Incestuous Festivals: Friendships, John Greyson, and the Toronto Scene

Film festivals often rely on “precarious cultural work”.[1] Increasingly adopting the neoliberal logic of the creative economy, they entail particular forms of affective labour, combining “the pleasure and excitement experienced during the festival – alongside the lesser-known affective states of despair, disappointment, and anger that need to be managed as a consequence of films being rejected from the festival”. [2] Although recent scholarship has emphasised the precarious material reality of cultural workers, festival organisers often describe their activity as a “labour of love”. “Labour of love” – a somewhat naïve and romanticised shorthand for the less glamourous and resolutely not sponsorship friendly term “precarious” – insists on cultural work as producing not value or economic stability but intangible affects and relationships – friendships.

While the expression “labour of love” certainly participates in rebranding festival organisers’ precarious, unpaid or underpaid, cultural work as engendering positive affects, it also points to the central role played by collaborations and friendships in artistic endeavours. As I argue elsewhere, this emphasis on affects and friendship provides a productive framework for understanding festival studies itself: academic discourses on festivals often refract our own circuits and networks. [3] In the context of this article, however, I am interested in how friendships sustained at and through festivals participate in shaping cinematic cultures.[4] Reflecting upon her contributions to both film studies and the festival phenomenon, B. Ruby Rich resituates the role played by chosen networks of friends in establishing Women’s cinema:

Knowledge can be acquired and exhibited in a variety of ways. To read and then to write: that’s the standard intellectual route. In the years of my own formation, though, there were many other options. Journals and journeys, conferences and conversations, partying and politicking, going to movies and going to bed.[5]

Scholars traditionally describe festival circuits and networks in terms of their “relation to living and non-living actors”.[6] Emblematically, Dina Iordanova describes festival circuits as a “treadmill in motion only for as long as there is the living person to service it, only as long as there is someone to keep it in motion”.[7] In this framework, participants are first and foremost defined by their professional occupation: they are understood as “stakeholders” or “cultural intermediaries” whose competing performances regulate the event and who have “particular interests in seeing the network proliferate”.[8] While this framework posits that collaboration between stakeholders is crucial in organising festivals, it does not fully account for friendships sustained beyond the duration of the event.

In contrast, Rich’s autoethnographic history of Women’s cinema starts not from the festivals she successively curated, organised, or simply attended, but rather from her own encounters with festival-goers turned friends and collaborators. In so doing, Rich echoes Michel Foucault’s definition of friendship as a productive, radical, and “slantwise” network of relationality, one born out of her participation in various festivals and conferences but that exceeds traditional definitions of the circuit. As a network of relationality, friendships “short-circuit [institutions] and introduce love where there’s supposed to be only law, rule, or habit”. It produces a potential for collaborations beyond one’s participation in an event, “[tracing] diagonal lines (…) [that] allow [relational] virtualities to come to light”.[9]

In this paper, I hope to illustrate what could be gained in taking seriously friendship as a network of relationality. Shifting the emphasis from traditional definitions of festival circuits to the interpersonal networks created and sustained at festivals, I analyse the role played by friendships in fostering artistic collaborations in 1980s-1990s Toronto as expressed through Canadian director John Greyson’s oeuvre. Indeed, Greyson’s work as a film and videomaker, political activist, curator, and festival board member generously refers back to friendships born out of his involvement on the festival/academic circuit.[10] As Susan Lord argues,

While Greyson never divests authorship and its social responsibilities, “John Greyson” is also central to the formation of collectivism since the 1980s. Much of the work is [sic] produced with his name is done within collective processes wherein filiations, collaborations between friends, and artist communities develop a praxis and an imaginary.[11]

In tracing Greyson’s collaborations through (and involvement in) various North American festivals and cinematic organisations, this paper argues that theorising friendships as radical networks of relationality enables us to advance festival studies on two fronts: (1) a reconceptualisation of the relationship between festival stakeholders through their artistic and institutional collaborations and (2) an analysis of interpersonal relationships as “crossing over” festival circuits and producing cinematic cultures.

Greyson’s “gay squib”: Friendships, collaborations, and the emergence of a gay and lesbian film culture

Greyson’s first tapes coincide with the emergence of a gay and lesbian cinematic culture marked by both video activism and an ethos of collaboration between artists, activists, and scholars. As Larry Horne and John Ramirez’s review of an academic conference held within the 1983 UCLA Gay & Lesbian Media Festival makes clear, Greyson’s politics and aesthetics cannot be separated from

the specificities of the video apparatus  – [he] attempted to situate the emergence and input of gay and lesbian artists in video where the codes of production are not yet rigidly conventionalized. Promoting the undertaking of a history of alternative practices, Greyson’s history of video attempted a clarification of the social and cultural contexts for the medium’s development, its relation and intersection with other artistic forms, and its possible place in the social struggle for increased sexual liberation.[12]

In the early 1970s, a few critics and scholars organised gay and lesbian film festivals, largely dedicated to unearthing the gay subtext of European and Hollywood films and influenced by traditional modes of cinephilia.[13] The situation changed rapidly in the early 1980s: the Alternative Cinema conference held at Bard College and the protests against the films Cruising and Windows served as catalysts for the development of a community-based gay and lesbian cinematic culture, highly influenced by the politics and aesthetics of the video format.

In June 1979, “[f]our hundred film and video activists [as well as critics and scholars] met at Bard College in New York State (…), the most important national gathering of progressive media workers since the 1930s.” The conference, organised with the support of Jump Cut, aimed at bridging the gap between film scholars, artists, and activists. It featured workshops as well as an extensive screening programme, akin to a festival. While the conference emphasised the role played by video as a minority-led praxis of resistance, participants soon “recognized that their needs were not being adequately addressed by the structure and organization of the Conference, whose Organizing Committee was dominated by white, male straights from New York.” [14]

In order to defuse the controversy, the organisers included special sessions dedicated to minorities, albeit relegating some gay and lesbian programming to late night sessions.[15] In that context, the Lesbian and Gay Male Caucus (which included film and videomakers, critics, and scholars, among whom Thomas Waugh, Jan Oxenberg, and B. Ruby Rich) established a list of demands directed at the organising committee. The group called for an exchange of information between gay and lesbian media workers and scholars, as well as for the creation of “[a]lternative distribution centers which must seek out, distribute, and encourage the production of media made by lesbians and gay men.”[16]

A month later, a coalition of gay filmmakers, critics, scholars, and activists crystallised around two films distributed by United Artists: William Friedkin’s Cruising and Gordon Willis’s Windows. Importantly, United Artists’s parent company Transamerica had, through two of its subsidiaries, financed the campaign of homophobic politician John Briggs.[17] Furthermore, Friedkin had already been criticised by the gay liberation movement for his film The Boys in the Band.[18] In the spring of 1979, a script of Cruising was leaked to Village Voice columnist Arthur Bell, who urged readers to actively protest the film. In New York alone, more than 8,000 people marched against the film.

Taken together, the Alternative Cinema Conference and the protests against Cruising are emblematic of a new political movement symbolised by an alliance between critics, scholars, festival organisers, and film and videomakers. Gay and lesbian artists and activists were increasingly interested in the video format, which was understood as a community-based political medium enabling new modes of self-representation. Unsurprisingly, video festivals, defined in opposition to the elitism of the celluloid, emerged in the decade.[19] These debates are refracted in Greyson’s first tapes, which articulate a discourse on video as a collaborative critique of traditional modes of representation.[20]

A few months later, Greyson joined two organisations that were particularly active in mobilising against Cruising: both the Association for Independent Video and Film [AIVF] and the National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers [NALGF] sought to enact the recommendations made by the Lesbian and Gay Male Caucus and to create alternative circuits of distribution for video. The NALGF, headed by Richard Schmiechen, Oxenberg, and Greyson, “include[d] producers, directors, writers, editors, cinematographers, video artists, film exhibitors, film organization administrators, critics, and film and video students.”[21] Its mandate revolved around two axes: to lobby against homophobic media and the erasure of LGBT people from Hollywood productions, and to develop independent circuits of distribution for gay and lesbian films and videos.[22]

Members were quite divided on how to achieve these goals. In several meetings, they discussed whether the NALGF should act as a “service organization with a distribution base [akin to Women Make Movies], [a] professional lobbying association for lesbian and gays working both as independents and in the industry, [a] trade association representing and supporting independent gay and lesbian media [modelled after the AIVF]”, or a loose informal network dedicated to connecting filmmakers with emerging LGBT festivals.[23] The NALGF often positioned itself as an interface between filmmakers and festivals. In the early 1980s, the organisation operated as a relay between Peter Lowy’s and Michael Lumpkin’s gay film festivals (in New York and San Francisco, respectively). It not only curated programmes for both events, but also organised a cross-pollination of sorts. These programmes were usually followed by a panel with filmmakers, festival organisers, and critics. [24] The NALGF also provided assistance in organising several ephemeral LGBT festivals, such as Southampton College’s Eggo or New York University’s Abuse, and relayed calls for submission, notably for Waugh’s 1982 Montreal-based festival Sans Popcorn.[25]

The NALGF further benefited from its connections with the AIVF. Capitalising on his role as a coordinator for both the NALGF and the AIVF, Greyson organised in March 1982 the festival/roundtable “Independent Closets: Gay & Lesbian Filmmakers Open Doors,” which featured both film/videomakers and scholars-critics (among which Mark Berger, Oxenberg, Vito Russo, and Waugh).[26] Greyson’s involvement in the NALGF led him to participate in other foundational conferences/festivals. In particular, Greyson presented his videos and gave a talk at the 1983 UCLA Gay & Lesbian Media Festival. This event juxtaposed screenings with panels intermixing scholars (Dennis Altman, Richard Dyer, Martha Fleming, Bill Nichols, Ramirez, Waugh and Andrea Weiss), critics (Russo and Robin Wood), filmmakers (Barbara Hammer, Paul Leaf and Oxenberg), and activists – many of whom Greyson later collaborated with.[27]

The most important conference / festival happened a few years later, in reaction to the sex wars and the AIDS crisis. In 1986, a group of film and videomakers, students, and scholars at Boston’s Collective for Living Cinema decided to constitute a queer reading / screening group. In an effort to further intertwine self-representation and theory, the group tasked Bill Horrigan and Martha Gever with organising a series of screenings, which evolved into the 1989 conference and festival “How Do I Look? Queer Film and Video”, held by the Bad Object-Choices collective at the Anthology Film Archives and sponsored by the journal October. The event featured an eclectic mix of artists/activists (Gregg Bordowitz, Jean Carlomusto, Richard Fung, Isaac Julien, Tom Kalin, Stuart Marshall, and Ray Navarro) and scholars/critics (Altman, José Arroyo, Douglas Crimp, Theresa de Lauretis, Diana Fuss, Gever, Cora Kaplan, Kobena Mercer, Judith Mayne, Rich, and Waugh). [28]

In the aftermath of the How Do I Look? conference/festival, Greyson started working with Pratibha Parmar and Gever on the field-defining anthology Queer Looks, published four years later (1993). It features many of the same filmmakers (Bordowitz, Carlomusto, Crimp, Nick Deocampo, John DiStefano, Fung, Hammer, Navarro, Parmar, Catherine Saalfield, and Jerry Tartaglia), and scholars/critics (Alison Butler, Chin, Gever, Mercer, Rich, Waugh and Patricia White).[29] The book’s introduction simultaneously recalls Greyson’s earlier attempts to foster a gay and lesbian distribution circuit and summarises the importance of collaboration and friendship in establishing a gay and lesbian cinematic culture:

We wanted to make public some of the exchanges occurring between an ever-shifting network of artists, organizers, and activists that spanned several continents. We wanted to witness some of the coalitions and collaborations, efforts at a new type of politic, a new sort of image. We wanted to put down on paper some of the ideas being debated by this larger “we”, this ever-expanding “we”, this collective, communal “we” of lesbian and gay critics, artists and audiences. (…) We were bored dissatisfied with queer critics who endlessly analyzed Hollywood but ignored the independent sector. (…) Distribution for independent queer features is both red-hot at the box office and nonexistent.  Distribution for queer video art has both mushroomed and ceased to exist.[30]

As these examples make clear, festivals and activist groups constituted spaces where scholars, critics, filmmakers, and festival organisers could meet and collaborate, thereby defining an emerging gay and lesbian cinematic culture. Friendships created through the festival/academic circuit were instrumental in establishing both gay and lesbian cinema and Greyson’s career as an activist, videomaker, and book author. Many of the people involved in the NALGF, the UCLA Gay & Lesbian Media Festival, or the How do I Look conference/festival became collaborators, featured in both the Queer Look anthology and Greyson’s videos. From Waugh’s contribution as a “full frontal nudity expert”[31] to Fleming’s double role as actor and scholar, Greyson’s collaborators often occupied several institutional positions at once.

The “Toronto scene”: friendships and video/film circuits in Canada.

Video, a format far less elitist than celluloid films, played a key role in the development of this ethos of collaboration. In this historical context, videos were often marked by the idea of community. In this section, I shift my emphasis from Greyson’s collaborative efforts to define a gay and lesbian cinematic culture to friendships sustained through Toronto’s video collectives, positioned at the intersection of various festival circuits. Through the development of cooperatives, artist-run centres and festivals, videomakers in Toronto were constantly screening or curating each other’s work.[32] Video can be productively thought of as a cultural scene, defined by William Straw as:

designat[ing] particular clusters of social and cultural activity without specifying the nature of the boundaries which circumscribe them. Scenes may be distinguished according to their location (as in Montreal’s St. Laurent scene), the genre of cultural production which gives them coherence (a musical style, for example, as in references to the electroclash scene) or the loosely defined social activity around which they take shape (…) Scene invites us to map the territory of the city in new ways while, at the same time, designating certain kinds of activity whose relationship to territory is not easily asserted.[33]

In Toronto, this video scene emerged partly as a response to State censorship. In the 1980s, the Ontario Censor Board [OCB] actively forced art galleries, theatres, and festivals to cancel screenings of sexually-explicit films and videos. In 1979 for instance, the Arts Gallery of Ontario – one of the most prestigious museum in Toronto – had to call off its screening of Jean Genet’s Un chant d’amour (1950), deemed too (homo)sexual.[34] The Toronto Festival of Festivals (renamed TIFF) faced a similar situation with its 1982 programme “Video/Video,” which included tapes from Colin Campbell, Lisa Steele, and Kim Tomczak.[35] Greyson summarises the situation:

[T]he OCB insisted that any public screening must submit to prior censorship and that any venues, distributors, makers, or projectionists proceeding without prior approval would be subject to charges – including every art gallery, public library, community centre, high school, bar, bar mitzvah, you name it. (…) Most arts and community groups thought they were exempt or, at least, that the OCB was kidding. Wrong. The Canadian Images Film Festival was fined. (…) A Space Gallery was raided. Despite intensive organizing and numerous (drawn-out) legal challenges, a decisive chill caused the collective balls of the arts community to retract. Groups and individuals were understandably unwilling to become the next sacrificial lamb. Screenings were cancelled for fear of charges.[36]

Video artists were particularly active in contesting the Ontario Censor Board.[37] They often organised illegal screenings, thus openly defying censorship legislation. In 1981 for instance, the magazine Fuse put together a 12 hour-long screening of documentaries which had not been approved by the OCB.[38] Protests against censorship often took the form of inter-organisation collaborations. The 1985 festival “Six Days of Resistance”, which Greyson helped organising, is here a fascinating example: presented by A Space, the Women’s Cultural Building, the Artists Union and Trinity Square Video, it screened over forty films and videos without prior approval from the OCB.[39] This particular event is at the core of Greyson’s contribution to the anthology Queer Looks. Analysing the relationships between sex panic and State censorship in Toronto, Greyson recalls some of the tactics mobilised by video activists: in order to avoid having the prints seized by the authorities, “organizers would ask any cops present (undercover or not) to identify themselves, and they would then ask them to leave. (…) By law, cops must comply with this request. Since they couldn’t see the tapes or films, they couldn’t therefore lay charges”.[40]

This struggle against censorship partly accounts for the ethos of collaboration at the core of Toronto’s video scene, structured along a loose network of inter-related collective organisations which shared a commitment to “access and activism, participation and dialogue”, often regrouping “documentarists” and “video artists” in the same space (among others: LIFT, Charles Street Video, Trinity Square Video, and Vtape).[41] These artist-run centres, cooperative distributors, and art galleries were conveniently located around Queen Street, thereby facilitating inter-disciplinary cooperation: one could edit, distribute, and screen videos in the same building.[42] Greyson actively participated in these organisations. He notably took part in the 1984 and 1986 New Works Shows (organised by Trinity Square Video and Vtape)[43] and in YYZ’s 1986 Habits.[44] These artist-run centres and video co-ops fostered artistic collaborations and helped materialising Greyson’s call for alternative networks. As Lord argues,

[The] role of video co-ops and artist-run spaces in the shaping of Toronto’s art scene is profoundly important for our understanding of how Greyson’s work of the 1980s takes shape. His credits read like a meeting of Charles Street Video (which he joined upon moving to Toronto in the early 1980s), Trinity Square Video (where he worked with Michael Balser in the AIDS PSAs) (…) or a meeting at Vtape (on which he sat as a member of the board).[45]

Importantly, this cultural scene intersected with various festival circuits. In the 1990s, “over one hundred small and medium sized documentary, queer, experimental, student and community-based media festivals” were organised in the city.[46] In Toronto, festivals dedicated to South Asian queer films (Desh Pardesh) coexisted alongside events devoted to alternative pornography (Pleasure Dome).[47] These organisations did not compete with one another. Rather, they largely shared information and expertise.[48] Toronto’s video scene thus reflected “a crucial permutation on the formulation of a metropolitan cosmopolitanism”[49] that juxtaposed festival circuits and promoted collaborative organising.

Several gay and lesbian film and/or video festivals were organised in the city.[50] Some happened only once, such as the 1986 “Inverted Image” organised by the newspaper Xtra!.[51] Others were multi-disciplinary: for instance, Sky Gilbert’s “Queer Culture Festival” (starting in 1990) featured videos alongside theatre plays and dance.[52] Inside/OUT, Toronto’s most famous LGBT film and video festival, was created in 1991 in an effort to develop a queer circuit defined in opposition to commercial films. According to Joceline Andersen,

The filmmakers who began the group saw it as a platform to showcase queer experimental and transgressive work that with short formats and DIY production values could not find a venue in the art house circuit or the burgeoning film festival phenomenon of the largely narrative New Queer Cinema.[53]

These gay and lesbian organisations were actively fighting against censorship. Canadian custom agents and Canada Post enforced censorship legislation rather zealously. Shipments from and to the Glad Day Bookshop and the Women’s bookstore were prevented in 1991 and 1992, and many film prints were destroyed at the border. This censorship also took the form of a withdrawal of public funding. Grants to A Space, Arts Sake, and Trinity Square Video were cancelled in 1982.[54] In 1992, the Christian association CURE successfully lobbied against funding allotted by the government of Ontario and the City of Toronto to gay cultural events: the Metro council “voted to rescind a $4000 grant to the Inside/OUT lesbian and gay film and video festival”. The theatre company Buddies in Bad Time was similarly accused of “exercising bad judgement by allowing the Queer Culture Festival of Toronto to rent their space to hold two seminars on bondage and ‘female ejaculation’”.[55] Due to a strong mobilisation of the press and artistic communities, funding was eventually re-established.[56]

Gay and lesbian cultural events were often connected with festivals organised in the video circuit. Local videomakers both navigated between and participated in the building of different venues: if the Toronto scene was organised around several structures, they were largely incestuous. Images, a festival started in 1988 by the Northern Vision collective, actively curated programmes dedicated to minorities:

It had also been our desire to be egalitarian in our selection regarding gender, region and race. We wanted to represent those voices which through formal concerns or socio-political agendas are often ignored by national showcases. (…) The Northern Visions selection body attempted to represent various concerns of Blacks, Asians, Native Peoples, gay and lesbian activists and feminists. These concerns have traditionally been ignored by mainstream festivals, yet they truly contribute to what is produced and what we know about Canadian culture.[57]

These incestuous organisations enabled particular forms of friendship and collaboration among filmmakers. Following the models of artist-run centres, they were organised by videomakers themselves. Their organising teams were largely overlapping. Board members of one festivals were often screened in another. In Figure 1, I trace Greyson’s artistic collaborations through his involvement in both Images and Inside/Out.[58] More than half of the festivals’ team members have participated in Greyson’s projects, in one way or another. Greyson’s involvement in these events as curator, board member (Inside/OUT 1994-1996, 1998-1999), jury (Images 1994), lecturer (Inside/OUT 1993), or filmmaker (Inside/OUT: 1991, 1994, 1996, 2000, Images 1990, 1992, 1994) indicate the extent to which festivals served not only as spaces of exhibition, but also as places where one could meet old and new friends. These friendships and collaborations were not limited to Image and Inside/OUT. For instance YYZ’s 1986 Habits show incorporated Greyson’s Moscow Does not Believe in Queers (1986) alongside with Kibbins’ Henry Kissinger Won the Nobel Peace Prize (1986), a tape on which Greyson was a technician.

As this historical example makes clear, festival organising in 1980-1990s Toronto both reflected existing and fostered new artistic collaborations. Cultural work produces friendships that can potentially crossover festival circuits. Greyson’s videos both feature friends and collaborators met on the festival circuit and address some of the issues debated within the Toronto video scene. His oeuvre corresponds to a “project animated by friendship through which an extensive and affective political geography grows (…) a spatial network of solidarity [which] form[s] translocal productions”.[59]

Networks of friendship, circuits, and stakeholders

Filmmaker and AIDS activist Mike Hoolboom describes Greyson’s position within the Toronto scene:

[Greyson] is never “at the beginning”; his ambitions rest neither with the first word nor with hopes for the last. Instead, he finds himself always in the midst of a social web of produced and producing identities (…) It is little surprise that as an artist whose entry point admits him to a conversation already underway, Greyson receives and adapts established modes of address.[60]

In resituating Greyson’s work as a videomaker, curator, festival organiser, and public intellectual, this paper argued that friendship, defined as a network of relationality, provides a theoretical framework for conceptualising both cinematic cultures and crossovers between festival circuits. Greyson’s network of friends and collaborators refracts the evolution of both gay and lesbian cinema and the Toronto video scene. While, in Mike Hoolboom’s words, Greyson is never at the beginning of this history, his words often preface major anthologies on censorship, AIDS, and gay and lesbian cinema – generously introducing friends, reflecting (upon) the collective nature of video/activism.[61]

Greyson’s career also illustrates what could be gained in taking seriously these networks of friendship: as such, his collaborations transcend professional occupations. Greyson and his friends often occupied several institutional locations at once, constantly shifting between videomaking, organising, curating, and writing. This is not surprising: in this historical context, “the existence of the pure critic/scholar who has not tried curating or film/video making is as rare as the curator who has not directed a film or written film criticism (though both animals do exist, of course).”[62] As a slantwise network of relationality, friendships point to the productive interplays between various forms of participation in festival organising.

This is particularly important, as scholars often analyse festivals in terms of the competing performances of various stakeholders. Actors participating in festivals are traditionally understood through their professional occupation, an hermeneutic model which presupposes that one is either a festival-goer, or a critic, or an organiser, or a policy-maker, or a scholar. While such analyses enable us to describe the cultural economy of festival organising, the reality is – as always – messy: one might be a critic and/or a festival organiser and/or a policy-maker and/or a scholar. One might even move from one of these professional occupations to any other(s). As networks of relationality, collaborations and friendships crossover analytically separated institutional locations, thereby complementing traditional analyses of festival circuits and stakeholders. Instead of separating curators from filmmakers, scholars, and festival organisers, friendships as networks reveal what could be gained in taking seriously the interplay between various forms of institutional location. As a “labour of love”, festival organising entails a form of collaboration that can potentially be productive, a mode of relationality that largely crossovers existing circuits and participates in the shaping of cinematic cultures.

Figure 1.: Greyson’s (main) collaborators and their role in Inside/OUT & Images (until 2000).

 

Name Participation in: (main) collaborations with Greyson
Achtman, Michael Inside/OUT: screening committee (1997) Un©ut (1997, screened that year)
Campbell, Colin Inside/OUT: advisory board* (1994-1995), board of directors (1996)*. Images: board of directors (1991), advisory board (1994-1996) The Jungle Boy (1985)

You Taste American (1986)

– Moscow Does Not Believe in Queers (1986)

– A Moffie Called Simon (1986)

– The ADS epidemic (1987)

– Urinal (1988)

Cass, Robin Inside/OUT: jury (1998), advisory board (1999-2000)* – Zero Patience (1993)

Lilies (1996)

Day, Dennis Inside/OUT: trailer (1997)* – Trailer, Inside/OUT (1997)

Un©ut (1997, screened that year)

Diamond, Sara Images: guest programmer (1989), advisory board (1994-1999) Herr (1998)
D’oliveira, Damon

 

Inside/OUT: Jury (1999) Zero Patience (1993)

Un©ut (1997)

The Laws of Enclosures (1999)

Proteus (2003)

Douglas, Debbie Inside/OUT: advisory board (1994-1995)*, board of director (1996*, 1998) – Zero Patience (1993)

– AIDS Cable Access Project (1980s)

Durand, Doug Images: Board of Directors (1993-1994) The Visitation (1979)
Findlay, David Images: Director (1995) Kipling Meets the Cowboys (1985)

– A Moffie Called Simon (1986)

Andy Warhol’s Blow Job (New York and Toronto) (1989)

Flanders, Elle Inside/OUT: director (1997), Images: board of directors (1998-1999) Covered (2009)

– Toronto declaration (protests against TIFF as part of the BDS campaign)

Foster, Steve Images: Jury (1997) Captifs d’Amour (2010)

The Ballad of Roy and Silo (2010)

Fung, Richard Inside/OUT: advisory board (1994-1995)*, Inside/OUT: coordinator (1997), Inside/OUT: programming (1998, 2000), Images: board of directors (1988-89, 1991), programmer (1992) Kipling Meets the Cowboys (1985)

Zero Patience (1993)

Rex v. Singh (2009)

Fig Trees (2009)

Greyson also collaborated on several of Fung’s films (for instance, as a camera operator on the 1986 Chinese Characters).

Kazimi, Ali Images: board of directors (1991-1994), programmer (1992) Rex v. Singh (2009)

Fig Trees (2009)

Lee, Anita Images: Board of directors (1996-1997) Proteus (2003)
McIntosh, David Images: Jury (1992) A Moffie called Simon (1986)

Urinal (1988)

Moores, Marg Images: Board of directors (1989, 1991-1996) The First Draft (1980)
Paterson, Andrew Images: Jury (1989) Zero Patience (1993)

Fuse (magazine)

Raffé, Alexandra Inside/OUT: Advisory Board (1994-1995; 1998-2000)* Zero Patience (1993)
Rashid, Ian Iqbal Inside/OUT: organising team (1994-1995)* Bolo Bolo! (1990)
Roche, David Inside/OUT: member of the founding collective (1990) You taste American (1986)

– The Pink Pimpernel (1989 – Screened in 1991 at Inside/OUT)

– Zero Patience (1993)

Steele, Lisa [Vtape: Founder] Inside/OUT: advisory board (1994-1995)*, Images: Board of Directors (1988), Guest programmer (1992), staff (1999) Kipling meets the cowboys (1985)

– Collaborator on Centerfold / Fuse

Vtape: Greyson’s distributor

Tomczak, Kim [Vtape: Founder] Images: Board of Directors / founder / programmer (1988-1994) – Vtape: Greyson’s distributor

– Have collaborated on several exhibitions. Among others: Paris’ 11th Biennale (1980), Powerplant’s 1987 Toronto : A play of History.

Appears with Greyson on several tapes, such as Hoolboom’s 2006 Fascination.

Travassos, Almerinda Images: Jury (1991) Urinal (1988)

The Making of Monsters (1991)

Waugh, Tom Images: Guest programmer (1989) – Full Frontal Nudity Expert (among others)

– Cameo in several of Greyson’s films and videos, extensive interview in Un©ut (1997)

Yael, b.h. Images: Board of Directors (1989, 1991-1995), programmer (1992) – Toronto Declaration

* : Greyson participated, that year, in the organisation of this festival.

 

Notes

[1] Skadi Loist, “Precarious Cultural Work: About the Organization of (Queer) Film Festivals,” Screen 52, no. 2 (2011): 268–73.

[2] Liz Czach, “Affective Labor and the Work of Film Festival Programming,” in Film Festivals: History, Theory, Method, Practice, ed. Marijke de Valck, Brendan Kredell, and Skadi Loist (Routledge, 2016), 196.

[3] Antoine Damiens, “Festivals, Uncut: Queer/Ing Festival Studies, Curating Queerness” (PhD diss., Concordia University, 2018).

[4] In this article, I use the term “cinematic cultures” instead of “film cultures” to include both celluloid and video formats.

[5] B. Ruby Rich, Chick Flicks: Theories and Memories of the Feminist Film Movement (Duke University Press, 1998), 3.

[6] Marijke de Valck, Film Festivals: From European Geopolitics to Global Cinephilia (Amsterdam University Press, 2007), 101.

[7] Dina Iordanova, “The Film Festival Circuit,” in Film Festival Yearbook I : The Festival Circuit, ed. Dina Iordanova and Ragan Rhyne (St Andrews Film Studies, 2009), 33.

[8] Ragan Rhyne, “Film Festival Circuits and Stakeholders,” in Film Festival Yearbook I: The Festival Circuit, ed. Dina Iordanova and Ragan Rhyne (St Andrews Film Studies, 2009), 9.

[9] Michel Foucault, “Friendship as a Way of Life,” in Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth, ed. Paul Rabinow, trans. Robert Hurley (The New Press, 1982), 135–40. [Emphasis: mine]

[10] From the early 1980s to the mid-1990s, academic conferences on gay and lesbian issues often included a screening programme akin to a festival. Conversely, LGBT festivals of the period often featured several academic talks. In using the same term to designate both academic and cinematic circuits, I underscore the productive interplay between festival organising and academic knowledge production which participated in shaping the gay and lesbian cinematic cultures of the 1980s. See: Damiens, “Festivals, Uncut.”

[11] Susan Lord, “Fables of Empire: The Intimate Histories of John Greyson,” in The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, ed. Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh (McGill-Queen’s University Press-, 2013), 137.

[12] Larry Horne and John Ramirez, “Conference Report: The UCLA Gay and Lesbian Media Conference,” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media 29 (1984).

[13] Antoine Damiens, “The Queer Film Ecosystem: Symbolic Economy, Festivals and Queer Cinema’s Legs,” Studies in European Cinema 15, no. 1 (2018).

[14] Jump Cut, “Alternative Cinema Conference: Documents from Caucuses and Workshops,” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, no. 22 (1980): 34–37.

[15] Peter Biskind et al., “Alternative Cinema Conference Times Seven: Jump Cut Editors’ Individual Perspectives,” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, no. 29 (1979): 37–40.

[16] Jump Cut, “Alternative Cinema Conference: Documents from Caucuses and Workshops” It is worth noting that members of the Lesbian and Gay Male Caucus consulted with other minority groups, in effect enacting a politics of solidarity typical of the 1980s.

[17] beverley Philadelphia and wendy stevens, “Why Protest Windows?,” Off Our Backs 10, no. 4 (1980): 9, 13, 20.

[18] The film was perceived as promoting negative depictions of necessarily sad gay men. Furthermore, Friedkin had publicly discussed his preliminary research on Fire Island in a 1975 lecture at the New School, recalling with disdain being confused at the touristic attractions the gay vacation spot offers – namely “200 to 300 guys in daisy-chain [sic], balling each other in the ass [in the Meat Rack].” See: Edward Guthmann, “The Cruising Controversy: William Friedkin vs. the Gay Community,” Cineaste 10, no. 3 (1980): 2–4.

[19] Future research will address the politics of video festivals, a topic which has surprisingly been ignored by festival scholars.

[20] In particular in The First Draft (1980), a tape which “looks at the limitation of constructing alternative media within a dominant culture” through a video aesthetics. See: Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie, and Thomas Waugh, The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013), 503.

[21] National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers, “Dear Friends…,” Winter 1981, Box 13. Folder National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers. International Gay Information Center Organizational Files Collection. Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library.

[22] Steve Forgione, “Organizing on the Left: Some Thoughts on the Lesbian/Gay Struggle,” New Political Science 1, no. 4 (1980): 74–75.

[23] National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers, “Meeting Minutes, June 28th,” n/d, Box 13. Folder National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers. International Gay Information Center Organizational Files Collection. Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library.

[24] Stefan Pevnik, “Gay Filmmakers Confront Media Homophobia in the US,” The Advocate, November 26, 1981.

[25] “Eggo Film Festival 1983 – Southampton College, Fine Arts,” 1983, Folder Film festivals 1900-2012, ONE Subject Files Collection. Coll2012.001. The ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives at the USC Libraries.

[26] Foundation for Independent Film and Video, “Agenda,” The Independent 5, no. 1 (March 1982): 24 Also known as “prognosis for gay and lesbian independent film”; see: Thomas Waugh, “Notes on Greyzone,” in The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, ed. Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh (McGill-Queen’s University MQUP, 2013), 37.

[27] UCLA Gay & Lesbian Media Festival, “UCLA Gay & Lesbian Media Festival,” 1983, Folder Film Festivals — Outfest, The ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives at the USC Libraries.

[28] Bad Object-Choices, How Do I Look? : Queer Film and Video (Bay Press, 1991), 11. In itself, the fact that How Do I Look? is remembered as a conference (and not a festival) exemplifies quite well the erasure of festivals organised in the margins of the contemporary queer circuit. I analyse this issue in: Damiens, “Festivals, Uncut”.

[29] Martha Gever, Pratibha Parmar, and John Greyson, Queer Looks (Routledge, 1993).

[30] Martha Gever, Pratibha Parmar, and John Greyson, “On a Queer Day You Can See Forever,” in Queer Looks: Perspectives on Lesbian and Gay Film and Video, ed. Martha Gever, John Greyson and Pratibha Parmar (Routledge, 1993), xiv–xv.

[31] Waugh, “Notes on Greyzone.”

[32] Nancy Patterson, “Curating Video,” Cinema Canada, March 1987, 14–15.

[33] Will Straw, “Cultural Scenes,” Loisir et société/Society and Leisure 27, no. 2 (2004): 412.

[34] Brenda Cossman, Censorship and the Arts: Law, Controversy, Debate, Facts (Ontario Association of Art Galleries, 1995), 102.

[35] Jay Scott, “Ending on a Negative Note: Censor Board Accused of ‘Attempting to Destroy Festival,’” The Globe and Mail, September 20, 1982, 11; “Fest of Fests May Get New Deal from Censors,” Cinema Canada 145 (1987): 63.

[36] John Greyson, “Don’t Cry for Me, Project P,” in Suggestive Poses: Artists and Critics Respond to Censorship, ed. Lorraine Johnson and John Greyson (Toronto Photographers Workshop and The Riverbank Press, 1997), 2–3 [Emphasis in the original].

[37] Ger Zielinski, “Furtive, Steady Glances: On the Emergence & Cultural Politics of Lesbian & Gay Film Festivals” (PhD diss., McGill, 2008), 16.

[38] Cossman, Censorship and the Arts, 23–23.

[39] “Calendar of Events in Toronto from Monday April 22 to Thursday May 31,” The Body Politic, no. 114 (May 1985): 25.

[40] John Greyson, “Security Blankets: Sex, Video, and the Police,” in Queer Looks: Perspectives on Lesbian and Gay Film and Video, ed. Martha Gever, John Greyson and Pratibha Parmar (Routledge, 1993), 383–94.

[41] Dot Tuer, “Mirroring Identities: Two Decades of Video Art in English-Canada,” in Mirror Machine: Video and Identity, ed. Janine Marchessault (YYZ Books, 1995), 123.

[42] Philip Monk, “Picturing the Toronto Art Community: The Queen Street Years,” C Magazine 59 (1998).

[43] Geoffrey Shea, “The 1986 New Work Show,” Cinema Canada, November 1986, 33–35; Patterson, “Curating Video.”

[44] Phil Van Steenburgh, “‘Habits’ by YYZ, Toronto: Invitation to a Screening.,” Cinema Canada, August 1986, 26–27.

[45] Lord, “Fables of Empire: The Intimate Histories of John Greyson,” 137.

[46] Dipti Gupta and Janine Marchessault, “Film Festivals as Urban Encounter and Cultural Traffic,” in Urban Enigmas: Montreal, Toronto, and the Problem of Comparing Cities, ed. Johanne Sloan (McGill Queen’s University Press, 2007), 251.

[47] Tom Warner, Never Going Back: A History of Queer Activism in Canada (University of Toronto Press, 2002), 326.

[48] Zielinski, “Furtive, Steady Glances,” 116.

[49] Brenda Longfellow, “Surfing the Toronto New Wave: Policy, Paradigm Shifts and Post-Nationalism,” in Self Portraits: The Cinemas of Canada Since Telefilm, ed. André Loiselle and Tom McSorley (Canadian Film Institute/Institut canadien du film, 2006), 194.

[50] According to Ger Zielinski, the first festival might have happened as early as 1980. Zielinski, “Furtive, Steady Glances,” 144n114.

[51] “Gay Fest in T.O.,” Cinema Canada News Update 1 (November 10, 1986): 3.

[52] Kevin Dowler, “In the Bedrooms of the Nation: State Scrutiny and the Funding of Dirty Art,” in Money, Value, Art: State Funding, Free Markets, Big Pictures, ed. Sally McKay and Andrew J. Paterson (YYZ Books, 2001), 34.

[53] Joceline Andersen, “From the Ground up: Transforming the inside out LGBT Film and Video Festival of Toronto,” Canadian Journal of Film Studies 21, no. 1 (2012): 40.

[54] Cossman, Censorship and the Arts, 31.

[55] Mary Louise Adams, “Gay Clout Turns inside Out,” Herizons 7, no. 4 (1997): 14; David Roche, “Queer Film Fest Is Homeless. Euclid Collapse Forces the Inside Out Collective Elsewhere,” Xtra!, November 1993; Dowler, “In the Bedrooms of the Nation: State Scrutiny and the Funding of Dirty Art,” 34.

[56] Similar attempts to withdraw funding from gay and lesbian cultural organisations were made in 1997. See: Andrew Paterson, “Private Parts in Public Places,” Fuse 12, no. 4 (1989): 43–44.

[57] Northern Vision Collective, “Images 88,” 1988, 3.

[58] I limited myself to the organisational team. A similar argument could be made through an analysis of festivals’ acknowledgement sections and film selections. For instance, Inside/OUT’s 1993 catalogue reads like a credit from a tape by Greyson and/or a who’s who of his collaborators — referencing among others Kay Armatage, Desh Pardesh, Doug Durand, Ellen Flanders, Richard Fung, Fuse magazine, Ian Rashid, Gita Saxena, Euclid Theatre, Full Frame, Vtape and YYZ.

[59] Lord, “Fables of Empire: The Intimate Histories of John Greyson,” 136.

[60] Mike Hoolboom, “Audio Visual Judo,” in The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, ed. Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013), 209–10.

[61] For instance, Greyson wrote the introduction to Thomas Waugh’s anthology The Fruit Machine: John Greyson, “Foreword,” in The Fruit Machine: Twenty Years of Writings on Queer Cinema, by Thomas Waugh (Duke University Press, 2000), ix–xii. His academic writings further preface several books on censorship and/or AIDS, such as: Greyson, “Don’t Cry for Me, Project P”. Conversely, B. Ruby Rich wrote the foreword to an anthology on Greyson: B. Ruby Rich, “Foreword,” in The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, ed. Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013), xv–xvi. Significantly, this chapter is immediately followed by Waugh’s own contribution, which theorises his friendship with Greyson: Waugh, “Notes on Greyzone.”

[62] Thomas Waugh and Chris Straayer, “Queer Film and Video Festival Forum, Take Two: Critics Speak Out,” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 12, no. 4 (2006): 599.

 

Notes on the Contributor

Antoine Damiens holds a PhD in Film Studies from Concordia University (Montréal). His dissertation interrogates the historiographical and political project of festival studies through an analysis of minor, ephemeral, LGBT festivals. Antoine serves as the co-chair of SCMS’ Film & Media Festival Scholarly Interest Group and as Synoptique’s festival review editor. He has participated in organizing various festivals, among which Cannes’ Queer Palm.

 

Bibliography 

Adams, Mary Louise. “Gay Clout Turns inside Out.” Herizons 7, no. 4 (1997): 14.

Andersen, Joceline. “From the Ground up: Transforming the inside out LGBT Film and Video Festival of Toronto.” Canadian Journal of Film Studies 21, no. 1 (2012): 38–57.

Bad Object-Choices. How Do I Look? : Queer Film and Video. Bay Press, 1991.

Biskind, Peter, Michelle Citron, Chuck Kleinhans, Julia Lesage, B. Ruby Rich, Peter Steven, and Thomas Waugh. “Alternative Cinema Conference Times Seven: Jump Cut Editors’ Individual Perspectives.” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, no. 29 (1979): 37–40.

“Calendar of Events in Toronto from Monday April 22 to Thursday May 31.” The Body Politic, no. 114 (May 1985): 25.

Cossman, Brenda. Censorship and the Arts: Law, Controversy, Debate, Facts. Ontario Association of Art Galleries, 1995.

Czach, Liz. “Affective Labor and the Work of Film Festival Programming.” In Film Festivals: History, Theory, Method, Practice, edited by Marijke de Valck, Brendan Kredell, and Skadi Loist, 196–208. Routledge, 2016.

Damiens, Antoine. “Festivals, Uncut: Queer/Ing Festival Studies, Curating Queerness.” PhD diss., Concordia University, 2018.

———. “The Queer Film Ecosystem: Symbolic Economy, Festivals and Queer Cinema’s Legs.” Studies in European Cinema, 15, no.1 (2018).

de Valck, Marijke. Film Festivals: From European Geopolitics to Global Cinephilia. Amsterdam University Press, 2007.

Dowler, Kevin. “In the Bedrooms of the Nation: State Scrutiny and the Funding of Dirty Art.” In Money, Value, Art: State Funding, Free Markets, Big Pictures, edited by Sally McKay and Andrew J. Paterson, 29–49. YYZ Books, 2001.

“Eggo Film Festival 1983 – Southampton College, Fine Arts,” 1983. Folder Film festivals 1900-2012, ONE Subject Files Collection. Coll2012.001. The ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives at the USC Libraries.

“Fest of Fests May Get New Deal from Censors.” Cinema Canada 145 (1987): 63.

Forgione, Steve. “Organizing on the Left: Some Thoughts on the Lesbian/Gay Struggle.” New Political Science 1, no. 4 (1980): 74–75.

Foucault, Michel. “Friendship as a Way of Life.” In Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth, edited by Paul Rabinow, translated by Robert Hurley, 135–40. The New Press, 1982.

Foundation for Independent Film and Video. “Agenda.” The Independent 5, no. 1 (March 1982): 24.

“Gay Fest in T.O.” Cinema Canada News Update 1 (1986): 3.

Gever, Martha, Pratibha Parmar, and John Greyson. “On a Queer Day You Can See Forever.” In Queer Looks: Perspectives on Lesbian and Gay Film and Video, edited by Martha Gever, John Greyson and Pratibha Parma., xiii–xv. Routledge, 1993.

———. Queer Looks. Routledge, 1993.

Greyson, John. “Don’t Cry for Me, Project P.” In Suggestive Poses: Artists and Critics Respond to Censorship, edited by Lorraine Johnson and John Greyson., 1–5. Toronto Photographers Workshop and The Riverbank Press, 1997.

———. “Foreword.” In The Fruit Machine: Twenty Years of Writings on Queer Cinema, by Thomas Waugh, ix–xii. Duke University Press, 2000.

———. “Security Blankets: Sex, Video, and the Police.” In Queer Looks: Perspectives on Lesbian and Gay Film and Video, edited by Martha Gever, John Greyson and Pratibha Parmar, 383–94. Routledge, 1993.

Gupta, Dipti, and Janine Marchessault. “Film Festivals as Urban Encounter and Cultural Traffic.” In Urban Enigmas: Montreal, Toronto, and the Problem of Comparing Cities, edited by Johanne Sloan., 239–54. McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2007.

Guthmann, Edward. “The Cruising Controversy: William Friedkin vs. the Gay Community.” Cineaste 10, no. 3 (1980): 2–8.

Hoolboom, Mark. “Audio Visual Judo.” In The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, edited by Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh, 209–15. McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013.

Horne, Larry, and John Ramirez. “Conference Report: The UCLA Gay and Lesbian Media Conference.” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media 29 (1984).

Iordanova, Dina. “The Film Festival Circuit.” In Film Festival Yearbook I : The Festival Circuit, edited by Dina Iordanova and Ragan Rhyne, 23–39. St Andrews Film Studies, 2009.

Jump Cut. “Alternative Cinema Conference: Documents from Caucuses and Workshops.” Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media, no. 22 (1980): 34–37.

Loist, Skadi. “Precarious Cultural Work: About the Organization of (Queer) Film Festivals.” Screen 52, no. 2 (2011): 268–73.

Longfellow, Brenda. “Surfing the Toronto New Wave: Policy, Paradigm Shifts and Post-Nationalism.” In Self Portraits: The Cinemas of Canada Since Telefilm, edited by André Loiselle and Tom McSorley., 167–202. Canadian Film Institute/Institut canadien du film, 2006.

Longfellow, Brenda, Scott MacKenzie, and Thomas Waugh. The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson. McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013.

Lord, Susan. “Fables of Empire: The Intimate Histories of John Greyson.” In The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, edited by Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh., 135–47. McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013.

Monk, Philip. “Picturing the Toronto Art Community: The Queen Street Years.” C Magazine 59 (1998).

National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers. “Dear Friends…,” Winter 1981. Box 13. Folder National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers. International Gay Information Center Organizational Files Collection. Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library.

———. “Meeting Minutes, June 28th,” n/d. Box 13. Folder National Association for Lesbian and Gay Filmmakers. International Gay Information Center Organizational Files Collection. Manuscripts and Archives Division, The New York Public Library.

Northern Vision Collective. “Images 88,” 1988.

Paterson, Andrew. “Private Parts in Public Places.” Fuse 12, no. 4 (1989): 43–44.

Patterson, Nancy. “Curating Video.” Cinema Canada, March 1987, 14–15.

Pevnik, Stefan. “Gay Filmmakers Confront Media Homophobia in the US.” The Advocate, November 26, 1981.

Philadelphia, beverley, and wendy stevens. “Why Protest Windows?” Off Our Backs 10, no. 4 (1980): 9, 13, 20.

Rhyne, Ragan. “Film Festival Circuits and Stakeholders.” In Film Festival Yearbook I: The Festival Circuit, edited by Dina Iordanova and Ragan Rhyne, 9–22. St Andrews Film Studies, 2009.

Rich, B. Ruby. Chick Flicks: Theories and Memories of the Feminist Film Movement. Duke University Press, 1998.

———. “Foreword.” In The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, edited by Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh., xv–xvi. McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013.

Roche, David. “Queer Film Fest Is Homeless. Euclid Collapse Forces the Inside Out Collective Elsewhere.” Xtra!, November 1993.

Scott, Jay. “Ending on a Negative Note: Censor Board Accused of ‘Attempting to Destroy Festival.’” The Globe and Mail, September 20, 1982, 11.

Shea, Geoffrey. “The 1986 New Work Show.” Cinema Canada, November 1986, 33–35.

Tuer, Dot. “Mirroring Identities: Two Decades of Video Art in English-Canada.” In Mirror Machine: Video and Identity, edited by Janine Marchessault, 107–25. YYZ Books, 1995.

UCLA Gay & Lesbian media Festival. “UCLA Gay & Lesbian Media Festival,” 1983. Folder Film Festivals — Outfest, The ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives at the USC Libraries.

Van Steenburgh, Phil. “‘Habits’ by YYZ, Toronto: Invitation to a Screening.” Cinema Canada, August 1986, 26–27.

Warner, Tom. Never Going Back: A History of Queer Activism in Canada. University of Toronto Press, 2002.

Waugh, Thomas. “Notes on Greyzone.” In The Perils of Pedagogy: The Works of John Greyson, edited by Brenda Longfellow, Scott MacKenzie and Thomas Waugh, 19–42. McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013.

Waugh, Thomas, and Chris Straayer. “Queer Film and Video Festival Forum, Take Two: Critics Speak Out.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 12, no. 4 (2006): 599–625.

Zielinski, Ger. “Furtive, Steady Glances: On the Emergence & Cultural Politics of Lesbian & Gay Film Festivals.” PhD diss., McGill, 2008. 

Filmography

Dennis Day and John Greyson. Trailer – Inside/OUT (1997, Tonronto, ON: Inside/OUT), 35mn.

William Friedkin. Cruising (1980, Beverly Hills, CA: United Artists), Film.

Richard Fung. Chinese Characters (1986, Chicago, IL: Video Data Bank), Video.

Richard Fung, John Greyson, and Ali Kazimi. Rex v. Singh (2009, Vancouver, BC: Out on Screen), DV.

John Greyson. The Visitation (1979, undistributed), Video.

———. The First Draft (1980, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. The Jungle Boy (1985, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. Kippling Meets the Cowboys (1985, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. You taste American (1986, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. Moscow Does Not Believe in Queers (1986, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. A Moffie Called Simon (1986, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. The ADS epidemic (1987, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. Urinal (1988), San Francisco, CA: Frameline Distribution), Video transferred to 16mn.

———. Andy Warhol’s Blow Job (New York and Toronto) (1989), Video.

———. The Pink Pimpernel (1989, Toronto, ON: Vtape), Video.

———. The Making of Monsters (1991), 16mn.

———. Zero Patience (1993, Toronto, ON: Cineplex Odeon Distribution), Super-16 mn, released 35mn.

———. Lillies (1996, Toronto, ON: Alliance Atlantis), 35mn.

———. Un©ut (1997, Toronto, ON: Vtape), D-Beta transferred to 16mn.

———. Herr (1998), DV.

———. The Laws of Enclosures (2000, Toronto, ON: Momentum Pictures), 35mn.

———. Proteus (2003, Culver City, CA: Strand Releasing), D-Beta transferred to 35mn.

———. Covered (2009), DV.

———. Fig Trees (2009), DV.

———. Captifs d’Amour (2010), 16mn/DV.

———. The Ballad of Roy and Silo (2010), DV.

Mike Hoolboom. Fascination (2006, Chicago, IL: Video Data Bank), DV.

Ian Iqbal Rashid and Gita Saxena. Bolo Bolo!: Talking About Silence, AIDS and Gay Sexuality (1990, San Francisco, CA : National Asian American Telecommunications Association), Video.

Gordon Willis. Windows (1980, Beverly Hills, CA: United Artists), Film.

A “Farm System” in an Emerging Texas Film Festival Circuit

One: Outside and Inside

It’s April, I’m in Fredericksburg, Texas, and it’s hot and windy.

In another part of the state, 300 miles northeast, tornado conditions are building. It’s fine here, however, if you’re used to Texas weather. It’s high noon, and I’m standing just outside the Fritztown Cinema. I’m nervous and windblown and the sun is at that Texas temperature where you’ll be okay if you walk slowly, but don’t push your luck.

Our screening is tomorrow. Our short documentary The Texas Sun has now appeared at two film festivals. It will go on, after this one, to five more Texas fests. From its premiere (Thin Line Film Festival, in Denton) to its finale (Deep in the Heart Film Festival, in Waco) it will be on a circuit of small Texas film festivals for exactly one year.

28 million people live in Texas, roughly equivalent to the 50th largest country in the world, and the state boasts the 10th largest economy in the world. Major film festivals like South by Southwest Film Festival (SXSW) and a dozen lesser-known Texas festivals provide significant film industry engagement with the region. Yet the most valuable recent development in Texas film culture may be the rapid growth of an interior-facing “Texas-centric” film festival circuit across the immense state, allowing for the development of a unique flavor of independent filmmaking practice.

I take a deep breath and prepare to go inside. I see a shape moving along the side of the highway that runs in front of the theater. It’s an armadillo, as if sent by Central Casting, waddling toward the north.

Two: Inside and Outside

My wife and I had come to the Hill Country Film Festival and the town of Fredericksburg via a long and beautiful drive through the blooming Texas wildflowers that cover the rolling hills in spring. Driving in, you get the idea very quickly: it’s a town for vacationers. It celebrates the German settler heritage of the region, thriving agriculture, and cultural leisure. The population is 10,000.

There are distillers, vintners, and brewers. This works well for the filmmakers, as the festival sets up a friendly tent with Shiner beer, Pedernales wine, Texas hot sauces of all kinds, and a high level of attention from the festival programmers, staff, crew, and volunteers. We meet some of the filmmakers: from Austin, an hour away; from New York, a three-hour flight; from Hollywood, a distance measured in dollars rather than miles.

In the tent, we spend our time speaking with Samuel Z. P. Thomas and Louis Hunter, here with a short dramatic film called The Usual Silence. The festival hosts several good workshop discussions. At one of these, the duo asks about starting a film festival. The advice: don’t do it.

Keith Maitland, a rising documentary star with strong Texas ties, is here with two films. On Friday he shows Tower, about a 1966 mass shooting at the University of Texas. On Saturday we also see his Texas-centric A Song for You: The Austin City Limits Story. Both have already screened at SXSW, and both will go on to long festival runs worldwide. 

Three: Outliers

Maitland’s festival experience is worth considering in relation to the idea of how film festival “circuits” function. From a filmmaker’s perspective, is a festival run best thought of as distribution, as marketing, or as a quest for credibility? Does the answer change if we compare international circuits against local circuits? Does Texas, being Texas, step outside this established set of ideas in some way?

In “The Film Festival Circuit” Dina Iordanova addresses one aspect of this puzzle: “It is not correct to think of festivals as a distribution network. Festivals are exhibition venues that need sporadic yet regular supply of content. The network aspect only comes later and on an ad hoc basis.”[1]

Maitland’s festival path with Tower makes this experience clear: the film’s IMDb page shows screenings at three festivals before Hill Country, and 23 festivals after.[2] That’s a tremendous festival run, but a skeptic could argue: from the standpoint of selling tickets, it’s the same as a week of screenings in a 200-seat cinema. The cost of traveling to festivals, no matter who pays, may in fact make this effort at best a break-even expenditure, if not a loss-leader.

In terms of marketing and credibility, of course, Tower’s net result was excellent: dozens of local news articles were generated from these screenings, and in a time-release approach that a single large media event could not equal. As well, strong reviews and festival awards bolstered the credibility of the film and the director. By June, Kino Lorber had purchased U.S. distribution rights for Tower, with sales of international distribution following as the film reached other festivals. Still, Maitland is an outlier, zipping in and out at Hill Country, off to a waiting jet.

In “The Cinema Planet” Jean-Michel Frodon gets to a more specific marketing/credibility hope held by filmmakers, especially those less established than Maitland: “At a time when regular distribution circuits tend to exclude at least eighty per cent of contemporary film production, it has become apparent that festivals, together with other alternative distribution tools, may economically support the worldwide artistic dynamism of cinema.”[3] Addressing the “tension between films being made and films being seen, or at least seen by an appreciable number of viewers”, Frodon pushes back against the idea that simply making a film available (think of Amazon Prime, for example) allows it to be discovered and viewed by enough people to make it, eventually, profitable.[4]

In contrast to the simplistic belief in the mechanical efficacy of technology’s and of the market’s invisible hands, a device like a film festival can be understood to bring together what is necessary for the building of an alternative to mass marketing. It takes, and I believe this is the most important aspect here, programming. Programming means that there is someone there, someone who has made choices—and for various reasons a large amount of people trust these choices, and these people wish to follow the propositions of the programmer.[5]

Obviously, again and again Maitland’s film was “programmed” – but what about the work of the other filmmakers in the Hill Country courtesy tent, or those in the “green room” at Thin Line Film Festival, or those grazing at the snack table at Lionshead Film Festival in Dallas? How does becoming an Official Selection in a festival differ from simply posting a film online? We screen The Texas Sun in Block 13 of the Hill Country Film Festival, a program of documentary shorts. There are six films. Ours is the shortest, at six minutes. The longest is 27 minutes. In fact, we are all outliers. Everything programmed in the fest has beaten out – somehow – literally hundreds of films. We’re inside, in the air conditioning.

Four: Insiders

Hundreds of films? More. The small festivals that fill up the Texas map are driven by filmfreeway.com and festival acceptance emails cite the amazing number of submissions received from that platform, from all over the world. Festival rejection letters often lead with this fact as well, so you’ll understand your film was certainly good, but your hopes were capsized in the cinematic flood.

The economic viability of small Texas film festivals now relies on a reasonable revenue stream from these submissions. It’s nothing to the largest fests, but 2,000 films submitted at $25 is significant, perhaps one pillar of a festival budget augmented by support from local businesses, city agencies, or a board of benevolent funders. In this model, ticket sales can be less important than submission fees.

Who is making all these films, fueled by the hope of being programmed?

Start with the map of Texas and add a layer showing universities and community colleges with film programs, then another with commercial hubs employing corporate videographers dreaming of proving themselves. There’s an immense pool of talent looking for an outlet, but frustrated with the odds at Sundance, Slamdance, or Raindance.

Who is watching all these films, and why aren’t they at home with Netflix?

Banish, please, your prejudice that second-tier Texas festivals will be unsophisticated. Read again that the filmmakers are from contemporary academic filmmaking programs, and that there is a massive pool of film submissions available to the programmers. These conditions push toward a surprising atmosphere for fest curation: to get people in the door, the program must be more interesting than your streaming queue, and the Q&A session needs to feel like an event.

One surprise from our run in the Texas fests: some programmers reveal an awareness of trends just emerging in the most adventurous European and Asian fests, and sometimes pull in short films of note for their “North American Premiere”. At two Texas fests, we see the Norwegian short Tre dalmatinere and the jokes go over just fine. The village of Gran looks surprisingly like the Hill Country landscape. One programmer tells me of a wave of animation submissions from Iran, where some film school must have cited his listing on Film Freeway. The border between Texas and the world is porous.

This curatorial sophistication and surfeit of available films, however, bumps up against local realities. “As a festival programmer, I am always listening to what the audience would like more of”, notes Robert Perez, Jr., co-founder of the South Texas Underground Film Festival. “Sometimes it can be a mini-struggle with the festival mission, since we have programming that can be challenging for the general audience.”[6]

The smaller fests I’ve attended, especially those in their early years, host an audience that is often 33% filmmakers and their friends and family. The more established fests reach out and lay down a root system. In Texas, this often means “family film” blocks filling challenging programming slots (like early morning) and a few slates of local history or community-based films. Late night slots shift to genre films. Films with a built-in audience screen in prime time, like Chip Hale’s Sweethearts of the Gridiron, which filled Thin Line Film Festival’s Campus Theater with past, present, and future Kilgore Rangerettes in uniform, and included an enthusiastic performance from the famed drill team.

Five: Stakeholders

Ragan Rhyne’s “Film Festival Circuits and Stakeholders” cites a complex balance of forces:

[t]he integration of what we call the festival circuit is maintained through the discursive

and economic articulation of a discrete and new cultural industry. It is upheld by the various stakeholders ­­– filmmakers and studios, journalists and press agents, professionals and programmers, local cultural councils and supranational agencies, tourist boards, cinéphiles and others – who have particular interests in seeing the network proliferate.[7]

Does this stakeholder model help us understand smaller Texas festivals? The “players” may match these categories, but the outcomes differ in scale and character.

Filmmakers: Four weeks before our visit to Hill Country, we’d screened at the Interurban Film Festival, hosted in the small town of Denison – population 22,000 — in the North East corner of Texas. The festival handled everything well, but it was impossible to fill the Rialto Theater, a massive movie palace that had lived on Main Street since 1920. The carrying capacity of any festival has its limits, and the moderate crowds meant filmmakers felt little energy returned from the spread-out audience. Yet I heard no grumbling from the filmmakers. We had been given a forum, and that would move us forward on our path.

Journalists: The Herald Democrat, which traces its roots back to 1879, interviewed me about the festival. The paper’s circulation is under 20,000, so I doubt this created the hoped-for “written festival” Daniel Dayan describes in “Looking for Sundance: The Social Construction of a Film Festival”.[8] I did what I could, stumbling a bit over the message:

“Film festivals are very alive,” Fisher said. “They are something that a community really needs … enriching experiences that you need and you don’t realize until you walk out of the theater.”[9]

Programmers: At a party for the filmmakers in Denison I met people from Dallas and Austin, but no one from Hollywood. The programmers drew from a pool of Texas filmmakers and provided an opportunity that benefitted us without competition from those already further established. In return, they received enthusiastic makers with content that matched the festival’s needs.

Cultural Councils: At Fort Worth Indie Film Showcase films are categorized so that a Texas film is “Domestic” and a film from anywhere else in the United States is “Foreign”. (Anything from outside the U.S. is “International”.) While the circuit I’m discussing here varies greatly from fest to fest – and some do pull films directly from Sundance or other typical first stops toward theatrical release – this “made in Texas” credo creates strong alignment with those who promote tourism, film production tax breaks, or cinema as part of Texas identity. I have on my desk a pen from the Fort Worth Film Commission. If you tilt it, a tiny parade of Texas Longhorns travels through the Stockyards.

“Supporting local (Texas) filmmakers is a major part of our festival programming strategy”, Chad Mathews, Executive Director of the Hill Country Film Festival & Society, tells me.

First, it shows that we care for our community of artists. We want them to succeed, so if programming a number of selections helps those filmmakers get to the next level, we want to do it. Secondly, there is an economic effect of programming local. More than likely a Texas-based filmmaker will be able to attend our festival and that always has a domino effect – cast, crew, friends, and family also attending in support of the film. The third aspect of programming local is our attempt at making the first contact with Texas filmmakers who we think will make larger steps into the industry whether in Hollywood or as a filmmaker remaining at home. If these filmmakers have a great initial experience at our festival, they are more likely to return with other quality projects and they become a festival advocate among people that they meet within the industry.[10]

The specific situation of interior-facing Texas film festivals creates a moment where most interests align, and where an essentially cooperative mood prevails. Is this a sustainable model? Does this collaboration with Texas filmmakers work regarding festival economics, or does it fulfill other aspects of the festival’s mission? Robert Perez, Jr. tells me:

This can be a “sustainable” model, because it guarantees a set program of filmmakers that are becoming familiar with your local audiences. This view can translate into more ticket sales, and if the filmmaker comes back to your town it fits various festival missions as far as bringing one-on-one interactions with filmmakers and the community, filmmakers meeting other filmmakers. But the biggest one thing, I feel, is the chance for the seasoned filmmaker visiting with first time filmmakers and guests to your festival promoting your festival and mentoring the younger filmmakers.[11]

I asked Perez if I’m right to picture this emerging circuit as a sort of parallel to the “farm teams” that so many sports organizations use, nurturing developing players and creating a “proving grounds” without the immense pressure of the major leagues. Just a few miles from where Perez screens films, the Corpus Christi Hooks play baseball at Whataburger Field, capacity 7,050. The Hooks compete in the “Texas League”, serving as the farm team for the Houston Astros, the 2017 World Series champions – the current top team in professional baseball.[12]

I believe I have seen this “farm team” aspect in various festivals around Texas and I do believe it could be an accurate way to look at it. I have seen this at a lot of genre fests (Horror, Sci-fi, LGBTQ). One example that comes to mind is Texas Frightmare Weekend, which is in its 13th year. I had a producer/actor/screenwriter friend who had his first experience of the fest as a fan of the horror genre. He got to meet the festival organizers and made friends. He was part of a production, as an actor, screening the following year and he reconnected with everyone again. The years to come, which became annual visits, were as a screenwriter and producer of his own short films and eventually feature films. As the festival grew, he was developing as a filmmaker with it.[13]

Six: Come and Take It

With Hill Country in our rear-view mirror, we move on through the circuit with The Texas Sun. We’ve stolen this strategy of staying on the circuit from Samuel Z.P. Thomas and Louis Hunter, the two men who were told not to start a film festival. This is Texas, so of course they started a film festival.

The 2017 Deep in the Heart Film Festival is probably the best organized first-year festival … ever. Samuel and Louis took notes on everything other fests did right, then smoothed the rough edges. They’ve focused on local roots by building a deep festival staff, connected with the community in ways that go beyond donated food and scattered window posters. They integrate everything with the Waco Hippodrome Theatre, which is about the right size for this type of fest. The screenings go at a good pace, avoiding dead time or overloading, and these are punctuated with Q&A sessions. The fest is well-programmed, accessible but adventurous enough.

Waco, Texas, has a population over 100,000, and sits metaphorically in the middle of everything. It’s between Dallas and Austin, and it’s somewhere between a good economic outlook and a bad one depending on the time of day and who you ask. These conditions position it as a place that can support a film festival … possibly. A strong argument can be made for the benefits a thriving festival could bring.

The fest hosted its second event in 2018, and, watching from a distance, I think it’s a success. I’m hoping to send a film there in 2019, if they can hold off all those forces that can take down a festival. There’s a long tradition of that kind of last stand in Texas, for better or worse. I’m rooting for them.

 

Notes

[1] Dina Iordanova, “The Film Festival Circuit,” in The Film Festival Reader, ed. Dina Iordanova (St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013), 113.

[2] TOWER (2016), IMDb, accessed April 1, 2018, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt5116410/releaseinfo.

[3] Jean-Michel Frodon, “The Cinema Planet,” in The Film Festival Reader, ed. Dina

Iordanova (St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013), 206.

[4] Italics in original. Ibid.

[5] Ibid., 207.

[6] Robert Perez, Jr., email correspondence with the author, March 29, 2018.

[7] Ragan Rhyne, “Film Festival Circuits and Stakeholders,” in The Film Festival Reader, ed. Dina Iordanova (St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013), 135.

[8] Daniel Dayan, “Looking for Sundance. The Social Construction of a Film Festival,” in The Film Festival Reader, ed. Dina Iordanova (St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013), 45-58.

[9] Ted Fisher quoted in: Kim Burdi, “Interurban Film Festival Offers Rewarding Experience to Viewers, Filmmakers,” HeraldDemocrat.com, April 2, 2016, http://www.heralddemocrat.com/news/local/interurban-film-festival-offers-rewarding-experience-viewers-filmmakers.

[10] Chad Mathews, email correspondence with the author, April 6, 2018.

[11] Robert Perez, Jr., email correspondence with the author, March 29, 2018.

[12] “List of Minor League Baseball Leagues and Teams,” Wikipedia, last modified April 3, 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Minor_League_Baseball_leagues_and_teams#Texas_League.

[13] Robert Perez, Jr., email correspondence with the author, March 29, 2018.

 

Notes on the Contributor

Ted Fisher is an American director specializing in arts and culture documentaries. His short films have screened at over 30 festivals around the world. He produced 32 episodes of the “Frugal Traveler” series for The New York Times, winning the Webby Award in the Travel Category for Online Film & Video in both 2008 and 2009. He earned an M.F.A. in Photography in 2003 from Claremont Graduate University. In 2017 he returned to school, attending the Filmmaking M.F.A. program at the University of Edinburgh. Filmography: http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3299032/

 

Bibliography

Burdi, Kim. “Interurban Film Festival Offers Rewarding Experience to Viewers, Filmmakers.” HeraldDemocrat.com, April 2, 2016. http://www.heralddemocrat.com/news/local/interurban-film-festival-offers-rewarding-experience-viewers-filmmakers

Dayan, Daniel. “Looking for Sundance. The Social Construction of a Film Festival.” In The Film Festival Reader, edited by Dina Iordanova, 45-58. St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013.

Iordanova, Dina. “The Film Festival Circuit.” In The Film Festival Reader, edited by Dina Iordanova, 109-126. St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013.

Frodon, Jean-Michel. “The Cinema Planet.” In The Film Festival Reader, edited by Dina Iordanova, 205-216. St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013.

Kelly, Christopher. “Dallas Has Its Own Indie Film Scene, and a Festival.” New York Times, June 6, 2012. http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/03/us/dallas-has-its-own-indie-film-scene-and-now-a-festival.html.

Peranson, Mark. “First You Get the Power, Then You Get the Money: Two Models of Film Festivals.” In The Film Festival Reader, edited by Dina Iordanova, 191-203. St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013.

Porton, Richard. On Film Festivals. London: Wallflower, 2009.

Rhyne, Ragan. “Film Festival Circuits and Stakeholders.” In The Film Festival Reader, edited by Dina Iordanova, 135-150. St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013.

Rich, B. Ruby. “Why Do Film Festivals Matter?” In The Film Festival Reader, edited by Dina Iordanova, 157-165. St. Andrews: St. Andrews Film Studies, 2013.

Swartz, Jon. “Voices: The weird and wonderful ways of SXSW.” USA Today, March 9, 2014. https://www.usatoday.com/story/tech/columnist/2014/03/09/voices-sxsw-the-crazed-and-crazy-tech-show/6137561/.

Wikipedia, “List of Minor League Baseball Leagues and Teams.” Last modified April 3, 2018,https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Minor_League_Baseball_leagues_and_teams#Texas_League.

Wong, Cindy H. Film Festivals: Culture, People, and Power on the Global Screen. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 2011.

 

Tracing Bodo Film Festival: The Makings of a Local Film Festival

28 April 2017: I am near the Indo-Bhutan border in a village called Dimakuchi in the Udalguri district of Assam in Northeast India. There are hundreds of people around me and we are in a large field where temporary tents are pitched. Lightning flashes in the sky as people huddle together under a slight drizzle. The faces of the crowd are all turned to one direction, captivated by the spectacle of dance, song and entertainment on the makeshift stage as though they are under a spell. As the compere monotonously calls for the next performer in line for the Master of Dance competition, I wonder if this is the Bodo Film Festival I was invited to, and how I am supposed to make sense of it.

Figures 1 and 2: Pictures from the ABAA Conference, a glimpse of the location and setting.

Figure 2

This was my first impression of the event I had come to attend which was the 2nd Bodo Film Festival, 2017. An initiative of the Bodo Cine Artistes’ Association (BCAA), the film festival turned out to be part of a larger two-day cultural event called the ABAA Conference,[1] which had song and dance competitions offering lucrative prize money, followed by cultural performances, seminar on the state of Bodo films and a felicitation ceremony for those who have contributed to the Bodo community.[2] The 2nd Bodo Film Festival was at the end of the two-day event on 29 April, 2017, and was the main highlight where awards were given to Bodo video films of the previous year, 2016.[3] It was attended by well-known Bodo artists, dignitaries, and a large public gathering who came to watch the spectacle of an award ceremony. It was presented in the format of any mainstream award show with presenters, performances and award categories such as best film, best director, best actor, best actress, etc. There were no film screenings where a jury and audience watch selected films in different competitive categories. However, a jury had pre-decided the winners, and at the ceremony, they were announced and felicitated with a trophy and a certificate. The event as a whole was a rollercoaster of competitions, performances, festivity, and artists, and in all its confusion and cacophony was a highly sensorial experience in itself. It offered a unique insight into the thriving world of Bodo entertainment and film culture, with its many dreams and aspirations. And offered possible layered and intertwined connections between Bodo video films and the Bodo Film Festival.

To begin with, it was Bodo video films which led me to discover a relatively new but thriving industry and film culture in parts of Assam that produces what are locally called video films or VCD films. My first brush with Bodo video films was on the internet in the form of video clips, photos, and posters, on Facebook and YouTube. When I started my research, I quickly realised that while these films were sold to the public earlier through VCDs, this practice had already ceased due to piracy which made VCD distribution unfeasible.[4] This was my first lesson in understanding just how dynamic the infrastructure of such films can be, where practices can emerge and be abandoned in the span of a few years. Delving deeper into the world of Bodo video filmmaking, I discovered more about its flexibility and bricoleur practices in its use of informal networks for its production, distribution and exhibition, bypassing legal regulations, and cohabiting with allied media objects such as music videos, and the more hegemonic Assamese and Hindi film industries. It was in the course of my fieldwork that I received an invitation from my interview subjects, who are Bodo filmmakers and actors, to attend the two-day event on ‘Bodo films’ to be held on 28-29 April, 2017.

The body of Bodo video films are a direct outcome of the relatively cheap availability of digital equipment and technology from the late 1990s, which has contributed to the rise of locally made films in the various languages of this region. Most Bodo video filmmakers are amateurs who are otherwise engaged in businesses or salaried professions, and the budget for such films usually ranges from rupees forty thousand to rupees seven lakh (approximately four hundred to seven thousand five hundred British pounds).

The organisers of the event, the Bodo Cine Artistes’ Association’s (BCAA) objective is to focus on the ways in which Bodo video films could be standardised so that they are recognised as a legitimate form of Bodo cinema, and not just amateur filmmakers who are making video films circulating in liminal spaces. The journey of BCAA started a decade ago when a group of Bodo artistes from different cultural fields, who primarily went on picnic trips together that served as a mode of socialising and networking, decided to initiate a cultural organisation for their cause. One of their endeavours has been to organise the annual cultural event over the past decade, the ABAA Conference, to bring together Bodo artists to showcase their talent, and it is also a meeting point for interaction and deliberation for future directions. This was the germination for what was until recently called All Bodo Artistes’ Association (ABAA) and is now BCAA (see endnote one). After forming a recognised body under the Societies Registration Act, 1860, and working towards the establishment of Bodo artists by organising cultural events and working as a society that promotes Bodo art and culture. The organisation recently decided to refocus their goal largely towards the upliftment of Bodo video films, and also initiated the Bodo Film Festival from 2016. They also launched an annual Bodo film and cultural magazine called Bao Suthung Mulung.

In its functioning, the BCAA has a decentralised structure and it is present in about thirteen of the thirty-three districts in Assam. The structure of the organisation is elaborate and complex. The president is elected from the executive body for a period of three years. Apart from the president, there are three vice-presidents, a general secretary, a cultural secretary, and in the districts where BCAA has a presence, there is an elected president, general secretary and joint secretary. BCAA comprises of artists, filmmakers, singers and dancers, and includes well-known members such as the celebrated filmmaker and cultural icon Jwngdao Bodosa who made the first nationally recognised Bodo film in celluloid, Alayaron (The Dawn, 1986), which won him a National Award.[5]

In 2016, the 1st Bodo Film Festival was held to focus exclusively on providing a platform for Bodo video filmmakers, artists and films, and to shed the undesired label of video/VCD films. The association is also implementing strategies to archive Bodo video films, as most of the older Bodo language films are either lost or in very poor condition. As a result, BCAA started collecting VCDs of Bodo video films from 2015 to store them in their head office in Kokrajhar in Assam. Crucially, films registered with the BCAA would be able to compete for awards under thirteen categories at the annual Bodo Film Festival. Twenty-one films in 2016 were registered, and these were judged and awarded by a selected jury at the 2nd Bodo Film Festival. Registration with BCAA would provide the films and filmmakers a certain level of recognition and legitimacy within the local film and artists’ fraternity.

Highlights from the 2nd Bodo Film Festival

A schedule of the programme was shared with me beforehand with a map of the venue (figure four), and I left early in the morning to cover the distance and reach on time. From the village, I was directed to a large field where a big rectangular marquee was put up facing a half open-air stage, which had other smaller tents nearby.[6] The tent had a divider placed in between to separate the crowd from the invited guests, the latter being marked with a ‘VIP’ label for artists and delegates.[7] The registration counter was on the side under a separate awning, and a generator van stood at the opposite end. As the day progressed, large traditional bamboo replicas of fishing baskets were placed on the field and a glittering market of tiny make-shift shops sprang up near the entrance.

Figure 3: A road map to the village of Dimakuchi, the venue of the 2nd Bodo Film Festival and the ABAA Conference.

While I was watching the song and dance competitions, I met Ron Narzary who is a young student working in Bodo video films. He told me that even though the show is still quite disorganised, it is an improvement from the past.[8] I also gathered that Bodo video films post-VCDs are now through ticketed screenings during the main Bodo religious/folk festival season, which starts in the month of September and wraps up by the month of March in the following year. Afterwards, such films find a second life when they are released on YouTube. Both these modes of film distribution are important, with the religious/folk festival season providing the main commercial earnings and the online distribution generating interest in audiences and often resulting in more employment for the cast and crew. During the local religious/folk festival season,

Figure 4: A screenshot from Google Maps of the distance between the major city of Guwahati, which houses the capital of Assam, and Dimakuchi.

Bodo video films are screened in non-urban areas in a makeshift tent near the main pandal (the temporary marquee where the God/Goddess is kept for worship), much like the whole cultural event including the Bodo film festival at Dimakuchi was organised in a public field with temporary tents. Narzary and others also informed me that Dimakuchi isn’t popular for Bodo video films, but the reason behind organising the event in such an area is to create a market and an audience through it. This is also the reason why the event is held in different towns and villages every year in order to generate local interest towards Bodo artists and films, as well as organising competitions.

The final event, the 2nd Bodo Film Festival started many hours later than the scheduled time. The stage was decorated with lights and a crane with a camera was placed in front to record the show, which kept blocking the audience’s view of the stage. Moreover, despite the light rain that fell on the half-covered stage and on the equipment, which was covered with tarpaulin, the show went on. The big winners of the night were Khwina (directed by Phaylaw Basumatary, 2016) and Nepal to Bodoland (directed by Swapan Brahma, 2016).[9] As the awards were handed out, artistes were invited to perform and entertain the audience with dance steps, songs and dialogues from famous Bodo and Hindi films. The hosts for the award show were two Bodo actresses who were most likely not given prior direction as they talked over each other and awkwardly stood not knowing which way to face or receive people on the stage. But for the crowd, it was a chance to glimpse local stars who were examples of Bodo people who had garnered success, and a moment of Bodo pride.

Figure 5: A still from the 2nd Bodo Film Festival at the end of the two-day ABAA Conference.

 

Jesus Kherkatary, who makes Bodo video films and one of the organisers of the event, informed me that in the future the BCAA would like the programme to be televised and ticketed.[10] He said that it should be more systematic and organised at recognised auditoriums like Rabindra Bhawan or Pragjyoti Cultural Complex in Guwahati, which can hold large gatherings, and has the reputation of hosting international level functions and events. He says BCAA faces issues with crowd management and a lack of seriousness that plagues the way the event is organised and received.[11]

Figure 6: Jesus Kherkatary (second from left) with the new trophy for the best negative role (male) for Khwina at the 2nd Bodo Film Festival.

 

Figure 7: Swapan Kumar Brahma (left) receiving the best director award for Nepal to Bodoland (2016).

BCAA is trying to work with the local government to improve the state of Bodo films by advocating the need for cinema halls in Bodo areas and training workshops for filmmakers and artists. One of the main complaints of some of the Bodo filmmakers I interviewed have been that Bodo video films are copies of Hindi films, and they lack professional and formal structure. The producer often serves as the director and the lead actor, and then hires the cast and crew from among family and friends. However, a few directors such as Phaylaw Basumatary, Swapan Kumar Brahma and Rabi Narzary are now trying to make their filmmaking more professional with elaborate plots, song and dance, and action sequences with VFX. The desire for greater professionalism seems to largely rest on emulating practices of established film industries.

Implications of the Bodo Film Festival

On my way back from the festival/award ceremony at night, I passed by quite a few other stage shows in open fields but nothing as big as the one I was returning from. The stage shows were organised because of the Bohag/Rongali Bihu festival which happens every year in April. This is the harvest festival marking the Assamese New Year, where cultural stage shows are organised with folk music, songs and dance. They form an integral part of popular entertainment in Assam, and it is one of the driving forces of the cultural industry of the region. It was then that it started to make sense as to why the so-called ‘Bodo film festival’ had such a format. The combination of singing and dance competitions with a film festival/award show further underlined the interconnected nature of culture, art, tradition, and entertainment. It was a reaffirmation of how both the Bodo Film Festival and Bodo video films have their roots in such forms of localised mass entertainment, and the advent of digital technology has enabled them to foray into filmmaking which is both a new beginning and a continuation of older entertainment traditions integral to community life of the region.

As with digital film subcultures elsewhere in the world, Bodo video filmmaking seems to be in the throes of a transition, and it is deeply enmeshed in the germination of the Bodo Film Festival. The BCAA organising the Bodo Film Festival is clearly an attempt to make Bodo filmmaking more formal and draws heavily from the model set by big film industries. Film festivals, magazines, conferences, certification and archives are all concepts that have had a long history in the pre-digital, and their adoption by BCAA is also a hybridisation of those practices.[12] Moreover, in the case of the Bodo Film Festival, the infrastructural logic of localised filmmaking is mimicking the vocabulary of well-known and ‘well-respected’ forms purely in the pursuit of legitimacy, even though in practice the Bodo Film Festival is rooted in a very different infrastructure that is informal.

This central purpose of seeking legitimacy brings us to question the ontology of film festivals, how it is created, how it is bestowed on a certain practice, and most importantly, the political economy of cinema that this entire regime of legitimacy establishes. The vocabulary of ‘amateur’, and the binary logic of ‘meaningful’ and ‘trashy’, ‘serious’ and ‘non-serious’, ‘high’ and ‘low’, is very much rooted in this value hierarchy created through infrastructures that prescribe, control and regulate their usage. The hegemony of such logic is clearly demonstrated when Bodo filmmakers themselves consider their work to be second-rate when compared to more established industries, and submit to this hegemonic system through their attempt to adapt the idea of a film festival in order to achieve a certain ‘standard’.

The present format of the Bodo Film Festival does provide a larger and more encompassing idea of what a film festival could be, of a filmmaking practice and film culture that contributes to the growing understanding of the nature of digital cinema, of informality and how it has been adapted in places where filmmaking is a relatively unstructured profession. This is a cinema by the people, and my participation in the Bodo film festival gave me a glimpse of the ways in which the advent of the digital turn in cinema has posed newer challenges to the normative understanding of film and film festivals, and perhaps telling us, once again, that the very nature of the cinematic medium is unstable, undefined and elastic.

 

Notes

[1] All Bodo Artistes’ Association (ABAA) was renamed to Bodo Cine Artistes’ Association (BCAA), which was announced during the two-day event, ABAA Conference, held on 28-29 April, 2017.

[2] The Bodos are one of the largest ethnic and linguistic tribe from the multi-ethnic state of Assam in Northeast India. They are settled primarily on the upper regions of the Brahmaputra river, with smaller populations in the state of West Bengal, and nearby countries such as Nepal and Bangladesh. Over the last couple of decades, the Bodoland Movement for an independent state carved out of present-day Assam has witnessed outbreaks of violence based on ethnicity, identity and land ownership. Identity based politics in the recent history of the state has led to conflict and large scale displacements of local population of different identities in certain parts of the state. See, James B. Minahan, Ethnic Groups of South Asia and the Pacific: An Encyclopedia (Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2012), 42-44, Print.

[3] For a list of all Bodo films, in which most of them are Bodo video films, please see, “List of Bodo-language films,” Wikipedia, accessed April 11, 2017, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Bodo-language_films; and, Listbodolist Blog, accessed June 7, 2016, http://thebodotribe.blogspot.in/

[4] Ankush Bhuyan, “A Post-Cinematic Landscape: Bodo Cinema After the Digital Turn” (MPhil diss., Jawaharlal Nehru University, 2018), Print.

[5] Alayaron is not a video film as it pre-dates it and is made on celluloid and it had a theatrical release with a certification from the Censor Board of Film Certification (CBFC) of India. Ajit Kr. Basumatary, “Jwngdao Bodosa–Jewel for Bodo silver screen,” The Sentinel, July 17, 2015, accessed August 5, 2016, http://www.sentinelassam.com/sunday/pages/cover-story/0/2013-04-29/2

[6] The organisers were gracious hosts who organised my stay with the delegates and participants from the Kamrup district, which was in a local school, as delegates and participants of each district were hosted in different locations.

[7] As a delegate from the Kamrup district, I was given a pass to sit at the VIP section, but I spent most of my time walking around, taking pictures and videos, interacting, and observing. I noticed after a couple of hours people were sitting wherever they found an empty chair, irrespective of the segregation, as it got crowded and people began to sit on the ground on both the sides of the tent near the stage. The ushers for the event who were directing the crowd were dressed in traditional Bodo attire lost track of who is a delegate or an invited guest and who is part of the audience. Only for the Bodo Film Festival I actively sought after a place at the VIP section to be able to watch it from close because of the large turnout of people, and the ushers were more particular who sat on the VIP section.

[8] Ron Narzary, interview by author, April 28, 2017.

[9] Khwina pronounced as /khɑɪ̯nə/. See, “Khwina,” Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, accessed July 4, 2017, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khwina. See, “Nepal to Bodoland,” Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, accessed July 4, 2017, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nepal_To_Bodoland.

[10] Jesus Kherkatary, interview by author, Guwahati, December 29, 2016.

[11] Jesus Kherkatary gave examples where in the past well-known Bodo artists have gotten drunk with audience members, and it has led to drunken brawls.

[12] My experience of the 2nd Bodo Film Festival and the ABAA Conference elucidates the hybridity of such praxis.

 

Notes on the Contributor

Ankush Bhuyan is presently pursuing a PhD in Cinema Studies from the School of Arts and Aesthetics, Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU). He has completed his Masters in Arts and Aesthetics and an MPhil in Cinema Studies from JNU. His MPhil dissertation was on Bodo digital films, music videos from Assam and its presence on social media. He was one of the recipients of the Social Media Research Grant for 2016 from The Sarai Programme, Centre for the Studies of Developing Societies (Sarai-CSDS), New Delhi. He has presented papers in national and international conferences previously at JNU, Sarai-CSDS, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, University of Oxford, etc. He also has pursued film appreciation courses and art appreciation courses at FTII, Pune, and at the National Museum, Delhi. His research interests are popular film forms, film history, music videos, social media, contemporary visual and performative art, to name a few.

 

Bibliography

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Basumatary, Deepak. “Ethno-Cinema: The Bodos in Celluloid.” Transcript, no. 4 (Annual 2016): 24-39. Accessed November 11, 2017. http://www.transcripts.bodolanduniversity.ac.in/uploads/transcript2016.pdf

Hernandez, Eloisa May P. “The Beginnings of Digital Cinema in Southeast Asia.” In Glimpses of Freedom: Independent Cinema in Southeast Asia, ed. May Adanol Ingawanij and Benjamin McKay (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2012), 223-36, Print.

Larkin, Brian. Introduction to Signal and Noise: Media, Infrastructure, and Urban Culture in Nigeria, 1-15. Durham and London: Durham University Press, 2008. Adobe PDF e-Book.

Minahan, James B. Ethnic Groups of South Asia and the Pacific: An Encyclopedia. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO, 2012.

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Schleiter, Markus. “VCD Crossovers: Cultural Practice, Ideas of Belonging, and Santali Popular Movies.” Asian Ethnology 73, no. 1-2 (2014): 181-200.

Tiwary, Ishita. “The Discrete Charm of Local Practices: Malegaon and the Politics of Locality.” BioScope 6, no. 1 (2015): 67-87. Accessed February 9, 2016. https://doi.org/10.1177/0974927615586928

Vasudevan, Ravi. “The Cinematic Public-II: Cinema and Film After the Proliferation of Copy Culture.” In The Melodramatic Public: Film Form and Spectatorship in Indian Cinema, 406-14. Delhi: Permanent Black, 2010. Print.

Setsuko Hara vs. the Press: The Post-war Trolling of a Wartime Icon

In the past few decades, research on Japanese cinema’s most famous actress, Setsuko Hara (1920-2015), has tended to focus on her wartime and early work. Following her recent death, this focus makes a certain sense, as scholars, critics, and journalists commemorate her life by looking back on her youth, beauty, and peak popularity. In thinking about what I could contribute to the discussion at “Setsuko Hara@St Andrews” in January 2018 however, I was drawn towards Hara’s more difficult post-war years, when her star persona was re-fashioned from that of a pro-military collaborationist to a champion of the new social order espoused by the offices of the Supreme Commander of the Allies Powers, which supervised the occupation of Japan from 1945-1952. This moment in Hara’s career demonstrates the impact she had not only on Japanese cinema, but on Japanese everyday life.

Figure 1: Tsukamoto, Jirō. “Dare ka ichiban oshare ka?” Eiga Bunko vol. 2 (October 1947), 42.

The Occupation era, and more specifically the years 1945-1948, are in many ways the peak period of Hara’s unpopularity, driven as well as documented by the low-brow gossip press that scholars tend to avoid in favour of more academic titles like Kinema Junpō (The Movie Times) and Eiga Geijutsu (Film Art). Digging through the gossip press’ treatment of Hara, we can see the moment that certain journalists and audience demographics turned against her. I believe that this moment sheds lights on the posthumous focus on her very early work found in academic and critical media publications alike. Approaching Hara’s career and legacy through the lens of star studies, we can understand the Occupation period as an era in which critics and audiences registered a kind of backlash against Hara’s wartime star persona, and much of the commentary that followed as attempted rehabilitation.

As Richard Dyer argues, the star persona is constituted not only by the films in which a star appears (and which the audience supports by purchasing tickets), but also in extra-filmic discourse in various media (which audiences support by buying magazines or posters, and to which they contribute in the form of fan letters or opinion pieces).

The star phenomenon consists of everything that is publicly available about stars. A film star’s image is not just his or her films, but the promotion of those films and of the star through pin-ups, public appearances, studio handouts and so on, as well as interviews, biographies and coverage in the press of the star’s doings and ‘private’ life. Further, a star’s image is also what people say or write about him or her, as critics or commentators.[1]

The star persona is constructed not only by the particular roles a star performs, but also by critical and audience reception of these performances, and subsequent media discourse. Hideaki Fujiki’s description of the operations of star persona within the Japanese studio system tracks a similar trajectory, albeit with slightly different origins. In the early years of the Japanese star system, as actors began to supersede film narrators (benshi) as the focus of audience interest, a distinction emerged between American and Japanese stars, in that Japanese stars were initially not associated with their onscreen roles, whereas American stars were assumed to be similar in personality to the characters they played. By the 1920s, however, audiences began to conflate Japanese stars with film characters to the extent that stars began to explicitly distance themselves from their previous roles in popular press publications.[2] By the post-war era, the roles a star played had a formative influence on their persona and how audiences imagined their ‘real lives’ and the popular press had become central to the production and maintenance of star persona.

Hara’s first post-war role in Kurosawa Akira’s No Regrets for Our Youth (Waga seishun ni kui nashi, 1946) met with mixed critical and public reception. While critic Satō Tadao describes taking courage from the film’s “revelation” that some Japanese citizens had opposed the war,[3] many complained that Hara’s character Yukie was too eccentric and unrealistic. Kurosawa defended Hara’s performance, suggesting that one had to be eccentric to oppose the war in the face of totalitarianism.[4] However, Satō claims that early post-war women in Japan were not like Yukie, but were “traditional and gentle” and that the general view was that such violent female characterizations were not very “Japanese”.[5] Kurosawa reinforced many the widespread impression that Hara’s portrayal of Yukie was somewhat forced in an interview in the magazine Eiga Fan in which he claimed to have tutored her heavily in the role, and to have found her initially unsuited for it.[6]

Figure 2: Takada, Hideki. “Hara Setsuko san ni sasaguru koibun,” Eiga Fan 9, no. 10 (October 1949), 31

Hara’s spirited and independent early post-war characters, and by extension her star persona, were often accused of Westernisation, echoing the criticism leveled at Tanaka Kinuyo on her return from America in 1950.[7] The two stars were regularly mentioned in articles critiquing the presentation, particularly dress, of high-profile stars, for example, in Tsukamoto Jirō’s Eiga Bunko (Film Library) article of 1947 (figure 1). Here Tanaka is ridiculed for her “lack of style” in choosing Western clothing, while Hara is described as “a Western dress person”[8], aligning her public persona with Western fashions as well as behaviours. Such behaviours were not always well received. Tanaka and Hara were the targets of a critical article in Eiga Goraku (Film Entertainment) in April 1948, which argued that they had no iroke, or sex appeal.[9] Critic Matsubara Ichirō connects this to their wearing of Western dress, claiming that actresses who suit Japanese dress, such as Yamada Isuzu and Mito Mitsuko, have “masses of iroke”.[10] In such critiques of female stars’ physical appearance and presentation, we can see subtle criticisms of Occupation era American cultural hegemony presented as gossipy entertainment journalism.

In the early post-war era, the personae of stars such as Tanaka and Hara were engaged in a delicate negotiation between the respective images of an imagined Japan and an imagined West. While an Americanised or European-style persona could indicate a modern attitude, as in Tanaka’s “modern girl” (moga) persona of the 1930s, it could also suggest the attack on a perceived Japanese tradition that many interpreted in the Allied Occupation’s post-war social reforms. Many critics and gossip writers of the period call attention to “Western” aspects in Hara’s star persona, from her dress to her striking nose and the popular rumours that she had Dutch, American, or Russian ancestry.[11] At the same time, she was also celebrated as an example of traditional Japanese femininity as the nation’s “eternal virgin” (eien no shojo).[12] Mitsuyo Wada-Marciano has written of the post-war nostalgia surrounding the films of the Shōchiku Kamata studios as “evidence of a cultural politics of self-nativizing”,[13] and I believe we can see a similar affect in the nostalgia evoked by stars such as Hara for post-war critics and viewers. In the nostalgic appeal of the values symbolized by Hara’s star persona, anxieties about the loss of a unique Japanese cultural quality were allayed by the establishment of a link to the “longed for imagined community”[14] of traditional Japan in the coding of Hara’s postwar star persona as an imagistic link to the past. In this way Hara’s persona expanded to include both a celebration of imagined traditional Japanese morals, and sharp critique of their polar opposite – Westernisation.

Male and female viewers of the time seem to have responded somewhat divergently to Hara’s appearance, as an interview published in Eiga Fan (Film Fan) magazine in February 1949 shows. The two protagonists in this short conversation are simply titled “Woman” (onna) and “Man” (otoko). While the woman finds Hara a perfect example of natural female beauty, the man disagrees. The woman suggests he is finding fault with Hara in comparison to Western female stars, but the man cites Hara’s intellectual and distanced persona as the problem.

Woman: “But you’re thinking of women like Bette Davis and such, aren’t you?”

Man: “No, that’s not it. Hara Setsuko plays rich daughter roles, intellectual women roles; it’s hard to get any feeling from them.”[15]

In this analysis, Hara’s unpopularity stems from class bias which situates the warmer working class female characters of the shitamachi, or downtown, as more approachable and likeable than the elite young women and teachers played by Hara in the early post-war years.

Hara’s attitudes and appearance presented a stumbling block for many viewers who struggled to find her believable as a representative example of everyday Japanese womanhood. Many post-war era magazines, such as the June 1947 issue of Eiga Fan focused on her “exotic physical appearance”, describing her as an “incomplete beauty” (mikansei no bi), with a strong will and hysterical nature.[16] Her acting ability is recognized only grudgingly, in that she is accorded “all the makings of talent”.[17] However, her “aloof” (kokō) and “intellectual” persona appears to have made her particularly unpopular with certain viewers and critics who recorded their opinions in the gossip press.[18]

Hara’s perceived physical otherness or Westernness combined with this “aloof” attitude to great hostility from a number of male critics, who penned mocking critiques such as that published in Eiga Fan in October 1949 by Takada Hideki (figure 2). Takada’s article queries such aspects of Hara’s public persona as her lack of a marital partner, and is illustrated by caricatures of her famous scrunched-up smile.[19] A sketch of Hara bearing a cross refers to the self-sacrificing nature of her characters in Ozu Yasujirō’s work and to her perceived “Westernness” (figure 3).[20] Such material pokes fun at the righteous attitudes of Hara’s early post-war characters, combining their hauteur with Hara’s own sharp refusals to answer questions from the gossip press about her romantic life off-screen.

Hara’s star persona became something of a scapegoat for viewers critical of a number of social changes during the Allied, primarily American, Occupation. From the mass importing of Anglo-European and American fashions, languages, and behaviours, to SCAP’s insistence on the centrality of images of emancipated women in Japanese popular media, Hara symbolized all that was wrong in post-war Japan for many traditionalist viewers. While her star persona still carried the taint of her wartime collaboration, viewers on both the left and right of the political spectrum found her appearance, attitudes, and roles troubling.

Hara’s star persona just about weathered the transition from post-defeat to later post-war Japan, retiring to the home in Naruse Mikio’s housewife dramas of the 1950s, and OzuYaujirō’s family-focused works of the 1950s and early 1960s. Yet it is fitting that her retirement in 1963 was followed by the nation’s transition to a post-post-war state marked by the Tokyo Olympics of 1964 and Japan’s subsequent accession to the OECD, occasioning a new understanding of what it meant to be Japanese, and a new awareness of Japan’s place in the world.[21] Forever marked by the historical events of her early career, Hara’s star persona now appears sunniest in those early years when she participated, perhaps in all innocence, wartime narratives depicting Japanese colonization as a great adventure with high ideals and moral foundations. In the aftermath of defeat and Occupation, Hara’s persona reminded many of that false hope, its loss, and the subsequent imposition of Anglo-European and American cultural and moral values on a poverty-stricken Japan. As the economy picked up and a newly futuristic Tokyo welcomed the 1964 Olympics, Hara’s star persona was consigned to the post-war past as the nation moved into a post-post-war future

 

Notes

[1] Dyer, Richard, Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society (London; New York: Routledge, 2004), 2-3.

[2] Fujiki, Hideaki, Making Personas: Transnational Film Stardom in Modern Japan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press, 2013), 185.

[3] Satō, Tadao, “Nihonteki dentō to seiyōtekina mono,” in Kōza Nihon Eiga vol. 8, Nihon Eiga no Tenbō, ed. Imamura Shōhei et al., (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1988), 24.

[4] Kurosawa, Akira, “Hara Setsuko no miryō,” Eiga Fan 6, no. 7 (December 1946): 4.

[5] Satō, “Nihonteki dentō to seiyōtekina mono,” 24.

[6] Kurosawa, “Hara Setsuko no miryō,” 4.

[7] Satō, Tadao, “Kiki to mosaku,” in Kōza Nihon Eiga vol. 6, Nihon Eiga no Mosaku, ed.

Imamura Shōhei et al., (Tokyo: Iwanami Shōten, 1987), 11.

[8] Tsukamoto, Jirō, “Dare ka ichiban oshare ka?” [Who is the Most Stylish?] Eiga Bunko 2 (October 1947): 44.

[9] Matsubara, Ichirō, “Iroke to joyū,” Eiga Goraku 2, no. 2 (April 1948): 13.

[10] Matsubara, “Iroke to joyū,” 13.

[11] Yomota, Inuhiko, Nihon joyū (Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2000) 18.

[12] Yomota, Nihon joyū, 4.

[13] Wada-Marciano, Mitsuyo, Nippon Modern: Japanese Film of the 1920s and ’30s, (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008), 129.

[14] Wada-Marciano, Nippon Modern, 129.

[15] Eiga Fan. “Shizen no utsukushisa: Hara Setsuko san” [Natural Beauty: Hara Setsuko], Eiga Fan 9, no. 2 (1949), 9.

[16] Kawahara, Michiko, “Hara Setsuko ron” [Discourse on Hara Setsuko], Eiga Fan 7, no. 6 (June 1947): 30.

[17] Ibid.

[18] Ibid.

[19] Takada, Hideki, “Hara Setsuko san ni sasaguru koibun,” Eiga Fan 9, no. 10 (October 1949): 31–33.

[20] Takada, “Hara Setsuko san,” 32.

[21] Orr, James, The Victim as Hero: Ideologies of Peace and National Identity in Postwar Japan, (Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2001), 138.

 

Notes on the Contributor

Jennifer Coates is Senior Lecturer in Japanese Arts, Culture, and Heritage at the Sainsbury Institute for the Study of Japanese Arts and Cultures, University of East Anglia. She is the author of Making Icons: Repetition and the Female Image in Japanese Cinema, 1945-1964 (Hong Kong University Press, 2016). Her current ethnographic research project focuses on early post-war film audiences in Japan. Jennifer has been a Kluge Fellow at the Library of Congress, Washington D.C. (2012), a Visiting Research Fellow at the Australian National University (2011), and a Hakubi researcher at Kyoto University (2014-2018).

 

Bibliography

Dyer, Richard. Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society. London; New York: Routledge, 2004.

Eiga Fan. “Shizen no utsukushisa: Hara Setsuko san” [Natural Beauty: Hara Setsuko]. Eiga Fan 9, no. 2 (1949): 8–9.

Fujiki, Hideaki. Making Personas: Transnational Film Stardom in Modern Japan.

Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Asia Center; Harvard University Press, 2013.

Kawahara, Michiko. “Hara Setsuko ron” [Discourse on Hara Setsuko]. Eiga Fan 7, no. 6 (June 1947): 30-31.

Kurosawa, Akira. “Hara Setsuko no miryō” [The Appeal of Hara Setsuko] Eiga Fan 6, no. 7 (December 1946): 4–5.

Matsubara, Ichirō. “Iroke to joyū” [Sex appeal and actresses] Eiga Goraku 2, no. 2 (April 1948): 13.

Orr, James. The Victim as Hero: Ideologies of Peace and National Identity in Postwar Japan. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2001.

Satō, Tadao. “Nihonteki dentō to seiyōtekina mono” [Japanese tradition and Western style]. In Kōza Nihon Eiga vol. 8, Nihon Eiga no Tenbō, edited by Imamura Shōhei et al., 2–31. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1988.

Satō, Tadao. “Kiki to mosaku” [Crisis, and groping for a solution]. In Kōza Nihon Eiga vol. 6, Nihon Eiga no Mosaku, edited by Imamura Shōhei et al., 2–75. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 1987.

Tsukamoto, Jirō. “Dare ka ichiban oshare ka?” [Who is the Most Stylish?] Eiga Bunko 2 (October 1947): 42–44.

Wada-Marciano, Mitsuyo. Nippon Modern: Japanese Film of the 1920s and ’30s. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008.

Yomota, Inuhiko. Nihon joyū [Japanese Actresses]. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten, 2000.

 

List of Figures

Figure 1: Tsukamoto, Jirō. “Dare ka ichiban oshare ka?” Eiga Bunko vol. 2 (October 1947), 42.

Figure 2: Takada, Hideki. “Hara Setsuko san ni sasaguru koibun,” Eiga Fan 9, no. 10 (October 1949), 31.

 

 

 

Hara Double at the Brattle

Password: standrews

 

Notes on the contributor

Joel Neville Anderson is a PhD Candidate in Visual and Cultural Studies at the University of Rochester, where he holds the Dean’s Dissertation Fellowship. His research is focused where consumer technologies of seeing and ecological crisis converge in the neoliberal era, working in experimental film and video, personal documentary, community media, environmental justice, film festival studies, and Japanese cinema and visual culture. Anderson’s writing has appeared in scholarly journals, anthologies, and magazines including Millennium Film Journal, Senses of Cinema, International Feminist Journal of Politics, Hyperallergic, Afterimage, Film on the Faultline, MUBI Notebook, and Screen Slate, and his creative productions have screened at such venues as Anthology Film Archives and Bronx Museum of the Arts. He has taught theory and history at the New School, SUNY Purchase College, and the University of Rochester, as well as production and media literacy workshops with the Museum of the Moving Image, Jacob Burns Film Center, and Downtown Community Television Center (DCTV). He curates JAPAN CUTS: Festival of New Japanese Film at Japan Society in New York since 2014, and Rochester’s avant-garde film series On Film since 2012. He serves as a producer of Aca-Media, the podcast from the Society for Cinema and Media Studies, and on the editorial board of InVisible Culture: An Electronic Journal for Visual Culture, where he previously worked as Managing Editor. He is based in New York City.

Space and Transition in the Films of Setsuko Hara

The apex of Setsuko Hara’s stardom largely coincided with the reconstruction of the Japanese nation following its defeat after the end of the Second World War and the negotiation of a new interpretation of a nationally specific modernity. In numerous films for directors such as Mikio Naruse and Keisuke Kinoshita, but especially in the key postwar titles she made with Yasujiro Ozu such as Banshun/Late Spring (1949), Bakushu/Early Summer (1951) Tokyo Monogatari/Tokyo Story (1953), Hara’s nuanced demonstration of feminine emotion articulated a specific sense of transition that had a bearing not just on female audiences’ feelings about themselves, but also on their broader subjective relationship to the nation as a whole. In this sense, they vividly enacted a particular contestation between tradition and progress in Japan’s immediate post-war social order at a time when the concept of a new formulation of nationhood was also, very importantly, intertwined with a concurrent and inevitable sense of loss due to change.

Hara’s star persona played a fundamental role in relaying questions of continuity, tradition, timelessness, memory and change from a strong female perspective. This was enacted in three ways. Firstly, this was partly down to a close fit with the generic patterns laid out by Shochiku studio, under the managing guidance of Shiro Kido, who had already achieved a reputation among a popular, especially female, audience for humanistic, everyday fictions that evoked a carefully constructed melange of social criticism, comedy and melodrama. Secondly, the themes of memory and tradition embodied by Hara’s female characters were given an extra dimension by being placed in a mode of representation which itself emphasised a sort of filmic heritage. Ozu and his regular team of fellow filmmakers that included the scriptwriter Kogo Noda, the set designer Tatsuo Hamada and the cinematographer Yuharu Atsuta used the flavour of the Shochiku genre and the repertoire of fellow Shochiku stars and character actors to produce a consistently recognisable product that had its own particular currency for the national audience. Then, thirdly, and very importantly, this currency then circulated in the film magazines and among the expectations of the filmgoer prior to and during the viewing of a new release.

Hara’s cycle of post-war dramas with Ozu coincided with Japan witnessing an extraordinary surge of industrialisation and productive capacity. This was accompanied by the drift of the populace to the major urban centres such as Osaka and Tokyo and an enhanced and much expanded material infrastructure. New patterns of consumption emerged during the 1950s. The upsurge in magazine publishing, the advent of television, the growth of rail and billboard advertising, all heralded an enhanced visual culture, which connected with the growth in disposable income and awareness of a new seikatsu (lifestyle or standard of living). Importantly, the pace of industrialisation was observed along with the development of commodification and the new consumer culture. Trains and stations were specifically incorporated into the narratives to suggest new kinds of movement and relationships between spaces and citizens. The conflict between the national tradition of the family unit and individual female desire became overtly played out in a prominently feminised cinematic space that recognized both the continuity of established gender patterns and evolving experiences of domestic frustration, containment and social exclusion. At the same time, new subjectivities posited by democracy were also given emphasis by the reluctance of the younger, especially female, generation to follow prescribed spatially related social norms.

The ways in which Setsuko Hara’s persona straddled these somewhat contradictory ideas may be explored by examining the specific issue of stardom, femininity and spatial representation. The role of Noriko in Ozu’s Late Spring, for example, gives particular prominence to feminine space in the home and with that several suggestive aspects of female friendship. Noriko’s significant confidante and ally, especially when it comes to discussing the inadequacies of men, is Aya (played with great comic vivacity and flippancy by Chikage Awajima). Like Noriko, Aya is represented as a modern and independent woman, aware of the societal pressures on women to conform eventually to the standard pattern of dutiful wedlock and maternity. In the film, the pair are literally separated from the mainstream by their taste for private, non-Japanese style living spaces above the conventional patriarchal space below. Setsuko Hara is associated with markers of Western modernity in other sequences. The freedom and spontaneity of a seaside bicycle ride is famously linked with the prominence of a Coca Cola sign and her character is also revealed in a conversation with the uncle to have had a bobbed haircut which would have placed her before the war as a stylish moga (modern girl). Both Aya and Noriko have working lives outside the home and are pictured with a certain amount of mobility on trains, in street scenes, and in coffee shops.

Setsuko Hara’s Noriko characters in all three features mentioned previously occupy more than one space in these films because of their narrative emphasis on transition and change. Her sensitivities to the continuities of the past, and especially her reconciliation with older forms of femininity, position Hara’s characters as pivotal, if ultimately consensual, figures in Ozu’s representations of the world of post-war Japan. Kathe Geist has developed the idea of Ozu’s extensive reliance on symbolic ‘allusions to passing time’[i], such as the preponderance of clocks, shots of smokestacks and steam and so on, by signalling the use of weddings and funerals. Given this context, the figure of Noriko takes on added significance in these dramas; through marriage in Late Spring and Early Summer and through the death of her mother-in-law in Tokyo Story, she is literally embodied as the important link between one generation and the other. In the funeral sequence in Tokyo Story, for instance, the figure of Setsuko Hara is positioned centre-frame. The sign that Noriko has bridged the past and the present is given by her father-in-law Shukichi (Chishu Ryu) passing on his dead wife Tomi’s watch. In an exquisitely moving sequence, Ozu links the continuity of female sympathy and the awareness of the passage of generations by soon afterwards showing Kyoko, the youngest daughter and newly placed friend of Noriko, looking out of her school classroom. She glances at her watch as she gazes onto the, as yet, unseen space. Ozu then cuts to a shot of Noriko aboard the Tokyo bound train and she looks down at the watch given to her by Shukichi. Here, the two women are specifically linked by their joint apprehension of the continuity of time.

Hara’s nuanced and fluid performances thus clearly remind us that ‘Japaneseness’ always remains a mobile concept that must be understood according to historically specific terms and gendered differentials. To caution against any notion of an embedded fixity to the concept of a ‘national culture’ means instead to be aware of how the concept has been appropriated and, in turn, reformulated according to shifting social circumstances. I have so far argued that the post-war period in Japan saw much rapid and ongoing change, and it is tempting to say that Ozu’s filmic representations suggested a clearly separable set of differences between the old and the new. But this was not always the case. Rather, I want to argue that Setsuko Hara’s performances often activated a negotiation between the past and the present so that a more appealing consensual version of continuity, a sense of the past within the present, was formulated for national audiences. This can also be seen in the way her films appropriated discourses of the past and national tradition in their representations of place and femininity that lay outside the immediate sphere of the home.

Most national narratives, since they are organised along the principle of linear progression, evoke the idea of a journey. The developmental journey from pre-modern society to the modern is always seen as unfinished, in that there is always more to be achieved in the name of progress. This is necessary so that the contemporary citizen is allowed a part in the organisation of the way the future is going to be. It can be argued that in order for this narrative, this biography of nationhood, to be made sense of, a parallel journey must be conceived of to take account of the past. In the face of the contradictions of Japan’s post-war modernity, which existed partly because of the unresolved definition of the legacy of the war, and partly because of Japan’s unfinished engagement with the West, Hara’s female centred dramas for Ozu specifically enacted this process of two-way looking. Part of the reason that Ozu has been celebrated as the standard bearer of Japaneseness is that he appears to have undertaken this process of remembering, recording and inscribing what it means to be a citizen of Japan. His films worked as a form of census in that over time they captured the full range and vitality of the ordinary female and male members of the national community. The variety of social types and the attention given to modes and norms of everydayness constituted a kind of record. His films can even be seen as social and visual maps in that they describe with infinite precision the contours and details of places which, once again, seem chosen for their typicality. This much may be glimpsed in his representations of domestic space, but it can also be argued that the same is true for his many other destinations. Thus, for example, the railway, that all pervasive element of Ozu’s cinema, can now be seen in its fullest context. The train not only visualised the mapping of the nation to the audience by literally picturing transition from one place to another, be it the journey Setsuko Hara makes from Onomichi to Tokyo in Tokyo Story or the one she makes from Kamakura to Tokyo in Late Spring, it also suggested the two-way nature of modernity through the duality of departure and arrival inherent in the nature of travel. To get to one place you have to leave something behind.

Many of Setsuko Hara’s commercially successful films of the postwar period were home dramas which certainly coincided with a prevailing discourse which positioned women as facilitators of what Lisa Skov and Brian Moeran have called ‘a transition from a patrilineal household system … to a woman-centred nuclear family in which … men’s dominance in the public sphere was neatly complemented by women’s power at home’.[ii] But this evidently this did not mean a wholescale regressive tendency. Through the careful articulation of performance and spatial organisation, Hara’s films also suggested a set of negotiated tensions about the places women can occupy in a nation in which the values of tradition and modernity were in flux. The values and conflicts of contemporary urban life in the post-war period were dramatised by suggesting a prevailing sense of typicality and ordinariness. It was particularly because of the sophisticated range of the Shochiku female stars such as Hara that prominence was so clearly given to the way this ordinary feminine space became the field where the contemporary and the traditional were fought over. Today, these films appear to be items of history—exquisitely composed images of a world already largely gone. But in their day, when cinema was still the way any nation saw moving images of itself, Hara’s films spoke suggestively to a largely female mass entertainment audience ready to see an important visualisation of the necessarily two-way perspective it had on its own relationship to the national past and present.

 

Notes

[i] Kathe Geist, ‘The Role of Marriage in the Films of Yasujiro Ozu’, East-West Film Journal Vol. 4, no. 1 (December 1989), p. 46.

[ii] Lisa Skov and Brian Moeran, ‘Introduction: Hiding in the light: from Oshin to Yoshimoto Banana’ in Skov and Moeran (eds.), Women, Media and Consumption in Japan (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1995), pp. 23-4.

 

Notes on the Contributor

Dr Alastair Phillips holds a BA in Film & Media Studies and Art History from the University of Stirling and an MA and PhD in Film Studies from the University of Warwick. He has worked for the British Film Institute and the Edinburgh International Film Festival and lived and worked in France, Japan and Australia. After teaching in the Department of Film, Theatre and Television at the University of Reading for several years, he returned to Warwick in 2007. Alastair is an editor of Screen and currently serves as the journal’s Reports and Debates editor. He also serves on the Editorial Boards of the BFI’s Film Classics series and the Journal of Japanese and Korean Cinema.

Commercialisation as a Tool: The Commercial Transformation of the Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival

The Gay and Lesbian Films Season, now known as the Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival (HKLGFF), was founded in January 1989 by Edward Lam, a well-known Hong Kong film director and gay activist. It was the first time that Hong Kong held a LGBT-themed film event, and it was also the first time for such an event to take place in Asia. Before the new millennium, the Hong Kong Art Centre (HKAC)[1] organised the HKLGFF and Lam was the festival director who programmed the film festival. Lacking the experience of organising similar events, Lam made great efforts to adjust the programming style and enrich the forms of activities for the purpose of increasing the attendees as well as receiving the support from the local queer communities. The early HKLGFF has contributed to the prosperity of Hong Kong queer culture.[2] However, the failure of the box office impeded the development of the HKLGFF.[3] Due to the financial pressure and the disappointment from the Hong Kong queer communities, Lam decided to leave the HKLGFF in 1999.[4] Also, the HKAC suspended the festival in the same year. In 2000, Raymond Yeung, a film director, and Wouter Barendrecht, the founder of Fortissimo Films[5], brought the HKLGFF back to the public. Under the operation by Yeung and Barendrecht, and the HKLGFF gradually got rid of the previous style formed by the HKAC and Lam, and commenced the commercial transformation. Through the tough process for years, the HKLGFF has succeeded in transforming to the independent and commercial queer film festival recently.

Regarding the commercial transformation of the HKLGFF, Pang Ka Wai points out that the commercially transformed HKLGFF is male oriented, which means that the festival is operated based on the logic of the middle-class gay consumption, and argues that this commercially oriented logic weakens the political function of the HKLGFF.[6] The criticism of the HKLGFF will be analysed in detail. Nevertheless, the aim of this article is to critically rethink the commercialised phenomenon of queer film festivals and address the positive aspects that the commercialisation can lead to queer film festival by using the HKLGFF, particularly the period from 2000 till now as the example. I argue that the commercial transformation of the Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival can be a tool for pursuing queer political goals and realising social value through increasing the visibility of both HKLGFF and the local queer communities as well as diversifying the audience in the long run. In order to review the commercial transformation of the HKLGFF, this article firstly explores why and how the HKLGFF has gone through the commercial transformation, and then it illustrates what significance of the commercial transformation is to the film festival.

Before expanding the research topic in depth, the term commercialisation, or commercial transformation, needs clarification here.  Rebecca Finkel proposes three aspects from which commercialisation acts on arts festivals,

“It is suggested that arts festivals are affected by commercialisation processes in three different key ways: (1) when they are organised principally for financial gain and when revenue generation becomes the principal aim, (2) when they are sponsored by a for-profit enterprise and (3) when they become vehicles for executing economic agendas.”[7]

Simply speaking, her claim demonstrates that funding of the commercialised arts festivals mainly involves box office and commercial sponsorships, and the festivals regard making profits as a significant agenda. Hence, combining the key words addressed by Finkel, in the context of queer film festivals, the commercialisation of queer film festivals means that the funding of the queer film festivals is primarily made up by the box office and/or the commercial sponsorships, while the festivals perform the commercial agenda as one of the priorities for the financial sustainability. While the commercial transformation of queer film festivals can be interpreted in two ways. One is the process of altering funding pattern to the commercialised one, and another one is that the festivals execute the self-adjustment from various aspects, including programming, events, screening venues, and promotion, in order to accommodate the commercialised funding. Specifically, this article will investigate the commercial transformation of the HKLGFF from three aspects, including programming, screening venues and funding pattern, while these three aspects are closely connected and interactive.

According to Skadi Loist, the majority of queer film festivals are registered as the non-profit organisations. Although “commercialisation of non-profits occurs when these organisations decide to produce goods and services with the explicit intent of making a profit”.[8] The commercialised process does not change the essence of the non-profit entity to the business company. Tuula Mittila defines the commercialisation of non-profit organisations as “a strategic process of developing an organisation’s mission into products and services, marketing and management of stakeholder relations and relationships, both internal and external.”[9] It means that commercialisation is a method that facilities organisations to accomplish the mission, the character of non-profit organisation remains the same. Hence, as long as profits are utilised to cover the routine operation expenditure and to invest on achieving social values as well, the commercialisation will not cause the alteration of being the non-profit entities in essence.

 

Before the Transformation: The HKLGFF in the HKAC Period

The analysis starts from exploring the background before the appearance of the HKLGFF, which builds up the whole picture for the analysis. The background information of establishing the HKLGFF reveals the situation of holding gay films screenings in the 1980s. Edward Lam himself had planned and organised different types of events related to lesbian and gay film screening before the establishment of the HKLGFF. In 1982, he founded Zuni Icosahedron, a Hong Kong-based international experimental theatre company adopting art and culture as a means of political intervention. From 1985 to 1987, Zuni Icosahedron constantly screened the queer films of Western directors, such as Rainer Werner Maria Fassbinder and Pier Paolo Pasolini. The audience of the gay films screenings were mainly local and foreign gay men who were interested in art and cultural events. Moreover, this type of audience also shares some characteristics of the main audience of the HKLGFF, which will be deeply analysed later in the third section of this article. All these gay cultural practices were the prelude of the HKLGFF. While, regarding the story of the HKLGFF’s establishment, during a trip to Britain in 1987, Edward Lam was inspired by the local queer culture, and felt that the LGBT community in Hong Kong had no similar means or space to express itself. Lam then came up with the idea and the project plan of establishing a local queer film festival, which he proposed to the Hong Kong Arts Centre (HKAC), which is a non-profit arts organization, which aims to promote contemporary performing arts, visual arts, film and video arts and provide arts education, the following year. Two members of the film department of the HKAC at that time, Ain-ling Wong and Yau Ching, who were hugely interested in gender and sexual minorities, supported Lam’s idea and decided to facilitate the holding of the HKLGFF.

As noted above, Hong Kong Art Centre took the responsibility of hosting the HKLGFF from 1989 to 2001 (a period I will refer to as the HKAC period). Although the HKAC claims itself as a non-government organisation, the HKAC has had an extremely close relationship with the Hong Kong government since the preparatory stage of HKAC. The Hong Kong government is one of the main sponsors of the HKAC; the government also appoints main governors of the HKAC and pays their salaries. The HKAC is a partially governmental organisation, as the Hong Kong government does not interfere with the actual operation of the HKAC. Therefore, the HKLGFF is a partially government-funded festival. The HKAC fully supported the festival through providing funding and event venues. Except for several special events, almost all the screenings events took place in HKAC venues, including Lim Por Yen Film Theatre (now known as Agnès b. Cinema), McAulay Studio and Shouson Theatre. In addition, the HKAC took charge of the publicity as well as the administration of HKLGFF. The HKAC utilised its own resources as well as the experience of organising similar events to promote the HKLGFF.

Both the HKAC and Edward Lam had rich experiences of organising themed film screening events. However, the actual operation of the HKLGFF during the HKAC period was not smooth. Here are the three characteristics. Firstly, the HKLGFF was not constantly and annually organised. Two years after the first HKLGFF, the festival began to be held annually, but there were also discontinuations in 1996 and 1999, and in 1997, the festival was held twice. Thus, the intermittent operation indicates the difficulty and disorder of the HKLGFF organisation at the time. Secondly, the scale of the HKLGFF varied in every year in terms of the length of festival and the number of films selected. The first HKLGFF stretched across three months, but the fifth HKLGFF in 1995 lasted for 18 days. In addition, the HKLGFF held in 1992 selected only 22 films; while, the fourth HKLGFF, held in 1994, screened more than 100 films. Thirdly, the name of the festival changed repeatedly during the Lam period. First, it was called The Gay and Lesbian Films Season, then became The Gay and Lesbian Film Festival in 1992, but changed to the Lesbian and Gay Film Festival the next year. It was renamed again in 1998 as the Hong Kong Queer Film/Video Festival. The name change reflected the identity politics of programming and the theme of that year. Generally speaking, the HKLGFF was in effect held as an individual new event each time in the HKAC period.

The funding of the HKLGFF was not abundant. Travis Kong points out the “tight funding constraint” cannot meet the requirement of bounteously organising the festival.[10] Hence, the HKLGFF started to seek commercial sponsorship in the mid-stage of the HKAC period (from 1995). The prominent Hong Kong gay disco Propaganda[11] started to support the HKLGFF from 1995, and its sponsorship lasted more than two decades, until Propaganda was closed in 2016. Furthermore, several commercialised companies began to support the HKLGFF since 1998. In particular, the fashion brand Agnès b. built a close relationship with the HKLGFF. As a result, the sponsorships of HKLGFF have changed from the LGBT-related non-profit organisations to the commercial companies of different types, which included non-LGBT commercial ones. increasing commercial sponsorship indicates that it was harder for the HKAC to provide sustained funding to the HKLGFF. Meanwhile, this also marked the prelude to the commercial transformation of HKLGFF.

As to the reason why HKLGFF had to change its operational mode, one of the prime reasons was that the HKAC found it hard to support the festival as before, as the HKAC was suffering from financial hardship. According to Fung ManYee, the economic crisis in 1997 seriously affected the source of finance, which almost reduced by half the rental income of the HKAC in the following three years.[12] The income mainly comes from the rental of office and venues, while the financial crisis caused a severe house price drop. In addition, Hong Kong residents had less income for discretionary spending on arts and cultural activities during the economic crisis. The ticket sales and the tuition fees were significant revenue sources of the HKAC as well. The HKAC thus had insufficient funding to organise large-scale activities; the HKAC itself had difficulty maintaining its own internal operations.

 

Two Main Stakeholders: Fortissimo Films and Ekdo Film Ltd.

In March 2000, Raymond Yeung and Wouter Barendrecht renewed the film festival and officially changed the name of the festival to the Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival with the help of several Hong Kong filmmakers and film critics, such as Shu Kei. The HKAC did not entirely cut its relationship with the HKLGFF from the beginning of the transformation. It still hosted the festival in 2000 and then turned the relationship from one of fully hosting the HKLGFF to merely providing venues. In 2001, Wouter Barendrech and Raymond Yeung founded the Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival Society (HKLGFFS), a non-profit organisation that aims to promote equal opportunities and eliminate discrimination against sexual minority groups in Hong Kong through screening cinematic works and fostering a regular and stable audience base.[13] Since 2002, the HKLGFFS has been the official organiser of the HKLGFF. 2002 was the last year for HKAC to provide venues.

Since the break-up with the HKAC, the HKLGFF has relied on box office. With regard to state grants for film-related events in Hong Kong, the situation is tough, which means that the festivals in Hong Kong are hard to get the amount of public funding. The HKAC has not hosted or supported large-scale events such as film festivals since almost before the new millennium; neither is the Hong Kong government a significant financial source for local film festivals. Throughout the last decade, the Hong Kong Arts Development Council (HKADC)[14] has not granted funds to large-scale events like film festivals[15], so the HKLGFF cannot rely on funding from the HKAC or the government. The HKLGFF has to become an independently run queer film festival. Nevertheless, the commercial transformation of the HKLGFF has progressed slowly, especially at the early stage of the transformation. According to Pang, the HKLGFF was struggling with a severe commercial failure at the early 2000s; Yeung and Barendrecht underwrote a large part of the operating costs.[16] Only the two directors or the HKLGFFS cannot sustain the HKLGFF, it is necessary to cooperate with other stakeholders.

With the assistance of Barendrecht, the Fortissimo became one of the official sponsors of the HKLGFF, and this thoroughly changed its mode of operation. With the help of Fortissimo, the HKLGFF was able to “obtain internationally renowned films”[17] and in addition, acquire certain films with no rental cost.[18] To be more specific, the HKLGFF has screened more Asian gay films since Fortissimo joined the festival, because Fortissimo focuses on the Asian Market and it creates connections between Asian films and worldwide audiences. The Fortissimo also contributed to the operation of the HKLGFF in other regards. For example, as Denise Tang states, Barendrecht’s own social network secured support from local businesses, especially to promote “festival parties at [the] gay bar Propaganda with little cost.”[19] The opening and closing parties were held in the Propaganda and the bar also sponsored the events by providing the venues and parts of the drinks. As Raghan Rhyne observes, “Barendrecht’s own commercial success translated into a solid foundation of private funding for [the] HKLGFF.”[20] However, the relationship between the HKLGFF and Fortissimo is far more complex. As already noted, Yeung and Barendrecht founded the HKLGFFS in 2001, but the operations of the HKLGFF strongly relied on Fortissimo Films during the transition period. According to Tang, “Not only does the festival [use] Fortissimo Films’ address as the festival address, the festival’s bank account is also managed by the company’s administrative staff.”[21] An important lesion we can learn from the process is the significance of certain stakeholders. In the stakeholder configuration, not all the stakeholders plan an equally important role. Some are more influential during certain historical junctures.

Faced with the situation of the HKAC fading out of the operation of the HKLGFF, one of the top priorities of the HKLGFF was to find suitable screening venues. Broadway Cinematheque, a local multi-screen specialty venue in Kowloon’s Yau Ma Tei district, came to the rescue. In addition, more and more cinemas, situated in high-end shopping malls, gradually became main screening venues. The high-end shopping malls in Hong Kong normally are the multi-functional commercial space that provides western luxury brands of clothing and cosmetics, cinemas and chain restaurants. In 2003, Palace IFC started to screen some of the festival films, and by 2004 it had become one of the main screening venues, showing almost the same number of festival films as Broadway Cinematheque. Likewise, AMC Festival Walk has supported the HKLGFF since 2005. Situated in a large, high-end shopping mall, AMC Festival Walk drew audiences quite similar to those of Palace IFC as well. In 2006 and 2007, the number of films shown in these three cinemas was almost equal. Moreover, the festival has added two more screening venues, Broadway The One (the brand-new upscale cinema in The One in Kowloon District) and AMC Pacific Place (one of Hong Kong’s leading stadium-seating cinema in Pacific Place in Hong Kong Island) since 2008. In fact, these five cinemas, Broadway Cinematheque, IFC Palace, AMC Festival Walk, AMC Palace, and Broadway The One, all belong to the same Hong Kong film company, Edko Films Ltd. Founded in 1950, Edko Films Ltd. is one of the main Hong Kong based? film companies, which dedicates itself to film production, film distribution and cinema running.

As commercial transformation and the actual operation cannot only rely on Fortissimo Films and Edko Films Ltd., there are various kinds of commercial sponsorships collaborating with the HKLGFF, including non-LGBT international commercial companies and LGBT media outlets. For one thing, the non-LGBT sponsorships are provided entirely by international companies. The types of the companies vary, from fashion brands to hotels and restaurants. Dim Sum, which is one of the most successful local gay lifestyle magazines in Hong Kong, and Fridae, which is the leading gay online media in Asia, collaborate with the festival as its online media platforms. Particularly, due to Joe Lam, who is the current Festival Director and also the founder of Dim Sum, Dim Sum has become the official media sponsor of the HKLGFF since early in the new millennium.

 

The Debate: Queer vs Commercialisation

Skadi Loist and Ger Zielinski address the grass-roots characteristics of early queer film festivals by pointing out that the activist media practice and social movements, particularly women’s and gay liberation movements, significantly contributed to the appearance of queer film festivals, and the festivals were usually funded by grassroots queer activists.[22] The relationship between queer film festivals and queer activism indicates that the priority of queer film festivals is to pursue the political agenda of gay rights and community empowerment. However, many queer film festivals also have commercial considerations: they select the films that can attract a larger audience, and with more commercial value. To be specific, queer film festivals prefer to screen romantic gay films played by handsome and fit white males, and as a result, lesbian and transgender representations are screened far less frequently. According to her research on the commodification of lesbians, Danae Clark points out that the marketing of lesbian images is less accepted by mainstream audiences when compared to gay images.[23] In fact, the practice of screening more gay films than other types of queer films exists in numerous queer film festivals all over the world. Rosemary Hennessey argues that ‘the increasing circulation of gay and lesbian images in consumer culture has the effect of consolidating an imaginary, class-specific gay subjectivity for both straight and gay audiences.’[24] The representation that focuses on middle-class gay men can only appeal to a part of the audience who are interested in a specific type of queer film. This also means that the festivals fail to attract other types of audience from the local queer communities.

Capital is the key factor of this issue, which limits the representations as well as the types of audience. Alan Sears addresses this:

In this context of commodification, a person becomes visible as ‘queer’ only through the deployment of particular market goods and services. Others are invisible, either because they are literally left outside the door (for example, because they cannot afford the cover charge) or because they cannot look ‘gay’ and ‘lesbian’ if they are old, fat, skinny, transgendered, racialised, stigmatised as disabled or ill or obviously poor.[25]

Through the logic of commercialisation, only certain queer communities can receive benefits, while the interests of others are more or less sacrificed. Members of the local queer communities can be visibly queer only when they can afford the tickets and attend queer film festivals. Simply, capital makes queer visible, meaning that the commercially orientated queer film festivals marginalise diverse types of local queer communities, as opposed to embracing them.

Due to the participation of Fortissimo Films, the HKLGFF programming has been transformed since 2000. Lam once stated that only naked masculine bodies can sell tickets,[26] whilst Renee Penney points out that romantic comedy is a ‘popular audience draw’ for queer film festivals.[27] Gary Mak, the festival co-organiser, claimed that Yeung and Barendrecht ‘tried to bring in more accessible work than Edward’s style’,[28] meaning that they preferred to select films with comparative commercial value, including romantic gay films, comedy, gay films with graphic sex, and films with big stars. Several Hong Kong film scholars have criticised the programming of the HKLGFF mainly from two aspects. Firstly, Day Wong criticises the HKLGFF for its western programming style, pointing out that HKLGFF has shown quite a number of western queer films without Chinese subtitles.[29] The target audience of the films without Chinese subtitles is therefore restricted to people who have some knowledge of English, or to the foreigners working and living in Hong Kong. She criticised HKLGFF for being too reliant on the western-queer culture, and for having ‘failed to capture the Chinese experience of same-sex desire and relationships.’[30] Furthermore, HKLGFF has also been criticised in terms of its gay-orientated programming. Pang notes that the number of lesbian films has always been much lower than gay films since 2000.[31] This, she concludes, has been the case especially since 2000, where the number of gay films selected has been several times that of lesbian films.[32] The western-orientated programming is closely related to gay-orientated programming, and through the interviews of several female festival directors of the HKLGFF, such as Denise Tang and Yau Ching, Pang admits that lesbian films fail to generate a similar amount in the box office as gay films do.[33] Likewise, Joe Lam also indicates, ‘…we try to program lesbian films. The market is so small though and there aren’t very many good lesbian films every year…of course the gay films are going to be [more] popular than lesbian films.’[34] Therefore, in order for the film festival to remain sustainable, the majority of the films selected by the HKLGFF possess commercial value, which means that the programming fails entirely to consider the interests of the queer communities in Hong Kong. The representations of lesbian and transgender individuals are neglected by the HKLGFF, and the topics and genres of the films chosen by the programming committee are relatively monotonous, as many of the HKLGFF programmes are lacking in experimental films or documentaries with serious topics, such as HIV-AIDS.

The western- and gay-orientated programming can shape and draw in a certain type of audience of the HKLGFF. According to Pang, local middle-class gay men who are around 30 and of white orientation are the targeted audience that the festival has sought since the commercial transformation.[35] Similarly, as Denise Tang highlights, the core identity of the HKLGFF ‘has often [been] perceived as a primarily upper middle-class gay male event.’[36] It is necessary to clarify what type of the main audience actually is, and especially the term ‘middle class’. According to Lui Tai Lok, a person who earns a salary from 20, 000 HK dollars to 50, 000 HK dollars (approximately £2,000 to £5,000) can be defined as the middle class, although only from the economic perspective.[37] Meanwhile, lifestyle and educational background are also significant.[38] More specifically, the main and targeted audience of the HKLGFF are 30-year-old, well-educated gay men who earn at least 20,000 HK dollars per month and who are familiar with western culture and lifestyle. I will elaborate further on two aspects of the festival and the targeted audience. Firstly, the screening venues indicate the main type of audience of the HKLGFF. Tang states that the cooperation of the commercial cinemas in the financial district of Hong Kong ‘symbolises corporate wealth and global consumerist ideologies’, and the screening venues have inevitably ‘predetermined the target audience’ for the HKLGFF.[39] As previously mentioned, the HKLGFF organises screenings in commercial cinemas in high-end shopping malls, and the ticket prices are around 100 to 150 HK dollars, which is double and sometimes even triple the price of the tickets in HKAC’s screening venues. The price is not relative for the working-class audience. Additionally, the publicity is intentionally aimed at the middle-class gay audience. Dim Sum was published monthly and available free of charge at most gay venues in the city; however, it moved from print to online in January 2016. Due to its business success and popularity among Hong Kong’s middle-class gay community, Dim Sum contributes greatly to the promotion of the HKLGFF. The cooperation with Dim Sum is a reflection of the fact that the target audience of the HKLGFF are middle-class gay people interested in art and culture. Additionally, they are the potential customers of commercial sponsorships, and the commercial operation is therefore likely to marginalise lesbian, transgender, non-middle-class audiences.

 

Increasing the Visibility and Diversifying the Audience

The screening venues of the HKAC were almost all in the Wan Chai area, a major hub of foreign cultural institutions in Hong Kong. Except for the HKAC, the Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts and the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre were also used for organising various kinds of art and cultural activities. Thus, in the HKAC period, the HKAC could be seen as a “closet”, which is a comparatively safe space for the HKLGFF. As the law decriminalising male homosexual conduct was passed in 1991, the queer communities in Hong Kong were still “in the closet” in the 1990s.[40] The main audience of the cinemas is intellectuals, which means that the audience is comparatively a minority group. The HKLGFF used the HKAC as a cover, which was branded as an art event, to offer the ambiguity to the queer communities, not definitely showing their intent as well as their sexual identity. This kind of public space also provides privacy to its audiences.

However, the commercial transformation has forced the HKLGFF to come out from the “closet” to go into the broader public space. Unlike the venues of the HKAC, both the Broadway Cinematheque and the commercial cinemas in the high-end shopping malls do not attract a specific kind of audience, instead, they reach wider audiences. Broadway Cinematheque is located in the Yau Ma Tei neighbourhood in Yau Tsim Mong district, with the consequent convenient transportation for audiences who live in Mong Kok, Tsim Sha Tsui, and Sham Shui Po. As Mak points out, that Broadway Cinematheque is “more for local”.[41] Also, due to the fact that rental prices in Yau Ma Tei are much lower than in the Central area, the ticket prices at Broadway Cinematheque are slightly cheaper than those of other mainstream cinemas. Other four cinemas, including IFC Palace, AMC Festival Walk, AMC Palace, and Broadway The One, are all situated in high-end shopping malls. Furthermore, most of those shopping malls are in the Central and Tsim Sha Tsui area, the commercial golden zone. It is symbolically significant when the HKLGFF came to the public. Joe Lam sees cooperating with a number of commercial mainstream cinemas as a gradual process of “coming out.”[42] In other words, the newfound cooperation with mainstream cinemas, especially those in high-end shopping malls, represents the fact that the HKLGFF has left the comfort zone created by the HKAC and entered the broad public, in that various kinds of audiences comes to mainstream cinemas, unlike the culture-and-art lovers of the HKLGFF at the HKAC period. However, the commercial cinemas can also limit some types of audience, in the other way. Indeed, the article should address the fact that the screenings of the HKLGFF in the high-end shopping malls can relatively restrict the audience who are non-urban and not affluent, which also means the people at the bottom of Hong Kong society. Nevertheless, following the logic of commercialisation, the festival should pay more attention to the audience (middle-class) who are possible to provide comparatively more commercial value for the festival, as they can afford both tickets and various kinds of commercial events (such as opening and closing parties) held by the festival.

The high exposure of the HKLGFF in commercial space is able to attract different types of audience, in other words, it provides the possibility to diversify audience.  Broadway Cinematheque is semi-art house commercial cinema; hence, it has already formed a batch of moviegoers who are easier to accept comparatively non-mainstream films. Joe Lam claims the HKLGFF can attract the “indie film lovers, [who] might be here to watch their favourite movie star.”[43] In addition, screening in high-end shopping malls can attract two types of audience. First, these locations attract a gay audience that is not a frequent movie-goer. For example, in terms of the audience of the Palace IFC, Mak states that “There is a gay crowd coming down from the gym to the cinema.”[44] He continues: they are “more affluent and more English speaking. They talk more about consumption, lifestyle, and parties, instead of sharing about the film.”[45] They are not regular festival-goers, but they have chosen to join the festival, when visiting queer film festival becomes a kind of trendy consumer lifestyle that reflects good cultural ‘tastes’ and middle class distinction. Second, the HKLGFF can also appeal to ordinary customers, as customer flow rate of malls is extremely high. Although the interests of the local queer communities cannot be comprehensively considered, the film festival, in fact, are diversifying the audience base. Moreover, Joe Lam states that queer films are no longer only for queer communities[46]. In other words, from the viewpoint of festival committee, the HKLGFF should no longer only serve the queer community.

The HKLGFF has started to enter into university campuses since 2015. Aiming at achieving the social values, the HKLGFF has organised a campus tour during the festival period. Cooperating with the Red Ribbon Centre and different student groups, the HKLGFF presents short films of diverse topics related to queer life and culture. As a free event to college students, this campus tour carries out the educational function without distinct commercial considerations, which is also the way how the HKLGFF actively gets touch with younger generation. Nevertheless, from the perspective of business, getting touch with college students is able to cultivate the festival audiences of the next generation, and to have good publicity for the festival in the campus as well.

On the one hand, from the commercial perspective, diversifying audience contributes to box office success. As Richard Ohmann argues, “markets are shaped, not discovered.”[47] These newly formed audience can also secure the attendance of the festival. On the other hand, from the aspect of social value, attracting these audience can shape the audience basis for efficiently realising queer political goals. No matter how each queer film festival claims its social responsibilities and the political goals, the aim of most queer film festivals is to increase positive and diversified queer representations to the broader public. actually, these political goals are more for the general public, not aiming to the queer communities. It is difficult for queer film festivals to convey the messages of eliminating discrimination as well as increasing social acceptance from the broader. In addition, according to Nanna Heidenriech, who was the curator for the Berlinale program Forum Expanded, “no festival passively responds to a pregiven audience;” instead, film festivals “shape audience.”[48] Although the engagement is not straightforwardly or efficiently effectual, queer film festivals can instil the idea of equal rights in the long run.

 

Conclusion

In conclusion, after surviving a difficult period that lasted over a decade, the HKLGFF has become successful from the commercial standpoint in recent years. According to Gary Mak, “For the immediate figures, it is the box office [that counts]. So far, the festival has been doing well, especially in the last three to five years (interviewed by Stuart Richards in 2014), [when] we have been nearly sustainable just from the box office [takings] we earn.”[49] This claim shows the success of box office in the recent years, but also illustrates that the HKLGFF will maintain this type of operating model for the sustainability and the development of the festival. This article has highlighted the necessity of the commercialisation of small, local and independent queer film festivals, such as the HKLGFF. Nevertheless, both scholars and film festival curators have to think about the question of how this kind of queer film festivals can balance the commercial value and the social value with a limited budget.

The article has also illustrated that small local queer film festivals, such as the HKLGFF, are usually in cooperation with a few main stakeholders. The relationship between the festivals and the stakeholders is complex, while the impacts of the main stakeholders greatly influence the actual operation of the festivals. Furthermore, it is significant to consider the impacts of global networking of queer film festivals on the local queer film festivals when discussing the commercialised process and local specialities of the festivals.[50] This work open up the discussion of interpreting the commercialisation of local queer film festivals in the context of international and regional queer film festival circuit.

 

Notes

[1]          
A group of artists have come up with the idea of establishing a non-profit organisation to promote local art activity, and then wrote to the government to request a piece of land to build an art centre. Going through many hardships for years, with the help of Hong Kong Governor, HKAC was finally established with the new building in 1977.

[2]

Ta-wei Chi 紀大偉, “Fanyide Gongguan: Aizi, Tongzhi, Kuer,” 翻譯的公共: 愛滋, 同志, 酷兒 [Translation/Public: AIDS, ‘Tongzhi,’ and ‘Ku’er’] Bulletin of Taiwanese Literature臺灣文學學報 26 (2015): 91-92.

[3]

Xiaofei Zhen 甄晓菲, “Shishi Feifei Tongxinglian Yingzhan,” 是是非非同性恋影展 [Shishi Feifei: Queer Film Festival] 18 December 2007, Southern Weekly南方周末.

[4]

Ibid.

[5]

Funded in 1991 in Amsterdam, Fortissimo Films has been one of the world’s leading international film sales organisations, specialising in the production, presentation, promotion and distribution of award-winning and innovative feature films and documentaries by independent filmmakers from around the globe. For more information: http://www.fortissimofilms.com/about.

[6]

Pang Ka Wei 彭家維, ”Tamen de Gushi: Xianggang Tongzhiyingzhan Yanjiu”  她們的故事:香港同志迎戰研 究 [Herstories: The Research of Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival], (Master’s thesis, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2009), 111

[7]

Rebecca Finkel, “Re-imaging arts festivals through a corporate lens: a case study of business sponsorship at the Henley Festival,” Managing Leisure 15, no. 4 (2010): 238.

[8]

Howard P. Tuckman, “Competition, commercialisation, and the evolution of non-profit organisational structures” in Weisbrod, Burton A., ed. To profit or not to profit: The commercial transformation of the nonprofit sector, (Cambridge University Press, 2000), 26.

[9]

Tuula Mittilä, “Commercialisation of Non-Profit Organisations,” Lugano: The 19th Annual IMP Conference, 2003, 5.

[10]

Travis SK Kong, Chinese Male Homosexualities: memba, tongzhi and golden boy (London: Routledge, 2010), 70.

[11]

Propaganda (also known as PP) was the very first gay clubs in Hong Kong. Founded in 1991, PP was one of the most popular gay clubs, which was seen as part of Hong Kong queer culture. However, it was closed in February 2016. For more information: https://www.thestandnews.com/lgbtq/本地老牌 gay-bar 將結業-折 射 25 年來同志圈變化/.

[12]

Fung ManYee 馮敏兒, ”Art Centre 30th Anniversary,” AppleDaily HK, 28 February 2007, available online: http://hk.apple.nextmedia.com/supplement/culture/art/20070228/6855023 (accessed 8 October 2017).

[13] 

From the official website, http://www.hklgff.hk/about-us (accessed 6 October 2017).

[14]

Established in 1995, the Hong Kong Arts Development Council (HKADC) is a statutory body set up by the Government to support the broad development of the arts in Hong Kong. Its major roles include grant allocation, policy and planning, advocacy, promotion and development, and programme planning.

[15]              For more information: http://www.hkadc.org.hk/?p=2242&lang=en.

[16]              Pang, “Herstories,” 54.

[17]

Denise Tse-Shang Tang, Conditional Spaces: Hong Kong lesbian desires and everyday life, (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011), 176.

[18]

Stuart James Richards, The Queer Film Festival, Popcorn and Politics: Popcorn and Politics, (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), 82.

[19]

Denise Tang, “Demand for Cultural Representation: Emerging Independent Film and Video on Lesbian Desires,” in Futures of Chinese Cinema: Technologies and Temporalities in Chinese Screen Cultures, Olivia Khoo and Sean Metzger (eds.) (Bristol/Chicago: Intellect, 2009), 176.

[20]

Raghan Rhyne, “Comrades and citizens: Gay and lesbian film festivals in China,” in Film festival yearbook 3, ed. Dina Iordanova and Ruby Cheung (St Andrews Film Studies: 2011), 116.

[21]              Tang, “Demand for Cultural Representation,” 187.

[22]

Skadi Loist and Ger Zielinski, “On the development of queer film festivals and their media activism,” in Film Festival Yearbook 4, ed. Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin (St Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012), 49–50.

[23]

Danae Clark, “Commodity lesbianism,” in The Lesbian and Gay Studies Reader, ed. Henry Abelove (London: Routledge, 1993), 192.

[24]

Rosemary Hennessy, Profit and Pleasure: Sexual Identities in Late Capitalism (London: Routledge, 2002), 112.

[25]

Alan Sears, “Queer anti-capitalism: What’s left of lesbian and gay liberation?” Science & Society 69, no. 1: Special issue (2005): 108.

[26]              Zhen, “Shishi Feifei”.

[27]

Renee Penney, “Desperately Seeking Redundancy: Queer Romantic Comedy and the Festival Audience,” (Master Thesis, The University of British Columbia, 2010), 30.

[28]              Richards, The Queer Film Festival, 82.

[29]

Day Wong, “Hybridization and the emergence of ‘gay’ identities in Hong Kong and in China,” Visual Anthropology 24, no. 1–2 (2010): 157.

[30]              Ibid.

[31]              Pang, “Herstories,” 99–101.

[32]              Ibid.

[33]              Pang, “Herstories,” 90.

[34]              Richards, The Queer Film Festival, 202.

[35]              Pang, “Herstories,” 122.

[36]              Tang, “Demand for Cultural Representation,” 175.

[37]

Siu Chuen Ou 區少銓, “zhongchande dingyi he lifestyle,” 中產的定義及lifestyle [The Definition of Middle Class and Lifestyle] latest updated, March 15, 2013, available online: http://www.liberalstudies.hk/blog/ls_blog.php?id=1415 (accessed 8 May, 2018).

[38]              Ibid.

[39]              Tang, “Demand for Cultural Representation,” 176.

[40]

Travis SK Kong, Sky HL Lou, and Eva CY Li, “The fourth wave? A critical reflection on the tongzhi movement in Hong Kong,” in A critical reflection on the tongzhi movement in Hong Kong, M. McLelland and V. Mackie (eds.) (London and New York: Routledge, 2015), 192.

[41]              Richards, The Queer Film Festival, 232.

[42]

Chan Cow 陳奉京, “Jinjie Jujiao Kuaxingbie, Zongjian: Tongzhiyingpian Buzhigei Tongzhikan” 今屆聚焦跨 性別 總監:同志影片不止給同志看 [Focusing on Transgender, Festival Director: queer films are not only for Tongzhi], HK01. latest update, September 13, 2017, available online: https://www.hk01.com/藝文/117137/同志影展專訪上-今屆聚焦跨性別-總監-同志影片不止給同志看 (accessed 13 October, 2017).

[43]

Hsiu Wen Liu “Heart to heart: HK gay film festival seeks emotional appeal,” Asia Times, latest update, September 12, 2017, available online: http://www.atimes.com/article/heart-heart-hk-gay-film-festival-seeks-emotional-appeal/ (accessed 12 October, 2017).

[44]              Ibid.

[45]              Richards, The Queer Film Festival, 83.

[46]              Chan, “Jinjie Jujiao Kuaxingbie.”

[47]

Richard Malin Ohmann, Selling culture: Magazines, markets, and class at the turn of the century (London and New York: Verso Books, 1996), 91.

[48]

Michael Barrett, Charlie Boudreau, Suzy Capo, Stephen Gutwillig, Nanna Heidenreich, Liza Johnson, Giampaolo Marzi et al, “Queer Film and Video Festival Forum, Take One: Curators Speak Out,” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 11, no. 4 (2005): 591.

[49]              Richards, The Queer Film Festival, 133.

[50]

Julian Stringer, “Global Cities and International Film Festival Economy,” in Cinema and the City: Film and Urban Societies in a Global Context, Mark Shiel and Tony Fitzmaurice (eds.) (Oxford: Blackwell, 2001), 141.

 

Notes on the Contributor

Heshen Xie is a PhD student of Film and Television Studies at the University of Nottingham, currently doing a research on the Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. His research attempts to explore the relationship between the Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival and the global queer film festival circuit. Heshen completed the Master degree of Film Studies at King’s College London in 2016.

 

Bibliography

Barrett, Michael, Charlie Boudreau, Suzy Capo, Stephen Gutwillig, Nanna Heidenreich, Liza Johnson, Giampaolo Marzi et al. “Queer Film and Video Festival Forum, Take One: Curators Speak Out.” GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies 11, no. 4 (2005): 579-603.

 

Chan, Cow 陳奉京, “Jinjie Jujiao Kuaxingbie, Zongjian: Tongzhiyingpian Buzhigei Tongzhikan” 今屆聚焦跨 性別 總監:同志影片不止給同志看 [Focusing on Transgender, Festival Director: queer films are not only for Tongzhi], HK01. latest update, 13 September, 2017, https://www.hk01.com/藝文/117137/同志影展專訪上-今屆聚焦跨性別-總監-同志影片不止給同志看 (accessed 13 October, 2017).

 

Chi, Ta-wei, 紀大偉. “Fanyide Gongguan: Aizi, Tongzhi, Kuer.” 翻譯的公共: 愛滋, 同志, 酷兒 [Translation/Public: AIDS, ‘Tongzhi,’ and ‘Ku’er’] Bulletin of Taiwanese Literature臺灣文學學報 26 (2015): 75-112.

 

Clark, Danae. “Commodity lesbianism.” In The lesbian and gay studies reader. Edited by Henry Abelove, 186-201. London: Routledge, 1993.

 

Finkel, Rebecca. “Re-imaging arts festivals through a corporate lens: a case study of business sponsorship at the Henley Festival.” Managing Leisure 15, no. 4 (2010): 237-250.

 

Fung, ManYee 馮敏兒. “Art Centre 30th Anniversary.” AppleDaily HK, 28 February 2007. http://hk.apple.nextmedia.com/supplement/culture/art/20070228/6855023 (accessed 8 October 2017).

 

Hennessy, Rosemary. Profit and Pleasure: Sexual Identities in Late Capitalism. London: Routledge, 2002.

 

Kong, Travis SK. Chinese Male Homosexualities: memba, tongzhi and golden boy. London: Routledge, 2010.

 

Kong, Travis SK, Sky HL Lou, and Eva CY Li, “The fourth wave? A critical reflection on the tongzhi movement in Hong Kong.” In A critical reflection on the tongzhi movement in Hong Kong. Edited by M. McLelland and V. Mackie, 188-201. London and New York: Routledge, 2015.

 

Liu, Hsiu Wen. “Heart to heart: HK gay film festival seeks emotional appeal.” Asia Times, latest update, 12 September, 2017. http://www.atimes.com/article/heart-heart-hk-gay-film-festival-seeks-emotional-appeal/ (accessed October 12, 2017).

 

Loist, Skadi, and Ger Zielinski. “On the development of queer film festivals and their media activism.” In Film festival yearbook 4. Edited by Dina Iordanova and Leshu Torchin, 49-50. St Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2012.

 

Mittilä, Tuula. “Commercialisation of Non-Profit Organisations.” Lugano: The 19th Annual IMP Conference, 2003.

 

Pang, Ka Wei. 彭家維. “Tamen de Gushi: Xianggang Tongzhiyingzhan Yanjiu.”  她們的故事:香港同志迎戰研究 [Herstories: The Research of Hong Kong Lesbian and Gay Film Festival]. Master’s thesis, The Chinese University of Hong Kong, 2009.

 

Penney, Renee. “Desperately Seeking Redundancy: Queer Romantic Comedy and the Festival Audience.” Master Thesis, The University of British Columbia, 2010.

 

Richards, Stuart James. The Queer Film Festival, Popcorn and Politics: Popcorn and Politics. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016.

 

Rhyne, Raghan. “Comrades and citizens: Gay and lesbian film festivals in China.” In Film festival yearbook 3. Edited by Dina Iordanova and Ruby Cheung, 110-124. St Andrews: St Andrews Film Studies, 2011.

 

Ohmann, Richard Malin. Selling culture: Magazines, markets, and class at the turn of the century. London and New York: Verso Books, 1996.

 

Ou, Siu Chuen. 區少銓. “zhongchande dingyi he lifestyle.” 中產的定義及lifestyle [The Definition of Middle Class and Lifestyle] latest updated, March 15, 2013. http://www.liberalstudies.hk/blog/ls_blog.php?id=1415 (accessed 8 May, 2018).

 

Sears, Alan. “Queer anti-capitalism: What’s left of lesbian and gay liberation?.” Science & Society 69, no. 1: Special issue (2005), 92-112

 

Stringer, Julian. “Global Cities and International Film Festival Economy.” In Cinema and the City: Film and Urban Societies in a Global Context. Edited by Mark Shiel and Tony Fitzmaurice, 134–144. Oxford: Blackwell, 2001.

 

Tang, Denise Tse-Shang. Conditional Spaces: Hong Kong lesbian desires and everyday life. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2011.

 

Tang, Denise. “Demand for Cultural Representation: Emerging Independent Film and Video on Lesbian Desires.” In Futures of Chinese Cinema: Technologies and Temporalities in Chinese Screen Cultures. Edited by Olivia Khoo and Sean Metzger, 169-190. Bristol/Chicago: Intellect, 2009.

 

Tuckman, Howard P. “Competition, commercialisation, and the evolution of non-profit organisational structures.” In To profit or not to profit: The commercial transformation of the nonprofit sector. Edited by Weisbrod, Burton A, 25-46. Cambridge University Press, 2000.

 

Wong, Day. “Hybridization and the emergence of ‘gay’ identities in Hong Kong and in China.” Visual Anthropology 24, no. 1-2 (2010): 152-170.

 

Zhen, Xiaofei. 甄晓菲, “Shishi Feifei Tongxinglian Yingzhan.” 是是非非同性恋影展 [Shishi Feifei: Queer Film Festival] 18 December 2007. Southern Weekly南方周末.

 

Introduction: Setsuko Hara at St Andrews, and now in Frames

The essays in this section, dedicated to Japan’s most admired and universally adored actress, Setsuko Hara (1920-2015) were first presented as part of the IGCCC workshop on 5 February 2018, dedicated to commemorating her amazing life and oeuvre. Her presence in the films of Yasujirō Ozu, Akira Kurosawa, Mikio Naruse and many others made Hara one of the most memorable faces in the history of cinema at large, even if she withdrew from acting in her early 40s and never appeared in film after 1962.
We screened one of Hara’s earliest films, the German-Japanese co-production THE NEW EARTH (a.k.a. The Daughter of the Samurai/Atarashiki Tsuchi/新しき土) 1937, directed by Arnold Frank and Mansaku Itami – in the version directed by Frank. Even though this was not her first role, Hara is only 17 years old when she appeared in the film, in a period that was marked by substantial propagandistic and political upheavals. In the presentations that followed, we heard from historian Konrad Lawson (St Andrews), who gave a fascinating contextualisation of the complex period in which Hara started her career. Other contributors included our colleague Philippa Lovatt (St Andrews), Bruce Chu (Communication University of China), and Alex Zahlten (Harvard University).

Frames is privileged to present three of the essays that were created specifically as part of Hara’s commemoration. Joel Neville Anderson’s (Rochester/Japan Cuts) video essay gives a deeply personal heartfelt overview of her presence in cinema. This is followed by Jennifer Coates (Kyoto U./University of East Anglia) illustrated essay on Hara’s image in gossip media and by Alastair Phillips’s (Warwick) finely crafted exploration of space and transition in Hara’s films.
This was IGCCC’s first workshop to celebrate the work of a female artist, part of our series of events that mark the oeuvre of cineastes that have passed away in recent years. Other such events were dedicated to Abbas Kiarostami, Andrzej Wajda, Om Puri, and Wu Tianming.

Dina Iordanova, Director of the Institute of Global Cinema and Creative Cultures

Framed Space and Framing Spaces: 61st BFI London Film Festival in Review

A film is being prepared. Red curtains drape in the cinema. Silence exudes through space. Meanwhile tourists stroll just a few feet away, through a quintessentially British lounge – perky, spacious, teeming cold-grays – of the Film Institute on the South Bank. A café flourishes with polemics among friends, the smell of grounded coffee filing the air, a modest attempt to induce the European into the wet sleepy London morning. At other times the café just stays empty. Perhaps it is not the film they came for. However, the films are the main event. Abbas Kiarostami’s 24 Frames, charged with the director’s love for painting and photography, begins the proceedings in the main venue on the South Bank. Kiarostami is a name whose grip on Iranian cinema has long been felt: as some critics have pointed out, he is a bridge between the Iranian tradition that includes Dairush Mehrjui and Bahram Beyzai and the new (post-1990s) innovators, from the Makhmalbafs and Bahman Ghobadi to their contemporary heirs. His final film marks – historically – a quiet end to a fine oeuvre.

2017’s 61st edition of the BFI London Film Festival screened an immense amount of world cinema in a host of diverse venues, scattered across, more or less, central London. These venues comprised a mix of West End and non-West End theatres, pulpy retro salas and post-modern halls, and some – like the Hackney Picturehouse – that appear old-fashioned on the outside but newfangled on the inside. Most cinemas are within relative walking distance of each other, with the exceptions of those like the Hackney, and the aptly-named Rich Mix, an off-beat kaleidoscopic-patterned cinema stationed near the British Library. While the South Bank is one of the primary venues for new talents, other cinemas do their part in the line-up. The neon-lit Curzon Soho, as well as its more distanced Curzon Chelsea and Mayfair, screen a handful of important new European cinema. Besides smaller, specialized venues, there are the giants in town. The Empire Haymarket and Odeon Leicester Square monoliths together house well over 2000 seats in a space shaped gallantly by classicist atriums. Although typically reserved for blockbuster fare, this festival they were places for showing rarely-seen treasures of world cinema. The 4K restoration of avant-garde Japanese Funeral Parade of Roses, directed by Toshio Matsumoto, took on the Empire. It also screened rather expectedly, although appropriately, at the Grecian Institute of Contemporary Arts. Both venues are appropriate for seeing a film which retains a taste of grungy artistic modernism and self-aggrandizing scope. It is good to see a film that reached from formally breaking Nuberu bagu tradition in Japan to exerting influence on the other side of the globe, most considerably Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange, back on the screen. The line-up of restorations continued with beautiful piece of British cinema The L-Shaped Room (Bryan Forbes, 1962) and stifling pieces of political cinema, including Mauritanian-French Soleil O (Med Hondo, 1967) and Cuban Lucia (Humberto Solás, 1968), screening in the South Bank. The restorations of diverse traditions meet their modern counterparts in venues that include: the Institute of Contemporary Arts, evocative of ancient tradition; the modern South Bank; and the giant Empire Haymarket.

The avant-garde is perhaps the most difficult of all types of film form to behold or interpret. The festival was not short on avant-garde, or films with pretense to that title, showcasing films that are in the very least experimental with form. Films like Elegy (Paul Bush, 2017), Olly Olly Oxen Free (Julia Dogra-Brazell, 2017), Films to Break Projectors (Ilobia, 2016), Meridian Plain (Laura Kraning, 2017) and Buried in Light (Gautam Valluri, 2016) all play with (meta) physicality of form, be it in: creating tension between light and darkness, electricity and cranking of machines, film reels, cuts and sparks; collapsing 35mm against 70mm and digital; or simply capturing empty palaces and dark tinted spaces of memory that invoke Robert Beavers. The meaning can often be hard to extract as most of the films rely on their sensory affect, which make some of them reach nearly all the way into one’s subconscious, while lacking some of the freshness of touch, formal virility and dry wit that constitute the best of avant-garde cinema. Nonetheless, the stylistic blend of venues, from the gray futurisms (South Bank) to the ultra-modern screens housed within Victorian edifices (Hackney Picturehouse) in which the experimentalists premiered provide the perfect ‘enclosure’ for their projects. The large block-letter sign outside the Hackney reading ‘CINEMA’ may as well belong to a Peter Greenaway film, the avant-garde selections premiering within representing a step closer to this self-conscious identification of film and exhibition practice.

Finally, after all the venues and films, one major thing in festival reviews is forgotten: the importance of animation. This festival showed many animations, including endearing pieces from the Netherlands, Spain and Canada. However, two cinematic new-comers prove most perceptive. First, Eva Cvijanović, director of Croatian-Canadian Hedgehog’s Home adapted a story of Yugoslav writer Branko Ćopić that attends to the quarrels of a hedgehog and a fox. Second, Dimitris Simou, director of the Greek-British Maybe It’s Me, uses pixilated animation to envision the fragmented nature of memory and time in constituting the soulful relation of a boy and his grandfather.

In the former, the wooly light-shimmering animation of Hedgehog’s Home, blended with morning-haze candlelight, details a hedgehog trying to preserve its small hut under threat from other animals, led by the fox in a Shakespearan linguistic to-and-fro. The film, however, most of all speaks to the integrity and peace of mind (precisely the Serbo-Croatian ‘um’) that one needs to guard carefully during times of peace and adversity alike. In other words, it is about ‘Imati unustrasnji stav’ (loosely translated as ‘having an inner stance’) which, once acquired, preserves you and those around you. The animation may too easily be compared with Wes Anderson; its semblance is far closer to the innovation, lightness-of-touch and existentiality of subject associated with the Zagreb School of Animation. It possesses a genuine filmmaking, bearing the flare of everyday life and breath of inspiration that needs to be all the more supported in today’s industrialization of film form. I look forward to a feature from Cvijanovic, and I hope others get to see this film, along with her equally great personal-documentary Baka Dana. In the latter case, the splintering pixilated animation of Maybe It’s Me brings to life the boy’s memories from first and third person perspectives: the small house, the fresh food awaiting the boy, the sitting on the beach – the pain of thistles and sea objects digging into his foot. Chiaroscuro lights the boy’s quests through the house of memory. A breakdown process occurs, as animation stops: a voiceover speaking of suffering is contrasted to a physical mouth being drawn, yet still unable to utter words. Pain is felt in the image. The boy has a final embrace with the grandfather whom he tries to retain in his memory, not to forget the inner importance of their relationship. The film represents a fine start in using fragmented animation to engage emotional turmoil. Using the virtues of animation more subtly to transform the end’s coldness into warmth, exterior emotional turmoil into inner spiritual warfare, may help the director to build on the human condition painting began with this work.

Overall, the BFI Film Festival of 2017 fused the past with the present: restorations of tradition with the newcomers yet to build tradition. It bore a mix of social realist film, documentary, avant-garde, experimental and animation cinema, all housed within easily accessible, vibrant venues that range from houses of ancient tradition to those with a vital sense of modernity.

Notes on Contributor

Mina Radovic is a Master of Arts Student of Film Studies and German Language, Literature and Linguistics at the University of St Andrews. He is a filmmaker and also writes regularly for international film and academic journals. Mina runs the Liberating Cinema Project, bringing newly-restored masterworks of world cinema to the UK. His research interests are in archiving and preservation, film history and historiography, Yugoslav cinema, world cinema and, in particular, the links between voyeurism and spectatorship in the cinema of Pier Paolo Pasolini.

Uruguayan Cinema, 1960-2010. Text, Materiality, Archive

By Beatriz Tadeo Fuica
Tamesis, 2017
Reviewed by Isabel Seguí

Some books are more instrumental than others. Beatriz Tadeo Fuica’s recently published Uruguayan Cinema, 1960-2010. Text, Materiality, Archive is one of those volumes that comes to fill a long overdue gap in research. Moreover, the author does so in a monography that belongs to and acknowledges a new wave of local film scholarship conducted by her own generation of young Uruguayan film historians. The result is a comprehensive review of fifty years of cinema history in the South American country, taking into account not only the filmic texts (aesthetics and representation) but their physicality and the material course followed by these ‘bodies’ —towards preservation or vanishing— throughout different support media.

Tadeo’s book is the distilled result of her thorough doctoral dissertation conducted in an Anglo-Saxon university (St Andrews). The text was awarded the Publication Prize by the Association of Hispanists of Great Britain and Ireland in 2014. In my view, the author’s approach and methodology benefit from a dual positionality, her origin as a Uruguayan national and the fact of having developed her writing in a British academic environment. Tadeo is an insider; she understands Uruguayan national history and politics in an all-encompassing way, and this translates to her interpretation of the films, which is nuanced, marked by a focus on complexity. Furthermore, there is a constant reminder on the part of the author of the tensions and negotiations present in each historical period and how they affect Uruguayan filmmaking in all its facets. In addition to being an insider, she has received a positive influence from the academic culture within which she raised her research. This can be noticed in the theoretical framework and the writing of the book, in particular, the precise communication of ideas. The author balances her two origins and influences in a way that guarantees the completeness of the result.

If the aim of the editors, and the author, was to situate the volume as a baseline for the under-researched field of Uruguayan cinema, the target has been achieved by its strong structure, strictly chronological order, and clear layout, which makes it easy to use as a reference book. After the introduction, there are four chapters. The first one is devoted to the cinema of the long 1960s. The second is focused on the cinema produced during the dictatorship (1973-1985). The third addresses the transition to democracy (1985-2000). And the last chapter analyses Uruguayan cinema during the first ten years of the 21st century. Every chapter is divided into the same sections: a historical contextualisation, a succinct account of the country’s tendencies in filmmaking during the period, and an in-depth analysis of three filmic texts and their materiality and current archival situation.

This last perspective, is probably, one of the main contributions of the book to the broader field of Latin American film studies. As the author notes in the conclusion: “the approach presented here, incorporating in the films’ analyses the experience of the archive and the condition of the copy used for research, could certainly be beneficial for the study of the cinema of several other nations, especially those which do not have an established film heritage and filmmaking tradition.”[1] This is an exciting methodological suggestion for those researching marginal cinematographies, and Tadeo’s book showcases how useful it is to track the copies that we hold, to understand the palimpsestic conformation of the filmic bodies on which the researchers are working.

Another significant contribution of the author is her interest in all types of formats and gauges. Tadeo advocates, programmatically, for a revision of the definition of cinema adapting it to the material context of production. In order to recover cinema history in countries without film industry, the researcher is forced to look beyond the production of feature films in 35mm. Consequently, it becomes an indispensable shift in the study of Latin American cinema in any national context to include small gauges and video as preeminent objects of research.

Following the last premise, the book takes twelve variegated film texts as case studies, and through them, the author transmits the fascinating sophistication behind every film process. For instance, the first movie analysed is the short documentary La ciudad en la playa (The City on the Beach; Ferruccio Musitelli with Sheila Henderson and Juan José Noli, 1961), funded by the National Office of Tourism to promote Uruguay as a vacation destination. This piece that started being promotional material has ended up being part of the canon of the Latin American experimental and avant-garde cinema. Or, the case of the documentary Carlos: Cine-retrato de un caminante en Montevideo (Carlos: Film-portrait of a Homeless Walker in Montevideo; Mario Handler, 1965) funded by an educational institution, the University Film Institute of Universidad de la República, with the intention of conducting a sociological research but which ended up being a piece of political denunciation due to the approach provided by its director. The film that closes the first chapter is Refusila (GEC, 1969) as a case study of the militant cinema developed in the country.

In the second chapter devoted to the cinema during the dictatorship, Tadeo shows how the inxiled artists managed to make subversive films using apparently innocent formats such as children’s animation in the case of El honguito feliz (The Happy Mushroom; CINECO, 1976). Or how the dictatorship collaborated with American educational film companies in the creation of docudramas such as Gurí (Eduardo Darino, 1978). Or the strategies used to interpret the events of the time critically —while avoiding censorship at the same time— using filmic reenactments of historical events, like in the case of the film Mataron a Venancio Flores (Venancio Flores was Killed; Juan Carlos Rodríguez Castro, 1982).

In chapter three are addressed the post-dictatorship moment and the transition to the video era. In that period, both state and television channels started supporting films such as El cordón de la vereda (The Kerb; Esteban Schroeder, 1987). Moreover, other commercial and political and technological complexities of Uruguayan cinema are addressed here, using the coproduction El dirigible (The Airship; Pablo Dotta, 1994) and the state-funded Una forma de bailar (A Way of Dancing; Álvaro Buela, 1997) as case studies.

The last chapter addresses 25 Watts (Pablo Stoll and Juan Pablo Rebella, 2001), a milestone of Uruguayan cinema at the beginning of the 21st century that marked the start of the producing company Control Z, which has built an international reputation. The second film analysed is Hit! Historia de las canciones que hicieron historia (Hit! History of Songs that Made History; Claudia Abend and Adriana Loeff, 2008), an indy documentary about the political use of popular music by the dictatorship. The last case study of the book is a fully digital production Reus (Pablo Fernández, Alejandro Pi and Eduardo Piñeiro, 2010). Here the author reflects on how the disappearance of film stock has allowed for a democratisation of the commercial access for marginal national cinematographies, such as the Uruguayan.

Through the pages of Uruguayan Cinema, 1960-2010. Text, Materiality, Archive, the reader navigates a universe of iconic institutions —such as SODRE (Official Service for Radio-television) or Cinemateca del Tercer Mundo (Third World Cinematheque)—, cinematic collectives —such as CINECO (Film Cooperative), GEC (Experimental Film Group), CEMA (Centre for Audiovisual Media), and individual filmmakers— although the emphasis is never auteurist. Tadeo has combed the institutional archives, has interviewed and accessed the personal files of a myriad of filmmakers and has established fruitful personal relationships with them that permeate the text of the book. Outstandingly, the author manages to keep accessible and clear the enormous amount of information behind this history of fifty years of Uruguayan cinema, without losing any rigour or simplifying excessively the portrait. Finally, in her conclusion, Tadeo invites other investigators to further the research conducted by her and her colleagues of GESTA (Group of Audiovisual Studies based at Universidad de la República), because Uruguay is undergoing momentous change not only regarding audiovisual studies but film heritage policies, funding bodies, film contests and alternative exhibition outlets. Tadeo’s book has arrived in the right moment to help to ground all this effervescence into a solid —although flexible and purposely unfinished— account of Uruguayan cinema.

 

Notes

[1] Beatriz Tadeo Fuica. Uruguayan Cinema. Text, Materiality, Archive. Woodbridge: Tamesis, 2017: 149.