Literatura científica selecionada sobre o tema "Arena (Nightclub)"

Merging sound studies, performance studies, and jotería studies, this essay documents sonic moments and memories of 1990s Los Angeles at Arena, a nightclub frequented by queer Latinx youth. Building on Alexandra Vasquez's "listening in detail" and Karen Tongson's "queerly listening," the author argues that jotería listening is an auditory practice and methodology employed by queer Latinx communities engaged in world-making strategies. Through jotería listening, we are able to hear sonic memories of Arena, which map moments of collectivity, community building, experimentation and resistance against hostilities encountered by jotería youth in LA in the 1990s. Highlighting three soundmarks or recognizable sounds—whistles, foot-stomping, and clapping—and their meanings, this essay maps corporeal and embodied performances of self and community as it documents critical moments in jotería histories of nightlife in Los Angeles.

The article proves that prohibition, as well as the decriminalisation of pornography, is a resonant social issue. In addition to playing the role of a moral and ethical component of public life, it acts as a lever in the international political arena, and also touches upon some matters of financial income and tax revenue. EU legislation generally regards pornography as a phenomenon that does not pose a social or moral and ethical danger. It is noted that with the expiry of the Law of Ukraine “On Protection of Public Morality”, the legal justification for a complete ban on pornography in Ukraine has also been lost. The logical continuation of the above legal changes is the revision of criminal legislation on pornography with due regard to the main trends of progressive legal development. The analysis of the information materials to the BRDO’s initiative draft law stipulates that the absence of a regulatory definition of “debauchery” and “place of debauchery” creates conditions under which criminal liability may be imposed on party organisers, hotel and nightclub owners or creators of pornographic materials. Based on this, the BRDO proposes to exclude Article 302 from the Criminal Code of Ukraine as a whole. The BRDO’s argument is indeed convincing. However, it does not take into account the risks of such crimes and offences as: pimping or involvement of a person in prostitution (Article 303 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine); prostitution (Article 181-1 of the Code of Administrative Offences of Ukraine). In addition, if Article 302 is removed from the Criminal Code of Ukraine, its parts 3 and 4 will also be lost, which may reduce the protection of minors and young persons. In view of the above, we believe that it would be appropriate to amend the content of part 1 of Article 302 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine as follows: “Article 302. Organisation of activities for places to provide paid sexual services and engage in prostitution Organisation and receipt of remuneration from the activities of places for the face-to-face provision of paid sexual services and prostitution – …”.

Many people assume that Japanese language and culture make the country an unlikely place for a robust hip hop scene, but in fact, Japanese emcees, DJs, breakers and visual artists have a long and varied history of contributing to global hip hop. From small nightclubs to giant arenas, Japan’s hip hop artists run the gamut of underground to pop, with a wide range of approaches and styles.

Before the October Revolution, political exiles and Jewish refugees spread the image of Russia as a vast prison, riven by violence and corruption. After the Revolution, émigrés who scattered across the globe broadcast their idea of a fabulous, high-spirited Russia. Cabaret – an arena for theatrical innovation, stylistic experimentation, and avant-garde audacity – was a choice medium to dramatize this idea to non-Russian audiences. Throughout the 1920s, émigré cabarets enjoyed great popularity: Nikita Baliev's Chauve- Souris in New York, Jurij Jushnij's Die Blaue Vogel in Berlin, J. Son's Maschere in Italy, among others. Although the acts were polyglot and the compère pattered away in a pidgin version of whichever language was current, the chief attraction was an artificial Russian - ness. Cabarets promulgated a vision of a fairy-tale, toy-box Russia, akin to the pictures on Palekh boxes. This candy-box depiction was then perpetuated by nightclubs staffed by waiters in Cossack blouses and balalaika orchestras. Nostalgic regret for a factitious homeland deepened among the departed. In contrast, Soviet Russia came to look even more hostile and desolate. With time, the distance between the lives they had lived and those portrayed to foreigners increased, and became unmoored from reality. Laurence Senelick's most recent books include Soviet Theater: a Documentary History (2014, with Sergei Ostrovsky), the second, enlarged edition of A Historical Dictionary of Russian Theatre (2015), and Jacques Offenbach and the Making of Modern Culture (Cambridge University Press, 2017).

Sticky, messy and nauseatingly saccharine, the sensory properties of jam may be a long way from the stylized corporate polish of Australia’s multi-billion dollar film exhibition industry, yet the history of Australian cinema space will be forever indebted to the Victoria Preserving Company; one-time producer of the humblest of sweet treats. Through an analysis of Melbourne’s Jam Factory cinema complex, this article explores the unusual intersection of jam, sensory gratification and contemporary Australian cinema-going at the dawn of the 21st century. Encompassing the historic architecture of the former Victoria Preserving Company, South Yarra’s Jam Factory complex provides a gentrified gloss to an inner suburban precinct historically renowned for the manufacturing of jam and preserves. Nestled in the heart of Chapel Street, less than two blocks down from Toorak road and a stone’s throw from the nightclub precinct of Commercial road, the Jam Factory occupies an important part of Melbourne’s cultural heritage; functioning as a quintessential signifier of the city’s traversal from wholesale manufacturing during the early 1900s into the service vectors of digital media technologies and mixed-use retail entertainment destinations at the start of the new millennium. Established in 1876, the Victoria Preserving Company, AKA the ‘Jam Factory’, hosts an array of diverse retail and leisure outlets. Included amongst its tenants are Borders Books, Villa & Hut, TGI Fridays, The Pancake Parlour, a Virgin Music Mega-store, an elaborate Village Cinema megaplex, and a range of ancillary restaurants, fashion stores and cafes. According to the venue’s promotional material, “The Jam Factory of today is, in short, ‘jam packed’ with entertainment” (Chapel St Precinct, n.pag.). With the original building’s façade and cooling store still intact, the architectural remnants of the Victoria Preserving Factory provide a culturally significant backdrop for what is ostensibly Australia’s most noteworthy cinema venture; Village Roadshow’s megaplex cinema flagship. Replete with fifteen large format screens, including two Gold Class cinemas, a Cinema Europa enclave and an interactive games alcove, The Village Jam Factory signifies Australia’s first foray into cinema-based retail entertainment destinations. In commenting on the opening of the Jam Factory megaplex in 1998, Village Roadshow’s general manager Mr. David Herman said, “The objective was to create Australia’s first non-gambling cinema and lifestyle complex” (Catalano 6). More than any other cinema venue, the Village Jam Factory played a key role in pushing Australian film exhibition standards into the new millennium. In an era marked by competing home theatre technologies and diversified sites of media consumption, the Jam Factory’s shift from suburban cinema to lifestyle complex dramatically altered both the business and social practice of movie-going in Australia. Central to this shift was a tripartite marketing strategy which sought to capitalize on: protracted movie-going experiences; sensory stimulation; and, venue promotion. Experiential Jam The promotion of a protracted movie-going experience has been essential to the continued success of the Village Jam Factory. As I have argued elsewhere, the Australian cinema industry of the mid 1990s faced a number of significant incentives for extending the movie going experience beyond the auditorium; not the least being the steady decline of box office takings that occurred during the late 1980s (Downing). In the face of new media technologies such as the internet, DVD and Pay TV, many cinema operators were forced to look beyond the box office as a primary source of profits. To this end Village Roadshow effectively used the Jam Factory as a testing ground for the generation of ancillary leisure and retail income streams. During the mid 1990s Village actively promoted the Jam Factory as a space in which audiences could not only see a film, but also engage in a series of expanded retail activities such as shopping, dining and video-game playing. Discussing the development of multi-use cinema venues during the 1990s, Charles Acland has commented that such spaces “…do not situate conditions of spectatorship alone; they also construct relations between public and cinematic practices” (Acland 119). Sensory Jam Far from being a traditional site of film consumption, the Jam Factory set an industry precedent by becoming the nation’s first cinema venue in which audiences were encouraged to engage in an entertainment experience that was, above all, aimed at stimulating the senses. In keeping with the ‘lifestyle destination’ mantra, the Village Jam Factory provided a new generation of Australians with a multi-sensory entertainment experience that could not be emulated by home theatre technologies. Wide sweeping foyers and elaborate ticket and merchandising counters greet the eye; ‘luxury’ stadium seating with wide aisles and broad armrests offer the ‘ultimate’ in tactile comfort; digital surround sound facilities pleasure the ears and a plethora of food and beverage novelties work to gratify the senses of taste and smell. More than any other Village cinema outlet, the Jam Factory venue smacks of sugar-coated commerce. With a revenue contribution of over 18%, the Village Roadshow candy bar is the undisputed cash-cow of the enterprise (Australian Film Commission 143). Colloquially known as ‘Lollywood’, the Village confectionary counter is an over-priced explosion of colour and candy that sustains industry revenue through a deliberate appeal to the audience’s sense of taste. This sugar dependency synchronistically mirrors the former success of Henry Jones, the entrepreneur behind Australia’s IXL jam brand, who operated his famous preserving company on the site between 1895 and 1926 (Chapel St Precinct, n.pag.). Venue Jam Village Roadshow’s promotion of the Jam Factory venue over the actual films being screened is indicative of Australia’s primary shift towards retail entertainment based cinema complexes. Unlike the homogenous multiplex venues of the 1970s and 1980s, the Village Jam Factory Complex has been aggressively marketed as a Melbourne icon, capable of offering a unique entertainment experience. This agenda is clearly documented in the 1999 Village Roadshow annual report which, pointing towards a perceived threat of home theatre technologies, proclaimed: [In] broadening the cinema going experience … [Village] aims to create an environment of quality entertainment theming and ancillary lifestyle retailing, thus providing a consistently high level of incentive for people to leave their homes for cinema anchored destinations. (Village Roadshow 19) To this end, the Jam Factory became the physical embodiment of Village Cinemas’ corporate tagline “Where Movies Live” (Village Cinemas, n.pag.). Throughout the late 1990s, a number of similar sites proliferated across Europe, the United States and Canada. Two noteworthy examples of this trend are the Manchester Times building in the UK (initially managed by a short lived Village-Warner synergy) and the Sony Centre at Potsdamer Platz, Berlin; previous home to the Third Reich and later, the Berlin Wall. In both of these examples a similar venue-promotion agenda is clearly at work. In reflecting the cultural specificities of their host cities, each of these venues pays a semiotic homage to the previous occupants of their space. The Manchester Times building, for example, retains much of its former architecture and reflects the nocturnal vibrancy of 19th century printing plant. Similarly, the Sony Centre offers an architectural reflection on the complexities of Berlin history and German cinema. In Melbourne, the Jam Factory’s history of jam and jam making are equally preserved. Drawing heavily on postmodern architectural styles, the Jam Factory’s interior uses South Yarra’s local history as a backdrop for a schizophrenic collage of seemingly incommensurate time/place references. From the distinctive red-brick cooling tower (located in the centre of the building) one encounters a hybrid fusion of Mediterranean pasta courts, European coffee lounges, Romanesque artwork and columns (complete with weathered-look paint and ‘crumbling’ tops), statues of Hollywood stars, as well as a dazzling gaming alcove and a series of subdued ‘luxury’ (Gold Class) cinemas. Such eclectic displays of visual hyperbole have been prefigured by Umberto Eco, whose discussion on hyperreality addresses an imagination which “… demands the real thing, and in order to attain it, must fabricate the absolute fake” (Eco 8). As a relatively recent contributor to Australian cinema history, the Village Jam Factory has achieved little sustained academic attention, yet its significance must not be undervalued. As Australia’s first cinema-oriented retail entertainment destination, the Village Jam Factory has been crucial in placing Australia into the global film exhibition arena. While the pungent aromas of ripened fruit, vinegar and boiling sugar have long since been replaced by the scent of popcorn and recycled air, the legacy and architecture of jam-making has played a key role in propelling Australian film exhibition into the new millennium. References Acland, Charles. Screen Traffic: Movies, Multiplexes and Global Culture. Durham: Duke UP, 2003. Australian Film Commission. Get the Picture. Sydney: Australian Film Commission, 2001. Catalano, Anthony. “Village to Extend Jam Factory to 14 Cinemas.” The Age 5 Aug. 1998. Chapel St Precinct. General History of Chapel Street & Surrounds. 2006. 30 Dec. 2006 http://www.chapelstreet.com.au/default.asp?mode=history>. Downing, Leanne. “More than Meets the Eye: The Suburban Cinema Megaplex as Sensory Heterotopia.” Refractory: Journal of Media and Culture 8 (2005). http://www.refractory.unimelb.edu.au/journalissues/vol8/downing.html>. Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyper Reality. Orlando Florida: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1986. Village Cinemas. 2006. 30 Dec. 2006. http://www.villagecinemas.com.au/>. Village Roadshow. Annual Report. Melbourne: Village Roadshow, 1999. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Downing, Leanne. "Sensory Jam: How the Victoria Preserving Company Pushed Australian Cinema Space into the New Millennium." M/C Journal 9.6 (2006). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0612/05-downing.php>. APA Style Downing, L. (Dec. 2006) "Sensory Jam: How the Victoria Preserving Company Pushed Australian Cinema Space into the New Millennium," M/C Journal, 9(6). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0612/05-downing.php>.

Copyright collectives are critical to the economic health of the music industry, but they are at a curious crossroads. Collective copyright management is used more extensively in the music business than ever before. Expanded collective copyright management for digital streaming is the centerpiece of the Music Modernization Act (MMA)—the most extensive revision to the Copyright Act in two decades. At the same time, major music publishers, who rely heavily on collective licensing revenue, are on a years-long mission to end collective licensing for certain digital streaming rights. These trends reflect changes that streaming technology has caused in music consumption, distribution, and revenue generation. Digital streaming has emerged as the dominant music consumption model, accounting for eighty-three percent of music revenues in the United States in 2020. This rapid rise to dominance naturally has profound implications for the future of music licensing. The licensing needs of streaming service providers are unprecedented in scale. Spotify, for example, currently hosts over 70 million recordings, with more than 60,000 new recordings uploaded every day. Most of these recordings encompass two copyrighted works that must be licensed separately: a copyrighted sound recording and a copyrighted underlying musical composition. Streaming services’ need for such a massive number of licenses highlights the value of collectives that enable streaming services to interface with a manageable number of licensors. It also highlights the importance of blanket licenses that permit spontaneous use of millions of works relatively free from infringement liability. At the same time, the importance of collective licensing to copyright owners has decreased in the streaming age. Streaming is a highly concentrated market: Spotify, Apple Music, and Amazon Music together control two-thirds of the global streaming market. Thus, it has never been easier for copyright owners to license a handful of platforms that deliver the lion’s share of revenue. Further, technology has markedly reduced the costs of use-tracking and royalty distribution. All streams are automatically logged, and royalties are automatically distributed based on usage data. As a result, the major record labels often directly license millions of sound recordings to streaming services without using a collective. Historically, collective copyright management has been valuable for both copyright owners and users of copyrighted works. The primary advantage is reduced transaction costs. Across the globe, there are millions of music copyright owners and millions of businesses that use copyrighted works. In some cases, individual transactions for large numbers of works would be prohibitively costly for both sides. Collective copyright management creates a one-stop shop for licensors and licensees, drastically reducing transaction costs. Collective copyright management further benefits copyright owners by sharing and thereby reducing administrative and enforcement costs. It further benefits users by reducing potential liability for frequent and spontaneous uses, especially through blanket licensing that empowers licensees to make unlimited use of all works in a licensor’s catalog. The major concern with collective licensing has long been the monopoly pricing potential of collective copyright control, especially when collective licensing is combined with blanket licensing. If one entity holds the rights to license the majority of popular songs, it can exact monopoly rents from anyone seeking to use music. Radio stations, streaming services, nightclubs, and other music-centric businesses would have no latitude to seek alternatives if the rights to license the music they need were concentrated in one entity. Music licensing, therefore, has long been a heavily regulated market, controlled through a combination of compulsory licensing regimes, statutory limitations and exceptions to exclusive copyright rights, and competition authority oversight. The question is whether such heavy regulation is necessary going forward—or, more to the point, whether collective licensing is necessary going forward. Collective licensing has dominated the music public performance rights market for a century. The two major performance rights organizations (PROs)—American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers (ASCAP) and Broadcast Music, Inc. (BMI)—offer blanket licenses for millions of works, albeit under strict regulation by the Department of Justice (DOJ) to deter market power abuses. But this model increasingly seems like a vestige of the analog age. Today, there is a relative handful of high-value licensees operating globally. Streaming services have the technological infrastructure to work with a huge number of licensors, unlike the radio stations and nightclubs of yore. Because technology enables nearly frictionless virtual licensing and automated usage tracking and royalty distribution, a plethora of music rights and royalty administration businesses have flourished that are capable of administering direct public performance rights licensing and royalty collection on copyright holders’ behalf. The performance licensing that still involves high transaction costs—licensing of radio stations and brick-and-mortar businesses such as stores, fitness studios, and bars—accounts for less than fifteen percent of PRO revenues. Further, as I discuss in Part IV.B, licensing even in those arenas is vulnerable to disruption. The upshot is that music publishers, especially major publishers, are eager to eschew collective licensing in the digital streaming space so they can negotiate higher direct-licensing fees for streaming. As I discuss in Part III.C.3, publishers’ plans have been derailed for the time being by DOJ consent decrees that prohibit PROs from selectively licensing members’ works. Many licensees, on the other hand, are generally satisfied with how collective licensing currently functions in the performance rights space. The two major PROs are so heavily regulated that their blanket license offerings are comparable to compulsory licenses: The PROs’ pricing and licensing discretion is substantially curtailed under rate court and DOJ oversight. Meanwhile, competition from a new PRO (which poaches some of the legacy PROs’ most valuable catalog) and from a burgeoning music rights administration industry adds further pressure, casting doubt on the long-term viability of the legacy PROs. If the legacy PROs deteriorate and publishers seek direct licenses for performance rights, will licensees lobby for a blanket compulsory performance rights license? There is precedent for such a compulsory license, as a new compulsory blanket licensing regime came into effect in 2021, mandated by the MMA, for a related right: the right to make and distribute phonorecords of nondramatic musical works, including by means of “digital phonorecord delivery.” In essence, this is a compulsory license for the right to digitally deliver—via download or stream—a copyrighted song encompassed in a sound recording. The MMA also created a new collective—the Mechanical Licensing Collective (MLC) (so-called because the compulsory license covers what was traditionally called the “mechanical right,” or the right to reproduce musical works in formats used for mechanical playback)—to administer the compulsory license. The MMA comes two decades after the creation of another compulsory right prompted by digital streaming: the compulsory right available to “noninteractive” digital music services (essentially, internet radio webcasters and satellite radio broadcasters) to transmit sound recordings. A bespoke licensing collective, SoundExchange, was created to administer that compulsory license as well. In total, the licensing landscape for the U.S. digital music streaming sector involves six collectives: the MLC, SoundExchange, and four PROs. The only licenses in the streaming landscape not administered by licensing collectives are licenses for the use of sound recordings by “interactive” streaming services, such as Apple Music and Spotify. These direct licenses also happen to be by far the most lucrative licenses in the music business. The two compulsory streaming licenses of relatively recent vintage (and their respective collectives) seem entrenched for the foreseeable future. However, uncertainty surrounds the future of streaming performance royalties. Will major publishers seek to direct-license streaming performances and withdraw their rights from PROs? Will they seek instead to phase out streaming performance royalties in favor of a single, all-encompassing musical composition royalty stream managed by the MLC? Or will they maintain the status quo: music composition streaming royalties split into performance and mechanical royalties administered and distributed by five or more different collectives. In the long term, the third possibility seems the least likely due to the inefficiencies and lack of flexibility in the current structure. The other possibilities would not be costless, however, as bypassing the PROs for streaming royalties would markedly weaken—if not ruin—the PROs on which publishers would still rely for non-streaming performance royalties. In this Article, I examine the present state of collective copyright management and collective licensing in the United States and identify the factors likely to determine the future of collective copyright management due to new usage tracking technology and the rise of digital streaming. In Part I, I lay the terminological groundwork for subsequent discussion by defining and distinguishing the related concepts of collective licensing, direct licensing, compulsory licensing, blanket licensing, and collective copyright management. In Part II, I lay the necessary doctrinal groundwork for later discussion by disentangling the complex lattice of rules concerning digital music rights that are subject to collective management in the United States. This Part then discusses the rise of the new blanket compulsory mechanical license under the MMA and puts it into the historical context of compulsory licenses arising in response to rapid technological shifts in delivery models for copyrighted works. In Part III, I discuss the role of the PROs, the areas in which they add value as well as their shortcomings, and the pressures they face in the digital streaming arena due to a confluence of heavy regulation, increased competition, and technological changes that reduce the need for collective licensing. In Part IV, I consider the future of collective licensing in the digital streaming age, in particular the future of the MLC and the PROs.

IntroductionWhen I saw Patriots Day (Berg 2016) at my local multiplex, a family entered the theatre and sat a few rows in front of me. They had a child with them, a boy who was perhaps nine or ten years old. Upon seeing the kid, I had a physical reaction. Not quite a knee-jerk, but more of an uneasy gut punch. ‘Don't you know what this movie is about?’ I wanted to ask his parents; ‘I’ve seen Jeff Bauman’s bones, and that is not something a child should see.’ I had lived through the 2013 Boston Marathon bombing and subsequent manhunt, and the memories were vivid in my mind as I waited for the movie to start, to re-present the memory on screen. Admittedly, I had lived through it from the other side of the world, watching through the mediated windows of the computer, smartphone, and television screen. Nevertheless, I remembered it in blood-soaked colour detail, brought to me by online photo galleries, social media updates, the failed amateur sleuths of Reddit, and constant cable news updates, breaking news even when the events had temporarily stalled. Alison Landsberg has coined the term “prosthetic memory” to describe how historical events are re-created and imbued with an affective experience through cinema and other sites of mass cultural mediation, allowing those who did not experience the past to form a personal connection to and subjective memory of history (2). For the boy in the cinema, Patriots Day would most likely be his first encounter with and memory of the Boston Marathon bombing. But how does prosthetic memory apply to audience members like me, who had lived through the Boston bombing from a great distance, with personalised memories mediated by the first-person perspective of social media? Does the ease of dissemination of information, particularly eyewitness photographs and videos, create possibilities for a prosthetic experience of the present? Does the online mediation of historical events of the present translate to screen dramatisations? These questions become particularly pertinent when the first-release audience of a film has recent, living memories of the real events depicted on screen.The time between when an event occurs and when it is brought to cinemas in a true-events adaptation is decreasing. Rebecca A. Sheehan argues that the cultural value of instant information has given rise to a trend in the contemporary biopic and historical film that sees our mediated world turned into a temporal "paradox in which the present is figured as both historical and ongoing" (36). Since 2005, Sheehan writes, biographical films that depict the lives of still-living public figures or in other ways comment on the ongoing history of the present have become increasingly frequent. Sheehan cites films such as The Social Network (Fincher 2010), The Queen (Frears 2006), W. (Stone 2008), and Game Change (Roach 2012) as examples of this growing biopic trend (35-36). In addition to the instantaneous remediation of public figures in the contemporary biopic, similarly there is a stable of contemporary historical films based on the true stories of ordinary people involved in extraordinary recent events. Films such as The Impossible (Bayona 2012), World Trade Center (Stone 2006), United 93 (Greengrass 2006), and Deepwater Horizon (Berg 2016) bring the death and destruction of real-world natural disasters or terrorist attacks to a sanitised but experiential cinematic event. The sensitive nature of some of the events in question often see the films labelled “too soon” and exploitative of recent tragedy. Films such as these typically do not have known public figures as their protagonists, but they arise from a similar climate of the demands of televisual and online mediation that Sheehan describes in the “instant biopics” of her study (36). Given this rise of brief temporal space between real events and their dramatisations, in this essay, I examine Patriots Day in light of the role digital experience plays in both its dramatisation and how the film's initial audience may remember the event. As Patriots Day replicates a kind of prosthetic memory of the present, it uses the first-instance digital mediation of the event to form prosthetic memories for future viewers. Through Patriots Day, I seek to gesture toward the possibilities of first-person digital mediation of major news events in shaping dramatisations of the recent past.Digital Memories of the Boston Marathon BombingTo examine the ways the Boston Marathon bombing circulated in online space, I look at the link- and image-based online discussion platform Reddit as an example of engagement with and recirculation of the event, particularly as a form of engagement defined by photographs and videos. Because the Boston Marathon is a televised and widely-reported event, professional videographers and photographers were present at the marathon’s finish line at the time of the first explosion. Thus, the first bomb and its immediate aftermath were captured in news footage and still images. The graphic nature of some of these images depicting the violence of the scene saw traditional print and television outlets cropping or otherwise editing the photographs to make them appropriate for mass broadcast (Hughney). Some online outlets, however, showed these pictures in their unedited form, often accompanied by warnings that required readers to scroll further down the page or click through the warning to see the photographs. These distinctive capabilities of the online environment allowed individuals to choose whether to view the image, while still allowing the uncensored image to circulate and be reposted elsewhere, such as on Reddit. In addition to photos and videos shot by professionals at the finish line, witnesses armed with smart phone cameras and access to social media posted their views of the aftermath to social media like Twitter, enabling the collation of both amateur and professionally shot photographs of the scene by online news aggregators such as Buzzfeed (Broderick). The Reddit community is seen as an essential part of the Boston Bombing story for the way some of its users participated in a form of ‘crowd-sourced’ investigation that resulted in the false identification of suspects (see: Nhan et al.; Tapia et al.; Potts and Harrison). There is another aspect to Reddit’s role in the circulation and mediation of the story, however, as online venues became a go-to source for news on the unfolding event, where information was delivered faster and with greater accuracy than the often-sensationalised television news coverage (Starbird et al. 347). In addition to its role in providing information that is a part of Reddit’s culture that “value[s] evidence of some kind” to support discussion (Potts and Harrison 144), Reddit played a number of roles in the sense-making process that social media can often facilitate during crisis situations (Heverin and Zach). Through its division into “subreddits,” the individual communities and discussion areas that make up the platform, Reddit accommodates an incredibly diverse range of topics and interests. Different areas of Reddit were able to play different roles in the process of sharing information and acting in a community sense-making capacity in the aftermath of the bombing. Among the subreddits involved in attempting to make sense of the event were those that served as appropriate places for posting image galleries of both professional and amateur photographs and videos, drawn from a variety of online sources. Users of subreddits such as /r/WTF and /r/MorbidReality, for example, posted galleries of “NSFL” (Not Safe For Life) images of the bombing and its aftermath (see: touhou_hijack, titan059, f00d4tehg0dz). Additionally, the /r/Boston subreddit issued calls for anyone with photographs or videos related to the attack to upload them to the thread, as well as providing an e-mail address to submit them to the FBI (RichardHerold). The /r/FindBostonBombers subreddit became a hub for analysis of the photographs. The subreddit's investigatory work was picked up by other online and traditional media outlets (including the New York Post cover photo which misidentified two suspects), bringing wider attention to Reddit’s unfolding coverage of the bombing (Potts and Harrison 148). Landsberg’s theory of prosthetic memory, and her application of it, largely relates to mass culture’s role in “the production and dissemination of memories that have no direct connection to a person’s lived past” (20). The possibilities for news events to be recorded and disseminated by smart phones and social media, however, help to create a deeper sense of affective engagement with a distant present, creating prosthetic memories out of the mediated first-hand experiences of others. The graphic nature of the photos and videos of the Boston bombing collected by and shared on sites like Reddit, the ongoing nature of the event (which, from detonation to the capture of Dzokhar Tsarnaev, spanned five days), and the participatory activity of scouring photographs for clues to the identity of the bombers all lend a sense of ongoing, experiential engagement with first-person, audiovisual mediations of the event. These prosthetic memories of the present are, as Landsberg writes of those created from dramatisations or re-creations of the past, transferable, able to belong to those who have no “natural” claim to them (18) with an experiential element that personalises history for those who do not directly experience it (33). If widely disseminated first-person mediations of events like the Boston bombing can be thought of as a prosthetic experience of present history, how will they play a part in the prosthetic memories of the future? How will those who did not live through the Boston bombing, either as a personal experience or a digitally mediated one, incorporate this digital memory into their own experience of its cinematic re-creation? To address this question, I turn to consider Patriots Day. Of particular note is the bombing sequence’s resemblance to digital mediations of the event as a marker of a plausible docudramatic resemblance to reality.The Docudramatic Re-Presentation of Digital MemoryAs a cinematic representation of recent history, Patriots Day sits at a somewhat uncomfortable intersection of fact and fiction, of docudrama and popcorn action movie, more so than an instant history film typically would. Composite characters or entirely invented characters and narratives that play out against the backdrop of real events are nothing out of the ordinary in the historical film. However, Patriots Day's use of real material and that of pure invention coincides, frequently in stark contrast. The film's protagonist, Boston Police Sergeant Tommy Saunders (played by Mark Wahlberg) is a fictional character, the improbable hero of the story who is present at every step of the attack and the manhunt. He is there on Boylston Street when the bombs go off. He is there with the FBI, helping to identify the suspects with knowledge of Boylston Street security cameras that borders on a supernatural power. He is there at the Watertown shootout among exploding cars and one-liner quips. When Dzokhar Tsarnaev is finally located, he is, of course, first on the scene. Tommy Saunders, as embodied by Wahlberg, trades on all the connotations of both the stereotypical Boston Southie and the action hero that are embedded in Wahlberg’s star persona. As a result, Patriots Day often seems to be a depiction of an alternate universe where Mark Wahlberg in a cop uniform almost single-handedly caught a terrorist. The improbability of Saunders as a character in a true-events drama, though, is thoroughly couched in the docudramatic material of historical depiction. Steven N. Lipkin argues that docudrama is a mode of representation that performs a re-creation of memory to persuade us that it is representing the real (1). By conjuring the memory of an event into being in ways that seem plausible and anchored to the evidence of actuality—such as integrating archival footage or an indexical resemblance to the actual event or an actual person—the representational, cinematic, or fictionalised elements of docudrama are imbued with a sense of the reality they claim to represent (Lipkin 3). Patriots Day uses real visual material throughout the film. The integration of evidence is particularly notable in the bombing sequence, which combines archival footage of the 2013 race, surveillance footage of the Tsarnaev brothers approaching the finish line, and a dramatic re-creation that visually resembles the original to such an extent that its integration with archival footage is almost seamless (Landler). The conclusion of the film draws on this evidential connection to the real as well, in the way that docudrama is momentarily suspended to become documentary, as interviews with some of the real people who are depicted as characters in the film close out the story. In addition to its direct use of the actual, Patriots Day's re-creation of the bombing itself bears an indexical resemblance to the event as seen by those who were not there and relies on memories of the bombing's initial mediation to vouch for the dramatisation's accuracy. In the moments before the bombing's re-creation, actual footage of the Tsarnaevs's route down Boylston Street plays, a low ominous tone of the score building over the silent security footage. The fictional Saunders’s fictional wife (Michelle Monaghan) has come to the finish line to bring him a knee brace, and she passes Tamerlan Tsarnaev as she leaves. This shot directly crosses a visual resemblance to the actual (Themo Melikidze playing Tsarnaev, resembling the bomber through physicality and costuming) with the fictional structuring device of the film in the form of Tommy Saunders. Next, in a long shot, we see Tsarnaev bump into a man wearing a grey raglan shirt. The man turns to look at Tsarnaev. From the costuming, it is evident that this man who is not otherwise named is intended to represent Jeff Bauman, the subject of an iconic photograph from the bombing. In the photo, Bauman is shown being taken from the scene in a wheelchair with both legs amputated from below the knee by the blast (another cinematic dramatisation of the Boston bombing, Stronger, based on Bauman’s memoir of the same name, will be released in 2017). In addition to the visual signifier of Bauman from the memorable photograph, reports circulated that Bauman's ability to describe Tsarnaev to the FBI in the immediate aftermath of the bombing was instrumental in identifying the suspects (Hartmann). Here, this digital memory is re-created in a brief but recognisable moment: this is the before picture of Jeff Bauman, this is the moment of identification that was widely circulated and talked about, a memory of that one piece of good news that helped satisfy public curiosity about the status of the iconic Man in the Wheelchair.When the bombs detonate, we are brought into the smoke and ash, closer access than the original mediation afforded by the videographers at the finish line. After the first bomb detonates, the camera follows Saunders as he walks toward the smoke cloud. As the second bomb explodes, we go inside the scene. The sequence cuts from actual security camera footage that captured the blast, to a first-person perspective of the explosion, the resulting fire and smoke, and a shot that resembles the point of view of footage captured on a smart phone. The frame shakes wildly, giving the viewer disorienting flashes of the victims, a sense of the chaos without seeing anything in lasting, specific detail, before the frame tips sideways onto the pavement, stained with blood and littered with debris. Coupled with this is a soundscape that resembles both the subjective experience of a bombing victim and what their smart phone video has captured. There is the rumble of the explosion and muffled sounds of debris hidden under the noise of shockwaves of air hitting a microphone, fading into an electronic whine and tinnitus ring. A later shot shows the frame obscured by smoke, slowly clearing to give us a high angle view of the aftermath, resembling photographs taken from a window overlooking the scene on Boylston Street (see: touhou_hijack). Archival footage of first responders and points of view resembling a running cell phone camera that captures flashes of blood and open wounds combine with shots of the actors playing characters (both fictional and based on real people) that were established at the beginning of the film. There is once again a merging of the re-created and the actual, bound together by a sense of memory that encourages the viewer to take the former as plausible, based on its resemblance to the latter.When Saunders runs for the second bombing site further down the street, he looks down at two bodies on the ground. Framed in close-up, the bloodless, empty expression and bright blue shirt of Krystle Campbell are recognisable. We can ignore the inaccuracies of this element of the digital memory amidst the chaos of the sequence. Campbell died in the first bombing, not the second. The body of a woman in a black shirt is between the camera's position on the re-created Boylston Street and the actor standing in for Campbell, the opposite of how Campbell and her friend Karen Rand lay beside each other in photographs of the bombing aftermath. The police officer who takes Krystle's pulse on film and shakes her head at Wahlberg's character is a brunette, not the blonde in the widely-circulated picture of a first responder at the actual bombing. The most visceral portion of the image is there, though, re-created almost exactly as it appeared at its first point of mediation: the lifeless eyes and gaping mouth, the bright blue t-shirt. The memory of the event is conjured into being, and the cinematic image resembles the most salient elements of the memory enough for the cinematic image to be a plausible re-creation. The cinematic frame is positioned at a lower level to the original still, as though we are on the ground beside her, bringing the viewer even closer to the event, even as the frame crops out her injuries as scene photographs did not, granting a semblance of respectful distance from the real death. This re-creation of Krystle Campbell’s death is a brief flash in the sequence, but a powerful moment of recognition for those who remember its original mediation. The result is a sequence that shows the graphic violence of the actuality it represents in a series of images that invite its viewer to expand the sequence with their memory of the event the way most of them experienced it: on other screens, at the site of its first instance of digital mediation.ConclusionThrough its use of cinematography that resembles actual photographic evidence of the Boston Marathon bombing or imbues the re-creation with a sense of a first-person, digitally mediated account of the event, Patriots Day draws on its audience's digital memory of recent history to claim accuracy in its fictionalisation. Not everyone who sees Patriots Day may be as familiar with the wealth of eyewitness photographs and images of the Boston Marathon bombing as those who may have experienced and followed the events in online venues such as Reddit. Nonetheless, the fact of this material's existence shapes the event's dramatisation as the filmmakers attempt to imbue the dramatisation with a sense of accuracy and fidelity to the event. The influence of digital memory on the film’s representation of the event gestures toward the possibilities for how online engagement with major news events may play a role in their dramatisation moving forward. Events that have had eyewitness visual accounts distributed online, such as the 2015 Bataclan massacre, the 2016 Pulse nightclub shooting, the 2017 Manchester Arena bombing and Westminster Bridge attack, or the 2016 police shooting of Philando Castile that was streamed on Facebook live, may become the subject of future dramatisations of recent history. The dramatic renderings of contemporary history films will undoubtedly be shaped by the recent memory of their online mediations to appeal to a sense of accuracy in the viewer's memory. As recent history films continue, digital memories of the present will help make the prosthetic memories of the future. ReferencesBroderick, Ryan. “Photos from the Scene of the Boston Marathon Explosion (Extremely Graphic).” Buzzfeed News, 16 Apr. 2013. 2 Aug. 2017 <https://www.buzzfeed.com/ryanhatesthis/first-photos-from-the-scene-of-the-boston-marathon-explosion?utm_term=.fw38Byjq1#.peNXWPe8G>.f00d4tehg0dz. “Collection of Photos from the Boston Marathon Bombing (NSFW) (NSFL-Gore).” Reddit, 16 Apr. 2013. 8 Aug. 2017 <https://www.reddit.com/r/WTF/comments/1cfhg4/collection_of_photos_from_the_boston_marathon/>.Hartmann, Margaret. “Bombing Victim in Iconic Photo Was Key to Identifying Boston Suspects.” New York Magazine, 18 Apr. 2013. 8 Aug. 2017 <http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2013/04/bombing-victim-identified-suspects.html>.Heverin, Thomas, and Lisl Zach. “Use of Microblogging for Collective Sense-Making during Violent Crises: A Study of Three Campus Shootings.” Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology 63.1 (2012): 34-47. Hughney, Christine. “News Media Weigh Use of Photos of Carnage.” New York Times, 17 Apr. 2013. 2 Aug. 2017 <http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/18/business/media/news-media-weigh-use-of-photos-of-carnage.html>.Landler, Edward. “Recreating the Boston Marathon Bombing in Patriots Day.” Cinemontage, 21 Dec. 2016. 8 Aug. 2017 <http://cinemontage.org/2016/12/recreating-boston-marathon-bombing-patriots-day/>.Landsberg, Alison. Prosthetic Memory: The Transformation of American Remembrance in the Age of Mass Culture. New York: Columbia U P, 2004. Lipkin, Steven N. Docudrama Performs the Past: Arenas of Argument in Films Based on True Stories. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars, 2011. Nhan, Johnny, Laura Huey, and Ryan Broll. “Digilantism: An Analysis of Crowdsourcing and the Boston Marathon Bombing.” British Journal of Criminology 57 (2017): 341-361. Patriots Day. Dir. Peter Berg. CBS Films, 2016.Potts, Liza, and Angela Harrison. “Interfaces as Rhetorical Constructions. Reddit and 4chan during the Boston Marathon Bombings.” Proceedings of the 31st ACM International Conference on Design of Communication. Greenville, North Carolina, September-October 2013. 143-150. RichardHerold. “2013 Boston Marathon Attacks: Please Upload Any Photos in Relation to the Attacks That You Have.” Reddit, 15 Apr. 2013. 8 Aug. 2017 <https://www.reddit.com/r/boston/comments/1cf5wp/2013_boston_marathon_attacks_please_upload_any/>.Sheehan, Rebecca A. “Facebooking the Present: The Biopic and Cultural Instantaneity.” The Biopic in Contemporary Film Culture. Eds. Tom Brown and Bélen Vidal. New York: Routledge, 2014. 35-51. Starbird, Kate, Jim Maddock, Mania Orand, Peg Achterman, and Robert M. Mason. “Rumors, False Flags, and Digital Vigilantes: Misinformation on Twitter after the 2013 Boston Marathon Bombing.” iConference 2014 Proceedings. Berlin, March 2014. 654-662. Tapia, Andrea H., Nicolas LaLone, and Hyun-Woo Kim. “Run Amok: Group Crowd Participation in Identifying the Bomb and Bomber from the Boston Marathon Bombing.” Proceedings of the 11th International ISCRAM Conference. Eds. S.R. Hiltz, M.S. Pfaff, L. Plotnick, and P.C. Shih. University Park, Pennsylvania, May 2014. 265-274. titan059. “Pics from Boston Bombing NSFL.” Reddit, 15 Apr. 2013. 8 Aug. 2017 <https://www.reddit.com/r/WTF/comments/1cf0po/pics_from_boston_bombing_nsfl/>.touhou_hijack. “Krystle Campbell Died Screaming. This Sequence of Photos Shows Her Final Moments.” Reddit, 18 Apr. 2013. 8 Aug. 2017 <https://www.reddit.com/r/MorbidReality/comments/1cktrx/krystle_campbell_died_screaming_this_sequence_of/>.

Tiffany is running down a suburban street with headphones and a hoodie on. Her breath is clearly audible, rhythmic, steady, and in pace with her footsteps. The Tiffany’s Story video testimonial on the Be Smart. Be Well. website then cuts to Tiffany sitting at home describing her earlier experiences with asthma: “The hospital became like my second home... I couldn’t breathe on my own.” Dr. Wolf, who has been treating Tiffany since she was diagnosed with asthma at age 8, joins in, “At that time she had really severe asthma. It was very difficult to manage and remained very difficult to manage for many years” (Be Smart. Be Well). As a child, Tiffany could never run, with steady breath, as she did at the beginning of the video, titled The Right Meds Keep Her in the Ring (Be Smart. Be Well). But after figuring out a treatment regime that worked, Tiffany became a healthy teenager; the video features her in contexts where she is jogging, smiling radiantly with her mother, and holding up victory belts from her boxing matches. From a child unable to breathe on her own, to a teenager with dreams of going to the Olympics, Tiffany’s asthma story underscores some of the defining narratives of contemporary asthma care. Her experience moves from uncontrolled asthma that limited her activities to a well-managed condition where she is able to pursue her aspirations without interference. Her Olympic dreams fit perfectly, reproduce even, the iconic image of the asthmatic athlete. It’s an image that has been in circulation since the early years of the contemporary asthma epidemic, a moment in the 1990s when federal health agencies and advocacy organizations worked to give the growing population of child asthmatics hope and encouragement to overcome their asthma. Yet the figure of the athletic asthmatic, and other accomplished icons with well-controlled asthma, also promotes an idealized image of health: “you can be greater than you are,” when you take your medication. The messages, of course, are well intentioned, designed to educate and show kids that asthma does not equate with disability. Yet these messages frequently work on logic where drugs control symptoms to enable you to do better in life. In some corners of asthma care, concern with symptoms is subsumed by narratives of activity and accomplishment. This article sketches shifts in the meaning of health and disease in the context of asthma treatment, moving from a time when treatments were not disease-specific and illness was seen as debilitating, to the contemporary moment where pharmaceutical companies market disease and promote health through direct-to-consumer advertising (DTCA). It’s a move situated within a broader, biomedicalized context where health isn’t just achieved, it’s augmented. Tiffany’s story is typical of someone with severe or even moderate asthma: uncontrolled symptoms, use of emergency care, unresponsive to medications, and an inability to live life as fully as desired. Symptoms and the threat of symptoms prevent people from undertaking routine activities (such as exercise, visiting friends, or attending work or school) and going into spaces that might trigger an attack. Asthma, in other words, can prevent people from living a “normal” life. But it can also be more than a chronic inconvenience that shapes behaviors; in the U.S., asthma still kills more than 3,000 people each year (Moorman et al. 20). Medical practitioners, researchers, and patients persistently search for insight into asthma’s causes and possible cures (Whitmarsh). Both cause and cure still allude, but preventative measures have improved dramatically in the last thirty years, through both pharmaceutical advancements and better public health approaches. Whereas a century ago, or even 30 years ago, severe asthmatics would have lead quite restricted lives—confined to their homes and unable to be active—today’s asthmatics are not limited by their condition to the degree they were decades before. We see this in asthma research that shows improved morbidity, decreased hospitalizations, and better quality of life (Moorman et al. 1-67). We also see this in DTCA, asthma advocacy campaigns, and even public health messages that actively combat the historic image of the weak, invalid asthmatic with stories of famous athletes, entertainers, or politicians who overcame asthma to achieve great things. It moves the discourse from an overly negative image—as one asthmatic interlocutor conveyed, “there was a stereotype in the 80s, in the movies, where the nerdy wimpy kid always had asthma, and the inhaler was associated with that”—to an extraordinarily positive image of high achieving asthmatics. Inhalers, formerly a sign of weakness, are now common in competitive sport contexts (Arie 344). The contrast between these representations—the 1980s nerdy wimp and the 21st century athlete—is stark. The latter image participates in the shift towards augmented health, where active bodies have become the new idealized norm. The shifting representations of asthmatics, even over the last twenty years, makes sense in the context of biomedicalization (Clarke et al. 172), where treatment regimes moved from a focus on “attaining control over the body” under medicalization, to “enabling the transformation of bodies to include desired new properties and identities” (Clarke et al. 183). The right treatment will allow you to do things that your body wouldn’t let you do otherwise. The question is: should treatment be sold on this premise? What would have been considered a return to health a hundred years ago wouldn’t be considered doing enough to manage your asthma today. A hundred years ago, the absence of symptoms would have been a success; today, the focus is on the degree to which one feels limited and how much you can accomplish in the span of 24-hours. Missed school and work days are a key measure in asthma epidemiology and care; these public health measures not only signal uncontrolled asthma, but do so by counting absence in the context of labor. The discursive shift can also be seen in the change from the urge to “breathe easy” (language from the Centers for Disease Control) to suggestions in pharmaceutical ads that you can “breathe better.” What new selves are being created by emergent health rhetorics, as Metzel asks (6), rhetorics which seem to be consumerist and neoliberal as much as they are biomedical? Role Reversal Historically, those with severe asthma led their lives carefully, or in reclusion. French novelist Marcel Proust, in addition to his literary accomplishments, spent much of his life confined to his home. Despite searching through medical texts and experimenting with various treatments, Proust’s asthma “dominated” his daily life, in the words of Mark Jackson (6). Writing of asthma’s history, Jackson continues, Proust constitutes the archetypal asthmatic, whose breathlessness and discomfort echo across space and time. Proust’s intimate descriptions of his symptoms—‘an asthmatic never knows if he will be able to breathe’ he wrote to the novelist Andre Gide in 1919—bear striking similarities both to Greek and medieval accounts of asthma many centuries earlier and to recent surveys suggesting that, at the turn of the millennium, many asthmatics continue to suffer from severe attacks that prevent them from speaking or make them fear for their lives. (8) In Proust’s time, advertisements for asthma and other respiratory treatments focused on providing symptom relief; some even purported to cure respiratory woes. These advertisements were rarely asthma specific, in part, because manufacturers sought the widest possible customer base, but also because it was difficult to distinguish one respiratory illness from another (Jackson 201). Asthmatics like Proust tried a range of remedies, including asthma cigarettes, the Carbolic Smoke Ball, and various forms of early inhalers. Most of these early asthma remedies instructed customers to use their product when in need of relief. Some ads stated that more regular use could stave off symptoms as well remedy them in the moment, but prevention wasn’t the primary message. The principle focus was addressing symptoms at hand. Just about a hundred years later, at the beginning of the U.S. asthma epidemic, symptoms were still center stage. National attention turned towards the asthmatic condition as the public health effects of severe asthma became visible—asthma-related deaths and hospitalizations had increased, along with rising prevalence rates. Asthma—formerly kept hidden in homes and in low-income communities—emerged as a major public health issue (Mitman 245). Advocacy campaigns were created on the heels of the epidemic’s emergence; they aimed to make asthma visible and show kids that their condition didn’t have to get in the way of life. Elite athletes became central figures in these campaigns. The Asthma All-Stars program, which featured Olympic medalists Jackie Joyner-Kersee and Amy Van Dyken, as well as Pittsburgh Steeler Jerome Bettis, worked to educate the public through acknowledgement of the condition as well as treatment advocacy. The National Library of Medicine’s exhibit on asthma, “Breath of Life” (1999), exemplifies this period with a showcase of famous asthmatics. In the exhibit, more than half the profiles of contemporary asthmatics feature Olympic or all-star athletes; entertainers, politicians, and scientists round out the exhibit. The legacy of the asthmatic athlete persists today; it’s still common to see sports figures speaking at fundraisers or spearheading events. These images are important, particularly for patient populations who truly feel limited and unable to do things because of their asthma. Athletes who speak about their condition are always clear: well-controlled asthma comes from adherence to treatment. The importance of these images also stems from the use of the image of the All-Star asthmatic to counter the historical stereotype of the weak, invalid asthmatic, who, like Proust, could not even leave the house. The man who recalled the stereotyped asthmatic from the 1980s, stated “I think I mapped myself onto that [stereotype], like, this is a disability, right, the media tells me this is a disability cause it’s always the kids who can’t do anything who are puffing their puffers.” In step with emergent 21st century health rhetoric, and increasing asthma prevalence, the image of the asthmatic was revised, falling in line with newly normalized health ideals (Clarke et al. 181; Metzel 2; Sinding 262). Active Asthmatics If 19th and early 20th century inhaler advertisements declared their products could relieve if not cure respiratory symptoms, at the beginning of the 21st century asthma treatment went beyond simply relieving symptoms; advertisements and medical discourse emphasized preventative symptom control, improved lung function, and better breathing. With the development of long-term controller medications, many asthmatics could reliably prevent symptoms a majority of the time. When combination inhalers hit the market in the early 2000s, the mood of advertisements could be summed up by a line from a GlaxoSmithKline commercial, “Coping is not the same as controlling” (GlaxoSmithKline). Prevention rather than symptom relief was the order of the new century. And yet just in the last ten years, pharmaceutical messages have shifted yet again, moving from an emphasis on controlling symptoms to living a better life: don’t let asthma slow you down, or stop you from living the life you want to live. It’s a message predicated on a particular view of what a normal life should look like, one characterized as augmented health. A 2012 Advair commercial reflects the tone of augmented health, “Asthma can hold you back, but it doesn’t always have to. Advair is clinically proven to significantly increase symptom free days, to help you do more of the things you like to do, more of the things you have to do, and more of what you want to do” (Advair). Strategically placed throughout the commercial, a voice chimes in “GO!” as the hero of the commercial, a middle aged asthmatic man, bikes down a wooded trail; moves through a busy hallway where he greets one person after the next, all of whom hand him file folders or blue prints; dances at a nightclub; and walks down bleachers to join a group of friends at a ballgame. The commercial ends with the man arriving home well after dark, comfortably settling into bed, and then energetically waking up to do it all over again the next day. Marked by words like increase, more, and go, the Advair commercial depicts a life full of activity. Not only that, the commercial leverages contexts that are commonly problematic for asthmatics: being outside and in foliage rich areas; biking and dancing, or other physical activities that could leave one breathless; and sleeping comfortably—nighttime attacks are common among asthmatics. The message is clear: look at all the things asthmatics can do when their condition is well controlled—with Advair, of course. It’s a message that builds on an earlier trend in asthma advocacy, during the 1990s, when well-known asthmatic athletes were used to bring visibility to asthma. If asthma control in the 1990s emphasized that asthmatics didn’t need to be held back, 21st century ads suggest that one could do more. By augmenting your health, asthma control can transform your life by allowing you to do more.Today, DTCA for asthma drugs are just as likely to emphasize improved lung function as they are symptom control, and, as advertised in the Advair commercial, improved lung function enables one to do more. A man featured in a 2012 Symbicort commercial explains, “Symbicort helps significantly improve my lung function, starting within five minutes… With Symbicort, today I’m breathing better” (Symbicort). The man’s renewed capacity to go on fishing trips with loved ones is the example in this commercial. Control, relief, and cure are nowhere to be found in these DTC advertisements; symptoms have been dropped from the frame. Rather than work off illness, or the older stereotype of the weak, homebound asthmatic, the new wave of DTCA champions augmented health: a higher quality of life, where patient-consumers can “do” whatever they like. What would have been considered a return to normal a hundred years ago, in Proust’s time, wouldn’t be considered doing enough to manage your asthma today. A hundred years ago, getting out of the house would have been enough; today, it’s a question of how much can you accomplish in the span of 24-hours. The portrayal of health in these DTCA calls to mind Lauren Berlant’s description of OTC cold medicine, which claim to make you feel better, but are really more concerned with making sure people can stay productive (28). Conclusion Had Proust lived a century later, he may have, like Tiffany, led a less restricted life. Or as Dr. Wolf put it, “A normal life. Busy and as active as she’d like to be. But she needs to take medication to do it” (Be Well. Be Smart). Symptom-free doesn’t seem to be enough anymore. Contemporary images of asthmatics—as an all-star athlete, an aspiring boxer, and a hyper-busy city dweller—are shaped by an imagined healthy norm. Advocacy campaigns originally intended to combat long-standing negative representations partake in the promotion of augmented health. Increasingly, health is no longer defined by the absence of symptoms, but by how active you are and how much you do. Busy and productive is a gold standard of the idealized norm, a norm that circulates—to a greater or lesser extent—in direct-to-consumer advertising, asthma advocacy campaigns, and public health messages (Sinding 262). Without doubt, the pharmaceutical industry plays a tremendous role in shaping contemporary health norms. Yet, as Joseph Dumit describes it, "the pharmaceutical industry is a massive elephant. Like the blind men of the famous parable, we each catch a hold of a tiny piece of it -- leg, tail, trunk -- and think we have a handle on it" (18). A powerful force with influence on many aspects of contemporary life, the pharmaceutical industry could be understood through the lens of biomedicalization: Biomedicalization imposes new mandates and performances that become incorporated into one’s sense of self. The subjectivities that arise out of these performances of what it is to be healthy (e.g., proactive, prevention-conscious, neo-rational) suggest how biomedical technoscience indicates a type of governmentality that can enact itself at the level of subjective identities and social relations. (Clarke et al. 182) Disease marketing—prevalent in the 1990s—is no longer needed or effective; health marketing has taken over and pharmaceutical companies are not at the table alone (Elliott 97). Instead of working through disease difference, health marketing attempts to level ground through images and standards that everyone can work towards, asthmatics included. Of course, pharmaceutical marketing simultaneously renders invisible socioeconomic conditions that contribute to asthma incidence, and marginalized populations that struggle to access medication and medical care in the first place. Augmented health works to flatten difference across social, economic, political, and ecological scales, as if these inequalities didn’t matter for disease management. Scholars writing about emergent modes of health—how health is imagined, constructed, studied, and sold—have documented how new health regimes work off potential risk categories, race, class, and gendered ideologies, or hoped-for modes of living. Some are literally “against health” (the title of Metzel and Kirkland’s edited volume). But to be against health, as Metzel writes is not to be against needed treatment (9). To examine the ways in which DTCA or advocacy campaigns promote specific, idealized images of health—images where people are athletic, outgoing, and busy—and question whether these drugs go above and beyond the restoration of health, should not be equated with a statement about whether medication is necessary. Epidemiological evidence and clinical studies are clear that contemporary treatments help reduce the burden of asthma in various ways: through reduced hospitalizations, lower death rates, and better-controlled asthma. Drugs keep many asthmatics relatively symptom-free. The point, rather, is that health is complex, structured by various institutions, actors, politics, and materials. One of the valences of the new health regime is augmented health, seen in the context of this paper at work in DTCA and possibly emerging in other corners of the asthma care arena as well. To date, most writing on augmentation has focused on how advancements in science and technology extend the capacity of human bodies—from prosthetics and fertility drugs, to steroids and life support (Hogle 696). Less has been written on the ways in which chronic conditions like diabetes, heart disease, and asthma—conditions where life hinges on medications, but are common enough that they are deemed unexceptional—produce a rhetoric of augmentation; where the new healthy is augmented living. It’s not the drugs for life rhetoric that works off new risk categories, as Dumit has shown (201); asthmatics are symptomatic, always at risk anyways, and often already on drugs for life. Drugs for chronic conditions like asthma may simply control symptoms, but they’re increasingly sold on the promise of enhancing life capacities as well. As Elliott has observed, it’s part of a move from disease marketing to health marketing (97). The discursive shift in asthma care, and perhaps other chronic disease contexts as well, doesn’t register as enhancement or augmentation because it mirrors the new health norm that is part of the broader context of biomedicalization. As the frame of health shifts, questions about bodies, ethics, and enhancement technologies might need to shift as well. Linda Hogle’s question is apt here: “what is necessary to sustain health? At which point does repair become something more than restorative, and for which (and whose) purposes are interventions defined as 'therapeutic'” (697). Since health norms have become augmented in the last ten years, this question becomes all the more difficult to answer. Within these new health regimes, potential has not only become open-ended, it also seems to be a therapeutic goal. References Arie, Sophie. “What Can We Learn from Asthma in Elite Athletes?” British Medical Journal 344 (2012). Be Smart. Be Well. “The Right Meds Keep Her in the Ring.” Be Smart. Be Well. 14 Aug. 2013. 1 Dec. 2013 ‹http://www.besmartbewell.com/childhood-asthma/tiffany.htm›. Clarke, Adele, Janet Shim, Laura Mamo, Jennifer Fosket, and Jennifer Fishman. “Biomedicalization: Technoscientific Transformations of Health, Illness, and U.S. Biomedicine.” American Sociological Review 68 (2003): 161-194. Dumit, Joseph. Drugs for Life: How Pharmaceutical Companies Define Our Health. Durham: Duke University Press, 2012. Elliott, Carl. Better than Well: American Medicine Meets the American Dream. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2012. GlaxoSmithKline. “Advair Commercial – 2012.” 14 Sep. 2013. 1 Dec. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZ4hgIfU4AI›. GlaxoSmithKline. “GlaxoSmithKline (GSK) Commercial – Asthma.com.” 1 Aug. 2013. 14 Sep. 2013. ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvyxbX3Jnp4›. Hogle, Linda. “Enhancement Technologies and the Body.” Annual Review of Anthropology 34 (2005): 695-716. Jackson, Mark. Asthma: A Biography. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Metzl, Jonathan M., and Anna Kirkland. Against Health: How Health Became the New Morality. New York: New York University Press, 2010. Moorman, J.E., L.J. Akinbami, C.M. Bailey, et al. “National Surveillance of Asthma: United States, 2001–2010. National Center for Health Statistics.” Vital Health Stat 3.35 (2012). Mitman, Gregg. Breathing Space: How Allergies Shape Our Lives and Landscapes. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007. National Library of Medicine. “Breath of Life.” National Library of Medicine Archives, 1999. 31 Aug. 2013. 1 Dec. 2013 ‹http://www.nlm.nih.gov/archive/20120918/hmd/breath/breathhome.html›.Sinding, Christiane. “The Power of Norms: Georges Canguilhem, Michel Foucault, and the History of Medicine.” In Locating Medical History: Their Stories and Meanings, eds. Frank Huisman and John Harley Warner. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2004. Symbicort. “Symbicort Fishing Video.” 1 Jan. 2013. 13 Sep. 2013 ‹http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oG9MxLwnapE› . Whitmarsh, Ian. Biomedical Ambiguity: Race, Asthma, and the Contested Meaning of Genetic Research in the Caribbean. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008.

Tesis para optar al grado de Magíster en Marketing
Autor no autoriza acceso a texto completo de su documento. [Paula Ramírez Parte I], Autor no envía autorización para el acceso a texto completo de su documento. [Carla Mendoza Parte II]
El objetivo del siguiente trabajo es desarrollar un plan de marketing para un club de strippers llamado “Night-club Cougars”. Propuesta que ofrecerá un servicio de entretenimiento para un nicho de mujeres adultas, mayores de 40 años, en un ambiente de lujo, con strippers 100% extranjeros. La idea de negocio se fundamenta principalmente por las oportunidades existentes y las nuevas tendencias en el mercado. Por un lado, la necesidad de satisfacer a un nicho de mujeres adultas, que ya, con más de 40 años, están más seguras de sí mismas, se sienten más empoderadas y, que al momento de gastar su dinero, piensan en premiarse y en pasarlo bien con sus amigas. Por otro lado, la tendencia creciente a celebrar las fiestas de divorcio y de llegada de la menopausia, realizando fiestas temáticas con amigas, disfrutando de ricos cocteles y show de strippers. La segmentación abarca a mujeres adultas, de los segmentos socioeconómicos ABC1 y C2, que viven y trabajan en la Región Metropolitana. El Night-club Cougars se ubicará en la comuna de Vitacura y abrirá sus puertas en el mes de Abril de 2016. Los objetivos de este plan de marketing se basan en un período de 6 meses y abarcan desde la identificación, conocimiento y recordación de marca, hasta el logro de cuota de mercado, ventas y utilidades del negocio. La estrategia será de enfoque en diferenciación y la propuesta de valor se centrará en 3 pilares: “mujeres adultas, strippers extranjeros y ambiente de lujo”.

Much research has gone into noise-induced hearing loss (NIHL) and the effects of high intensity noise levels on the hearing mechanism of individuals. A study by the National Institutes of Health has established that high intensity sounds can cause hearing damage of either a temporary, or worse, a permanent nature; regardless of the age of the person. While sound levels below 75 decibels are considered comparatively harmless and have been found not to cause any kind of permanent hearing loss; sound levels greater than 85 decibels and regular exposure of approximately 8 hours per day, on an average, has been found to cause permanent loss of hearing (Bulla, 2003). The purpose of this research study was to assess excessive noise exposure of music-oriented nightclub employees, with music playing. Two employees were used as candidates for the purpose of this study, which was conducted on three days during a work week. Data on personal noise exposure was collected using personal noise dosimeters on a server and a promoter. For purposes of the study, a sound level meter was used to collect the noise levels in the working area, and prepare a sound map. The study was conducted in a nightclub in Tampa, Florida, with music playing. Data was collected on Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. In total, the data was collected over six sampling nights. The data on noise levels was collected for both personal noise data levels and area noise levels during the period of study. In addition to the personal dosimeters, a sound level meter was also used for data collection. The results of this study indicate that noise levels were highest on nights with live entertainment. The days with performance of live entertainment were random and followed no particular order. The highest TWA noise exposure of 97.3 dB, for the server, occurred on Saturday, when a live entertainer performed in the establishment. The highest TWA noise exposure of 94.3 dB, for the promoter, occurred on Wednesday. Using the OSHA PEL and OSHA Hearing Conversation measurement methods, the server was exposed to excessive noise levels, greater than 85 dBA, on every night of the study (6 nights), while the promoter had three exposures that were greater than 90 dBA, using the OSHA PEL method, and exposures greater than 85 dBA on every night of the study, using the OSHA Hearing Conservation method. However, using the ACGIH measurement method, both the Server and the Promoter were exposed to excessive noise levels every night of the study (six nights).

While terrorist incidents are physically, psychologically, and financially costly, they also provide targeted governments with a window of opportunity to engage in public diplomacy in the international arena. In the wake of terrorist attacks, leaders of the targeted countries can try to use media outlets to convey intentionally crafted messages and framing strategies, described generally as public diplomacy, to foster dialogue and shape international public opinion. The success of public diplomacy, however, depends on how far these national messages reach, and how effective they are in swaying international public opinion. Drawing on national and international news sources, this study conducts a framing analysis of 40 new stories covering the Reina nightclub terrorist attack, which took place in Istanbul on New Year's Eve of 2017. It analyzes the similarities and differences in the national versus international media coverage of the incident and discusses their implications for the effectiveness of Turkish public diplomacy.

Kin’s Cross has been known as Sydney’s red light district, and has been the home to strip joints and nightclubs since the 1920s. The most densely populated area in the country, with residents – from the inner city poor to young, single city workers and several generations of bohemians – living in small apartments and units rather than the large houses that inform the classic manifestation of the Australian Dream. Defined by deco apartments, tiny bedsits and what were once workman’s houses, the Cross remains an utterly unique neighbourhood compared to much of the country

The chapter describes Hodges’s musical household, along with his limited instruction on the piano and saxophone. He received instruction on the saxophone formally, from (among others) a student at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, and informally, from other young men in his neighborhood, which came to be known as “Saxophonist Ghetto” because of the large number of musicians who played the instrument living there. Hodges’s youthful introduction to Sidney Bechet at a Boston burlesque show, at which he played a soprano sax, is described. The chapter recounts the saxophone’s history and its development in the jazz genre, as well as Hodges’s early public performances in the Boston area at a very young age. Hodges begins to develop a reputation both in Boston and throughout New England, and he eventually comes to the attention of Duke Ellington in a Boston nightclub.

The move away from modern dance and ballet to jazz dance as the prominent movement lexicon employed on Broadway is explored. I examine Katherine Dunham and Jack Cole’s influence on a generation of choreographers and Bob Fosse’s fusion of the dominant paradigms established by de Mille and Robbins. I give special attention to Fosse’s choreographic influences, including his early exposure to nightclubs and strip joints, comic/eccentric dancer Joe Frisco, Fred Astaire, and Jack Cole. Beginning with his work in The Pajama Game (1954) under the mentorship of Robbins and examining selected works from Damn Yankees (1955) and Sweet Charity (1966), I study Fosse’s choreographic development. My close reading of the musical number “Big Spender” reveals Fosse’s dramaturgical process. I examine the number in relation to the 1960s sexual revolution; representations of the female dancing body in both commercial theater and concert venues; and in relation to de Mille’s “Postcard Girls” from her Oklahoma! dream ballet, “Laurey Makes Up Her Mind.” I also consider Fosse’s post-Sweet Charity objectification of the female body; his late career disregard for the precepts of time and place in relation to character, and his formulation of a distinctly identifiable movement lexicon—the “Fosse Style.” The chapter closes with three more influential director-choreographers: Gower Champion, with his innovative cinematic approach to stage musicals and his standard use of showbiz dance lexicons undisturbed by modernist methods; Michael Bennett, a strict proponent of Robbins methods and the inheritor of the Robbins’ mantle; and Donald McKayle, one of the only African American director-choreographers working in the late twentieth-century Broadway arena.