Статті в журналах з теми "Cinematic cities"

This article suggests that an aesthetics of contemporary urban life builds new avenues for treating the politics of visibility. Several reasons instigate this new approach. First, art forms illustrate and train a specific way of “seeing,” a camera consciousness, that correlates with changes in the built landscape. A specific configuration, in other words, presents a relationship (an analogy) between the contemporary predominance of urban images and urban subjects that elude preexisting categories. These aesthetic departures can be illustrated by literary and cinematic “sentence-images” within the project that Jacques Rancière (2004; 2006; 2007) calls the “redistribution of the sensible.” This paper's attempt to locate this redistribution according to the appearance of “the urban” in the literature of Prabda Yoon, Wanich Charungkichanant, Siriworn Kaewkan, Parinya Phiphathphorn, and two films by Apichatpong Weerasethakul, explains how Bangkok’s aesthetic landscape is produced by its material “visible” form.

By looking at ethnography as a multi-sited and evolving field in the tradition of George Marcus and Michael Fischer, the article returns to the cinematic concept of ‘expanded cinema’, focusing on current forms of expansion in audiovisual ethnographic representation (i.e., ‘expanded ethnography’). In doing so, it analyses the live cinematic performances of Supereverything* (The Light Surgeons, 2011–2017) and Invisible Cities (59 Productions, 2019) in terms of convergences, correspondences and intermedial staging, all of which dialectically synthesise the expanded field as it emerges from within the world system. The article deconstructs the aesthetical dialectics that produce the collective feeling of enlargement of the ethnographic field from a singular stage to a multiplicity of actors and stages (fields) via staged live interconnections made between intermedia technologies and social/bodily intersubjective relations, as they emerged via exploratory practices on and beyond the limits of the stage. By using sources deriving from cinematic theatre and philosophy, the article argues that the illusion of enlargement of the effigy of the world picture is techno/socially manufactured as part of the marketed media turn to imagination and subjectivity, with political consequences for ethnographic representation and its ‘expanded’ claim to a reality beyond the material history of the cosmopolis.

This article proposes to use the concept of “cosmopolitan cinematic margins” to analyse the paradoxical meeting of the cosmopolitan meaning and discourses of Ciro Guerra’s Colombian films and the spatial restrictions and immobility of the rural and remote places in which they are set. Such areas as seen on screen are usually interpreted by urban audiences as exotic locations, independently of their actual distance from cities. The article explores how films that, at first sight, show images of marginal and remote places like the Colombian Amazonian Jungle, when inserted into a global context—such as the hierarchical system of international film festivals—become symbols of cosmopolitan cinematic margins, and represent a country in the global spaces that legitimise the importance of that country’s film production. The cosmopolitan cinematic margins in the films of Guerra are then strategically situated in environments of global mobility and international prestige.

A Pile of Ghosts (2021) is an artistic hybrid film in-between fiction and documentation created through the process of the art based research project Of Haunted Spaces. This research on Chinese ghost cities was a journey in exploring locations and looking for protagonists for the film, that would embody the urbanization processes surfaced as the phenomena of haunted cities by the spectral production of capitalism. As the process of filmmaking goes, settings and castings are staged to re-enact situations that have been observed during the field trips that were undertaken in many parts of China. The search for the unknown narrative keeps modifying and displacing the semantics of the film script. Therefore, in A Pile of Ghosts the line between documentary and fiction, a discursive space, is created in which facts, analyses and references are fused. This is not only to scrutinize the social reality and to render its discourse, but also to foster an aesthetic dimension from reexamining the convention of filmmaking and its representations. It is the method of a performative documentary to enact and re-enact situations and sites to reveal the contradictory characteristics of global urbanziation. The research process is transformed into the making of the film from field research to scriptwriting and casting. The protagonists are appearing in changing roles as construction workers, real estate agents, and investors to enact the realities of capitalism. On the threshold between the visible and the invisible, the haunting ghost of capitalism is materializing in the poiesis of the film, lurking in the limbo zone of fiction, reality and the performative.

Abstract While buildings strive to reach higher and higher, cities are obsessed with a visible expression of verticality. Seediq Bale (2011) and Beyond Beauty: Taiwan from Above (2013) represent a new development in Taiwan’s cinematic use of landscape that challenges the dominance of urban verticalism. Seediq Bale sets up an alternative vertical dimension of mountainous areas that puts into dialogical relationship the dichotomies of civilised/barbarous, advanced/primitive, and vertical/horizontal. Audiences no longer experience space in a traditional manner, as eventually Mona Rudao’s graveyard is undiscovered/undefined. Beyond Beauty, on the other, asks viewers to ‘go higher’, encouraging a break with ordinary experience for a more spiritual quest like aerial shots. As both offer a sense of disorientation and alienation, what does the spatial metaphor address to aesthetics, ecocriticism, politics of identity, and sovereignty in geography? What are the implications as cinematic landscapes extend into a real-life environment that is ready to be consumed?

In the history of African cinema, there is a nexus between films and the colonial imperial project. That is, products of cinema and cinematic practices shaped the process of colonialism in the specific case of Africa. Predicated largely on archival documents, this study explores how cinema was regulated in the major towns and cities in the Gold Coast during the colonial era. Ghanaian cinema has a considerably long historical narrative, however, much of what is known about the history of cinema in Ghana, particularly, on film screening, censorship and exhibition practices, is rather little. Thus, it is with this gap that this study attempts to fill and make a useful contribution to Ghanaian film history. The colonial experience set the basis for cinematic houses, film production, censorship, distribution and ideological concerns in African cinema. This study is framed within the relationship between cinema and history, with a specific focus on Ghana. This article concludes that while film exhibition, censorship and licensing stimulated the growth of art, particularly cinema, they further inflated the colonial imperial agenda in the Gold Coast.

The Variety of Culture is the current city branding concept for Semarang City. It depicts the various cultures and ethnicities that live together in Semarang. However, this city branding is considered insufficient to meet the tourism target. This research aims to develop a new branding for Semarang as a Cinematic City. This concept is derived from the success of several cities which famous as shooting locations, for example Oxford in England, Seoul in South Korea, and New Zealand as the filming sites of The Lord of the Rings. The main aim of this research is to map out the potential locations for Semarang’s new branding as a Cinematic City. This research is conducted for three popular movies: Gie, Ayat-Ayat Cinta and Soekarno which those movies used Semarang City as the major filming sites. The result found there are three separated areas in Semarang that can be built as the main points of the city branding. Specifically located in the Old Town District there are Srigunting Park, State Financial Building, Cockfighting site, Berok Bridge, Blenduk Church, Jakarta Lloyd Building, and Berok River. In total, there are nine locations that can be developed as a tourism hub which served as a brand attributes of the effort to construct a Semarang as a Cinematic City. In conclusion, some areas have the potential to be developed into the object of city branding Semarang those are Kota LamaDistrict, Imam Bardjo Auditorium University of Diponegoro and Lawang Sewu Building.

This paper analyses the Walt Disney’s animation film Zootopia (2016) within the context of contemporary cinematic representations of global cities as borderlands but also as bordering, exclusive, diverse and cosmopolitan places. Zootopia is a film about the city space, in this case, about the global city of Zootopia. The film reflects contemporary global cities in which the negotiation of space is a constant issue. It portrays a modern metropolis formed by different neighbourhoods with contrasting habitats such as Sahara, Jungle or Tundra, all comprised in the same space and separated by physical walls. Animals from every environment, size and form cohabit together in the city, but physical and metaphorical borders are erected between them. The film brings an inclusive message breaking with borders inside the global city and portraying moments of openness between the protagonists; a bunny and a fox

Abstract Cityscapes have always been an important part of films set in antiquity, but little attention has yet been paid to the way in which digital cinema uses the ancient city to offer different kinds of access to the past. This article explores how twenty-first century cinema sees the city and apprehends history in new ways in films including Pompeii (2014), Agora (2009), and Gladiator (2000). It focuses on how digital cinema affords the opportunity to ‘see’ the past from above, a quintessentially modern perspective which prompts a range of important questions about the viewer’s relationship to history. The aerial view of the cinematic city encourages reflection on our familiarity with an ancient city, by utilizing the imagery and techniques of digital mapping and virtual reality reconstructions; and it explores our ability to gain mastery over the past, privileging godlike omniscience over the immersiveness that usually characterizes contemporary film. Finally, adopting the perspective of the drone, it suggests a more disturbing, dehumanized version of the past – and future. The discourse around these cinematic cities prompts important and timely consideration of whether digital technology necessarily improves our access to the past, or rather compromises it.

Push is a film of great ambition and great skill. Director Fredrik Gertten takes on the global housing crisis, and aims to uncover and expose the systemic forces that increasingly make contemporary cities unaffordable to working and middle class residents. The concept of gentrification no longer seems useful in this quest, and Gertten is looking for a new language to speak of the phenomenon. It is notoriously difficult to make cinematic, gripping films about the inner workings of the economy, and Gertten skilfully uses every trick in the filmmakers’ hat to produce an engaging and relatable work that carries the audience along and makes a complex but digestible argument.

The emergence of cinema brought about the issue of forming a comfortable environment for film screenings. This essay analyzes the characteristics of the first spaces used for film exhibition in St. Petersburg and Moscow and the architecture of the movie theaters built in these cities in the first decades of the 20th century and characterized by a combination of theatrical architectural traditions, eclectic restaurant design and elements of the fading Art Nouveau style. Film exhibition was a profitable business. Initially, screenings were held in rented spaces but soon specialized buildings were designed and constructed. The essay looks at the largest and most popular movie theaters built in St. Petersburgs main street, Nevsky Prospect, and in the center of Moscow, discussing their architectural features and their historical development. Thus, during the 1920s and 1930s, large movie theaters included a foyer with a stage for variety shows and a theater-like auditorium with a high-mounted, dark-framed screen; the spectators entered the auditorium via the main entrance and, after the screening, exited directly to a street or a yard.

Social violence traditionally has been a constituent in the information flow of artistic communication, of the cinematic one especially. With the language specific to cinema it is easier, than with the languages of other arts, to attract and command the attention of a broad public with the spectacle of violence. Also, as a rule, it is more economical because of the relatively low cost of embodying violence on the screen considering the overall expensiveness of film production. In the West, the filming of practices of violence aimed at entertaining the public, as well as the public concern at the possibility of their negative impact on the rising generation, has a long history. Within the concept of “the audience as the victim” there were thousands of studies conducted, especially in USA. In the USSR cinema of the entertainment orientation was under the ideological ban which put the representation of violence within certain boundaries. In the 1990s the situation of cinema changed drastically. Je escalation of entertainment violence on the screen caused a public concern. Sociologists began to study its perception by and impact on spectators. In this regard, the article considers the experience of conceptualizing the reformatting of its representation after, consequent upon the impact of the last century’s revolutionary violence, cinema had obtained the status of “the most important of all the arts” and “the social significance” of the violence became the cultural code of its representation. But with the transition of Russian cinema to the market, foreign entertainment movies were granted open access to the nation’s film screens. Entertainment violence reached the status of a commercially important communicative attraction. Its effectiveness in this function is viewed in the article based on the materials of sociological surveys conducted among filmgoers of the cities of Kirov and Ekaterinburg. Another side of the issue considered as well is the sociocultural effects of violent images on the rising generation in whose midst there is a “risk group” that merits careful research and preventive acknowledgment in the process of social control.

In the contemporary time, the Chinese cinema has seen the emergence of various cinematic strategies in representing filmic cities. Among the sixth-generation directors, the topophilia strategy is most frequently discussed. However, Diao Yi'nan, an often neglected sixth generation director, emerges to the spotlight with his ground-breaking crime drama, Black Coal, Thin Ice and continues to gain attention ever since. Differing from the typical topophilia approach, Diao adopts distinct cinematic strategies to explore the intersection of individual sentiments and urban spaces. This essay builds itself on past research to analyze these strategic differences. The key theory adopted is the "emotional cartography", a psychogeography concept that explores the intersection of spatiality and subjectivity. Viewing filmic city as an "emotionally heightened space", the emotional cartography allows for the unveiling of hidden social relations as mediated by feelings and sensibility in a specific spatial system. The anxiety of living in a fleeting material world and changing social relation could be thus seen as the implicit political message hidden in Diaos narrative. The second part is built on past research and analyzes the narrative force of Diao Yi'nan's film. Affirming the logic of "atypical affects" () proposed by Qi Wei, the second part argues that the logic of atypical affects is also the underlying force for Diao's emotional cartography. Last but least, the essay argues for Diao's use of surrealism adheres to the logic of affects and externalize characters' psychologies.

O artigo busca elucidar como as representações das metrópoles, na cinematografia contemporânea do Brasil e da Argentina, chegam a formar uma paisagem simbólica contínua e um único ambiente imaginário: a cinecidade, que se refere à significação resultante da produção de um sentido cultural próprio e comum para as cidades tematizadas cinematograficamente. A ideia resulta da articulação dos conceitos de cidades contínuas (CALVINO, 1990), cidade cinemática (COSTA, 2002) e cidade imaginária (PRYSTHON, 2006) e aplica-se, aqui, à análise de duas cidades: São Paulo e Buenos Aires, onde o espaço urbano fílmico surge como distópico e marcado por problemas sociais como desemprego, corrupção e violência, compondo assim uma cidade comum em crise. Entre os filmes comentados na análise estão – Mundo Grúa, Pizza, Birra, Faso, Linha de Passe e O Invasor. This paper seeks to elucidate how the representation of metropolises in the contemporary cinematography from Brazil and Argentina form a continuous symbolic landscape and a single imaginary environment: the cinecity. Addressing the signification resultant from creation of a cultural meaning proper and common to the cities cinematographically approached, this idea derived from an articulation of three concepts: continuous cities (CALVINO, 1990), cinematic city (COSTA, 2002) and imaginary city (PRYSTHON, 2006). Here, it is applied to two cities: São Paulo and Buenos Aires, where the urban filmic space emerges as dystopian and is marked by social problems as unemployment, corruption and violence, comprising a single city in crisis. Among the movies analysed are: Mundo Grúa, Pizza, Birra, Faso, Linha de Passe and O Invasor.

On the basis of archival materials introduced into scientific circulation, analysis of regional periodicals, reference books, normative acts and published data, the history of the emergence and spread of stationary cinematic theaters in the Tobolsk province is traced. The administrative and institutional aspect of their opening is considered. Particular attention is paid to preparatory work, technical and construction rules and conditions for the official acceptance of buildings, fire safety measures of pre-revolutionary cinematographs, toponymy and their localization in the socio-cultural space of cities. The article provides information on the social and professional affiliation of the owners of the electric theaters. It is concluded that the positive dynamics of the founding of cinematographs in the studied region, characterized by speed and continuity, refers to the period 1909—1916. The organization of a network of cinemas in the provincial cities of the West Siberian part of Russia was associated with the work of provincial institutions, municipal authorities, and police officers. The functioning of these public institutions was systematically monitored by the officials of these departments, who were guided by the technical normative legal acts adopted in the empire that regulate the conditions for keeping cinemas. The development of cinematography was an important indicator of the innovative trends taking place in the leisure segment of the everyday life of citizens.

Film historian Giuliana Bruno commemorates celebrated filmmaker Chantal Akerman (1950–2015), whose intimate portraits of cities, lands, and homes captured the passing of everyday life and intensified our own sense of time, memory, and space. Akerman's breakthrough film, Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (1975), exposed the strictures of women's time and space while creating a new cinematic language of observation and duration. She continued to experiment with moving images throughout her life, moving easily between fiction and documentary, cinemas and gallery exhibitions. In the mid-1990s, Akerman began to engage in an expanded field of film-based installation art, at an early stage of the cultural movement that still drives today's filmmakers and artists to work between media. Bruno's personal evocation of Akerman's oeuvre highlights the filmmaker's use of the screen as both filter and threshold, in order to convey a relationship between interiority and exteriority, and physical and mental space, a relationship delicately tailored to Akerman's particular version of empathy.

This article reexamines the aesthetics of the cut through cinema that challenges the possibility of totality. Looking back at films of demolitions in two Iberian cities, the author considers how cuts – both architectural and cinematic – reveal fissures created by urban renewal projects that preceded global crisis. En construcción ( Work in Progress, 2001) by the Catalan filmmaker José Luis Guerín follows the reconstruction of Barcelona’s neighborhood ‘El Raval’, while Portuguese director Pedro Costa’s No Quarto da Vanda ( In Vanda’s Room, 2000) films residents in a slum area of Lisbon as their houses are slowly demolished. By attending to neighborhoods that were ‘cut out of’ the urban landscape, these films contest the representation of unified cityscapes, exposing the fractures underlying economic development. The films also provide new ways to understand the ambivalent aesthetics of the cut, which both violently wounds the surface and exposes what lies behind. I will argue that ultimately thresholds produced by the cut speak to the ethical ambiguities of filmmaking, in which the camera inevitably alters whatever it views, thus exposing the textured incompleteness of the image.

In the cinema of Joel and Ethan Coen, contemporary America is depicted as an incoherent space in which traditional beliefs constantly collide with the new world order. Shaped by the erosion of commonly accepted values and the ubiquitous presence of the media and advertisements, this hybrid America is a world of commerce, consumption, and economic plight. While its cities are plagued by segregation, outbursts of casual violence undermine the myth of an unspoiled life in the countryside. Illustrating postmodern culture's preference for the periphery versus the center, the movies of the Coen brothers find a glimmer of morality remaining on the margin of society. Unimposing and compassionate characters such as the pregnant small-town detective inFargoor the naive yet brilliant protagonist ofThe Hudsucker Proxypersonify an idealistic, innocent America that is about to be displaced by selfish greed. Focusing onFargo,The Big Lebowski, andThe Man Who Wasn't There, my essay argues that the Coens’ visual playfulness, and their tendency to mine various cinematic genres, serve to emphasize their scathing critique of the American victory narrative.

The cliched 1930–1950 Western cinematic images of Shanghai as a fascinating den of iniquity, and, in contrast, as a beacon of modernity, were merged in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. As a result, a new standard emerged in science fiction films for the representation of future urban conglomerates: the Asianized metropolis. The standard set by this film, of a dark dystopian city, populated by creatures of all races and genetic codes, will be adopted in most of the representations of future cities in non-Asian cinema. This article traces the representation of Shanghai in Western cinema from its earliest days (1932– Shanghai Express) through Blade Runner (1982) to the present (2013– Her). Shanghai, already in the early 1930s, sported extremely daring examples of modern architecture and, at the same time, in non-Asian cinema, was represented as a city of sin and depravity. This dualistic representation became the standard image of the future Asianized city, where its debauchery was often complemented by modernity; therefore, it is all the more seedy. Moreover, it is Asianized, the “Yellow Peril” incarnated in a new, much more subtle, much more dangerous way. As such, it is deserving of destruction, like Sodom and Gomorrah.

Since its inception, New Zealand film production has often been characterized by a strong focus on the promotion and marketing of local scenic locations. However, over the last few decades and simultaneously with New Zealand’s rapidly increasing urbanization rates, urban narratives have gained prominence in the cinematic representation of the country, gradually becoming important aspects of national tourism marketing campaigns. This article first provides an overview of New Zealand tourism film’s dynamics of production and recurring themes and narratives from the early twentieth century to the 1960s. It then focuses on Toehold on a Harbour and This Auckland – tourism films produced by the government-led New Zealand National Film Unit and released respectively in 1967 and 1966 – and identifies a turning point in the manufacturing of local urban narratives and in New Zealand urban tourism marketing. My critical and textual analysis of these two case studies notably relies on the examination of archival documents related to their production and on an interview with This Auckland’s director Hugh Macdonald. It ultimately shows how the emergence of ‘cities with a character’ as a tourism marketing tool was in fact a carefully planned, articulated and years-long government-driven strategy.

This article examines Arnold Schoenberg’s Begleitmusik zu einer Lichtspielszene of 1930. This, essentially, is a soundtrack in search of a film (no film was actually created with it in mind), and clearly speaks of Schoenberg’s bleak premonitions of the coming decade with its cue titles of ‘threatening fear’ – ‘danger’ – and ‘catastrophe’. The article further explores Schoenberg’s music in relation to the musical/ cinematic practices of his day. This leads to a discussion of Jean-Marie Straub and Danielle Huillet’s utilization of the score from 1973 which uses film as a self-reflexive device to explore the personal, cultural and the political. Having received permission to create a new film for this piece (currently in planning) the author of this article hopes to explore how the cities of Vienna and Berlin might form a visual hinge through which to view the tumultuous exile of the composer from Vienna to Berlin and on to the USA after the rise of National Socialism in 1933. Like Straub and Huillet the author aims to use, and discuss, the potential of film to map the historical onto the present.

The highest level of cinema attendance in Lower Silesia after World War II was recorded in 1957. It was higher than before the war and lower than during the war. In the years that followed it steadily declined, influenced by global processes, especially the popularity of television. This leads us to reflect on the continuity of historical and film processes, and to look at the period from the 1920s to the 1960s as the ‘classical’ period in the history of cinema, when it was the main branch of mass entertainment. The examples of three Lower Silesian cities of different size classes (Wroclaw, Jelenia Gora, Strzelin) show how before World War II the development from ‘the store cinema [or the kintopp] to the cinema palace’ proceeded. Attention is also drawn to the issue of the destruction of cinematic infrastructure and its post-war reconstruction. In 1958 the press commented that ‘if someone produced a map with the towns marked in which cinemas were located, the number would increase as one moved westwards’. This was due to Polish (post-war) and German (pre-war) cinema building. The discussion closes with a description of the Internet Historical Database of Cinemas in Lower Silesia, which collects data on cinemas that once operated or are now operating in the region.

The six-hundredth anniversary of Dante Alighieri’s death was commemorated in 1921 with a rich programme of events. Three of these had as backdrops cities deeply connected to the life of the poet: Florence, Rome and Ravenna. In the latter city, one of the key figures involved in the Dante celebrations was Ambrogio Annoni, an architect and professor at the Regio Politecnico of Milan. It was Annoni, probably, who accompanied a group of student-architects to visit the monuments of Ravenna associated with the life of Dante. Bruno Bossi, a native of Canton Ticino and at the time enrolled in the first year at the Politecnico, would have been among them. The visit to Ravenna, and the celebrations of 1921 in general, could be correlated with an unpublished drawing – an “estempore” to be created in an hour – made by Bossi in May 1921. It is the graphic transposition of a passage from Canto IV of the Inferno, transcribed in the margin of the sheet, in which a large castle is described, surrounded by seven walls, overlooking a narrow river. Bossi translates the architectural image evoked by Dante’s words into a monumental and scenographic building, from which futurist and cinematic echoes emerge. In this way, the future architect paid tribute to the valuable fortified architecture of Canton Ticino, in particular to the castles of Bellinzona, and at the same time demonstrated his early interest in the arts, cinema and theatre, which would accompany him throughout his professional career.

This paper analyses the narrative of Bollywood film Sarfarosh which portrays the ethnic, cultural and religious issues between majority Hindu-minority and Muslim communities in India with projection of identifying politics between India and Pakistan. Further, it t reveals that Pakistan army constitutes spies who are behind the plot of cross border terrorism and supplies of arms through their local agents in the Indian state of Rajasthan. The agents and their activities are projected as the machineries that are firmly responsible for a series of havocs and killings of innocent people in the most of cities and towns within their reach. Through crafting the notions of national (in) securities, the film picks up an Urdu Ghazal singer, the Pakistani who migrated from Rajasthan during the partition of the subcontinent in 1947. The singer as a metaphor of terrorism often sings Ghazals among Indian dignitaries in the front of his weaponry smuggling to India. The paper finds out that the historical traumatic event of partition is used for posing the Muslim minorities, „Other? as cultural methodological device, whereas Pakistanis understood as extremely dangerous enemy of the Indian nation. The identity politics of the film results the conflicting ideologies of Hinduism and Islam. This is due to the cultural industry?s ideological apparatus for making strategies to manage and maximize the profits by seeking wider audiences through its well- established capitalist system. Bollywood cinematic apparatus should be cautious of essentialist form of nationalist narratives and the post partition conflicts should be avoided for authentic peaceful culturalsocial relationships between India and Pakistan.

Barely 50 years old, video games are among the newest media today, and still a source of fascination and a site of anxiety for cultural critics and parents. Since the 1970s, a generation of video gamers have grown up and as they began to have children of their own, video games have become objects evoking fond memories of the past. Nostalgia for simpler times is evident in the aesthetic choices game designers make: pixelated graphics, 8-bit music, and frustratingly hard levels are all reminiscent of arcade-style and third-generation console games that have been etched into the memory of Generation X. At the same time, major AAA titles have become so photorealistic and full of cinematic ambition that video games can also serve as vehicles for nostalgia by “faithfully” recreating the past. From historical recreations of major cities in the Assassin’s Creed series and L. A. Noire, to the resurrection of old art styles in 80 Days, Firewatch or Cuphead all speak of the extent to which computer gaming is suffused with a longing for pasts that never were but might have been. This paper investigates the design of games to examine how nostalgia is used to manipulate affect and player experience, and how it contributes to the themes that these computer games explore. Far from ruining video games, nostalgia nonetheless exploits the associations the players have with certain historical eras, including earlier eras of video gaming. Even so, the juxtaposition of period media and dystopic rampages or difficult levels critically comment upon the futility of nostalgia.

This article will consider Wim Wenders’ relationship to America in several of his films during the New German Cinema Movement of the 1970s and 1980s. In particular, it will explore the place America occupies as a fantasy object, framing this through the distinct roles individual objects play in Wenders’ films. Firstly, in the initial period of his life, various accounts point to the fact that the director related to American culture as a substitute for his own country’s fascistic past. Such a viewpoint is then countered in his film Alice in the Cities (1972), where the protagonist is initially puzzled by the enigma of America, but finds he can comprehend it upon hearing of the Hollywood director John Ford’s passing from a newspaper. In The State of Things (1982), apropos Wenders’ experience working in Hollywood under Francis Ford Coppola, the relationship to objects again changes, this time from the subject’s mastery over objects, to the mastery of the object over the subject. However, an alternative position emerges through a more careful reading of the film Hammett (1982), which, exists as a short-circuit in the typical narrative of Wenders’ cinematic trajectory. Rather than emphasizing the mastery of the subject or the object, through the use of narrative, the film Hammett reveals an alternative position by implicating the two in a dialectic. Such a position takes on a refined inflection in Paris, Texas (1982), in which the subject implicates themselves in their own fantasy, repeating the radical gesture from Hammett (1982) and forging a new relationship between subject and object.

City branding is an effort to build a particular image of a city. Semarang is one of Indonesia’s big cities that has not yet succeeded in finding the right brand to represent it. The researcher has conducted a pilot research study that aims to build Semarang’s city branding as The Cinematic City. It is due to Semarang’s background of often becoming a shoot location for famous movies. South Korea is well known because of its pop cultures, such as drama. Drama is one of the main factors that contribute to the increasing number of foreign visitors. They mostly visit popular drama shooting locations as their destinations. These kinds of tourism site are successful at developing emotional branding in the visitor’s minds. Looking at the similarity of South Korea and Semarang will help Semarang to learn a lot from what South Korea has done. This research aims to analyse how emotional branding represented through the Korean drama-based tourism site gimmicks. This research used the Emotional Branding theory by Marc Gobe. It assumed that emotional bonding is an essential thing in terms of engaging the customer and product in a particular phase. The main subjects of this research are the gimmicks in Nami Island. The result shows that the Relationship Aspect fulfilled by changing the theme and properties according to the season. For the Five Senses Experience, it only employs the sense of sight and touch by creating many gimmicks that can be a photo-taking hot spot. The Imagination aspect fulfilled by the unique design of the Emotional Identity put forward, such as the snowman.

Final Fight (Capcom 1989) is a famous example of a video game genre generally known as “beat ’em up” or “brawler,” a type of action game where the player character must fight a large number of enemies in unarmed combat or with melee weapons. The side-scrolling beat ’em up genre reached the peak of its global popularity in the late 1980s and early 1990s, a period sometimes referred to as the genre’s “golden age.” Set in a contemporary, urban setting, Final Fight has a storyline that revolves around three playable heroes who attempt to rescue a young woman from the clutches of a criminal gang. Although likely the most influential and among the best games in this genre, Final Fight did not found the beat ’em up genre by itself: it was produced within the context of a specific, albeit recent, textual tradition and canon. This canon consisted of texts produced within the same medium (i.e. other video games, mostly of Japanese production) but also drew from an intermedial corpus. In its design and narrative tropes, Final Fight inherited and incorporated a number of elements from Hollywood action cinema that had been translated into the newer digital medium of video game. To trace a history of the beat ’em up genre from its origins to Final Fight, I address in this paper questions on three levels. On the intertextual level, what are the textual antecedents of Final Fight? What were the formal and stylistic conditions of possibility for this game within the history of the genre and the medium? What are the game’s intermedial connections, especially with films? To answer these questions, I trace a tentative genealogy, focusing on the narrative and representational elements of the game. Specifically, I examine storylines, characters and settings and their relationship with the structural properties of beat ’em up gameplay. On the “(v)ideological” (Gottschalk 1995) level, what value systems are put into play in a classic beat ’em up game? In what ways are the player’s choices axiologised? What conduct is rewarded or sanctioned? Which actions can the player’s avatar perform, and for which purposes? In what contemporary discursive formations did Final Fight participate as a textual device for the actualisation of ideologically non-neutral fictional conduct? I attempt to map the value system inscribed in this video game genre that, in turn, articulates it as a game (i.e. as a system of stakes, rules, sanctions, and rewards). On the historical level, what were the industrial and commercial conditions entailed in the production of a game such as Final Fight? To the (actual or virtual) satisfaction of what demands, both material and symbolic, was it designed? Answering these questions calls for an analysis of the so-called “context,” which I consider to be a historical and social meta-narrative. In this respect, my research mostly focuses geographically and historically on the Japanese video game market of the 1980s and its transnational connections. Starting with the (mainly cinematic) dissemination of transnational imaginaries of “street violence” and “vigilantism” against the background of large, modern American cities during the 1970s and 1980s, I attempt to show that Final Fight is an instance of the incorporation of these imaginaries into video games. More generally, I argue that, with various degrees of success, the classic beat ’em up games produced in Japan carried out a function of symbolic appropriation and redistribution at a local level as they remediated a cinematic textual canon (which was, for a significant part, of foreign origin) into the video game medium. As video games, these texts shifted the focus of this appropriation from spectatorship to the forms of active agency prescribed in gameplay. The player thus appropriated control not only on a character in a game but also of an entire cinematic canon which, in the Japanese context, appeared rich in symbolic capital and marked by “American-ness.” The movies that inspired the classic beat ’em up came from Hollywood, one of the “Greenwich Meridians” (Casanova 2004) in the global cultural industry during the 1970s and 1980s, likely the last decades of what some scholars have called “the era of high Americanization” (Iwabuchi 2002). Video games were, in other words, the means by which a portion of the Japanese cultural industry could so successfully appropriate the symbolic capital of Hollywood products that these Japanese games transcended the borders of the Japanese national market and became big hits in the “West.”

The paper is an attempt to apply the theory of moral panic to public fears provoked by film violence. The aim is to recreate a lively theoretical debate on the influence of media violence on the public and to take a stand that sides with the theoreticians disputing the negative influence of media. A moral campaign against the cinematographic representation of violence is usually launched by the tabloid press which tends to publish partial truths or outright lies about the events that follow the screening of violent movies, followed by selective quotations from survey results. The paper cites the movies that produced the largest campaigns of moral panic against cinematic representations of violence and the responses of directors to these campaigns. Finally, the paper offers an interpretation of moral campaigns, as well as indications as to where the real causes of social violence should be sought.

This article seeks to bring small talk about cinema – the type of conversation that can begin with the question “Have you seen any good movies lately?” – into the analytical ambit of cinema and media studies. In order to do so, I argue that such conversation is relevant to the philosophical project of Stanley Cavell. Throughout his attempts to wed film analysis and philosophical reflection, including his seminal studies of Hollywood genres, Cavell has remained committed to the idea that philosophy is not a search for objective absolutes or momentous conclusions. This is a characteristic inconclusiveness that small talk shares. While small talk is often derided as unimportant on account of this very inconclusiveness, the work of Cavell provides a propitious framework for appreciating small talk's underacknowledged philosophical stakes and for reconsidering assumptions about the relative value of communicative practices. In order to better illustrate this relation between small talk and philosophy, this article cites the cinematic example of Sullivan's Travels (Preston Sturges, 1941), a film that not only dramatizes small talk but also, in its final moments, gives striking visual expression to small talk's constitutive non-achievement.

Four decades after its publication, John Womack's masterpiece Zapata and the Mexican Revolution remains the definitive account of the man and his movement and the basis of the generally agreed upon facts. It is also perhaps the most cited work of Anglophone Latin American history. This is not hyperbole. The index of Alan Knight's highly regarded Porfirians, Liberals and Peasants lists thirty-seven pages under ““Zapata, Emiliano.””Womack is cited fifty-six times on twenty-three of them. Not infrequently, when Knight cites other accounts of Zapata's rebellion, Womack is the underlying source. And underlying Womack's account is that of John Steinbeck and Elia Kazan's film ¡¡Viva Zapata!! The cinematic influence of their true invention is most evident in Womack's account of Zapata's Porfirian period, with which this piece is largely concerned. Cuatro déécadas despuéés de su publicacióón, la obra maestra de John Womack, Zapata and the Mexican Revolution, sigue siendo el recuento definitivo del hombre y de su movimiento y la base de lo que generalmente se cree son los hechos reales. Tambiéén es, quizáás, el trabajo máás citado de habla inglesa de la historia de Améérica Latina. Esto no es una hipéérbole. El ííndice del tan admirado libro de Alan Knight, Porfirians, Liberals and Peasants cita treinta y siete pááginas en ““Zapata, Emiliano.”” Womack es citado cincuenta y seis veces en veinte y tres de ellas. No es infrecuente que cuando Knight cita otras referencias de la rebelióón de Zapata, Womack es la fuente ulterior. Sin embargo, en la historia de Womack se puede discernir a la vez la influencia de John Steinbeck y la pelíícula de Elia Kazan, ¡¡Viva Zapata!! Este documento explora esta influencia como un llamado a reconocer y ejercer las poderosas fuentes no verbales (pictóóricas, cinematográáficas y musicales) que dan forma a nuestra percepcióón del pasado.

Cinematic Commons’ research and practice explores active relationships between film, architecture and city through 'essayistic gaze', 'journeying long take' and 'filmic commoning'. It weaves together filmic techniques, an essayist approach, scenographic constructs, architectural intervention and issues of public space, or 'commons', as a way to restore cities as sites for productive dreaming.

Abstract In this essay, we revisit our interdisciplinary approach to the “becoming-cinema” of Chinese life and cities in the contemporary era, while critically revisiting our notion of “shi-nema” (which combines the Chinese concept of “shi” (势) with a detoured notion of “cinematicity”) which we forward as a provocative “image for thought” that explodes the concerns of modern film studies. Revisiting our multi-scalar fractal method, on this outing we specifically engage with a nexus of new semiocapitalist images and urban sites/sights that foreground how rapidly the psychogeographic circumstances in post-socialist Chinese cine-cities evolve and mutate. Our essay opens with a fresh film-philosophy conceptualisation of “afterimages”, blending cinematic, city and conceptual varieties before moving on to critically engage with a new constellation of interviews and images drawn from Chinese film, television, streaming platforms, social media and commercial real estate apps.

Mazierska's and Rascaroli's From Moscow to Madrid is a fascinating experiment in imaginary cartography, which explores the representation of cities in contemporary European cinema while drawing freely on film history, sociology, politics and cultural studies. The authors choose the postmodern discourse as a theoretical framework to analyze the complex psyche of modern European cities as it is filtered through the cinematic medium. Their cities are postmodern spectacles testifying to the death of God, to the collapse of any overarching and unifying myths and ideologies and to the ensuing fragmentation and diversification. Although the authors are fascinated by the scale of social, economic and political changes which orchestrated the shift from modern to postmodern city, they do not celebrate it but rather count the losses in sensibilities and examine the cracks in ideologies. What strikes in their account is sadness and nostalgia for some lost city which no longer has place...

In 1945 Roberto Rossellini’s Neo-realist Rome, Open City set in motion an approach to cinema and its representation of real life – and by extension real spaces – that was to have international significance in film theory and practice. However, the re-use of the real spaces of the city, and elsewhere, as film sets in Neo-realist film offered (and offers) more than an influential aesthetic and set of cinematic theories. Through Neo-realism, it can be argued that we gain access to a cinematic relational and multidimensional space that is not made from built sets, but by filming the built environment. On the one hand, this space allows us to “notice” the contradictions around us in our cities and, by extension, the societies that have produced those cities, while on the other, allows us to see the spatial practices operative in the production and maintenance of those contradictions. In setting out a template for understanding the spatial practices of Neo-realism through the work of Henri Lefèbvre, this paper opens its films, and those produced today in its wake, to a spatio-political reading of contemporary relevance. We will suggest that the rupturing of divisions between real spaces and the spaces of film locations, as well the blurring of the difference between real life and performed actions for the camera that underlies much of the central importance of Neo-realism, echoes the arguments of Lefèbvre with regard the social production of space. In doing so, we will suggest that film potentially had, and still has, a vital role to play in a critique of contemporary capitalist spatial practices.

Cinematic architecture in the broadest terms, portrayed spaces as a scene, where it conceives and reads the built environment in terms of sequences. It explores the effect of futuristic architecture and highlight the significant role of cinematic architecture in the society. Both movies and architecture function as languages, with two components: the signifiers, which are the tangible forms of signs, and the signified, which are the concepts, thoughts, and ideals that the signifiers contain. Unfortunately, the world is experiencing fast changes as a result of the massive rise of technology and capitalism, and the cinema industry plays an important role in displaying these improvements, showing the up - coming future through various science fiction movies, that either operate as an alert system for transformation, with the majority of these depictions viewing futuristic architecture and urban design as a dystopian realm, a lack of how to manage the upcoming issues, and these visions may come to pass. This paper aims to recognize different technological approaches to create the cinematic architecture, presented in the science fiction movies. To achieve this aim, the paper will start with literature review, based on desk research, reviewing previous readings, then the paper will analyze two case studies, which are the Movie of Tron Legacy, 2010, and the Avatar movie, James Cameron, 2009. As a conclusion, a better understanding the link between movie and architecture, it may be a better convey the complex concepts and ambitions for cities through architectural elements and signifiers.

Abstract The article takes as objects of study Will Eisner’s graphic narratives, originating in the 1940s, and their adaptation, which Frank Miller scripted and directed, in the film The Spirit (2008). Methodologically, we developed a comparative aesthetic analysis, with a contribution to the intersemiotic processes observed in the passage from print media to cinema. We started from the observation of spatial coordinates in fictional dark cities, which present themselves as iniquitous and violent symbolic scenarios, conducive to the actions of villains and problematic detectives. Next, we point out the reverberations coming from the German expressionist cinema and from cinema noir in the represented urban spaces; highlighting the atmosphere of sexualization linked to the femmes fatales. To conclude, we detailed techno-aesthetic aspects of the translation option of Eisner’s work, inserting it into Miller’s graphic-cinematic project; with an emphasis on stylization as evocation and as metamorphosis.

The current article focuses on the cultural practice of four film tours in Edinburgh, Scotland, analysing how film tours like these contribute to more general placemaking processes. Prior research has shown how film tours have become a staple of the tourist consumption of many contemporary cities. Building on these studies, the current article focuses explicitly on one of the defining features of these tours, namely the fictional character of their central topic. More particularly, this study examines how film tours are built up around a presumed conflation of imagined and material space. It argues that film tours are forms of cultural ‘work’ in which fictional plotlines from cinema are integrated into and used to revitalize notions of place. Through these practices, cinematic fiction eventually becomes part of what is experienced as the ‘true core’ of Edinburgh.

In its stated aim of “creating cinemas not supermarkets,” the Small Cinema project voiced its alterity to the recent redevelopment of Liverpool’s city center and those of other former industrial cities throughout the Midlands and the north of the UK. These regeneration projects addressed the problem of a shrinking manufacturing base by replacing them with service industries, a move which has entailed the privatization of vast tracts of public space. Conversely, the building, functioning, and general praxis of the Small Cinema project suggests a mode of practice that more accurately fits within the paradigm of a collaborative commons than a capitalist marketplace. The project’s exemption from market criteria grants it the freedom to pursue public over private goods, thereby constituting a point of resistance to the ongoing neoliberalization of the city and changes to government policy that make it increasingly difficult for non-profit projects to exist. Historically speaking, cinemas have been accessible to the working class in a way that other artistic media have not. However, while the history of film as a tool for political subversion is well documented, less attention has been paid to the physical construction of independent cinematic space, its programming/running, and its potential as a node of resistance to neoliberal colonization. This paper uses the case study of the Small Cinema project in Liverpool as a means by which to understand how cinematic spaces can counteract the effects of policies that continue to have such a detrimental impact on the arts and education, as well as social health and well-being.

The shift in focus in UK higher education since Thatcherism from the production of knowledge for civic betterment to the production and consumption of knowledge by the university for revenue generation can be read through the social rearrangement of space in the university town or city. A key spatial reconfiguration emerging from the shift in economic conditions is the collapse of the modern university as a singular, ideological construct. Like ‘the city’ before it, the modern university has, at its interior, been reformed into a newly defined, fragmented public–private social space, and, at its exterior, into a devourer of the space of the local community. This article showcases excerpts from a film made by the authors entitled The Death and Life of UK Universities – a title inspired by Jane Jacobs’s critique of great American cities. Our film is a cinematic database survey of the changing space of all British universities which considers this systematic spatial reprogramming of space within the city. The two-year research project is an audio-visual critique of the way in which neoliberalism, corporatization and commercial interests have co-opted the space of the British university. Referencing the films of Charlie Chaplin and Gordon Matta-Clark and the writings of Henri Lefebvre, the film focuses on university cities, critically observing the rise of university marketing material and the consumption of the city and of local community life for university student accommodation. We ask: How are UK universities being spatially reconfigured and what are the consequences?

Abstract Contemporary cinema and media studies are marked by a materialist turn that highlights material elements, such as objects, non-human agencies, the environment and places on and off screen, as well as the materiality of media productions and consumption. This article expands on the important scholarship of “materialist” media studies as well as existing ecocinema scholarship by stressing the materiality of digital landscapes in contemporary Chinese fantasy (or qihuan and xuanhuan) film and television works that have gained significant popularity in China and Hong Kong. Specifically, this article examines the animist landscape in film and television adaptions of Eternal Love, a fantasy romance television serial that loosely draws on Daoist mythology. Focusing on the material aspects of digital landscapes of Chinese fantasy cinema, the article develops the notion of the “cinema–ecology complex” to address the materiality of digital landscapes, the cinematic footprint of digitally enhanced landscapes through location shooting and the consumption of landscapes as scenic spots, including daka practices, in film studio cities and related film-induced tourism. Ultimately, this article calls for a textual–infrastructural approach in cinema and media studies, which tends to reorient to the infrastructural aspects of media production, distribution and consumption.

IntroductionDespite claims that the importance of distance has been reduced due to technological and communications improvements (Cairncross; Friedman; O’Brien), the ‘power of place’ still resonates, often intensifying the role of geography (Christopherson et al.; Morgan; Pratt; Scott and Storper). Within the film industry, there has been a decentralisation of production from Hollywood, but there remains a spatial logic which has preferenced particular centres, such as Toronto, Vancouver, Sydney and Prague often led by a combination of incentives (Christopherson and Storper; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Goldsmith et al.; Miller et al.; Mould). The emergence of high end television, television programming for which the production budget is more than £1 million per television hour, has presented new opportunities for screen hubs sharing a very similar value chain to the film industry (OlsbergSPI with Nordicity).In recent years, interventions have proliferated with the aim of capitalising on the decentralisation of certain activities in order to attract international screen industries production and embed it within local hubs. Tools for building capacity and expertise have proliferated, including support for studio complex facilities, infrastructural investments, tax breaks and other economic incentives (Cucco; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Jensen; Goldsmith et al.; McDonald; Miller et al.; Mould). Yet experience tells us that these will not succeed everywhere. There is a need for a better understanding of both the capacity for places to build a distinctive and competitive advantage within a highly globalised landscape and the relative merits of alternative interventions designed to generate a sustainable production base.This article first sets out the rationale for the appetite identified in the screen industries for co-location, or clustering and concentration in a tightly drawn physical area, in global hubs of production. It goes on to explore the latest trends of decentralisation and examines the upturn in interventions aimed at attracting mobile screen industries capital and labour. Finally it introduces the Scottish screen industries and explores some of the ways in which Scotland has sought to position itself as a recipient of screen industries activity. The paper identifies some key gaps in infrastructure, most notably a studio, and calls for closer examination of the essential ingredients of, and possible interventions needed for, a vibrant and sustainable industry.A Compulsion for ProximityIt has been argued that particular spatial and place-based factors are central to the development and organisation of the screen industries. The film and television sector, the particular focus of this article, exhibit an extraordinarily high degree of spatial agglomeration, especially favouring centres with global status. It is worth noting that the computer games sector, not explored in this article, slightly diverges from this trend displaying more spatial patterns of decentralisation (Vallance), although key physical hubs of activity have been identified (Champion). Creative products often possess a cachet that is directly associated with their point of origin, for example fashion from Paris, films from Hollywood and country music from Nashville – although it can also be acknowledged that these are often strategic commercial constructions (Pecknold). The place of production represents a unique component of the final product as well as an authentication of substantive and symbolic quality (Scott, “Creative cities”). Place can act as part of a brand or image for creative industries, often reinforcing the advantage of being based in particular centres of production.Very localised historical, cultural, social and physical factors may also influence the success of creative production in particular places. Place-based factors relating to the built environment, including cheap space, public-sector support framework, connectivity, local identity, institutional environment and availability of amenities, are seen as possible influences in the locational choices of creative industry firms (see, for example, Drake; Helbrecht; Hutton; Leadbeater and Oakley; Markusen).Employment trends are notoriously difficult to measure in the screen industries (Christopherson, “Hollywood in decline?”), but the sector does contain large numbers of very small firms and freelancers. This allows them to be flexible but poses certain problems that can be somewhat offset by co-location. The findings of Antcliff et al.’s study of workers in the audiovisual industry in the UK suggested that individuals sought to reconstruct stable employment relations through their involvement in and use of networks. The trust and reciprocity engendered by stable networks, built up over time, were used to offset the risk associated with the erosion of stable employment. These findings are echoed by a study of TV content production in two media regions in Germany by Sydow and Staber who found that, although firms come together to work on particular projects, typically their business relations extend for a much longer period than this. Commonly, firms and individuals who have worked together previously will reassemble for further project work aided by their past experiences and expectations.Co-location allows the development of shared structures: language, technical attitudes, interpretative schemes and ‘communities of practice’ (Bathelt, et al.). Grabher describes this process as ‘hanging out’. Deep local pools of creative and skilled labour are advantageous both to firms and employees (Reimer et al.) by allowing flexibility, developing networks and offsetting risk (Banks et al.; Scott, “Global City Regions”). For example in Cook and Pandit’s study comparing the broadcasting industry in three city-regions, London was found to be hugely advantaged by its unrivalled talent pool, high financial rewards and prestigious projects. As Barnes and Hutton assert in relation to the wider creative industries, “if place matters, it matters most to them” (1251). This is certainly true for the screen industries and their spatial logic points towards a compulsion for proximity in large global hubs.Decentralisation and ‘Sticky’ PlacesDespite the attraction of global production hubs, there has been a decentralisation of screen industries from key centres, starting with the film industry and the vertical disintegration of Hollywood studios (Christopherson and Storper). There are instances of ‘runaway production’ from the 1920s onwards with around 40 per cent of all features being accounted for by offshore production in 1960 (Miller et al., 133). This trend has been increasing significantly in the last 20 years, leading to the genesis of new hubs of screen activity such as Toronto, Vancouver, Sydney and Prague (Christopherson, “Project work in context”; Goldsmith et al.; Mould; Miller et al.; Szczepanik). This development has been prompted by a multiplicity of reasons including favourable currency value differentials and economic incentives. Subsidies and tax breaks have been offered to secure international productions with most countries demanding that, in order to qualify for tax relief, productions have to spend a certain amount of their budget within the local economy, employ local crew and use domestic creative talent (Hill). Extensive infrastructure has been developed including studio complexes to attempt to lure productions with the advantage of a full service offering (Goldsmith and O’Regan).Internationally, Canada has been the greatest beneficiary of ‘runaway production’ with a state-led enactment of generous film incentives since the late 1990s (McDonald). Vancouver and Toronto are the busiest locations for North American Screen production after Los Angeles and New York, due to exchange rates and tax rebates on labour costs (Miller et al., 141). 80% of Vancouver’s production is attributable to runaway production (Jensen, 27) and the city is considered by some to have crossed a threshold as:It now possesses sufficient depth and breadth of talent to undertake the full array of pre-production, production and post-production services for the delivery of major motion pictures and TV programmes. (Barnes and Coe, 19)Similarly, Toronto is considered to have established a “comprehensive set of horizontal and vertical media capabilities” to ensure its status as a “full function media centre” (Davis, 98). These cities have successfully engaged in entrepreneurial activity to attract production (Christopherson, “Project Work in Context”) and in Vancouver the proactive role of provincial government and labour unions are, in part, credited with its success (Barnes and Coe). Studio-complex infrastructure has also been used to lure global productions, with Toronto, Melbourne and Sydney all being seen as key examples of where such developments have been used as a strategic priority to take local production capacity to the next level (Goldsmith and O’Regan).Studies which provide a historiography of the development of screen-industry hubs emphasise a complex interplay of social, cultural and physical conditions. In the complex and global flows of the screen industries, ‘sticky’ hubs have emerged with the ability to attract and retain capital and skilled labour. Despite being principally organised to attract international production, most studio complexes, especially those outside of global centres need to have a strong relationship to local or national film and television production to ensure the sustainability and depth of the labour pool (Goldsmith and O’Regan, 2003). Many have a broadcaster on site as well as a range of companies with a media orientation and training facilities (Goldsmith and O’Regan, 2003; Picard, 2008). The emergence of film studio complexes in the Australian Gold Coast and Vancouver was accompanied by an increasing role for television production and this multi-purpose nature was important for the continuity of production.Fostering a strong community of below the line workers, such as set designers, locations managers, make-up artists and props manufacturers, can also be a clear advantage in attracting international productions. For example at Cinecitta in Italy, the expertise of set designers and experienced crews in the Barrandov Studios of Prague are regarded as major selling points of the studio complexes there (Goldsmith and O’Regan; Miller et al.; Szczepanik). Natural and built environments are also considered very important for film and television firms and it is a useful advantage for capturing international production when cities can double for other locations as in the cases of Toronto, Vancouver, Prague for example (Evans; Goldsmith and O’Regan; Szczepanik). Toronto, for instance, has doubled for New York in over 100 films and with regard to television Due South’s (1994-1998) use of Toronto as Chicago was estimated to have saved 40 per cent in costs (Miller et al., 141).The Scottish Screen Industries Within mobile flows of capital and labour, Scotland has sought to position itself as a recipient of screen industries activity through multiple interventions, including investment in institutional frameworks, direct and indirect economic subsidies and the development of physical infrastructure. Traditionally creative industry activity in the UK has been concentrated in London and the South East which together account for 43% of the creative economy workforce (Bakhshi et al.). In order, in part to redress this imbalance and more generally to encourage the attraction and retention of international production a range of policies have been introduced focused on the screen industries. A revised Film Tax Relief was introduced in 2007 to encourage inward investment and prevent offshoring of indigenous production, and this has since been extended to high-end television, animation and children’s programming. Broadcasting has also experienced a push for decentralisation led by public funding with a responsibility to be regionally representative. The BBC (“BBC Annual Report and Accounts 2014/15”) is currently exceeding its target of 50% network spend outside London by 2016, with 17% spent in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. Channel 4 has similarly committed to commission at least 9% of its original spend from the nations by 2020. Studios have been also developed across the UK including at Roath Lock (Cardiff), Titanic Studios (Belfast), MedicaCity (Salford) and The Sharp Project (Manchester).The creative industries have been identified as one of seven growth sectors for Scotland by the government (Scottish Government). In 2010, the film and video sector employed 3,500 people and contributed £120 million GVA and £120 million adjusted GVA to the economy and the radio and TV sector employed 3,500 people and contributed £50 million GVA and £400 million adjusted GVA (The Scottish Parliament). Beyond the direct economic benefits of sectors, the on-screen representation of Scotland has been claimed to boost visitor numbers to the country (EKOS) and high profile international film productions have been attracted including Skyfall (2012) and WWZ (2013).Scotland has historically attracted international film and TV productions due to its natural locations (VisitScotland) and on average, between 2009-2014, six big budget films a year used Scottish locations both urban and rural (BOP Consulting, 2014). In all, a total of £20 million was generated by film-making in Glasgow during 2011 (Balkind) with WWZ (2013) and Cloud Atlas (2013), representing Philadelphia and San Francisco respectively, as well as doubling for Edinburgh for the recent acclaimed Scottish films Filth (2013) and Sunshine on Leith (2013). Sanson (80) asserts that the use of the city as a site for international productions not only brings in direct revenue from production money but also promotes the city as a “fashionable place to live, work and visit. Creativity makes the city both profitable and ‘cool’”.Nonetheless, issues persist and it has been suggested that Scotland lacks a stable and sustainable film industry, with low indigenous production levels and variable success from year to year in attracting inward investment (BOP Consulting). With regard to crew, problems with an insufficient production base have been identified as an issue in maintaining a pipeline of skills (BOP Consulting). Developing ‘talent’ is a central aspect of the Scottish Government’s Strategy for the Creative Industries, yet there remains the core challenge of retaining skills and encouraging new talent into the industry (BOP Consulting).With regard to film, a lack of substantial funding incentives and the absence of a studio have been identified as a key concern for the sector. For example, within the film industry the majority of inward investment filming in Scotland is location work as it lacks the studio facilities that would enable it to sustain a big-budget production in its entirety (BOP Consulting). The absence of such infrastructure has been seen as contributing to a drain of Scottish talent from these industries to other areas and countries where there is a more vibrant sector (BOP Consulting). The loss of Scottish talent to Northern Ireland was attributed to the longevity of the work being provided by Games of Thrones (2011-) now having completed its six series at the Titanic Studios in Belfast (EKOS) although this may have been stemmed somewhat recently with the attraction of US high-end TV series Outlander (2014-) which has been based at Wardpark in Cumbernauld since 2013.Television, both high-end production and local broadcasting, appears crucial to the sustainability of screen production in Scotland. Outlander has been estimated to contribute to Scotland’s production spend figures reaching a historic high of £45.8 million in 2014 (Creative Scotland ”Creative Scotland Screen Strategy Update”). The arrival of the program has almost doubled production spend in Scotland, offering the chance for increased stability for screen industries workers. Qualifying for UK High-End Television Tax Relief, Outlander has engaged a crew of approximately 300 across props, filming and set build, and cast over 2,000 supporting artist roles from within Scotland and the UK.Long running drama, in particular, offers key opportunities for both those cutting their teeth in the screen industries and also by providing more consistent and longer-term employment to existing workers. BBC television soap River City (2002-) has been identified as a key example of such an opportunity and the programme has been credited with providing a springboard for developing the skills of local actors, writers and production crew (Hibberd). This kind of pipeline of production is critical given the work patterns of the sector. According to Creative Skillset, of the 4,000 people in Scotland are employed in the film and television industries, 40% of television workers are freelance and 90% of film production work in freelance (EKOS).In an attempt to address skills gaps, the Outlander Trainee Placement Scheme has been devised in collaboration with Creative Scotland and Creative Skillset. During filming of Season One, thirty-eight trainees were supported across a range of production and craft roles, followed by a further twenty-five in Season Two. Encouragingly Outlander, and the books it is based on, is set in Scotland so the authenticity of place has played a strong component in the decision to locate production there. Producer David Brown began his career on Bill Forsyth films Gregory’s Girl (1981), Local Hero (1983) and Comfort and Joy (1984) and has a strong existing relationship to Scotland. He has been very vocal in his support for the trainee program, contending that “training is the future of our industry and we at Outlander see the growth of talent and opportunities as part of our mission here in Scotland” (“Outlander fast tracks next generation of skilled screen talent”).ConclusionsThis article has aimed to explore the relationship between place and the screen industries and, taking Scotland as its focus, has outlined a need to more closely examine the ways in which the sector can be supported. Despite the possible gains in terms of building a sustainable industry, the state-led funding of the global screen industries is contested. The use of tax breaks and incentives has been problematised and critiques range from use of public funding to attract footloose media industries to the increasingly zero sum game of competition between competing places (Morawetz; McDonald). In relation to broadcasting, there have been critiques of a ‘lift and shift’ approach to policy in the UK, with TV production companies moving to the nations and regions temporarily to meet the quota and leaving once a production has finished (House of Commons). Further to this, issues have been raised regarding how far such interventions can seed and develop a rich production ecology that offers opportunities for indigenous talent (Christopherson and Rightor).Nonetheless recent success for the screen industries in Scotland can, at least in part, be attributed to interventions including increased decentralisation of broadcasting and the high-end television tax incentives. This article has identified gaps in infrastructure which continue to stymie growth and have led to production drain to other centres. 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Let me walk. Let me go at my own pace. Let me feel life as it moves through me and around me. Give me drama. Give me unexpected curvilinear corners. Give me unsettling churches and beautiful storefronts and parks I can lie down in. The city turns you on, gets you going, moving, thinking, wanting, engaging (Elkin 37, emphasis our own). Walking Is ThinkingAs feet pound the pavement, synaptic movement follows. To clear the head, one must get up and walk.In her 2016 book Flaneuse: Women Walk the City in Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice and London, Lauren Elkin traces the figure of the walking woman— often herself—through literary and artistic movements and the metropolis. She explores the act of flânerie, of wandering the city, as performed by George Sand, Virginia Woolf and Martha Gellhorn, amongst other peripatetic female thinkers. For Elkin, walking is at once an act of protest, of pleasure, a way to navigate personal pain, but also a way of thinking. She writes, “sometimes I walk because I have things on my mind, and walking helps me sort them out” (21).In “On the Rhythms of Walking and Seeing: Two Walks across the Page”, Evija Trofimova and Sophie Nicholls take this further, and amble towards one another thoughtfully, but from other sides of the globe. They address Elkins’s “sorting out” by coming together, not in the physical, but on the page. They address the frustration that can occur before the words appear on the page, when we as writers are “stuck”—and how moving away from the static confines of the office, away from the desk, and going for a walk, makes the work much richer when we return. Yet walking is more than that again: Trofimova and Nicholls also demonstrate how companionable the act of walking is, and how co-writing can achieve this simpatico too. Their essay is a conversation, a walk together, a work together. It is rhythmic and roaming, and like Elkin, references thinkers who have relied on the ramble to relieve the block.Walking Is WritingWhile we were editing this issue, Rebecca Solnit’s book Wanderlust: A History of Walking appeared on the reference list of many articles we received. Wanderlust, first published in 2001, has become a contemporary classic—part of a “Walking Canon”, if you will—for its exhaustive study of walking and its artistic, philosophical, and political histories. Like Trofimova and Nicholls, Daniel Juckes also engages with Solnit’s work in his article “Walking as Practice and Prose as Path Making: How Life Writing and Journey can Intersect.” Reflecting on W. G. Sebald, Marcel Proust, and the family memoir he was writing, Juckes refers to Solnit’s discussion of the connection between place, path, and memory. He writes that “if a person is searching for some kind of possible-impossible grounding in the past, then walking pace is the pace at which to achieve that sensation (both in the world and on the page).” Like in dreams, this realm of im/possibility can occur through writing, but is also fostered through walking. As Solnit reminds us, “exploring the world is one of the best ways of exploring the mind, and walking travels both terrains” (13). In Juckes’s work we see how walking and memory can be intimately connected; how both, as Juckes puts it, are bound up in “the making of connections between present and past,” as we tread across old associations and they are made anew.Walking Is PrivilegeAs we discuss the pedestrian benefits of walking, it would be remiss to fail to acknowledge those with restricted mobility due to a disability or illness. Ableism permeates the world we live in. As such, an important aspect of this issue is examining how issues relating to dis/ability are a critical part of discourses around walking, and highlight inequities in access and the language we use to discuss it.We are particularly proud of Chingshun Sheu’s article, “Forced Excursion: Walking as Disability in Joshua Ferris’s The Unnamed”, which engages with disability theory in its discussion of Ferris’s 2010 novel. In Ferris’s text, the protagonist’s involuntary stints of walking to exhaustion appear as disability, affecting his work, relationships and ultimately, his mortality. Sheu uses the text to explore the complexity and limitations of disability models, noting that “disability exists only at the confluence of differently abled minds and bodies and unaccommodating social and physical environs.”Walking Is PosthumanChantelle Bayes approaches these unaccommodating environs from a different angle, discussing how “marginalised groups are usually the most impacted by the strict control and ordering of contemporary urban spaces in response to utopian imaginaries of who and what belong.” Bayes’s article, “The Cyborg Flâneur: Reimagining Urban Nature through the Act of Walking”, recasts Benjamin’s flâneur as cyborg, drawing on feminist writings from Debra Benita Shaw, Rob Shields, and Donna Haraway—the latter of whom is particularly influential for her recent contributions to eco-feminist thought. Bayes takes us into virtual urban spaces, by examining how a revisionist concept of flânerie can be reconfigured online, allowing “for new environmental imaginaries to be created.” Bayes’s concept is at once exciting and daunting: is walking through an app what we have to look forward to in the age of the Anthropocene? Will our cities continue to be more accommodating to the lucky few? Walking as a non-corporeal action is an unsettling thought, and intriguing for this discomfort. Walking Is GentrificationLet us guide you through these city streets to our next article, as Craig Lyons, Alexandra Crosby and H. Morgan Harris take us to Sydney’s inner West, an area becoming increasingly unaccommodating for many thanks to rising living costs. Their article, “Going on a Field Trip: Critical Geographical Walking Tours and Tactical Media as Urban Praxis in Sydney, Australia”, situates us in Marrickville, which they remind us is “unceded land of the Cadigal and Wangal people of the Eora nation who call the area Bulanaming.” Already this space is contested, as all Australian urban spaces all, palimpsests of Indigeneity, colonisation, and capital. Field Trip recognises this layering, operating as “a critical geographical walking tour through an industrial precinct,” prompting participants to take part in an act of resistance merely by walking the space.It recalls Mirror Sydney, writer Vanessa Berry’s blog (a book of the same name was published this year) that maps Sydney’s disappearing quirks. In a June entry, she notes after a walk that “in the last week new signs have gone up, signs for the impending auction of the two warehouses that make up the green building: ‘Invest, Occupy or Redevelop.’ It’s the last option that has Marrickvillians nervous” (Berry). These redevelopment nerves are confronted by Lyons, Crosby, and Harris as they examine gentrification in the area, as developers seek to exploit the area’s diverse population to attract wealth. They see their walking tour as a work of activism, a way of confronting the rapid gentrification of their city, stating that “via a community-led, participatory walking tour like Field Trip, threads of knowledge and new information are uncovered. These help create new spatial stories and readings of the landscape, broadening the scope of possibility for democratic participation in cities.”Walking Is PoliticalBeing able to walk is to exercise democracy. Last year in Australia, Clinton Pryor, a Wajuk, Balardung, Kija and a Yulparitja man, walked from Perth, near his home in Western Australia, to Canberra, to protest the treatment of First Nations peoples in Australia (Morelli). Indeed, one of the places where Pryor, dubbed “the Spirit Walker”, met his most rapturous welcome was in Sydney’s Redfern, not far from Marrickville. When Pryor reached Redfern, and the crowd that awaited him, he said, “I just walked in here and can’t tell you what Redfern has meant to us all over the years. Everyone knows Redfern is where we made our stand,” referring to the place’s reputation as the heartland of Australia’s Black Power movement (Murphy).Pryor’s walk demonstrates ambulatory political power—it became a march. Alina Haliliuc transports us to Bucharest, far from Australia’s dusty roads, in her article “Walking into Democratic Citizenship: Anti-Corruption Protests in Romania’s Capital”. Like Pryor, the subjects of her article “have been using their bodies in public spaces to challenge politicians’ disregard for the average citizen.” Haliliuc draws attention to the how the Romanian public have mobilised, marching the streets and affecting real change, striving—or striding—for democracy in a region plagued by increasing political instability. Walking Is ArtFor about three years, from 1972, American artist Adrian Piper would dress up as a man she dubbed the “Mythic Being”, donning an afro wig, a moustache and sunglasses, walking the streets of New York City presenting as a man. She documented some of these public appearances in works that appeared in her 2018 retrospective at New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) titled “Adrian Piper: A Synthesis of Intuitions 1965-2016”. John Bowles writes that Piper, who is mixed race, uses the Mythic Being figure to “engage critically with popular representations of race, gender, sexuality, and class, challenging viewers to accept personal responsibility for xenophobia, discrimination, and the conditions that allow them to persist” (257). After being lucky enough to view the MoMA exhibition earlier this year, I was reminded of the Mythic Being when reading Derrais Carter’s article, “Black Wax(ing): On Gil Scott-Heron and the Walking Interlude”. Carter examines Scott-Heron’s walks through Washington, DC as shown in the 1982 film about the musician, Black Wax. Like much of Piper’s oeuvre, the film is a meditation on race and power in the United States, splicing footage of live performances with “walking interludes” such as Scott-Heron strolling past the White House with his toddler daughter. Carter remarks that he is “interested in the film as a wandering text, one that pushes at tensions in order to untether the viewer from a constricting narrative about who they might be”. Walking can perform this untethering, at once generating and diffusing tension about identity and space. Scott-Heron’s cinematic strolls through DC, filmed when conservative President Ronald Reagan was at the height of his power, demonstrate how walking can be a subversive, revolutionary form of artistic expression. Walking Is WayfindingIn the feature article of this special issue, “Walking as Memorial Ritual: Pilgrimage to the Past”, Susan Sigre Morrison explores the complex relationship between the human and the nonhuman and centres on pilgrimage to shape this discussion. Morrison traces four pilgrimages she has taken as a young child through to her adulthood, reflecting on memory, ecocriticism, the sacred, and the Anthropocene along the way. Thickly woven, Morrison’s writing ranges between her own memories, the limestone of the Jurassic, the life of a small insect she encounters in a meal, and extracts from her mother’s diary entries telling of hikes she undertook with the child Morrison. Throughout, Morrison dwells on Donna Haraway’s concept of “making kin”, and asks, “How can narrative avoid the anthropocentric centre of writing, which is inevitable given the human generator of such a piece?”In thinking about walking and her body, walking and memory, walking and the nonhuman world, walking in the city and the country, Morrison lays down the suggestions of paths that many of the articles in this special issue then follow. “Landscape not only changes the writer, but writing transforms the landscape and our interaction with it”, Morrison writes, voicing a sentiment that, in various ways, many of the authors in this issue, and the scholars and writers they discuss, hold to be true, and fascinating, and from which so much work and thought around walking springs.Why do we walk? This is the question that we as editors kept returning to, when first we had the idea to collate a special issue on walking. While the history of walking is a well-trodden path, reaching back to the Romantics in England, the flâneurs in Paris, and the psychogeographers in cities everywhere, we resolved to look to the walkers of the contemporary world for this issue. In an age of increasingly sophisticated and prevalent technology, what is the role of the embodied act, the lived experience, of walking? With this special issue, it is our pleasure to offer a selection of work that speaks to why we walk, how we walk, and what walking means in contemporaneity. We thank the contributors, and those who expressed their interest in contributing, as well as the anonymous peer reviewers, for their work—and we hope that this issue might inspire, or prompt, or remind you, the reader, to search out your own walks.ReferencesBerry, Vanessa. “The Ming On Building”. Mirror Sydney, 15 June 2018. 4 Oct. 2018 <https://mirrorsydney.wordpress.com/2018/06/15/the-ming-on-building/>.Bowles, John Parish. Adrian Piper: Race, Gender, and Embodiment. Durham: Duke University Press, 2011.Elkin, Lauren. Flâneuse: Women Walk the City in Paris, New York, Tokyo, Venice and London. London: Vintage, 2016.Morelli, Laura. “Spirit Walker, Clinton Pryor Reaches Redfern on His Walk for Justice.” NITV, 11 Aug. 2017. 4 Oct. 2018 <https://www.sbs.com.au/nitv/nitv-news/article/2017/08/11/spirit-walker-clinton-pryor-reaches-redfern-his-walk-justice>.Murphy, Damien. “Long Walk for Justice: ‘Spiritual Walker’ Clinton Pryor Crosses the Country for His People.” Sydney Morning Herald, 10 Aug. 2017. 4 Oct. 2018 <https://www.smh.com.au/national/nsw/long-walk-for-justice-spiritual-walker-clinton-pryor-crosses-the-country-for-his-people-20170810-gxtsnt.html>.Solnit, Rebecca. Wanderlust: A History of Walking. London: Granta, 2014.

The release of the Urban issue of M/C a journal of media and culture is particularly timely. This same month, the United Nations General Assembly is hosting the World Urban Forum [http://www.unhabitat.org], designated as an advisory body to support implementation of the Habitat Agenda and to meet the Millennium Development goal of improving living conditions of slum dwellers throughout the globe. Anna Kajumulo Tibaijuka, Executive Director of UN-Habitat, promotes the forum by asking us to imagine a world without slums, replaced with productive and inclusive cities that meet the needs of all their citizens, rich and poor alike (Guardian Weekly, 11 April). The focus of the World Urban Forum might serve to remind us that what characterises a particular use of space as urban is not its status as a built environment but the degree to which its habitudes facilitate a lived environment. It is the experience rather than the artefact which constitutes the urban. To put the same point in a rather more banal way, it is not the street but the motion of the pedestrians, commuters upon the street that marks out the trajectories and shapes of urban life. Yet there is also in Tibaijuka's sales pitch for the World Urban Forum a fundamental contradiction that cannot be ignored here. The vision of cities meeting the needs of all citizens seems to invert the ancient logic of civitas, the city appropriate to the needs of its inhabitants, because this vision is blinkered against the economies of scale (and the scale of economics) from which urbanisation proceeds. Rich and poor alike: there is a suggestion here that class or wealth precedes the formulation of needs that a city may be developed to accommodate, as if class structures are not bound up in the lines of demarcation and divisions of space separating the good side of the tracks from the bad. Being able to imagine a world without slums, without resorting to utopian idealisations, requires a realistic acceptance that citizenship and the city emerge togetherthe latter is not built from scratch to meet the needs of a pre-existing citizenry. The urban might indeed be usefully thought of as the site of emergence for both the city and its citizenry, the mode of becoming-civic. Thus, it is important to keep in mind the specificity of the urban experience and to account for this experience, in some sense, on its own terms. Once upon a time, it was fashionable to define the city in opposition to the country. Of course, there is something to be said for this kind of differentiation. A quick drive from Brisbane out through the western suburbs and onwards toward the Darling Downs may remind the traveller of how different from each other the city and the country really are: they look different, they smell different, they seem to function at different rates and on different timescales. Yet we may wonder if the inhabitant of an apartment block in New York ever conceives of her life in terms of its difference from that of the farmer whose agrarian lifestyle she has never encountered. Life in the city is not experienced in terms of something other than city life. Life in the city simply is life in the city. Just as the emphasis on practised and lived space directs our attention to the everyday and the mundane, sites of banality that Benjamin once insisted were crucial sites of political and cultural importance, the attempts of urban theorists to capture the quotidian result in a series of impasses including high/low and theory/practice antinomies. If we are still caught in residual thinking in which, as Lefebvre remarked, a city of nightmares is only countered by a city of dreams, then we are still a far cry away from appreciating the complexities and contradictions of lived and practised urban space. We are even further away from--perhaps too far above--addressing the plight of the slum dweller that the World Urban Forum urges we must. Caught within a theory-practice fold, a desire to plan the utopian quest must always be tempered by a cautious approach. Looking back to modernity's plans and some of the disasters of urban planning, we recognise a continual catapaulting of the urban into the realm of danger and chaos. Importantly, these realms unfold in such a way that they encompass both the level of individual experience and global processes. Indeed, as these words were being written, an explosion in a tower in New York sent shudders through the population: was this another terrorist attack? The types of experiences defining urban life have undergone a major transformation in the last six months, a paradigm shift of sorts, collapsing the range of possible urban experiences into the discourse of terror and the political (and economic) ends it serves. The World Urban Forum represents another way in which the paradigm of the urban is being redefined on a global scale, although the mechanisms of change it institutes will no doubt be more gradual, and we might wonder whether they will be anywhere near as effective. The urban issue Fresh on the heels of the 'fear' issue of M/C, this 'urban' issue again raises the politics of fear. The city is perhaps the prime scene and space of fear. Vocabularies of fear produce and generate the meanings in which the city is lived. It might be politically motivated then to claim the city's deemed disorder as liveable. Indeed, many of the contributions to this issue seem to address issues of representing the urban: how do we mark out this terrain for ourselves. As our feature article by Gerard Goggin suggests, the boundaries of the city are a slippery signifier upon which to place any demarcation of urban experience. Divisions such as city and country, urban and suburban, collapse under the weight of the sprawl of human movements and settlements that might more accurately be represented by the concept of the con-urban. While the boundaries of the city are indeed slippery, one of its common limits has been placed at the sub-urban. In Re-writing Suburbia, Emily Bullock brings that often rejected space to bear on considerations of the urban. Tying the suburban to dreams of home ownership and to dreams of nationness, Bullock finds in Suneeta Peres da Costa's recent novel Homework a textual space that subverts the suburban Australian dream without re-invigorating the urban-suburban binary. The limits of how we define urban life are also tested by the question of scale, between the level of individual experience and global paradigm shifts, for example. One way of working through this issue is suggested by David Prater and Sarah Miller, who focus on the paradox of considering the privatised, physically disengaged human behaviour of internet use undertaken within the public space of the internet cafe. Their analysis of this practice points us towards implications for thinking about notions of the public and private in the contemporary city. Chris McConville also examines the limits of the urban via the relationship between what we might conventionally consider to be urban and that which is urbane. Using a reading of some of the classic private detective figures, McConville demonstrates that in the imaginative realm of popular fiction, a figure such as the detective type provides us with many of the images we use to construct representations of our own cityscapes. The link between imagined and real experiences through the medium of popular fiction also crosses over into class and gender constructions, just as the built environment feeds back into the detective fiction genre as one of its conventional parameters. Perhaps it is only inevitable that the politics of fear and the shaping of what Mike Davis calls defensible space characterises so much of urban living and scheming. Coming from an urban planning background, Simon Bennett theorises Brisbane urban planners' inculcation of safety principles and locates this practice in longstanding imaginative and discursive productions of the urban from a number of quarters. The desire to make safe, Bennett argues, banishes from the city the imaginative spur it might otherwise contain and depletes community networks. The city becomes merely a place to which we commute: unliveable but economically functional. Liveability is also at issue in John Scannell's contribution. In his tracing of the graffiti artist's tracing of the American city, Scannell reveals a reappropriation of urban space by those relegated to the urban squalor and left behind in the great American post-war suburban exodus. But, for the graffiti artist, like the underground dweller, urban decay becomes a site of potential and promise: the city as a liveable and intimately habitable space that the graffiti artist inscribes and practices as her own. Life underground, or below the radar of conventional analysis, also interests our next two contributions. Jason Wilson looks to the often overlooked space of the arcade, likening it to modernity's cinematic and spectator spaces. Finding in the game player another urban fringe dweller, Wilson tracks the liminal spatiality of arcades and its practitioners who, he shows, resist the pastoral longings and projections of the game player to a backstreet urban scene. From a more literal perspective, Marise Williams puts the ethics of de Certeau's down below wandersmänner to work to consider the potential offered for those city dwellers who chose to live, quite literally, underground. In her reading of Colum McCann's This Side of Brightness, Williams suggests that a world without slums might potentially amount to a flattened world without difference. But the difficulty resides in the way these spaces are demarcated and bound up in increasingly calcified class lines that the poststructuralist move towards down below and proclamation of the street--to use an explicitly urban metaphor--might be said to efface in imagining the choice to slum (something one does for kicks) as an option available to all. Aaron Darrell is not interested so much in down below as he is with underneath. As he documents the pivotal cultural and colonising role the museum had maintained in ordering urban space and policies of heritage and history, he questions whose history find its way into Sydney's Hyde Park Barracks Musuem. He then invites us to consider what happens when an unexpected, surfaced over history appears and is reclaimed within the discursive and framing apparatus of the institution. Writing the city as he traverses it, Felix Cheong discusses the imaginative spur the city has long provided poets. In a Poet's Sense of the City, Cheong writes about a city in which life in the city can be nothing but. Lacking the props and boundaries of country and suburban, Singapore as city-state fascinates Cheong's poetic insider, yet distanced, perspective. Using the poet's eye, Linda Neil's Sunflowers complicates postmodern pleasurable choices on offer for the mobile flaneuse in a fictive piece that sweeps our readers along its own Mrs. Dallowayesque promenade of Sydney, art, depression and sunflowers. The role of creativity in shaping the production of urban spaces is central to Nityanand Deckha's article on the Cool Britannia phenomenon. Deckha's analysis of BritSpaceTM demonstrates the ephemeral nature of such productions, yet also suggests that creativity lends to such productions their capacity for re-production. The disparate components of the creative quartercopy, print, art supply and film developing stores, hip cafes and restaurants, galleries, studios, loft conversions and street furniture--combine to form a recognizable and potentially iterative matrix, overlaid on existing spaces. The urban is thus a potentially limitless site for expression, even as the confines of the prevailing discourses attempt to limit its scale. City life has been heralded and promoted recently as the space of sex and freedom, despite the dominance of fear in constructions of the urban. Emma Felton takes this dilemma on board in a review of feminist urban theorists and frames her reading of the safe (but risqué) city locally and personally and wonders what delights the city holds for women in the past and for future generations. Felton's reflection on the changing face of the city for women is crucial especially when the city is still related to female sexuality, a metaphorical tendency Felton reveals in a collection of urban commentators and theorists. Links http://www.unhabitat.org/ Citation reference for this article MLA Style Johnson, Laurie and Kulperger, Shelley. "Editorial" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.2 (2002). [your date of access] < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/editorial.php>. Chicago Style Johnson, Laurie and Kulperger, Shelley, "Editorial" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5, no. 2 (2002), < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/editorial.php> ([your date of access]). APA Style Johnson, Laurie and Kulperger, Shelley. (2002) Editorial. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5(2). < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0205/editorial.php> ([your date of access]).