves and maintains its domination via both ubiquity and invisibility, what Up in Smoke accomplishes in this scene is notable. Arnold Stoner’s tortured syntax (“that goddamn Finkelstein shit kid”) works to “mak[e] whiteness strange” (Dyer 4), while the scene’s exaggerated staging delineates whiteness as “a particular – even peculiar – identity, rather than a presumed norm” (Roediger, Colored White 21). The belligerence of the senior Stoners toward not only their son and each other, but the world at large, in turn, functions to render whiteness intrinsically ruthless and destructive. Anthony’s parents, in all their whiteness, enact David Roediger’s assertion that “it is not merely that ‘Whiteness’s is oppressive and false; it is that ‘Whiteness’s is nothing but oppressive and false” (Toward the Abolition 13).Anthony speaks not a word during the scene. He communicates only by belching and giving his parents the finger as he leaves the room and the home. This departure is significant in that it marks the moment when Anthony, hereafter known only as “Man,” flees the world of whiteness. He winds up taking refuge in the multi-hued world of stonerism, as embodied in the scene that follows, which features Pedro emerging from his home to interact with his Chicano neighbours and to lovingly inspect his car. As a lowrider, a customised vehicle that “begin[s] with the abandoned materials of one tradition (that of mainstream America), … [and is] … then transformed and recycled . . . into new and fresh objects of art which are distinctly Chicano,” Pedro’s car serves as a symbol of the cultural hybridisation that Man is about to undergo (quoted in Ondine 141).As Man’s muteness in the presence of his parents suggests, his racial status seems tentative from the start. Within the world of whiteness, Man is the subaltern, silenced and denigrated, finding voice only after he befriends Pedro. Even as the film identifies Man as white through his parental lineage, it renders indeterminate its own assertion, destabilising any such fixed or naturalised schema of identity. When Man is first introduced to Pedro’s band as their newest member, James, the band’s African American bass player, looks at Man, dressed in the uniform of the band, and asks: “Hey Pedro, where’s the white dude you said was playing the drums?” Clearly, from James’s point of view, the room contains no white dudes, just stoners. Man’s presumed whiteness becomes one of the film’s countless gags, the provocative ambiguity of the casting of a Chinese-European to play a white part underscored in the film by the equally implausible matter of age. Man, according to the film’s narrative, is a high school student; Chong was forty when the film was released. Like his age, Man’s whiteness is never a good fit. That Man ultimately winds up sleeping on the very couch upon which we first encounter Pedro suggests how radical and final the break with his dubious white past is. The “Mexicans” whom his father would mock as fit only for abject labour are amongst those whom Man comes to consider his closest companions. In departing his parents’ white world, and embracing Pedro’s dilapidated, barrio-based world of wastedness, Man traces the geographies narrated by George Lipsitz in The Possessive Investment in Whiteness. Historically, Lipsitz argues, the development of affluent white space (the suburbs) was made possible by the disintegration of African American, Chicano and other minority neighbourhoods disadvantaged by federal, state, and corporate housing, employment, health care, urban renewal, and education policies that favoured whites over non-whites. In this sense, Man’s flight from his parents’ home is a retreat from whiteness itself, and from the advantages that whiteness conveys. In choosing the ramshackle, non-white world of stonerism, Man performs an act of racial treachery. Whiteness, Lipsitz contends, has “cash value,” and “is invested in, like property, but it is also a means of accumulating property and keeping it from others,” which allows for “intergenerational transfers of inherited wealth that pass on the spoils of discrimination to succeeding generations” (vii-viii). Man’s disavowal of the privileges of whiteness is a reckless refusal to accept this racial birthright. Whiteness is thus wasted upon Man because Man wastes his whiteness. Given the centrality of prudence and restraint to hegemonic constructions of whiteness, Man’s willingness to squander the “valuable asset” that is his white inheritance is especially treasonous (Harris 1713). Man is the prodigal son of whiteness, a profligate who pours down the drain “the wages of whiteness” that his forbearers have spent generations accruing and protecting (Roediger, The Wages of Whiteness). His waste not only offends the core values which whiteness is said to comprise, it also denigrates whiteness itself by illuminating the excess of white privilege, as well as the unarticulated excess of meanings that hover around whiteness to create the illusion of transcendence and infinite variety. Man’s performance, like all bad performances of whiteness, “disrupt[s] implicit understandings of what it means to be white” (Hartigan 46). The spectre of seeing white domination go ‘up in smoke’—via wasting, as opposed to hoarding, white privilege—amounts to racial treason, and helps not only to explicate why whites in the film find stonerism so menacing, but also to explain the paradox of “pot [making] the people who don’t smoke it even more paranoid than the people who do” (Patterson). While Tommy Chong’s droll assertion that "what makes us so dangerous is that we're harmless" ridicules such paranoia, it ultimately fails to account for the politics of subversive squandering of white privilege that characterise the stoner film (“Biographies”). Stoners in Up in Smoke, as in most other stoner films, are marked as non-white, through association with ethnic Others, through their rejection of mainstream ideas about work and achievement, and/or through their lack of bodily restraint in relentlessly seeking pleasure, in dressing outrageously, and in refusing to abide conventional grooming habits. Significantly, the non-white status of the stoner is both voluntary and deliberate. While stonerism embraces its own non-whiteness, its Otherness is not signified, primarily, through racial cross-dressing of the sort Eric Lott detects in Elvis, but rather through race-mixing. Stoner collectivity practices an inclusivity that defies America’s historic practice of racial and ethnic segregation (Lott 248). Stonerism further reveals its unwillingness to abide constrictive American whiteness in a scene in which Pedro and Man, both US-born Americans, are deported. The pair are rounded up along with Pedro’s extended family in a raid initiated when Pedro’s cousin “narcs” on himself to la migra (the Immigration and Naturalization Service) in order to get free transport for his extended family to his wedding in Tijuana. Pedro and Man return to the US as unwitting tricksters, bringing back to the US more marijuana than has ever crossed the Mexican-US border at one time, fusing the relationship between transnationalism and wastedness. The disrespect that stoners exhibit for pregnable US borders contests presumed Chicano powerlessness in the face of white force and further affronts whiteness, which historically has mobilised itself most virulently at the threat of alien incursion. Transgression here is wilful and playful; stoners intend to offend normative values and taste through their actions, their dress, and non-white associations as part of the project of forging a new hybridised, transnational subjectivity that threatens to lay waste to whiteness’s purity and privilege. Stoners invite the scrutiny of white authority with their outrageous attire and ethnically diverse composition, turning the “inevitability of surveillance” (Borrie 87) into an opportunity to enact their own wastedness—their wasted privilege, their wasted youth, their wasted potential—before a gaze that is ultimately confounded and threatened by the chaotic hybridity with which it is faced (Hebdige 26). By perpetually displaying his/her wasted Otherness, the stoner makes of him/herself a “freak,” a label cops use derisively throughout Up in Smoke to denote the wasted without realising that stoners define themselves in precisely such terms, and, by doing so, obstruct whiteness’s assertion of universal subjectivity. Pedro’s cousin Strawberry (Tom Skerritt), a pot dealer, enacts freakishness by exhibiting a large facial birthmark and by suffering from Vietnam-induced Post Traumatic Stress disorder. A freak in every sense of the word, Strawberry is denied white status by virtue of physical and mental defect. But Strawberry, as a stoner, ultimately wants whiteness even less than it wants him. The defects that deny him membership in the exclusive “club” that is whiteness prove less significant than the choice he makes to defect from the ranks of whiteness and join with Man in the decision to waste his whiteness wantonly (“Editorial”). Stoner masculinity is represented as similarly freakish and defective. While white authority forcefully frustrates the attempts of Pedro and Man to “score” marijuana, the duo’s efforts to “score” sexually are thwarted by their own in/action. More often than not, wastedness produces impotence in Up in Smoke, either literally or figuratively, wherein the confusion and misadventures that attend pot-smoking interrupt foreplay. The film’s only ostensible sex scene is unconsummated, a wasted opportunity for whiteness to reproduce itself when Man sleeps through his girlfriend’s frenzied discussion of sex. During the course of Up in Smoke, Man dresses as a woman while hitchhiking, Pedro mistakes Man for a woman, Man sits on Pedro’s lap when they scramble to change seats whilst being pulled over by the police, Man suggests that Pedro has a “small dick,” Pedro reports liking “manly breasts,” and Pedro—unable to urinate in the presence of Sgt. Stedenko—tells his penis that if it does not perform, he will “put [it] back in the closet.” Such attenuations of the lead characters’ masculinity climax in the penultimate scene, in which Pedro, backed by his band, performs “Earache My Eye,” a song he has just composed backstage, whilst adorned in pink tutu, garter belt, tassle pasties, sequined opera mask and Mickey Mouse ears: My momma talkin’ to me tryin’ to tell me how to liveBut I don't listen to her cause my head is like a sieveMy daddy he disowned me cause I wear my sister's clothesHe caught me in the bathroom with a pair of pantyhoseMy basketball coach he done kicked me off the teamFor wearing high heeled sneakers and acting like a queen“Earache My Eye” corroborates the Othered natured of stonerism by marking stoners, already designated as non-white, as non-straight. In a classic iteration of a bad gender performance, the scene rejects both whiteness and its hegemonic partners-in-crime, heterosexuality and normative masculinity (Butler 26). Here stoners waste not only their whiteness, but also their white masculinity. Whiteness, and its dependence upon “intersection … [with] interlocking axes [of power such as] gender … [and] sexuality,” is “outed” in this scene (Shome 368). So, too, is it enfeebled. In rendering masculinity freakish and defective, the film threatens whiteness at its core. For if whiteness can not depend upon normative masculinity for its reproduction, then, like Man’s racial birthright, it is wasted. The stoner’s embodiment of freakishness further works to emphasise wasted whiteness by exposing just how hysterical whiteness’s defense of its own normativity can be. Up in Smoke frequently inflates not only the effects of marijuana, but also the eccentricities of those who smoke it, a strategy which means that much of the film’s humour turns on satirising hegemonic stereotypes of marijuana smokers. Equally, Cheech Marin’s exaggerated “slapstick, one-dimensional [portrayal] of [a] Chicano character” works to render ridiculous the very stereotypes his character incarnates (List 183). While the film deconstructs processes of social construction, it also makes extensive use of counter-stereotyping in its depictions of characters marked as white. The result is that whiteness’s “illusion of [its] own infinite variety” is contested and the lie of whiteness as non-raced is exposed, helping to explain the stoner’s decision to waste his/her whiteness (Dyer 12; 2). In Up in Smoke whiteness is the colour of straightness. Straights, who are willing neither to smoke pot nor to tolerate the smoking of pot by others/Others, are so comprehensively marked as white in the film that whiteness and straightness become isomorphic. As a result, the same stereotypes are mobilised in representing whiteness and straightness: incompetence, belligerence, hypocrisy, meanspiritedness, and paranoia, qualities that are all the more oppressive because virtually all whites/straights in the film occupy positions of authority. Anthony’s spectacularly white parents, as we have seen, are bigoted and dominating. Their whiteness is further impugned by alcohol, which fuels Mr. Stoner’s fury and Mrs. Stoner’s unintelligibility. That the senior Stoners are drunk before noon works, of course, to expose the hypocrisy of those who would indict marijuana use while ignoring the social damage alcohol can produce. Their inebriation (revealed as chronic in the DVD’s outtake scenes) takes on further significance when it is configured as a decidedly white attribute. Throughout the film, only characters marked as white consume alcohol—most notably, the judge who is discovered to be drinking vodka whist adjudicating drug charges against Pedro and Man—therefore dislodging whiteness’s self-construction as temperate, and suggesting just how wasted whiteness is. While stonerism is represented as pacific, drunkenness is of a piece with white/straight bellicosity. In Up in Smoke, whites/straights crave confrontation and discord, especially the angry, uptight, and vainglorious narcotics cop Sgt. Stedenko (Stacey Keech) who inhabits so many of the film’s counter-stereotypes. While a trio of white cops roughly apprehend and search a carload of innocent nuns in a manner that Man describes as “cold blooded,” Stedenko, unawares in the foreground, gives an interview about his plans for what he hopes will be the biggest border drug bust in US history: “[Reporter:] Do you expect to see any violence here today? [Sgt. Stedenko:] I certainly hope so.” Stedenko’s desire to act violently against stoners echoes mythologies of white regeneration in the Old West, wherein whiteness refurbished itself through violent attacks on Native Americans, whose wasteful cultures failed to make “civilised” use of western lands (Slotkin 565).White aggression is relentlessly depicted in the film, with one important exception: the instance of the stoned straight. Perhaps no other trope is as defining of the genre, as is the scene wherein a straight person accidentally becomes stoned. Up in Smoke offers several examples, most notably the scene in which a motorcycle cop pulls over Pedro and Man as they drive a van belonging to Pedro’s Uncle Chuey. In a plot twist requiring a degree of willing suspension of disbelief that even wasted audiences might find a stretch, the exterior shell of the van, unbeknownst to Pedro and Man, is made entirely of marijuana which has started to smoulder around the exhaust pipe. The cop, who becomes intoxicated whilst walking through the fumes, does not hassle Pedro and Man, as expected, but instead asks for a bite of their hot dog and then departs happily, instructing the duo to “have a nice day.” In declining, or perhaps simply forgetting, to exercise his authority, the cop demonstrates the regenerative potential not of violent whiteness but rather of hybrid wastedness. Marijuana here is transformative, morphing straight consciousness into stoner consciousness and, in the process, discharging all the uptight, mean-spirited, unnecessary, and hence wasteful baggage of whiteness along the way. While such a utopian potential for pot is both upheld and satirised in the film, the scene amounts to far more than an inconsequential generic gag, in that it argues for the disavowal of whiteness via the assumption of the voluntary Otherness that is stonerism. Whiteness, the scene suggests, can be cast off, discarded, wasted and thus surmounted. Whites, for want of a better phrase, simply need to ‘just say no’ to whiteness in order to excrete the brutality that is its necessary affliction and inevitable result. While Up in Smoke laudably offers a powerful refusal to horde the assets of whiteness, the film fails to acknowledge that ‘just saying no’ is, indeed, one of whiteness’s exclusive privileges, since whites and only whites possess the liberty to refuse the advantages whiteness bestows. Non-whites possess no analogical ability to jettison the social constructions to which they are subjected, to refuse the power of dominant classes to define their subjectivity. Neither does the film confront the fact that Man nor any other of Up in Smoke’s white freaks are disallowed from re-embracing their whiteness, and its attendant value, at any time. However inchoate the film’s challenge to racial privilege, Up in Smoke’s celebration of the subversive pleasures of wasting whiteness offers a tentative, if bleary, first step toward ‘the abolition of whiteness.’ Its utopian vision of a post-white hybridised subjectivity, however dazed and confused, is worthy of far more serious contemplation than the film, taken at face value, might seem to suggest. Perhaps Up in Smoke is a stoner film that should also be viewed while sober. ReferencesBill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Dir. Stephen Herek. Orion Pictures Corporation, 1989.“Biographies”. 10 June 2010 ‹http://www.cheechandchongfans.com/biography.html›. Borrie, Lee. "Wild Ones: Containment Culture and 1950s Youth Rebellion”. Diss. University of Canterbury, 2007.Butler, Judith. "Critically Queer”. GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 1.1 (1993): 17-32.Chavoya, C. Ondine. “Customized Hybrids: The Art of Ruben Ortiz Torres and Lowriding in Southern California”. CR: The New Centennial Review 4.2 (2004): 141-84.Clerks. Dir. Kevin Smith. Miramax Films, 1994. Dazed and Confused. Dir. Richard Linklater. Cineplex Odeon Films, 1993. Dude, Where’s My Car? Dir. Danny Leiner. Twentieth Century Fox, 2000.Dyer, Richard. White: Essays on Race and Culture. London: Routledge, 1997.“Editorial: Abolish the White Race—By Any Means Necessary”. Race Traitor 1 (1993). 9 June 2010 ‹http://racetraitor.org/abolish.html›.Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Dir. Amy Heckerling. Universal Pictures, 1982.Friday. Dir. F. Gary Gray. New Line Cinema, 1995.Half Baked. Dir. Tamra Davis. Universal Pictures, 1998.Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. Dir. Danny Leiner. New Line Cinema, 2004.Harris, Cheryl. “Whiteness as Property”. Harvard Law Review 106 (1993): 1707-1791. Hartigan, John Jr. “Objectifying ‘Poor Whites and ‘White Trash’ in Detroit”. White Trash: Race and Class in America. Eds. Matt Wray, and Annalee Newitz. NY: Routledge, 1997. 41-56.Hebdige, Dick. Subculture: The Meaning of Style. London: Methuen, 1979.hooks, bell. Black Looks: Race and Representation. Boston: South End Press, 1992.How High. Dir. Jesse Dylan. Universal Pictures, 2001.Lipsitz, George. The Possessive Investment in Whiteness: How White People Profit fromIdentity Politics. Philadelphia: Temple UP, 2006. List, Christine. "Self-Directed Stereotyping in the Films of Cheech Marin”. Chicanos and Film: Representation and Resistance. Ed. Chon A. Noriega. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1992. 183-94.Lott, Eric. “Racial Cross-Dressing and the Construction of American Whiteness”. The Cultural Studies Reader. 2nd ed. Ed. Simon During. London: Routledge, 1999. 241-55.McIntosh, Peggy. “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack”. 10 June 2010 ‹http://www.case.edu/president/aaction/UnpackingTheKnapsack.pdf›.Meltzer, Marisa. “Leisure and Innocence: The Eternal Appeal of the Stoner Movie”. Slate 26 June 2007. 10 Aug. 2010 ‹http://www.slate.com/id/2168931›.Toni Morrison. Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1992.Patterson, John. “High and Mighty”. The Guardian 7 June 2008. 10 June 2010 ‹http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2008/jun/07/2›.Roediger, David. Colored White: Transcending the Racial Past. Berkeley: U of California P, 2002.Roediger, David. The Wages of Whiteness: Race and the Making of the American Working Class. Rev. ed. London: Verso Books, 1999.———. Towards the Abolition of Whiteness: Essays on Race, Class and Politics. London: Verso Books, 1994.Shome, Raka. “Outing Whiteness”. Critical Studies in Media Communication 17.3 (2000): 366-71.Slotkin, Richard. Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier. Norman: U of Oklahoma P, 1973.Up in Smoke. Dir. Lou Adler. Paramount Pictures, 1978.Wayne’s World. Dir. Penelope Spheeris. Paramount Pictures, 1992.Wiegman, Robyn. “Whiteness Studies and the Paradox of Particularity”. boundary 2 26.3 (1999): 115-50.

Ulrike Ottinger, geboren am 6.6. 1942, ist eine avantgardistische Film- und Fotokünstlerin. Sie hat als Regisseurin und Fotografin gearbeitet, Theaterstücke und Opern inszeniert, aber auch Hörspiele verfasst, Ausstellungen konzipiert und nicht zuletzt Drehbücher verfasst, die selbstständige Kunstwerke darstellen und mitunter in Buchform erschienen sind. Jeder ihrer Filme stellt nur einen kleinen Ausschnitt aus einem multimedial angelegten künstlerischen Nachdenken dar, das ganz konsequent höchst unterschiedliche Ausdrucks- und Darstellungsformen miteinander verbindet. Ein Film ist oft nur das erste Fenster, das auf eine weitere Welt öffnet, die ihrerseits neue Fenster bereithält. Abgeschlossene Räume, Welten und Orte sind Ulrike Ottinger ein Graus, die Passage, die Überschreitung und die Erkundung hingegen Programm. Dieses ausführliche Gespräch beschränkt sich auf Ulrike Ottingers filmisches Œuvre und bezieht nur gelegentlich weitere Bereiche ihres künstlerischen Schaffens mit ein.

Vicco von Bülow (1923–2011) etablierte sich mit dem Künstlernamen Loriot – der französischen Entsprechung des Vogels Pirol, dem Wappentier der Familie Bülow – und galt als Deutschlands größter Humorist. In Loriots Sketch "Literaturkritik" präsentiert ein näselnder Feuilletonist den neuen Bahnfahrplan als aufregendste Neuerscheinung der Frankfurter Buchmesse: Mit Nachdruck weist er darauf hin, dass das Werk in keinem Bücherschrank fehlen solle. Welche Folgen dieser Aufruf für die Breitenwirkung des Fahrplanheftes der Deutschen Bahn hatte, ist nicht bekannt. Loriots Karikaturen, Sketche und Filme hingegen erfreuen sich einer nicht unerheblichen Verbreitung in Bücherregalen und DVD-Schränken, Programmplänen und im Internet. Die Beiträge des Heftes fragen nach Ort und Funktion des Werks von Vicco von Bülow in der bundesdeutschen Nachkriegsgesellschaft und in der Geschichte der komischen Kunst. Sie analysieren die Kritik, die er an seiner Gegenwart geübt hat, und die Art und Weise, wie diese inszeniert wird – in der Darstellung von kommunikativem Verhalten, mit den Mitteln des Zeichners oder durch zahlreiche Anspielungen und Querverweise in den Sketchen. Nicht zuletzt vermessen sie Loriots Räume, gehen mit ihm in die Oper und kommen am Ende auf den Hund.