Cities in Film: Architecture, Urban Space and the Moving Image

An International Interdisciplinary Conference

University of Liverpool, 26-28th March 2008

Conference Proceedings.

This conference is organised by the School of Architecture and School of Politics and
Communication Studies. The AHRC-funded research project, entitled City in Film:
Liverpool's Urban Landscape and the Moving Image, is conducted by Dr Julia Hallam
(principle investigator), Professor Robert Kronenburg (co-investigator), Dr Richard Koeck
and Dr Les Roberts.

This conference is supported by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) and the
University of Liverpool.

Cover design: Richard Koeck and Les Roberts.

Copyright cover image: Angus Tilston.
Edited by Julia Hallam, Robert Kronenburg, Richard Koeck and Les Roberts.

Please note that authors are responsible for copyright clearance of images reproduced in the
proceedings.
Cities in Film: Architecture, Urban Space
and the Moving Image
An International Interdisciplinary Conference
University of Liverpool, 26-28th March 2008

Cities in Film explores the relationship between film, architecture and the urban
landscape drawing on interests in film, architecture, urban studies and civic design,
cultural geography, cultural studies and related fields. The conference is part of
University of Liverpool's contribution to the European Capital of Culture 2008, and aims
to foster interdisciplinary dialogues around architectural and film history and theory,
film and urban space, and to point towards new intellectual frameworks for discussion. It
seeks to draw on the work of theorists and practitioners engaged in ideas in these areas,
examining film in the context of urban design and development and exploring in
particular the contested social, cultural and political terrain that underpins these
practices.

Edited by

Dr Julia Hallam
Professor Robert Kronenburg
Dr Richard Koeck
Dr Les Roberts

School of Architecture
The University of Liverpool
Leverhulme Building
Abercromby Square
Liverpool, L69 3BX

T: +44 (0)151 794 2631

F: +44 (0)151 794 2605
E-mail: [email protected]

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 CITIES IN FILM: ARCHITECTURE, URBAN SPACE AND
THE MOVING IMAGE

Table of Contents
1. ABSTRACTS 5

2. DELEGATE PAPERS SUBMITTED FOR PROCEEDINGS

Tuba eyda Akehir 36

A Step into the City: Use of Haydarpaa Station as a city
gate in Turkish Cinema after 1960

Helena Barranha 44
Views from above: cinema and urban iconography after
Google Earth

Bulent Batuman 49
City, Image, Nation: the visual representation of Ankara and
the making of national subjects

Iris Burgers 57
Transient glamour: the filmic representation of airports and
its relation to real life architectural developments

Graham Cairns 64
The city, the car and filmic perception: the commonalities
between Robert Venturi and Michelangelo Antonioni.

Teresa Castro 70
Cinema's Mapping Impulse and the City

Jessica Ka-yee Chan 77

Third Meshchanskaia and The Goddess: Crafing Gendered
Space in Cinematic Modernity

Maurizio Cinquegrani 83
Modernity and Colonized Otherness: Early Actuality Films of
London's Exhibitions

Philip Drummond 89
Space, Narrative and Iconicity in Cinematic Representations
of London's East End

Gordana Fontana-Giusti 95
Avant-Garde film - and Its Role in Understanding the Space
of the City

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Ken Fox 102
The Three Spatialities of Los Angeles Latino/a Cinema

David Foxe 107

"Know the Territory!" Bridges, Musicals, and Urbanism

Karen Gaskill 115

Barge Culture - The ebb and flow of cultural traffic

Tessa Maria Tan Guazon 121

Urban Decay, Redemption and the Feminized City Filmic
Articulations of Revive Manilas renovated parks

Theodora Hadjiandreou 129

Touchez pas au Grisbi (1954), Du Rififi chez les Hommes
(1955) and Bob le Flambeur (1956); Discussing Criminal
Paris, Spatial Representation, Memory and Modernity in
mid-1950s

Richard Koeck 135

Cine-Tecture: a filmic reading and critique of architecture in
cities

Claudia Lima 142

Filmic Narratives of the City

Salvator-John Liotta 149

Tokyo: Cartography of a Cine-City: A Study about the
Identity of a City and its relation with Moving Images

Raymond Lucas 157

Acousmtric Architecture: Filmic Sound Design and its
Lessons for Architects

Louise Mackenzie 165

From The Circular Boulevard To The Merry-Go-Round-A-
Bout: The Lamentation (Tativille) And Resolve Of The
Destruction And Loss Of Paris In Jacques Tati's Play Time

Jonathan Mosley and Lee Stickells 171

Film/Architecture/Narrative

Miho Nakagawa 178

The productions of multi-layered space in Japenese anime:
Mamoru Oshii's Patlabor, Tokyo

Afroditi Nikolaidou 186

Cinematic Uses of Athenian Monuments, or revisiting the '
Athenian Glory

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 Irina Novikova 193
Baltics Images of City and Europeanness in Soviet Cinema

Arbil Otkunc 200

Non-places at Cinema

Ashley Perry 207

Car City: a documentary film mapping the components,
modalities and malfunctions of Melbourne's regime of
automobility

Les Roberts 213

Cinematic Cartography: Movies, Maps and the Consumption
of Place

Eva Russell 221

Framing the Scene: A Cinematic Approach to a
Redevelopment at the Halifax Waterfront

Megan Saltzman 228

Gentrification and Spatial Tactics in Jos Luis Guerns En
construccin

Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska 234

Empty Spaces? The Images of Berlin

Merrill Schleier 240

Harold Lloyds Safety Last (1923): Gendered Celebration of
Los Angeless Modernity

Lily Shirvanee 247

Mapping Narrativity in Public Space

Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles 252

One Week By Buster Keaton - Envisioning Prefab
Architecture in Motion

Luis Urbano 261

Films of Towns

Ricarda Vidal 268

A Journey for Body and Mind? The Urban Dreams of
Modernism in Matthias Mllers shortfilm Vacancy and in
21st-Century Car Commercials

Kate Wells, Eva Nesselroth-Woyzbun and Julie Nagam 275

Projecting and Performing the contested Landscape of
Toronto Through the Archive and Film

3. DELEGATE LIST 281

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ABSTRACTS

A Step Into The City Use of Haydarpaa Station as a city gate in Turkish Cinema
after 1960

Tuba eyda Akehir

As a result of political course and social change, in Turkey, a rapid migration was occured
after 1950. Unemployment, distress of subsistence and claim for a better life were the most
important reasons of this social fact. The reasons of this migration and the difficulties faced
by immigrants in cities were moved to the white screen by movies produced after 1960. In
almost all films, migration was to stanbul.

Directors use variable forms of connections and interfere of immigrant defined at cultural and
architectural dimensions with city as a background (slums, gettos ect.). The question is
whether the problem in survival of immigrant in the city is himself who failed to adopt or the
city / the citizen who failed to create spaces for them. Regardeless of the answer given in the
end, almost all movies starts to tell their story from the same place; Haydarpaa Station.
Hopeful immigrant steps into the city from this historical building. Researching the
persistence of directors in using the station as background at the same time in movies is the
main goal of this paper.

Stations- bus-terminals, airports are interspaces between arrival and departure place. They
are the gates of citites. Since 1908, Haydarpaa Station has connected Anatolia to stanbul and
stanbul to Anatolia. The research will analyse station in terms of its historical meaning,
architectural features and its location in stanbul, in depth. Answers will be given to questions
like, whether it is a cliche to use Haydarpaa Station in this frequency or the peak point of the
migrants journey to hope, bewitched by these features of the station is speacially
emphasized. Even now, the traces of the station as a space in our memories, with quite the
meanings mentioned above, have close relation with the senses established in movies .
___________________________________________________________________________

The construction of Urban Pastoral and the Carnivalisation of landscape through

cinema

Ana Francisca de Azevedo

This paper explores the role of cinema in the cultural construction of the city. Particularly, it
explores how the ideological construction of the urban pastoral nurtured by the Portuguese
fascist regime was destilled through the filmic work of the Portuguese architect Cottinelli
Telmo. Cottinelli Telmo was a central architect for the Portuguese fascist regime and several
of his architectonic works are leading exponents of modernist space symbolism of Portuguese
dictatorial period. But Cottinelli Telmo was also the pioneer of the Portuguese filmic comedy,
the most popular filmic genre of the thirties and the forties at the national level. Has a
cinematographer, he only did one film, A Cano de Lisboa (Lisbon Song), a canonical piece
that reassured the politics and poetics of the Portuguese city as a space of memory. But this
work needs a careful scrutiny especially in a moment when conservative place politics awake
mythic urban images and the symbolic strenghth of a landscape iconography engaged with the
celebration of national and imperialistic claims for social order and cohesion. Based in a case

5
study which analyses the filmic document created by the architect as a flight from his
apparently political commitments, this paper shows how Cottinelli developed the scenic
utopias of a dictatorial regime engaged with the use of representational space for masking the
unsolved social and economic problems which lead to a dramatic outbreak of migrations of
the Portuguese population. At a superficial level, the film shows how Salazars urban pastoral
recoined the city as a pleasant space for living. But the filmic analysis opened other levels of
meaning and the entrance to a second live of the film. This second live rests precisely in the
complex engineerings used by the architect to construct a virtual space presented to the
audiences as an object for laughter. The typical and the picturesque of the Lisbon barrio-
yard-street appear here as masks used to carnivalise urban landscape nurtured by histrionic
popular voices. As a corrupted version of the pastoral, an urban peripathetics challenges linear
readings of the filmic text so as it challenges linear readings of the material environment of a
city. This allows differential mappings carved out through the practice of dwelling the filmic
place of the city.
___________________________________________________________________________

Views from above: cinema and urban iconography after Google Earth.

Helena Barranha

Over the last two decades, the globalization of new media technologies has radically
transformed the perception of both natural and cultural landscape. When, in 2005, Google
Earth was released as a free application, the access to satellite images became easier and more
generalised, as any internet user could zoom into any continent, any region, any city or any
block, as well as zoom out to have a full picture of the planet.

This dynamic and global access to aerial views has definitely changed landscape imagery, and
soon became paramount in terms of urban iconography. Views from above are, more than
ever, used to shape the image of a specific city, to draw its skyline, and to highlight its
monuments. Considering that aerial images influence the perception and the representation of
urban space, contemporary architects and landscape designers tend to incorporate this
dynamic approach into their creative methodologies. The changing image of the city through
the spectacular expansion of zoom-in and zoom-out possibilities has also been explored in the
cinema, namely in recent films focused on European capital cities, such as Berlin, Lisbon and
London.

This paper will analyse how paradigmatic films like Wings of Desire (also known as The Sky
above Berlin, Wim Wenders, 1987), Goodbye Lenin (Wolfgang Becker, 2003), Alice (Marco
Martins, 2005), Match Point (Woody Allen, 2005), and Breaking and Entering (Anthony
Minghella, 2006) have contributed to create a new iconography of Berlin, Lisbon and
London, through eloquent aerial perspectives. At the same time, the paper will observe how it
is possible nowadays to replicate the experience of flying over those cities (particularly over
the focal places of the mentioned films), using Google Earth and other internet resources.
___________________________________________________________________________

The City, Image Nation: The Visual Representation Of Ankara And The Making Of
National Subjects

Blent Batuman

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The foundation of the Turkish Republic in 1923 was a radical attempt to construct a modern
nation breaking with all symbols of the imperial past. Renouncing the Ottoman capital
Istanbul, the republican cadres planned to construct a new capital, which would convey the
spirit and ideology of the young nation and thus function as the symbolic locus for the
republican government. Soon, the building of new Ankara would become a reflection of
nation-building, and the documentation of this building process would turn into a major
undertaking.

Throughout the 1930s, government agencies photographed the city and its new environments
and published albums to be distributed home and abroad. Cinema was also an important
medium appropriated by the state to this end. The most significant work, in this respect, was
the documentary Ankara: the Heart of Turkey (1934) commissioned to the Soviet filmmaker
Sergei Yutkevich. All these works producing images of the nations capital were not only
documenting the transformation of the old town into a modern capital, but also introducing a
frame through which the city as the symbol of the republic should be seen and identified with.
This process of identifying with the gaze of the state, however, was not a simple one. An
important factor complicating this process was the fact that most of these images were
produced by foreign specialists and/or they were produced to be circulated abroad. This was
related to the intention of the republican elite to identify themselves with Western modernity,
and their desire to affirm this identification through foreign eyes. Hence, this paper analyzes
the visual making of power relations between the nation-state and its subjects through urban
imagery, with particular consideration given to; 1. the comparison of the effects of multiple
media (film and photography) on the production of such imagery, 2. the relation between the
national subjects and the gaze of the nation-state which was complicated with the existence of
the imaginary gaze of the Western other.
___________________________________________________________________________

Envisioning Urban Sustainability: Have we vision, have we courage? Shall we build, and
rebuild, our cities, clean again, close to the earth and open to the sky?

John Blewitt

This paper will explore how urban sustainability has been communicated in film television
and digital animation by comparing the aesthetic strategies employed in three films. The
first will examine the montage techniques and mode of address of the classic documentary
The City (d. Steiner & Van Dyke, USA, 1939) which articulated the emerging bioregional and
garden city ideas of Lewis Mumford, urbanist, writer and cofounder of the Regional Planning
Association of America. The second will examine the popular television format and
personalised direct address exemplified by the BBC television series Gardeners World using
as a specific illustration the special on eco-developments, Building on Gardens, hosted by
Joe Swift and first broadcast in 2007. The third example is 2050 a virtual blueprint for a
sustainable Melbourne (Aus, 2003) an independent production commissioned by the
Sustainable Living Foundation in Melbourne featuring the off-screen informal conversation
by a group of Australian planners on the possible futures for urban sustainability and
illustrated by a collage of computer generated images and video footage.

Each film looks to, and envisages, the future in different ways drawing on the experience of
the (then) present and the aesthetic capabilities of the chosen media to communicate ideas,
values and hopes in a resonant, reflective and persuasive manner. Framing the presentation
will be a discussion of image ethics, the aesthetics of place and space and the notion of

7
sustainability as a dialogue of values and experiences. The paper will conclude with some
brief comments on the possibilities of developing a new visual language for, and of, urban
sustainability for only through effective communication which stimulates the viewers
imagination to conceive and perceive of alternatives will more sustainable urban
environments be achieved.
___________________________________________________________________________

The city, the car and filmic perception: the commonalities between Robert Venturi and
Michelangelo Antonioni.

Graham Cairns

This paper examines the similarities between ideas on architectural presentation and design
contained in the seminal work of Robert Venturi, Learning from Las Vegas, 1972 and the cult
classic of Michelangelo Antonioni, Zabriskie Point, 1970.
Central to Venturis 1972 work was the argument that the contemporary U.S. city had
been designed according to the logic of the automobile and was thus designed to be perceived
in motion. From that starting point he began a reconsideration of architectural design and the
tools used in its presentation. Drawn plans, sections and elevations were considered to be
incapable of representing the phenomenological experience of the modern city in motion.
Consequently, they did not facilitate its appropriate design. His answer was to propose the use
of collage as an architectural design and thinking tool.
This paper looks at Michelangelo Antonionis Zabriskie Point from this perspective. It
argues that two years prior to the publication of Venturis work, this film offered an insight
into the power of the cinematic medium as an appropriate representational device. More
capable than drawn plans, sections or even collages at capturing the true experience of the city
in motion it is argued that it went considerably further than Venturis seminal text in
understanding cities like Las Vegas or Los Angeles, the city in which the film is set.
It thus argues that by failing to make the leap from the flat static visual representation
of the collage to the sequential, continuous and / fragmented representation of film, Learning
from Las Vegas missed an important opportunity for advancing the use of alternative media in
architectural design and thinking. It is an opportunity that has still yet to be taken up.
___________________________________________________________________________

Cinemas mapping impulse and the city

Teresa Castro

Throughout this paper, I would like to argue that cinemas approach to urban space has been
closely informed by what could be called a mapping impulse. This mapping impulse would be
less about the presence of maps in a certain visual landscape and more about the processes
that underlie the conception of images. If we understand maps to be graphic representations
that facilitate a spatial understanding of things, concepts, conditions, processes, or events in
the human world1, our focus shifts from object maps- to function spatial
understanding. Maps should thus be regarded as a hinge around which pivot whole systems
of meaning, both prior and subsequent to their production.
I will use a number of examples from different periods of film history to illustrate the
formal strategies that distinguish this mapping impulse. The first is a certain topographic
fascination, if not a real topophilia, in the sense of love of place. This feature covers
different manifestations, either related to the politics or the poetics of space - from early

8
cinema to contemporary examples. Such a topographic appeal often goes hand in hand with a
second formal procedure: the seemingly descriptive motivation of the works in question
made evident by such camera movements as the panning shot. A third formal strategy would
be drifting, or walking as an artistic practice. Again, such a method can take different forms
and cover various agendas. Finally, both serialization (maps only exist in the context of a
series, of a collective production spaced out in time2) and layering, in the sense of
establishing connections and producing meaningful relationships, should also be mentioned.
1
J. B.Harley and D, Woodward, Preface, in The History of Cartography, Cartography in Prehistoric, Ancient
and Medieval Europe and the Mediterranean. (Chicago: Chicago University Press, vol. I, 1987, p. XVI).
2
Il nest de carte que dans le cadre dune srie, dune production collective qui schelonne dans le temps,
Christian Jacob, Lempire des cartes, Approche thorique de la cartographie travers lhistoire. (Paris : Albin
Michel, 1992, p. 465).
___________________________________________________________________________

Third Meshchanskaia and The Goddess: Crafting Gendered Space in Cinematic

Modernity

Jessica Ka-yee Chan

This paper juxtaposes two early silent films of two national cinemas: the Soviet silent film
Third Meshchanskaia (also known as Bed and Sofa) [Tretia Meshchanskaia] (1927) and the
Chinese silent film The Goddess [Shennu] (1934), and looks at how the two films engage with
the woman question through cinematic representation of city space and spatialization of
gender politics. The similarities shared by the two films are not the result of influence, but
the result of certain parallels in their historical situations. The woman question came to the
fore in the project of revolution and modernization in Russia and China in the early twentieth
century. How is the figure of woman, as the locus of the plight of modernization in Moscow
and Shanghai, depicted in cinema of belated modernities? Third Meshchanskaia and The
Goddess are products of the fervent creativity during the golden age of two burgeoning
cinematic regimes that were deeply invested in defining the social, not only aesthetic,
function of cinema in modernity before the advent of socialist realism. This paper offers an
analysis of the narrative construction and mise en scne of the two films through the prism of
cinematic representation of city space and argues that the two films engender poetics and
politics of space to forward social critique in the discourse of the woman question. Contrary
to what some scholars have argued, the two films are not maternal melodramas that
accommodate the patriarchal status quo, but are two of the earliest feminist films in world
cinema.
___________________________________________________________________________

Urban imagination of Macau: remembering the city in film

Thomas Chung

By examining specific cinematic representations of Macau in terms of how the city is

remembered and imagined, this paper discusses urban imaginaries of post-handover Macau
within the context of the citys imaging. Traditional portrayals of the erstwhile Portuguese
colony vacillate between the sublime and the profane, from portal for trade and evangelism to
seedy enclave for gambling, while recent fabrications involve glamorous euphemisms such as
Asias Las Vegas as evidenced by the proliferation of mega-casinos, as well as a nostalgic

9
turn that mobilizes both past architecture and newly built memorials and museums to
commemorate a disappearing quirky Luso-Chinese culture.
This paper considers how reciprocities between narrative, architectural settings and
urban space may offer alternative understandings of memory in the city that begin to unmask
caricatures projected by and for lucrative gaming markets and framed by the politics of
heritage tourism. Most films in which Macau makes cameo appearances subscribe to and
reinforce stereotypical views, visualizing the city as either exotic or exilic, place of without
inhibitions to escape to (Macao:1952, The Man with the Golden Gun: 1974) or place of
intrigue to return to or to excavate ones past (Exiled: 2006, Confession of Pain: 2006).
Isabella (2006), the main vehicle for exegesis, may be seen as an exception. Set entirely
in the chaotic, crime-ridden endgame of colonial Macau, the film centres on two characters
haunted by an intertwined past, and whose fated odyssey towards the future is inextricably
linked to that of the decadent city in transition. The films unusual attention to mundane urban
sequences foregrounds the city as a receptacle for complex lives. The tightly structured
interplay of narrative and settings is scrutinised to explore how filmic seeing and re-
membering of urban fragments can inform architectural imagination and open up possibilities
to grasp Macaus urban reality beyond customary readings.
___________________________________________________________________________

Modernity and Colonized Otherness: Early Actuality Films of Londons Exhibitions

Maurizio Cinquegrani

My paper will focus on the cinematic representation of London in early actuality films (1895-
1910). This subject is part of my doctoral research on early British cinema and the city, a
project which brings together Cultural Geography and Film Studies. Early British films will
be presented through an historiographical framework and an interpretative methodology
which defines them as instruments of the ideology which produced them, that is British
imperialism. My aim is to discuss how early actuality films supported the imperial message
by focusing on Londons monumental and ceremonial spaces, and on its exhibitory complex.
In particular, I will discuss the relation between early cinema and urban motifs of display
emerging in figurative representations of imperialist movement to and through the empire,
that is in films of colonial and technological exhibitions in London. These films document
imperial processes of transculturation, and represent the London Zoological Gardens, the
Crystal Palace, the Victoria and Albert Museum and the South African Exhibition. By
bringing images of otherness to the British audiences, cinema contributed to enforce the
distinction between the perception of the self and that of the exotic other. The visual power of
Londons exhibitory complex attracted several filmmakers. On one hand, their films
contributed to the celebration of technological modernity offered by new constructional,
industrial, communication and transport technologies. On the other hand, they contributed to
connect large geographical areas, the empire as much as the capital, and offered an ordered
and domesticated experience of the colonial other. The exotic presence of colonized cultures
in London at the turn of the twentieth century will be contextualized within the relationship
between cinema and urban modernity, and the belief that the empire was at the heart of the
urban experience. This discussion will focus on films made by Alexander Promio, Cecil
Hepworth, and R. W. Paul.
___________________________________________________________________________

Cinematic Los Angeles: Architectural Landscapes and Dreamscapes of Dystopia

Anna M. Dempsey

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When one conjures up a mental image of Manhattan or Paris, the Empire State building and
the Eiffel Tower come readily to mind. Los Angeles is a different matter. Though
Baudrillard suggests that Los Angeles is the quintessential postmodern city, its architectural
skyline is not part of the postmodern store of urban images. Instead, the post-war L.A.
cinematic landscape is comprised of fragments of local sites that add up to a dystopian, albeit
often nostalgic, view of the city. While many films fall into this category, for this presentation
I will focus on four: Menace II Society (1993), Thirteen (2003), The Player (1992) and L.A.
Confidential (1997). I argue that these cinematic representations depict: 1) the isolated, hard-
bitten lives of contemporary poor Angelinos (the first two) or 2) the cityscapes of L.A. past,
where everything can be bought and sold (the second two). In the former, we see examples of
local African American and working class lives---- lives that are metaphorized by the harshly
lit, nature- free, and rundown modern urbanscape. However, by cordoning off their sections
of Los Angeles from the rest of the city, these directors also absolve the city (and the
cinematic public) from forming an imagined integrated community. Menace II Society and
Thirteen function simply as examples of a cinematic genre distinguished by racial or class
types and by a bleak architectural landscape. The latter two films (The Player and L.A.
Confidential), on the other hand, are simulacra (what Eco deems real fakes) of the citys
golden cinematic era. Rather than contemporary urban architectural cityscapes, the directors
use set-designed cities of a bad but fondly remembered L.A. that had existed only on film.
In other words, all four filmic representations of L.A. underscore cinematic genre rather than
city identity. I will conclude that the more recent film Crash (2004) functions in a similar
fashion. Indeed, in all these films, the localized, fragmented views of L.A. underscores the
image of the city as the iconic postmodern urban center---but one in which the imaginary
landscape may be more important than the real.
___________________________________________________________________________

Iconicity, Spatiality and Narrativity in Cinematic Representations of Londons East

End

Phillip Drummond

The East End of London is an area loose in geographical specificity running across from the
edge of the City to the Essex marshes, and up from the Thames to outer Hackney but potent
in historical meaning and significance: home to the labouring class of the Thames docks,
focus for case studies in poverty and degradation, clearing house for successive waves of
migration, major target for the Blitz, site of Docklands regeneration and home to the 2012
Olympics. This rich and contradictory variety poses challenges for cinematic representation.
What and where and when is the East End? And how to represent both its simplicity and its
complexity within the confines of the cinematic text?
This paper will explore these themes and issues in relation to ideas about iconicity,
spatiality and narrativity in relation to a range of key films dealing with East End experience.
The paper will challenge the dominant generic images of the East End in the crime thriller
tradition - the Ripper cycle from The Lodger to From Hell and onwards via Guy Ritchie -
by opening up a broader canon, with a wide range of subject matter and representational
means, including such films as Griffiths Broken Blossoms, Eatons Darkest England,
Buckseys Dealers, Pecks Empire State, Crichtons Hue and Cry, Hamers It Always
Rains on Sunday, Reeds A Kid for Two Farthings, Deardens Pool of London,
Littlewoods Sparrows Cant Sing, Cohens Till Death us Do Part, and Mazzettis
Together.
___________________________________________________________________________

11
The Three Spatialities of Los Angeles Latino/a Cinema.
Ken Fox

In my analysis of filmic representations of Latino/a identity and mobility in Los Angeles I

have identified three separate but overlapping spatial categories: barrio/city, barrio/prison,
barrio/homeland. This tripartite analysis draws upon the three presences identified in Halls
(1993: 230) rethinking of the positions and repositionings of Caribbean cultural identities.
Like the three presences elaborated by Hall the use of barrio/city, barrio/prison and
barrio/homeland all have the presence of the other within them. I elaborate the complex
relationship between Latina/o mobility and identity in cinematic Los Angeles by focusing on
how film techniques develop this tripartite spatiality. I suggest that in Mi Vida Loca (1993),
Born in East L.A. (1989) American Me (1992), Stand and Deliver (1989) Mi Familia (1994)
and more recently Quinceaera (2006) there is an attempt to engage with the history of
images of the barrio disseminated by Hollywood and in some cases to re-make or re-imagine
them.
Using extracts and stills from some of the films named above I will suggest that this
tripartite spatial analysis provides an alternative way of approaching mainstream
representations of Los Angeles Latinos/as. These separate but overlapping spatialities point
to a more complex set of representations and histories that are more than fixed in space and
trapped in place.
___________________________________________________________________________

Know the Territory! Bridges, Musicals, and American Urbanism

David M. Foxe

At the 1957 Tony awards for Broadway theatre, two new shows
competing for that year's best musical, The Music Man and West Side Story, were
both subsequently adapted into landmark films that expanded upon the theatrical
productions. These motion pictures, the means by which many viewers today first
encounter the shows, not only feature the rich musical vocabulary of the
soundtrack (composed by Meredith Willson and Leonard Bernstein, respectively),
but they also demonstrate competing ideals of how American cities existed in
the imagination of the postwar middle class.
These two musicals, whose stage versions opened exactly fifty years ago this fall, are
particularly fascinating in the dramatic way they feature particular bridges and the character
of infrastructure to punctuate the narratives and dramatic arc. Both the small footbridge in
The Music Man's fictionalized River City (based upon Mason City, Iowa) and the mammoth
viaducts in West Side Story (prime examples of New York City's vehicular arteries
spearheaded by Robert Moses) are interpretations of real spans. Incidentally, both bridges
were constructed to redevelop tarnished or neglected urban wastelands.
This discussion, illuminated not only by the musicals and their film incarnations but
also by archival material about the designers who gave form to the ideals of Mason City and
New York City, will invite a reconsideration of urban memory and the resiliency of narratives
about what residents "know" about cities. Echoing the opening cries of traveling salesmen in
The Music Man, that the title character doesn't know the territory, these musical documents
will offer points of departure into how imagined ideas of cities are evident in the stories that
are repeated in words and in song.
___________________________________________________________________________

12
Barge Culture

Karen Gaskill

It is now almost unheard of to move through a city at a pace slower than 3mph. Even our
average walking pace has quickened over decades, to something resembling a half jog. We
rarely take the time to peruse or gaze up at our urban architecture, considering what histories
such spaces hold, and their level of importance in times past.
Manchester is a city that is fortunate to have countless remaining pre industrial sites,
although many have evolved into loft apartments and other such conceptualised spaces. The
route of the Manchester Bridgewater canal is one of the oldest and historically rich arteries
through the city, cutting an impressive line past key locations of contemporary and historical
significance. It is banked by a rich and diverse architecture, telling a story through its decade's
worth of myriad styles.
The focus of this presentation is a curated project that looked at the mirroring of old
and new social networks. Spread over 4 days, this work invited its audience to take a 30-
minute barge trip along the Bridgewater Canal, moving through the city at approximately 2
mph. A screen installed inside the barge's interior, converted the barge into a mobile media
space where 4 short films were screened, each considering aspects of urban environment and
our differing perceptions of it.
In this paper I will discuss and show clips of the work that was shown, in both the
context in which they were created, and in which they were shown for this specific project. I
will also outline a piece of work - Diorama - that was created aboard the barge, using captured
footage from the 16 journeys the boat made.
___________________________________________________________________________

Decay, Redemption and the Feminized City Filmic Articulations of Revive Manilas
renovated parks

Tessa Mara Tan Guazon

I aim to trace the themes of disease and decay in the narrative of urban renewal and
development by examining two filmic representations of parks renovated under the Revive
Manila program from 2000 to 2004. The films Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (Only
You, Even Now) and Babae sa Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater) depict the
renovated Liwasang Bonifacio and Bay Walk, both Revive Manila flagship projects of the
Atienza city administration. I plot the links between cities and bodies through the depiction of
female characters in the film narratives and the articulations of the situated-ness of their lives
in Manila. I further relate these film texts to the manufactured imagery of the city, mostly
used as justification for the implementation of Revive Manila, the urban renewal program.
This program was implemented during the three consecutive terms of Mayor Lito Atienzas
city administration and it relied heavily on nostalgic constructions of Manila and the desire to
revive and renew the city aiming to situate it alongside its other Southeast Asian
counterparts in terms of global competition.
By couching my critique of urban renewal and its uneven outcomes through the lens of
gender and the notion of the feminine (as articulated by art historian Griselda Pollock), I try
to pursue insights on urban spatial imagery and present another way of viewing the
relationships between film and its articulations of the urban environment. This is part of a

13
larger project that aims to look into the constructions of urban imaginaries through the lenses
of the gendered body and everyday experience of public spaces in cities.
___________________________________________________________________________

Touchez pas au Grisbi (1954), Du Rififi chez les Hommes (1955) and Bob le Flambeur
(1956); Discussing Criminal Paris, Nostalgia and Modernity

Thedora Hadjiandreou
The paper puts at the center of its discussion three of the best known, classic 1950s French
(Noir )heist films: Touchez pas au Grisbi (1954), Du Rififi chez les Hommes (1955) and Bob
le Flambeur (1956), all set in Paris. Grisbi was an expensive production directed by Old
Guard French director Jacques Becker, while Bob was a low budget production filmed by
French independent director Jean Pierre Melville. Rififi, was a modest French-Italian co-
production directed by self-exiled American director Jules Dassin already famous for his
semi-documentary depiction of New York (The Naked City, 1948) and the expressionistic
depiction of London (Night and the City, 1950). Employing close textual analysis my aim is
to explore the construction of cinematic Paris in the mid 1950s as modernization (in the form
of Americanisation, technology, and urban expansion) makes its entrance and human
sentiments and spacial images seem to split between the familiar past and the unknown future.
The paper is divided in three section: The first section introduces the iconographic
construction of post-war urban Paris, as seen in the above three classic films taking into
consideration genre conventions and aesthetics with emphasis on differentiation and
departures from contemporary European and/or American examples.
Since the classic crime noir thriller places the criminal in the heart of the city, the
main section explores the symbiotic relationship between the criminal and the Parisian urban
space. Special emphasis will be placed on the relationship of the aged, soon to be retired
criminal mastermind, a common theme of the three films, and the feelings of spatial
belonging and the construction of the neighborhood.
The last section discusses the periphery and the non-urban as opposed to the core of
the criminal city. The use of the car, a symbol of mobility, change and modernity, and the
point of view it projects is discussed within the context of nostalgia, location and dislocation
projected by the aged criminal.
___________________________________________________________________________

Urban Montage Sequences: City Symphonies and Their Incorporation into Classical
Cinema

Steven Jacobs

Depicting the metropolis as the locus of modernity, 1920s city symphonies, such as Manhatta
(Strand & Sheeler), Berlin (Ruttmann), and Man with a Movie Camera (Vertov), aspired to be
just as modern as their subject matter. Sharing formal similarities with avant-garde art, these
films demonstrate that metropolitan life can be interpreted as a culture of hyperstimulation
(Georg Simmel) or as an experience of shock (Walter Benjamin).
Instead of focusing on the city symphony itself, however, this paper deals with the
ways classical cinema appropriated the genre. Already in the 1920s, a number of narrative
films ranging from Paris qui dort (Clair), Downhill (Hitchcock), Lonesome (Fejos), The
Crowd (Vidor), Asphalt (May) to The Cameraman (Keaton) inserted miniature city
symphonies into the featured drama in a contrapuntal manner. In many cases, experimental
techniques are integrated into a classic framework: avant-garde extravaganzas are justified

14
by the narrative, for instance, since we see the city through the eyes of a delirious character.
Nonetheless, the metropolis is represented as a fragmented accumulation of sensory
impressions and as a space filled by the density of crowds.
This is also often the case in montage sequences, which began to appear in the
Hollywood cinema in the late 1920s. Summarizing a topic or compressing a passage of time
into brief symbolic or typical images, montage sequences are frequently used to establish an
urban locale. By means of dissolves, fades, superimpositions, and wipes that link the images,
montage sequences la Vorkapich depict a bustling city. Some stereotypical examples of
montage sequences, moreover, are associated with the realm of traveling and tourism, such as
the superposition of hotel stickers on a traveling case. The city is not only presented as a
series of tourist attractions but also as a space that lends itself to a representation by means
of an Eisensteinian montage of attractions an assemblage of powerful shock moments and
surprise effects, which is rather based on psychological stimulation than on narrative logic.
___________________________________________________________________________

Blankness on the Edge of Town: From Terrains Vagues to New Space, From
Photography to Film

Anthony Kinik

This paper traces a brief history of the terrain vague in photography and film, starting with
the experiments and interventions of the Surrealists in the 1920s and 1930s (La Revolution
Surralistes appropriation of the work of Eugne Atget, Jacques-Andr Boiffards
photographs for Andr Bretons Nadja, Eli Lotars abattoir shots for Documents, etc.), and
continuing through to the conceptual work of the land artist Robert Smithson (The
Monuments of Passaic) and the anarchitect Gordon Matta-Clark (Fake Estates, Bronx
Floors: Threshole, Substrait) and finishing up with the films of Patrick Keiller (London,
1994, Robinson in Space, 1997), Deborah Stratman (In Order Not To Be Here, 2002), Jem
Cohen (Buried in Light, 1994, Lost Book Found, 1996, Amber City, 1999, Blood Orange Sky,
1999, Chain, 2004), and others. While there was always some sort of political economy
embedded in the notion of the terrain vague, these interstitial and marginal spaces providing
something of a key to a deeper understanding of modernity, postmodernitys terrains vagues
(what Keiller has labeled its new space) in many ways define the new economy and the
spatial reorganization that has come with it, and Keiller, Stratman, and Cohen are part of a
crop of contemporary filmmakers whove taken a roving eye to these landscapes in order to
try and see past their blank stares. City films, city poems, and city symphonies from the
period between the world wars tended to focus on what Laszlo Moholy-Nagy once called the
dynamics of a metropolisthe energy, industry, and monumentality of the modern city
these new city films, on the other hand, have developed an entropological outlook (to
borrow a turn of phrase from Smithson), and the terrain vague is key to their critiques of the
new urbanism.
___________________________________________________________________________

Cine-Tecture: A filmic reading and critique of architecture in cities

Richard Koeck, University of Liverpool

The following paper presents a particular way of engaging with architecture and urban
practices that is informed by theoretical and practical background in architectural design and
filmmaking. It aims to make reference to, and expand upon, established theoretical concepts

15
that come from practicing architects, such as Tschumis deconstructed reading of architecture
and Jean Nouvels notion that architecture, like cinema, exists in the dimension of time and
movement. The rationales for this filmic examination of urban-architectural sites are that,
firstly, spatial practices structure the determining conditions of social life (de Certeau 1988:
96) and that, secondly, the urban (its existence as a network of metaphors, metonyms,
symbols and the like) not only accounts for a variety of representations of the city life, but is
also a crucial aspect of the material experience of the urban its actuality (Highmore 2005:
5, 6, 7). The impetus for this paper comes from having recently moved to Liverpool, a city
that is currently, since it is being awarded the title European Capital of Culture 2008,
undergoing a substantial and rapid transformation. Indeed, the visible speed at which the
material image of the city (Lynch 1960) is changing is reminiscent of flickering images
projected onto screens.

Although still young, the field of research into architecture and film can already be divided, if
somewhat simplistically, into two antipodal avenues: the first considers the way in which
architecture and cities are portrayed in film (cities/architecture inform/s film); and the second
considers how filmic elements can be found in architectural and urban practices (film informs
cities/architecture). The first area of investigation has attracted a disproportionately higher
number of scholars than the second. Typically classified by epoch, nationality, director or
genre, the spatial dispositifs that are evident in individual films or in film collections are
normally investigated within the theoretical frameworks of established research fields, such as
modern languages, philosophy, psychoanalysis, sociology or history of architecture.1 While
this research has and will continue to produce fascinating insights into how the metaphorisity
of film reflects the modern and post-modern conditions of urban life, this paper concentrates
alternatively on how film has informed cities and their architecture.
___________________________________________________________________________

Flimic Narratives of the City

Cludia Sofia Gonalves Ferreira Lima

The subject of the city has long been central to literature, film, and photography,
philosophical and political debates. Contributions from different fields have crowded the
panorama of studies and writings on the city: from the fields of architecture, urban and film
studies, literature and photography.
Cities are recorded in many different ways through many instruments and methods for
many different purposes, and there is no such thing as an objective record1. Even when the
city is not present as a main theme, the urban backdrop frequently lends a vital element to the
text or the image.
This is an exploratory paper, one that cuts across many disciplines with the intent of
providing a thicker knowledge on the kinematics of the city and its sitematic reproduction in
filmic narratives.
In this paper I seek to explore, not the complex relationship between film and place,
but rather the ways in which the city has been represented through the moving image.

1 The use of term dispositif in this text in inspired by the writings of Foucault. Deleuze relates the
term, which is commonly translated into English as apparatus (Foucault, 1980: 1945), to that of
power in Foucaults writing (Delauze 1988). Spatial dispositifs are seen in this context always socio-
spatial dispositifs relating to a plethora of political, economic, power and other networks that that
determine the function and quality of urban life or, in other words, the production of the social
through space (Plger 2008:60)

16
 City space is both a filmic construction as it is an architectural construction. Filmic
narratives of the city also become an architectural practice: an art form of the citys space.
They are agents for building our views of the city: they influence the ways we live and
perceive the city, and filmic representations will growingly filter into the citys image. More
than being a testament of the citys history, film and other media can be an instrument for
testing and applying new perspectives for the citys physical production.
This paper holds that filmic narratives are a major source for understanding the city
and comprehending its processes of production and evolution. Film and Image construct the
city and are constructed by it. It is important to understand that film and popular media can
actually transform the city and the ways we live. They are also potential tools for recreating
environments and virtually explore and see the effects of the built environment on society
and the urban whole.

1
Frampton, K. (1986) A Note on Photography and its Influence on Architecture [online]. The Scholarly
Journal Archive. Perspecta, Vol.22, Paradigms of Architecture (pp.38-41), Accessed at:
http://www.jstor.org/view/00790958/ap050020/05a00040/0
___________________________________________________________________________

Tokyo: Cartography of a Cine-City A Study about the Identity of a City and its
relation with Moving Images

Salvator-John A. Liotta

This paper investigates the relation between moving images, architecture, and the city of
Tokyo. First, it discusses the role that cinemas played on Tokyos urban-scape, and how they
have changed through the last 110 years due to social transformations, technological
inventions and changes in lifestyle. Second, it discusses screens as metaphorical modernity
plazas where the needs of a modern aesthetic were expressed in terms of the creation of an
unprecedented architectural space, and how many aspects of Tokyos identity are linked to the
realm of moving images.
The research has been conducted along two different paths; the first is focused on the impact
cinemas had on Tokyos urban-scape, as well as their expansion strategies and dynamics.
Second, cinemas are discussed from an architectural point of view as a new typology of
building that came into existence to accommodate the invention of the cinemascope and the
permanent projection of movies.
Moving image related research is usually focused on the history of how and by whom
films and videos were made, but much is still unclear about the history of the actual places in
which the films are shown. In established cinematic history, neither the history of the physical
architectural aspects of the cinema is sufficiently described, nor is the area in which the first
cinemas were built.
In order to measure changes in Toykos urbanscape, historical maps and photos from
1900 to 2007 were screened and divided into five periods. For each period a cinema theater
typology was chosen, along with the impact it had on defining the city-scape; they were
classified as representative of some important events in Tokyos 20th century urban history.
This paper aims to clarify how cinemas, development dynamics, the moving image,
and the city of Tokyo are intertwined.
___________________________________________________________________________

17
From The Crcular Boulevard To The Merry-Go-Round-A-Bout: The Lamentaton
(Tatvlle) And Resolve Of The Destructon And Loss Of Pars In Jacques Tat's Play
Tme

Louise Mackenzie

These days I feel sad because I have the impression that people are having less and less
fun. They obviously dress better, they clearly wash more, they certainly have more hot
water, they surely imbibe cooler drinks; and now their windows are larger, which means
that they can get additional sun, but, in the past they lived on the street more and got all
the sun they wanted there. Jacques Tati

I would begin with a discussion of Haussmanns boulevards, where Tati grew up and the
transformation of which he criticises in his films. I then discuss Le Corbusiers Voisin Plan in
relation to Tatis criticism of these ideas, what effects they had, and what Tatis solutions are
to the problems they created.
From here I discuss how Tatis films show a change in the way of using
and experiencing the street; this also involves, for Tati, notions of sterile homogenisation
and over rationalisation. All the dirt and disease of the 19th century city (which killed
people by the thousands) has been cleaned up removed from Tativille but perhaps Tati is
saying that it has been taken too far, and that all the life has been taken out of the city.
In PLAYTIME all of Paris, as we know it, has been removed, and (as Le Corbusier
suggested) only a few monuments remain. These are only caught in reflection and as far as
we know, in PLAYTIME, it is only the tourists who visit them.
Nothing of what Tati knows (and loves) of Paris remains. And yet Tati, in the face of
something which for him is devastating, closes his film not in a position of despair, but of
quite the opposite. At the end of PLAYTIME, we find ourselves in a round-a-bout: a place
where one stays for a while, yet moves on. This round-a-bout is also a merry-go-round. As the
film ends it fades almost to black: our travellers head off into the unknown. As we clearly see,
these travellers (albeit a bit square) do know how to have fun they know, just as Tati and
Hulot know, about the importance of play time.
___________________________________________________________________________

A Tale of Two Cities: Dachau Observed

Alan Marcus

This paper investigates some of the issues raised by the experimental documentary, Beautiful
Dachau (2006, dir. Alan Marcus, 30mins.), and the way it explores how the weight of history
reconfigures a sense of place. It uses an observational cinematic style, without interviews,
commentary or dialogue to investigate the relationship between the integration of an infamous
concentration camp into the fabric of a picturesque Bavarian town that has now grown around
it. This paper considers the films methodological approach used to expose the
reinterpretation of overlapping urban space in two cities and their interrelationship Munich
and Dachau. Eschewing archival footage or photographs, the film focuses on the present as it
observes streams of visitors to the Dachau camp, now a popular tourist attraction. Some
800,000 people visit the site annually. The paper discusses the films role as a visual cipher,
considering the way people interact with an iconic place and its inherited meaning,
transfiguring past events with their presence. Unburdened by exposition, the film invites
viewer participation in interpreting the daily rituals and oppositions that unfold. The paper

18
will also address what the film does not show, including the juxtaposition and implication of
the large SS training camp adjoining the memorial site, which is in tact but out of bounds to
visitors. Questions are posed about the layering of space and the way the Arbeit Macht Frei
entrance gate and the crematoria serve as memento mori, anchoring the film and the visitors
and viewers experience.
___________________________________________________________________________

Tacita Deans Optics of Refusal

Tara McDowell

Since British-born artist and filmmaker Tacita Dean relocated to Berlin several years ago, she
has made two pendant films in which she trains her camera on symbolic sites in that city. The
titles of the films explicitly name their subjects, both of which are architectural structures
deeply embedded in the history and consciousness of Berlin and the nation: Fernsehturm
(2001) and Palast (2004). The Fernsehturm, or Television Tower, opened in 1969 in the
center of Alexanderplatz, the political nexus of the former German Democratic Republic and
a still vital urban hub. Deans film takes place within the interior of the revolving restaurant
located in the sphere of the tower, some two hundred meters above ground. Located nearby,
the Palast der Republik was also a building project of the GDR; it served as the seat of the
East German parliament, but also as a site of enforced culture, containing as it did restaurants,
theaters, and a bowling alley.
This paper provides a close reading of the optical moves and theories of vision with
which Dean operates in these two films, with a particular emphasis on their relation to Berlin
as site. I argue that she memorializes certain theories of how the city is perceived in
modernity, from Baudelaire to Benjamin, evidenced by her insistence on the glance or flash,
as well as the embodied, sited gaze as opposed to the total or panoramic viewwe never see,
for example, the whole of each building. In both films Dean offers a model of sensing focused
on the momentary, the fragment, and the material. Moreover, the Fernsehturm and Palast not
only reflect Deans career-long engagement with the anachronism (perhaps the most notable
being her unequivocal commitment to using film), but are chosen specifically to engage with
the historicity of Berlin.
___________________________________________________________________________

Nice: virtual city - Film, Collective Memory and Transitional Space

Isabelle McNeill

What is a city? A dense, mobile space continually inscribed with the semantic wanderings
of its inhabitants,1 a space whose physical contours are haunted by ever-accumulating
collective memory. A city is constituted as much by socio-cultural representations (including
memories) as by the material forms of its architecture. The actuali2ty of the city produces and
is in turn shaped by a virtual sphere of memory, fantasy and myth. This paper will argue that
film is a crucial mediating space in the process by which the virtual city is generated. I will
draw upon a concept of transitional space, developed from a socio-psychological engagement
with D. W. Winnicotts theories of transitional phenomena and potential space, in order to
consider the interconnections between physical and virtual spaces in and through film.
The city of Nice will serve as a case study for this discussion. Nice is a city that
highlights the mobility of urban space. It is a transcultural city, whose geographical location
near frontier and sea has seen it shaped by continual immigration, tourism, arrivals and

19
departures. Nice has a rich cinematic history. Its combination of tarnished Riviera glamour
and easy escape routes has made it a frequent setting for gangster movies. However, my focus
will be on films that engage with the virtuality of Nice as city space, of which its more
mainstream cinematic history is part. Propos de Nice: La Suite (1995), a collection of short
films by key directors of the 1990s, is a response to and commemoration of one of the most
iconic films about Nice, Jean Vigos 1929 avant-garde short, Propos de Nice. In Claire
Simons Mimi (2003) we are taken on a journey through Nice that is also a journey into
Mimis past, evoking along the way the collective past and present of the city. An analysis of
these works will show how film can reveal as well as contribute to the virtual existence of a
city.
1
Michel de Certeau witing on the city in The Practice of Everyday Life (1984), citing Jacques Derridas notion
of an errance du smantique.
_________________________________________________________________

Emptied Signifier, Emptied Space: Subtraction, Negation, Transparence

Thomas Mical

The mechanisms of the apparatus and screen from modernist film theory have
often translated into architectural thought directly, resulting in a transformation of the
metropolis into a cinematic landscape of Deleuzian mobile sections where the urban
passenger is confronted with a visual field of projected desires and sensual surfaces.
What Jean-Luc Nancy has characterized as the contemporary Abandonment of
Being is repetitively and necessarily re-enacted in the emptied spaces of the modern
metropolis, both cinematic and urbanistic. Since modernity, the architectural crisis of the
object tends towards negation: the medium proper to spatial signifiers is the occupiable space
between surfaces. Unlike images and objects, the function of the urban space, as signifier, is
most legible in its subtractive function. The fullness of turbulent flows of the city is an infra-
thin scaffolding of vanishing points, projected identities, and concealed histories that frame
the idiom of the space of the emptied
sign. Negative space, vaporous and extensive, was the real of modern utopian urbanism. In
L. Hilberseimers Grossstadt and Le Corbusiers La Ville Radieuse, the Nietzschean fantasy
of vast empty urban plazas was projected across the existing fabrics of pre-modern cities.
The construct of the emptied sign of late modernity, like its emptied spaces, will be
show to operate as a persistent vacuum in the spatial-visual field, always inviting projection
(and its uncanny guest negation). These imaginary signifiers of abandoned space, following
from Deleuze in The Logic of Sense, semiotically function to create effects, produced by the
circulation of the empty square in the structural series whose optical transparency is the
blind spot, the floating signifier, the value degree zero, the off-stage or absent cause as a
reified form of transparency, not of surface, but of depth, in examples from modern and
contemporary urban design, juxtaposed with cinematic representations of emptiness.
___________________________________________________________________________

Film/Architecture/Narrative

Lee Stickells and Jonathan Mosley

The discussion of architecture and film has often been framed by references to set design
and backdrop the glamour or frisson lent by iconic buildings, the documentation of
historical periods and styles through the mise-en scne which, despite their pleasures, leave

20
interesting structural and perceptual questions less explored. Those questions concern the
influence that cinematic techniques and concepts (given the enormous cultural influence of
the medium) might have on perceptions of the built environment, as well as the potential for
their incorporation in architectural and urban design processes. This paper will discuss and
reflect on an architectural design studio and subsequent exhibition that explored some of
those questions.
Film/Architecture/Narrative was a Design Unit within the Bachelor of Architecture
programme at Bristol, UWE in 2006-7; exhibited at The Architecture Centre Bristol in May
2007. The projects sprung from intensive site studies and an analysis of film elements such as
montage, depth of field and open-form. Students interwove large-scale models with site
footage in video or image sequences, using the process as a way of interrogating their designs.
Ultimately, the Unit strove for an architecture not simply conceived as set-design but as a
more thoughtful exploration of the possibilities of the filmic imagination for architecture.
This paper will outline that process and reflect on the way that the projects allowed us
to investigate a number of questions. How do we experience the city in a cinematic sense?
Can zooms, montages, jump edits, storyboarding, scripting, establishing shots, pans, close-
ups, framing, tracking shots, sequencing, depth of field, continuity and other aspects of film
productively contaminate architectural design? Can our understanding of space and place be
enhanced through film? Finally, can we, as architects, use filmmaking as a tool for
stimulating and redefining our own practices?
___________________________________________________________________________

The production of multi-layered space in Japanese anime: Mamoru Oshiis Patlabor,

Tokyo

Miho Nakagawa

The city in films is generally depicted either from above or at eye level. However, these
perspectives are not sufficient for a city like Tokyo whose spatial rules govern a multi-layered
structure where new layers are superimposed on the existing urban fabric. By referring to
Mamoru Oshiis works such as Patlabor 1: Mobile Police (1989), Patlabor 2: The Movie
(1993) and Tokyo Vein (2003), this paper offers multiple perspectives starting from the birds
eye view and gradually descending through Tokyos layers. My viewpoint reaches the lowest
layer of the city as seen from a boat floating on the waterways where there is a key alternative
vista.
Oshii reinterprets and reproduces some nostalgic, familiar or intimate locations set
against the backdrop of existing cityscapes in Tokyo. In particular, Patlabor 1 illustrates the
pseudo-aftermath of an imaginary 1995 earthquake near Tokyo. This fantasy may have been
inspired firstly by the visual images of the urban ruins flattened by earthquake (1923) and by
war (1945) and secondly by scenes of perpetual reconstruction as the city emerges from the
debris.
In this paper, I will focus on Oshiis own production of filmic space and his critique of
the Japanese type of production of space. The question raised here is whether the perpetual
production of space is a cultural mechanism. I will contrast the ruined architecture illustrated
as temporary with newly-built skyscrapers which look long lasting by analysing Oshiis ways
of depicting the cityscape. Through examining the protagonists dialogue I will identify the
Japanese peoples inability to perceive their environment as a controllable object and their
frequent feeling of helplessness because they are living in a perpetually changing city where
architecture has been regarded as ephemeral for centuries.
___________________________________________________________________________

21
The Imaginative Redevelopment of East London on Film: Emily Richardsons Transit
and the work of Iain Sinclair

Paul Newland

In June 2006, the experimental British filmmaker Emily Richardsons Transit was exhibited
in a space beneath Londons historic Smithfield Market. The 7-minute-long video installation,
split across three screens, captured ghostly images of neglected, liminal spaces across east
London. Shots of this wasteland were taken from all four sides of a slow-moving car. The
soundtrack featured three simultaneous commentaries by the London poet, novelist and
filmmaker Iain Sinclair. These dislocated voices together evoked a strange synchronic
palimpsest. But occasionally revealing facts about the lost histories of this low area of the
city became discernable as they emerged from this one-man hubbub. These were the words of
a London magus.
Transit forms part of an ongoing filmic collaboration between Richardson and
Sinclair. Together they seek to document what will be lost to the eastern side of the city as it
is radically redeveloped in time for the 2012 Olympics. Sinclair and Richardson effectively
utilise film to bear witness to spatial flux; to transform the landscape before it itself can be
transformed by what they see as ill-thought-through, utopian regenerative projects.
This paper offers an interpretation of Transit which takes account of both
Richardsons career to date and Sinclairs continuing involvement with a collaborative
underground British film culture. But the main focus of the paper will be to locate Transit
within an expanding corpus of contemporary experimental London films. I will argue that
these films offer us a way of seeing London that tends to focus our attention on the
topography and narratives of its neglected eastern margins. I will consider possible reasons
for this by examining Transit alongside Sinclairs other films (directed with Chris Petit), such
as The Cardinal and the Corpse (1992), Asylum (2000) and London Orbital (2002), as well as
William Rabans Thames Film (1986), Sundial (1992), A13 (1994), and John Smiths Blight
(1996).
___________________________________________________________________________

Cinematic Uses of Athenian Monuments in Contemporary Greek Cinema, or, Trashing

the Athenian Glory

Afroditi Nikolaidou

The aim of this paper is to investigate the ways in which important monuments of Athens like
the Parthenon and its wider area Acropolis, Lycabbetus, Zappio etc are used in contemporary
Greek cinema. More specifically, I will focus on the functionality of these monuments in the
narratives and the cinematic style in which they are depicted.
During the 50s and 60s these landmarks were used in feature films either as indicators
of the space where the narrative was taking place, or as a symbol of the postwar touristic
growth of the city. In later years, New Greek Cinema avoided the use of these images
(especially of Ancient Antiquity landmarks) because of their association to nationalist
discourse and also of their extensive presence in the previous cinematic period which the new
filmmakers were desperately trying to forget.
But, during the last decade, the influx of immigrants and later the Olympic Games
preparations turned Athens into a multinational metropolis, where these monuments are being
highlighted as the gatekeepers of national identity, tourist attraction, as the nodal point where

22
global and local attitudes meet. Within this new urban context, a new generation of
filmmakers, using digital video and editing re-appropriate the images of these monuments in
different ways than in the past.
The best example comes from the uses of the symbol of the Athenian glory, the
Parthenon and the Acropolis. My axis of examination includes films such as Hardcore (Denis
Iliades), The attack of the gigantic moussaka, Real Life (Panos Koutras), Polaroid (Angelos
Frantzis). Among the questions that arise are: Does the representation of Parthenon and
Acropolis in these films fit the suggested template of metaphors by Eleana Yalouri (i.e.
Acropolis As History, as Physical body etc) which is analysed in her book Acropolis: Global
Fame, Local Fame? Are these contemporary Greek directors using the Acropolis in a playful
manner, turning it into a pop or even trash icon? And furthermore, do they ultimately claim a
new urban identity that is redefined by this overlapping of the sacred and the sacrilegious?
___________________________________________________________________________

Old world traditions and modernity: promoting urban identities in Cunards

transatlantic films, c.1920 - 35

Norris Nicholson

Rival shipping companies introduced innovative advertising films in the early twentieth
century. Films made c.1920 1935 to promote Cunards routes between Montreal/Quebec
City and Liverpool/Southampton survive at Library and Archives Canada in Ottawa and at
the North West Film Archive, Manchester, England. They show evidence of changing civic
identities, transportation and socio-cultural history during decades when speedy travel by
ships and new scales of urban architecture became familiar symbols of modernity. Tall
buildings, bridges and other advertising icons of civic culture and urban economies were
already familiar through posters and still photography. They assumed new potency in
travelogues that portrayed both Cunard vessels and dynamic cityscapes on either side of the
Atlantic.
Early promotional film has significance for inter-disciplinary historical analysis and
architectural studies. Making and showing such footage did not occur in a visual vacuum.
Promotional imagery, like other processes of visual practice and representation, also provides
compelling contemporary evidence of how people sought to show, share and shape meanings
about their products, their prospective consumers and the world around them. Cunards films
are evidence of modernizing urban economies, societal and technological changes during
years in which global imperatives were transforming older connections between Britain and
Eastern Canada. Just as changing technologies enabled urban development and the
reinvention of shipping for pleasure rather than mass migration, cameras became
indispensable to the promotion and consumption of leisure. Advertising films borrowed
stylistically from actuality, newsreel reportage and comedy to construct their persuasive
narratives. Passenger ships, like the cityscapes of the ports they connected, comprised
elements of tradition and modernity. In promotional films, text and image capture and
juxtapose these contradictory images of old and new. Complex identities and meanings are
embedded within Cunards visual interweaving of old world/new world imagery and,
arguably, help to inform our understanding of the maritime urban identities of Liverpool,
Montreal and Quebec City.
This presentation could be accompanied by Cunard footage (on DVD format) held at
the North West Film Archives, Manchester Metropolitan University.
I think that this material might fit within the proposed grouping, Film, Places and Urban
Identities (Tourism, heritage and city branding or Iconography, landscape and urban form)

23
___________________________________________________________________________

Riga, Tallinn and Vilnius as Western Cities in the Soviet Cinema

Irina Novikova

In my paper I will discuss the urban images of three Baltic capitals in the Soviet films of
different genres. I will argue that the Soviet cinematic imaginary was creating a complex
urban mapping of the Soviet Union for the huge Soviet cinematic audience in which filmic
images of Riga, Tallinn, Vilnius represented West-s, as spatial substitutes of London,
Berlin, Bern, etc., still a mystery to solve, mainly, in spy films, detectives, historical films,
cinematic adaptations. I will discuss these plural images of West in my paper by addressing
such cult films as Seventeen Moments of Spring, File Omega, Dead Season,
adaptations of Arthur Conan Doyles and Oscar Wildes literary works.
On the other hand, film-makers at the three so-called republican studios created the
images of Riga, Tallinn and Vilnius, relating their internal audiences in Estonia, Lithuania,
Latvia, to their urban spaces as places of memories and historical controversies (Latvian film
I Remember Everything, Richard), with spectatorial affects of peripheral locality,
everyday life (documentary traditions) and carnivalesque (Estonian urban comedies of the
1970s).
___________________________________________________________________________

"Narratives and Expressive Spaces in Film": Non-Places At Cinema

Arbil Otkunc

We are in an era of socio-economic and cultural transformations due to the increase in the
pace of every day life since the Modernity. As a result of the search of new avenues in
architecture, social sciences and art, the way the space and the place are designed, utilized,
viewed and perceived have changed. The most important arena where these new forms of
spaces and concepts can be observed is the "oeuvre of cinema".
Today, the spaces that we live in may provide for our material needs, but they may not
always respond to the question of where are we? by creating a "sense of belonging". The
underlying reasons are the disconnect between place and space, the formation and diffusion of
non-places, and the rise of materialistic values as a result of the consumption mentality. A
direct impact of the transformation of the space is in human relationships. In order to have a
better understanding of transformations on todays space, we should observe the human
relations of the people who use the non-places. Movies provide for a perfect medium where
people - place relationship can be observed beyond the architecture of the constructed space.
The focus of this paper is on a select number of movies which are filmed in transit
spaces where human relationship crisis are observed and where individuals are alone and
anonymous even when in the mist of a crowd. The commonality of the selected movies lies in
the questions that they raise: -Why did those transit spaces that do not hold enough
significance to be considered a "place" often become the subject and/or the object of the
contemporary cinema? -Why did we use to see houses, urban places, streets, and train stations
in old movies, but in recent movies we see those facilities needed for the rapid exchange of
people, goods, information and services: a highway, a taxi, an airport, a plane, a hotel, an
ATM, a movie theatre, a fast food restaurant, etc. -Do spaces which are transitional by nature
become spaces where people spend most of their time?
___________________________________________________________________________

24
Car City: a documentary film mapping the components, modalities and malfunctions of
Melbournes regime of automobility

Ashley Perry

Like all major Australian cities, Melbourne has been thoroughly conquered by the
automobile. The car occupies a central position within Melbournes urban consciousness. As
an object of desire, a status symbol, a creator of freedoms and trauma, the car and its
associated cultural practices and symbolic meanings have become enmeshed within the social,
cultural and imagined landscape of the city. More broadly, the automobile continues to be a
central figure in the citys circuits of production (the automotive industry), consumption
(ownership and advertising) and event-driven urban spectacle (an annual Formula One Grand
Prix and international motor show).
Through a regime of automobility (a coercive and flexible system of linkages between
cars, car-drivers and roads), mobility, movement and travel are actively reconfigured within
the city. As a historical technology the car has been central to the development of a vast
network of motorway infrastructure - a primary force in Melbournes longterm spatial
organization - that continues with the development of Australias largest urban project, the
EastLink tollway, which cuts through a forty-five-kilometre tract of outer-suburban
Melbourne.
My research explores current strategies for providing a critical account of the
continuing centrality of the regime of automobility to the spatial (re)production, consumption
and experience of Melbourne; an approach influenced by recent theoretical analyses of
automobility (see Merriman 2004 and 2007, Sheller 2004, Thrift 2004 and Urry 2003, 2004
and 2006). In particular, my investigation looks to past non-fiction (urban) cinematic
interventions from Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles (1972) to London Orbital (2002) and
asks how the critical impulses embodied in these accounts might be rejuvenated and
redeployed in an age where cinema itself has gone mobile, refigured within a collection of
digital interface devices and new media forms?
Specifically, this presentation will focus on my research project, a documentary film
that attempts to map the kind of system automobility is; how its character of domination is
being exerted; the inherent problems associated with such a system, and how a filmic critique
might refigure the possibilities of the regime across Melbourne. A further aim of the
documentary is to place and reflect the cultural, social and spatial forms of organization
(particularly the scapes associated with car travel) that are enabled and reproduced by
widespread automobility within the city.
___________________________________________________________________________

Car City: a documentary film mapping the components, modalities and malfunctions of
Melbournes regime of automobility

Ashley Perry

Like all major Australian cities, Melbourne has been thoroughly conquered by the
automobile. The car occupies a central position within Melbournes urban consciousness. As
an object of desire, a status symbol, a creator of freedoms and trauma, the car and its
associated cultural practices and symbolic meanings have become enmeshed within the social,
cultural and imagined landscape of the city. More broadly, the automobile continues to be a
central figure in the citys circuits of production (the automotive industry), consumption

25
(ownership and advertising) and event-driven urban spectacle (an annual Formula One Grand
Prix and international motor show).
Through a regime of automobility (a coercive and flexible system of linkages between
cars, car-drivers and roads), mobility, movement and travel are actively reconfigured within
the city. As a historical technology the car has been central to the development of a vast
network of motorway infrastructure - a primary force in Melbournes longterm spatial
organization - that continues with the development of Australias largest urban project, the
EastLink tollway, which cuts through a forty-five-kilometre tract of outer-suburban
Melbourne.
My research explores current strategies for providing a critical account of the
continuing centrality of the regime of automobility to the spatial (re)production, consumption
and experience of Melbourne; an approach influenced by recent theoretical analyses of
automobility (see Merriman 2004 and 2007, Sheller 2004, Thrift 2004 and Urry 2003, 2004
and 2006). In particular, my investigation looks to past non-fiction (urban) cinematic
interventions from Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles (1972) to London Orbital (2002) and
asks how the critical impulses embodied in these accounts might be rejuvenated and
redeployed in an age where cinema itself has gone mobile, refigured within a collection of
digital interface devices and new media forms?
Specifically, this presentation will focus on my research project, a documentary film
that attempts to map the kind of system automobility is; how its character of domination is
being exerted; the inherent problems associated with such a system, and how a filmic critique
might refigure the possibilities of the regime across Melbourne. A further aim of the
documentary is to place and reflect the cultural, social and spatial forms of organization
(particularly the scapes associated with car travel) that are enabled and reproduced by
widespread automobility within the city.
___________________________________________________________________________

I Love Regina!: City Branding and Contested Spaces in Recent Regina Shorts

Christine Ramsay

This paper brings together two of my current research programs: ArtsAction in Reginas
Downtown, and Saskatchewan Film History. I propose it to bring together the themes
Tourism, heritage, and city branding and Contested spaces in the Film, Place and Urban
Identity section of your City In Film conference.
The former program involves infrastructure development to green two heritage
buildings for arts and cultural re-use in order to revitalize Reginas sagging downtown (see
http://artsaction.uregina.ca); the latter aims to put Reginas film scene on the Canadian
cultural map. While historically important for such achievements as being the birthplace of
the Medicare system in Canada, and for having the longest continually-running symphony
orchestra in North America, Reginawhich calls itself the Queen City of the flatlands
now tends to be overlooked by the rest of the country as an isolated urban backwater, an
image that was exacerbated by a recent article in Macleans magazine labeling Reginas
North Central as Canadas worst neighbourhood. Mayor Pat Fiacco has attempted to
redress the citys image problem with controversial box-store developments in the east end,
and a branding campaign called I Love Reginaone that was modeled on the twenty-year
old I Love New York campaign. Consequently, we now have an I Love Regina Day, I
Love Wear, I Love News Releases, I Love Pictures, and, of course a set of, I Love
Logo Guidelines (see www.regina.ca), as well as a growing cadre of artists and intellectuals
who find the campaign an amusing anachronism at best (given the strides being made by

26
other Canadian cities inspired by the creative cities movement), and an inauthentic gimmick
at worst, and who are contesting it by variously challenging its tone of bland optimism, and
foregrounding more critical perspectives on the state of Regina in their work.
This paper will use recent theories of prairie urban identity and discrepant
cosmopolitanism to focus on three recent short films that offer portraits of urban space, place,
and community in the Queen City that diverge from the official branding discourse. Where
Moccasin Flats (Randy Redroad, 2002) is concerned with the dramatic depiction of the
pressing social issues (the sex trade, drugs, despair) facing Reginas Aboriginal youth in the
ghetto of North Central, Home Town (Brett Bell, 2002) thematizes the negative effects of
urban depopulation and decay on Regina from the affectionately nostalgic yet biting
perspective of the satirical documentary, while East of Eden (Ken Wilson, 2006) offers a
melancholy super-8 send-up of the soulless east-end and its box store desert.
___________________________________________________________________________

Unhomely Spaces in the Contemporary Japanese Ghost Film

Varpu Rantala

In the Japanese ghost films of late 1990s and early 2000s the familiar everyday spaces
appear empty, haunting, and desolate. For example such directors as Kiyoshi Kurosawa,
Hideo Nakata and Takashi Miike have made use of the intimate homes and public or semi-
public urban spaces - streets, offices, apartment blocks, corridors and staircases - and the
technologically mediated spaces such as surveillance cameras, photographs, mobile phones,
videos, and the internet, to build up unpleasant, unfamiliar and distant sceneries. These late
modern East Asian cityscapes are filled with a sense of disappearance and absence, enforced
with minimalistic cinematic aesthetics.
By the millennial turn, the concept of unheimlich, the uncanny, reflected on by e.g.
Sigmund Freud and Martin Heidegger in the earlier part of 1900s, was revived. Its spatial
connotations to home and to the sense of identity became on the agenda, in for example
themes of dislocation, alienation from oneself, strangers, and virtual spaces. In Anthony
Vidlers terms the modern unhomely is an experience provoked by the virtual spaces and
modern industrial designs; in Marc Augs conceptions, the non-places of modern cities are
spaces beyond identity, memory and symbolization.
My paper discusses the millennial Japanese ghost films aesthetics of the everyday, and its
cinematicity - that is, audiovisuality, spatiality and movement - in context of the anxieties
over identity, memory and recognition in urban East Asian environments. I will exemplify
through Nakatas and Kurosawas films, how the cinematic uncanny is evoked within the
mundane environment, using spare and plain audiovisual techniques, to produce an
uncomfortable effect of haunting emptiness in contemporary settings. I will end my paper
discussing the questions around the possibilities of interpreting this style in a Japanese
context.
___________________________________________________________________________

Cinematic cartography: movies, maps and the consumption of place

Les Roberts, University of Liverpool

In recent years there has been a growing synergy between how cities are represented in film
and the marketing of cities as tourist attractions. While the relationship between film and
place marketing has been explored in recent studies on film and travel, to date the growing

27
phenomena of movie maps, particularly in relation to urban environments, has yet to come
under critical scrutiny. Focusing largely on the case of Liverpool (the first UK city to have a
dedicated film office), I consider some of the ways in which filmic or cinematic renderings of
space and place have become cartographically embedded in discourses of consumption,
heritage and urban place-making. The increasingly co-extensive geographies of tourism and
film prompts critical reflection on the commodification and consumption of post-industrial
urban landscapes, prompting in turn a renewed focus on the political economy of film
location sites, as well as a consideration of alternative cartographies of film, place and
memory, which I briefly outline by way of conclusion.
___________________________________________________________________________

Critique of the Disappearing City in the Films of Cohen, Keiller, and Steinmetz and
Chanan

Ian Robinson

This paper will investigate the use of film in the critique of urban spaces. It will explore how
the cinema mediates our knowledge of city spaces and how film reflects, confirms, reifies or
transfigures our understandings of different cities place identities. It will also look at the
extent to which it is possible to speak of a filmic critique of place. With reference to recent
city films by Jem Cohen (Chain, 2004; Lost Book Found, 1996), George Steinmetz and
Michael Chanan (Detroit: The Ruin of A City, 2005), and Patrick Keiller (London, 1994;
Robinson in Space, 1997) this paper will examine the use of archival footage, documentary
conventions and avant-garde techniques of narrative in order to assess the cinemas
methodological capacity to critique the city. While a comparison of aesthetic approaches of
these filmmakers opens up more differences than similarities, all three filmmakers share the
common theme of the contemporary citys disappearance. For these filmmakers, the city is
seen to be disappearing due to growth, impoverishment, urban decay, abandonment,
economic restructuring, as well as our inability to appropriate urban space cognitively. Urban
space and our traditional vision of the city are thus represented as disappearing not only from
the physical landscape but from the reach of memory as well.
I will argue that cinematic art, as exemplified in the works of Cohen, Keiller and
Steinmetz and Chanan, can interrogate this dilapidated urban condition by restoring
temporality and a sense of history to the city. This is primarily achieved by collecting
fragments of urban space in the form of archival and documentary footage and creating a
record of the lived city, its physical configurations, and its architectural transformations over
time. By displacing traditional narrative structures and visual styles, the films also mount a
challenge to dominant experiences of particular urban spaces and attempt to construct
alternative representations of their cities, while reflexively meditating on the cinemas
capacity for critical perception and its aesthetic attributes.
___________________________________________________________________________

Framing the Scene: A Cinematic Approach to a Redevelopment at the Halifax

Waterfront

Eva Russell

The fabric of the city can be understood as a collection of stories that have been recorded and
rewritten over time, as an invisible narrative structure which reveals a new dimension for the
visitor and resident. As places are torn down and rebuilt, evidence of the physical history

28
comprised of stories and narratives fade and are sometimes erased. There is a resulting need
for a personal interpretation of what has come before in order to interpret the past makers
intentions. With the passage of time, post-industrial sites now remain vacant and untouched
within the city, and are inevitably disregarded to become misused spaces. The redevelopment
of the post industrial site represents the desire to express layers of time within the scrap sites
of the city and the reinterpretation of stories and narratives.

These narratives, set in time, can be revealed through a process of layering and
rearrangements of memory to create a framework which will facilitate and control future
development. Cinematic techniques are effective in capturing techniques of memory and the
passing of time on film. Techniques such as framing, the montage, and the pan all contribute
in conveying aspects of narrative and memory to an audience. This paper will investigate the
role in which cinematic techniques and the structure of multiple narratives and stories can
begin to correspond with each other in order to stimulate growth of an industrial site. It
proposes an architecture that will detect, reveal and link fragments of the spatial narratives
existing on the site and provide a base for the production of new ones.
The architectural proposal will address the vast industrial waterfront in Halifax, Nova
Scotia and the potential of 3 small-scale interventions that will have the ability of evoking not
only memory and personal narratives, but provide a framework for future development.
Through the use of cinematic techniques and the camera, a mode for intervention and
investigation will be applied in order to explore the potential of the industrial port as a place
for layered narratives.
___________________________________________________________________________

Spatial Tactics and Gentrification on Film: Post-Francoist Barrio Chino (Barcelona)

Megan Saltzman

My talk focuses on the public everyday space of the Barrio Chino, a compact, culturally
diverse historic neighborhood in Barcelona. During the last three decades the Barrio Chino
has been the main target of gentrification projects due to its visible incompatibility with the
postmodern image of Barcelona. This successful image, which derives from Spains
transition from dictatorship to democracy in the early 1980s, has promoted Barcelona as a city
of Modern art and architecture, social democracy/liberalism, international business, and
Mediterranean fun-n-sun. The Barrio Chino juxtaposed disrupts this image with its
low-income inhabitants, smelly streets, immigrants, and moral degeneracy in the form of
prostitution, drugs, and petty crime. Further, rather than improving overall conditions, the
urban renewal projects have resulted in the peripheralization of the lower class, and the loss,
fragmentation, and disorientation of historical narrative, memory, urban community, and
ethnicity.
In a time of heightened privatization, simulacra, and surveillance in the city, little bits
of truth have managed to find their way to the surface. One of the main ideas of the book The
Practice of Everyday Life by Michel de Certeau is that urban dwellers will always find
creative clever ways (or he calls these spatial tactics) of slipping around spatial regulations
and re-appropriating a space to meet a basic need. Spatial tactics formed by prostitutes,
immigrants, transient vendors, swindlers, squatters, children, the dead, and even cats are
elusive, ephemeral, and lie along the wishy-washy line between the legal and the illegal.
Some examples of spatial tactics that I have observed in the Barrio Chino are: ATM bank
rooms used as bedrooms in the winter, balconies used to hang protest signs or clothes, or
as seen in my photo attached an abandoned lot used as a volleyball court.

29
 By analyzing two documentaries produced in the last decade in the neighborhood: En
construccin by Jos Luis Guern (1999) and De nens by Joaquim Jord (2004), along with
my personal photography and observations in the Barrio Chino, my talk extends this idea of
de Certeaus to show the potential that ephemeral spatial tactics caught on film reveal about
the history of the space of the other within a historical framework that traditionally focuses on
time (instead of space) and official or national subjects (instead of the other). Finally,
besides providing a temporary refuge for the other, spatial tactics exposes many of the
economic underpinnings and social injustices that lie behind the citys image.
___________________________________________________________________________

Empty Spaces? The Images of Berlin

Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska

The paper focuses on the images of Berlin and on the way film authors deal with the citys
past. It results from a larger research that examines films from the Weimar Republic onwards.
One may state that pre-1945 pictures would make use of a different type of logic than films
made after World War Two. Such titles as Berlin. The Symphony of a Great City (1927) by
Walter Ruttmann or Asphalt (1929) by Joe May present a modern city at the peak of its
industrial growth. The situation had changed in 1945, however. One of the very first post-war
films, namely Germany, Year Zero (1947) by Roberto Rossellini presents the city as a
barren wasteland full of ruins and decay. It is quite telling that many non-German directors,
such as Billy Wilder in 1948s A Foreign Affair and Carol Reed in The Man Between
(1953) would retain such a vision, and despite the rebuilding process would frequently point
their cameras towards the empty and ruined sights. After the Berlin Wall was erected,
portraying the city became much more difficult not only due to the physical division of the
city, but also as a result of various ideological and political constraints. In the 1980s the
subject of cultural and urban memory was incorporated into the West-German literature and
cinematography. Some films were made from the point of view of memory and history. This
breakthrough is visible in Wim Wenders motion picture Wings of Desire (1987) as well as
in a few modern films about Berlin (e.g. Berlin Babylon [2001], dir. H. Siegert; Berlin.
The Symphony of a Great City [2002], dir. Th. Schadt).
___________________________________________________________________________

Harold Lloyds Safety Last (1923): Gendered Celebration of Los Angeless Modernity

Merrill Schleier

In accord with cinemas European urban symphonies by Ruttmann and Vertov, Harold
Lloyds comedy Safety Last (1923) pays homage to the Los Angeles metropolis its towering
skyscrapers, careening automobiles, crowds, department stores, and advertising signage. It is
perhaps the first American full-length film to make a plea for the citys modernity on par with
New York, Berlin, and Paris. By drawing on views of modernity by Baudelaire, Kracauer,
and Bhabha, I argue that Lloyd harnesses the spectacularized city as a staging ground for
his characters fully integrated gender identity. He uses the International Bank Building on
Spring Street, known as the Wall Street of the West, as the site where the boy or Harold
must prove himself a man. At first, he is destabilized by modernitys rapid pace and the
department stores aggressive customers in the "lowly feminized spatial environs where he
works. In order to increase revenue and garner a bonus, salesman Harold hatches a publicity
scheme for his construction worker friend to climb the stores skyscraper as a human fly

30
before a crowd. However, due to a mishap, the bespectacled and suited character (the actors
trademarks) makes the ascent himself, becoming a dual cipher of modernity, a human
billboard and an analogue to the tall buildings he is poised to surmount, while absorbing the
laborers courage. In one of silent cinemas most famous scenes, the slightly unsettled Harold
hangs from the hands of a skyscraper huge clock, thereby temporarily subverting bureaucratic
time, before making it to the top where he meets his prospective wife in full wedding regalia.
Los Angeless modernity is thus implicated in the narrative, especially its towering
architectural monuments, which are employed as obstacles that Harold must overcome,
thereby performing both physically and metaphorically the capitalist success ethos of
upward mobility and individual initiative.
___________________________________________________________________________

The Post War Housing Problem in Glasgow: A Comparative Analysis of Sponsored and
Amateur Film

Ryan Shand

After World War Two, Glasgow was facing a housing crisis. On the one hand demand for
housing was growing fast, as people from rural areas moved to the city to fill labour gaps in
an expanding industrial network of businesses. On the other hand however, many houses had
been destroyed during the war and the inner city tenements were overcrowded and unhealthy
to live in. The tension between these two forces: growing industry, yet lack of housing, was
one of the most serious problems facing the Glasgow City Council.
The city council, known as the Corporation of the City of Glasgow, commissioned a
report into this situation. Extensive planning by the state, in the form of a massive
intervention into the housing issue, was seen as the best possible solution to the supposed
disasters of the unplanned city. Two sponsored films, Progress Report (1946) and Progress
Report No.2 (1948), were commissioned by the Housing Department to outline the councils
plans for the future. However, by 1952 the Corporation proposed to sell 622 newly built
houses on Merrylee Road, on the south side of the city. No local council in Britain, before this
case, had ever suggested the sale of council houses.
In response to this controversy, an amateur cine club The Dawn Cine Group, made Let
Glasgow Flourish (1952-56). This film mixed drama and documentary to highlight the
perceived injustice of such a sale. This film has subsequently been canonised as representing
their most important contribution to post-war amateur filmmaking, by providing an alternative
perspective to sponsored films such as Progress Report. A cultural value has attached itself to
this film due to its apparent subversive credentials, but in this paper I want to ask whether this
vision of Let Glasgow Flourish is really justified?
___________________________________________________________________________

One Week By Buster Keaton: Envisioning Prefab Architecture In Motion

Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

The case study is mainly focused on B. Keatons masterpieces: One Week, 1920 and The
Electric House, 1922. Both these works can be used to show the meaning of the montage of
mass housing prefabrication as hardware and software (repetition; sense of placeless; generic
layouts; and lack of appropriation) in US. The films illustrate the power of do-it-your-self
applied in housing and its execution simply as an accident, a random process rather than
sequential. For instance, One Week is the story of the seven days construction process of

31
Sears mail-order Modern Home, a standard catalogue house, with precut, fitted pieces and
appliances. This film shows a non-standardized architecture, by exploring unexpected trails of
spatial production, rather random than custom-made. The ability to move, change or adapt are
prerequisites for life. In the case of architecture in motion, there are some features that can
play a significant role in its development: A. the expanding functions; B. variable divisions of
interior space; and C. flexible and automated furniture and appliances.
Therefore, what might a non-standard manufacturing house be like? Keaton creates a
parody-manifesto. The One Weeks house appears as a space-frame randomly designed for
flexible living, which allows for the moving from one place to another or for the house to be
changed in its shape or use. The Electric House focuses on mechanical appliances. They
announce a new architecture where walls might fold over; floors shift; an escalator replaces
the staircase; the foundation rests on wheels; the programme metamorphoses and the
appliances organise the domestic life. Parts could leave the site and return, or the entire
building could collapse or become mechanised, fold up or simply be transported to a different
location. Keaton anticipates the architecture in motion; envisioning adaptable, light and
compact spaces, with dwellers in transit.
___________________________________________________________________________

MakeSpace: mobile spectating and spatial screening in contemporary urban

environments

Nanna Verhoeff

This paper aims to revamp the notion of a one-directional screening practice of display by
considering the collapse of making and viewing that can be witnessed in contemporary screen
culture. I will analyze several different phenomena that change the experience of urban space,
ranging from spatially organized, or immersive, screen installations such as so-called
environment or installation art, to pervasive and mobile media forms such as location-based
(or backseat) gaming, audio tours, navigation devices.
The spatial as well as physical programming of interactive media installations and
mobile screens trigger the deconstruction of both the process of making and of spectating.
These architectural or environmental screens raise questions about the borders of screen-based
dispositifs, or screening arrangements. As half-products, unfinished media, these phenomena
come to live in the presence of the user/spectator, who literally finishes the work of screening.
I consider this co-dependency between screen and user/spectator a form of spatial
performativity, in the sense that viewing is an act that enables vision itself. Moreover, these
screening practices fundamentally change the construction of urban space. In this paper, I will
analyze this performativity of urban space through an investigation of its screens, their
applications, and their construction of space.
___________________________________________________________________________

Un voyage pour le corps et lesprit The Urban Dreams of Modernism in Matthias

Mllers shortfilm Vacancy and in 21st-Century Car Commercials

Ricarda Vidal

The city is built of white concrete and glass, its bridges are cast in gleaming steel and its
multi-lane highways are covered in smooth grey tarmac. A single car moves noiselessly
through its spacious streets. As it drives past buildings and bridges the citys shapes and
patterns are reflected in its sculpted bodywork. It is a city of dreams, it is the city of light and

32
air and pure aesthetics Le Corbusier described in his Radiant City (1933). And it is the perfect
backdrop for the 21st-century car commercial, where driving is pure experience for body and
mind.1
The city of the car commercial is of course always a virtual city. Even when the
commercial is shot in an actual location the city it shows is as utopian as Le Corbusiers urban
designs. Though it serves the sole purpose of promoting a dream of high-tech living it is a city
without inhabitants, where every angle breathes perfection and every building is in total
harmony with its surroundings, pristine and undisturbed by human presence.
In the 1960s a version of the radiant city was built by Oscar Niemeyer et al. in the
middle of the Brazilian desert as the countrys new capital Brasilia. Umberto Eco described it
as the city of hope and the last utopia of the 20th century, but like the city in the car
commercial, today the modernist centre of Brasilia is largely abandoned. In his shortfilm
Vacancy (1998) the artist Matthias Mller explores the discrepancies between ideology and
reality by juxtaposing found footage from the 1960s to scenes shot in 1998.
Comparing the modernist aesthetics of cityscapes in contemporary car commercials
with Mllers vision of Brasilia this paper examines the concepts and failures of modernist
urban planning and its legacy for contemporary culture.
1
French commercial for Toyota Lexus GS, 2004.
___________________________________________________________________________

On Emptiness in Images of Urban Space

Jem Cohens Film Chain and the Concept of Non-Places

Thomas Waitz

It is an often-paraphrased idea that in the process of a so-called globalisation the sensation of

place has changed. The observation that space at the same time seems to be linked and
fragmentised is a commonplace of cultural theory. In the course of this process, so is argued,
dichotomies like proximity and distance get under pressure, weak and questionable. In
such a way Michel Foucault alleges that the differentiation of these both poles, whose
chaining offers orientation and safety to people, is fundamentally deranged a consequence
of a blurring between spatial entities and the invasion of what he calls the inside by the
outside. In succession space seems henceforth to be menacing, unsettling and vexing,
feelings of disorientation, even anxiety, diffuse. French anthropologist Marc Aug has called
the historical new forms of spatiality, which emerge from such development, non-places
an allegory for the phenomenon of big cities and their post-industrial landscapes. But
astonishingly enough, for Marc Aug the non-place is characterized by a remarkable
invisibility, a sphere of ambiguity, of ephemeral evanescence.
Within the discourse of the non-place, so my proposition I would like to discuss
during the presentation, concepts of spatiality and urban identity are associated with original
filmic imaginations of the post-modern city. Its representations constitute all those terms,
under which the individual imaginary (for example the dream) circulates with the collective
imaginary (for example the myth) and fiction (Aug). But since urban space as a non-place
by itself does sum up for anything as well as it sums up for nothing, its representation
become a field of ascriptions and attributions. To examine this assumption I would like to
adduct Jem Cohens experimental essay-film Chain (2004) the attempt to conceptualise the
heterogeneous image of a modern, urban world consisting of malls, motels and airports in
which images of fragments and traces of self-narrations are inscribed.

33
 The non-places of the urban are mutually dependent to the filmic: They are bound to
strategies of making visible, not merely they doesnt exist, but rather they are products of
image-politics. While speaking of non-places, they frame the filmic image as a phantasm:
What seems to be a non-place is an object of desire, which recognises the visible as a
medium: a medium of projection, a medium of make-believe and estimation, a medium of
identification. On this note, the perceivableness of the non-place only exists in the
dependency of the visual and the imaginary: With the saying of the non-place the visual and
the imaginary of the urban are intrinsically tied to each other. This dependency is of symbolic
nature: the visual is inseparable from the imaginary.
___________________________________________________________________________

Projecting and Performing the Contested Landscape of Toronto Through the Archive
and Film

Kate Wells, Julie Nagam and Eva Nesselroth Woyzbun

Approaching the city as a form of cultural expression, this paper will explore the urban
landscape as contested space that transforms in accordance with the dominant media
technologies and historical discourses. This research will address the role of film in the
construction of virtual environments and spaces of memory in the context of indigenous and
colonial histories in the region of Toronto, Ontario Canada. With film, we can imagine the
unrecognized legacy of the rivers and trails of transport in juxtaposition with the familiar
scene of modern use and mechanism; land and narrative become layered and mosaic instead
of straight and rigid.
The mediums of exchange that build the urban way of life also condition social and
cultural approaches to understanding the city: in an age of electronic and wireless technology
how might film represent the city in its full historical and archival scope? Does film carry the
systemic logic of Western European renaissance thinking, or can it achieve multi-modal
connections that reject the singular point of view and allow for an enriched trans-cultural
experience?
Observing how film, projection and performance explore subjectivity in the ways
people process space and time will provide the creative opportunity to examine these
questions. The problematic conception of the city as an ultimate destination, a mappable
commodity and pinnacle of achievement will be confronted as we portray city spaces that are
rich with contrasting versions/visions of the past in an exploration of how film and the archive
can capture the complex historical points and multiple cultural views of shared space.
___________________________________________________________________________

Ian Wiblin, University of Glamorgan

Stella Polare: looking away from history.

Stella Polare (Anthea Kennedy and Ian Wiblin, 76mins, 2005) is very much a waterfront
film, one which engages directly with a port citys memory of wealth and its importance
within empire. As such it is a very relevant film to screen within the context of the City in
Film conference at Liverpool. This abstract proposes a paper and / or screening and Q&A
event.
Stella Polare is an essay film shot in the Italian port city of Trieste. This locations
identity is never revealed. The architectural specificity of Trieste emerged out of its history as
a major port city of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The film uses the physical legacy of the

34
citys imperial associations to engage with history and current events in particular ways. This
it does partly through the relationship created between what is shown, or denied, on screen
and the content of a spoken text constructed in the second person (thereby placing the you
of the viewer directly in the city or at least on its jetty).
Stella Polare adopts a combination of subjective and objective narrative and
documentary formulas, within both image and sound, to blur fact and fiction. The film mixes
fragments of real and invented histories in ways which confuse time, connecting the present
with the past within anonymous place. The main visual device within this treatment is a jetty
which is always filmed with the camera looking away from the city out to sea. The film
contains a succession of long sequences which depict people walking, as if sleepwalking
through history, up and down the length of the jetty. The effect of this is to deny any real
sense of time or place: instead the city is constructed, and the viewer oriented, via a collection
of visual and aural fragments.
The paper will speculate on the value of such a constructed city, as container of
memory and history.

35
 Tuba eyda Akehir

A STEP INTO THE CITY

Use of Haydarpaa Station as a city gate in Turkish Cinema after
1960

Tuba eyda Akehir

This work basically searches the connection between the traces of Istanbul as a city,
specifically Haydarpaa station as a landmark, in our social memories and their
representations in Turkish films in the post 1960 years. But first of all, the stressing of why
the post 1950-1960 years is significant in the social and political life of Turks and hence in
the Turkish cinema is necessary.

The 1950-60ies:

Turkey was founded as a republic in 1923. The modernization process that had been started in
1923 in the political and social life by the declaration of the republic allowed cinema to
develop. However, still those cinema historians like Scognamillo (1987) describe the era until
the year 1959 as the era in which cinema tried to create its own language and a national
character. Cinema was tried to be enlivened in this period by the limited helps of the official
organizations (Onaran 1996:83). The laws on films especially the censoring approach made
this transition period more difficult.
There was the power of a single political party in that period. Efforts to establish a
second party had started in the year 1945. Many authorities had been qualifying the setting up
of the Demokrat Parti / Democrat Party in 1945, as a step for a more democratic life in
Turkey (Turan 1969: 123). The Democrat Party came into power in 1950. As Kayal mentions
(1994), it was being almost defended that cinema went out to the street by the Democrat Party
coming into power. Most of the films in 1950-1960 focused on villagers life covering issues
about their social and daily life but this was not a coincidence. Democrat Party approached
the villagers that could not enter the elite society of the previous political party that was in
power and that could not obtain the things that they once expected from the national
development. However, the economic policies of the Democrat Party favoring villagers had
made inflation rate to increase by changing the distribution of the national revenue through
increasing the prices of the agricultural products (Turan 1969: 125). This, in turn, caused the
income differences, chaos and conflicts in different social layers. The pro-republican
followers had changed the people in power by cooperating with the military forces by the
May 27, 1960 revolution. Those who made the revolution had made a constitution which is
still being named to be the most liberal constitution ever in Turkey, according to the most of
the historians. The revolutionary approaches needed for the development of the Turkish
cinema had found area of application in such medium.
Daldal (2005) describes the cinema of that period as a period having social realism
concerns. The directors went after the audience that were aware of the problems and would
search for solutions and prefer to look at the proposed life through a realistic eye (Oskay
1996: 99). The reality was now the crisis caused by the migrating villagers to cities in masses,
who lost the advantages of the virtual development proposed by the economical policies of
the power of the Democrat Party. The development of the slums, the social disorder in the
cities and the migration became the main subject of the post - 1960 films from then onwards.

36
 Tuba eyda Akehir

The films; Bir Avu Cennet, Ah Gzel stanbul, Altn ehir, Bitmeyen Yol are only a few of
them.

Immigrants

In 1950s films Istanbul is described as in tales where hope and dreams emerges and stored in
the social memory within these terms (ztrk 2004). Thus, the city to which being emigrated
is always Istanbul. City is occupied since those immigrants transform, spoil, deform it instead
of adapting and such phenomenon has been subject to other researches.
The rate of the migration is as follows; the 75 % of the total population of Turkey in
the year 1950 was living in rural areas. This ratio had fallen to 61, 2 % twenty years later. On
the contrary people living in cities had increased to 38, 8 % while it was previously 25 %
(enyapl 1978: 16). The reasons of the migration according to the researchers are listed as;
having the possibility of a fixed job, higher income and better and a comfortable life (Kurt
2003: 144).The travel to the city whose soil and stones are considered to be made out of gold
is in fact the journey towards hope. The end of the journey is the gate of Istanbul that
connects Anatolia to the city; hence represent the start of a new life.

The gate: Haydarpaa Main Train Station

The Haydarpaa Main Train Station has been set up on an area of 3886 square meters
altogether which is just on the shore of the Marmara Sea. The building is constructed wholly
out of stone. The construction started in 1906 and lasted two years. It is still being used as a
station even though a very questionable privatization process is tried to be kept under way for
the Haydarpaa region.
On an internet newspage Sarpdere states (2006):

The film starts. The train approaches the railway platform. Those men with wooden
cases in their hands and with surprised and afraid looks land Istanbul. And then the
huge silhouette emerges through the human crowd that runs here and there: The
Haydarpaa Station.

On the topic of privatization of Haydarpaa, zkyl points out (2006):

Those who come to Istanbul from a corner of Anatolian the old Turkish films by
suddenly grabbing their cases open their eyes here for the first time The first
embracement with sea are realized here for many people in the front of the
Haydarpaa Station. However, these images seem to remain in the old film snapshots.

On the same subject Uyar (2005) writes:

The Haydarpaa Station and the Port of Haydarpaa which is the unchangeable
starting point of the Turkish films in which the immigration from Anatolia to the
large city are being dramatized is in the stage where the new revenue games that is
being played together with its environments.

People who have not ever seen Istanbul having information on the station as being stressed
also in the texts from newspapers and internet pages is directly in connection to the uses of it
in Turkish films. However, to say that the Haydarpaa Station is the first stop for those who

37
 Tuba eyda Akehir

come to Istanbul with great hopes and the last for those who leave with disappointments
wouldnt be enough for understanding the frequency of use of the station in the films.
Its use as a film space is both related to its qualitative and quantitative properties. It is
also important to note that the space itself is produced not only through the design of the
architect but also through the user who inhabits it. umnu (2002) explains this double fold
relationship as the spaceness and the placeness whereas Soja as the first space versus
second space , De Certeau as the visual space versus social space, Lefebvre as the objective
space versus subjective user space (umnu 2002: 12). The first one of the definitions that
is cited herein is about places physical existence while the latters discovered through
experience, action and by movement.

In this case, which in fact is the space to which the film directors turn their cameras to?

Adilolu (2005: 18) mentions that it is the relationship between body and space that correlate
cinema and architecture. For her, while directors choosing film spaces do not only decide on
locations according to depth, perspective, continuity (first space) but they design places where
their characters constitute a bodily link. In this case, the stations are city gates where one can
establish numerous relations between its users, the characters, and the space (second space).
According to Edwards (1997:21), the railway stations are the smaller models of the
cities like a small universe. These spaces embrace all the powerful and the weak sides of the
city. The Haydarpaa Main Railway Station in this meaning is a cross section of the city. The
trains pass through various locations in Anatolia and citizens with different identities and
cultures come together. The station with its sounds and crowd is like an example for those
who immigrate may meet when they leave the station. In Turkish films, the station as a space
is full of references for the city as in the Walter Salles film, Central Station. (Krel 2004:
176).
According to Bertolini (1998) the Railway Stations have two main characters. A
Railway Station is a knotting point and is a specified place with capacities of developing a
region in the city. Figure 1 shows that both of the descriptions for the Haydarpaa Main
Railway Station can not be made easily. The building provides an impression in a number of
films that it opens to one of the squares of the city although it is on the shore of the
Bosphorus. It seems as if it is the end of the railway network instead of standing as a note.
The station is the peak/end of the journey of hope within the context of this discussion which
directors prefer to refer simultaneously because of its special location in the city.
Bertolini (1998) describes the Railway Station as a separate region in the city. He
mentions that they have the capacity to form a different region affecting the development of a
part of the city. Thus, he investigates the boundary between the station and the rest of the city.
In Haydarpaa Station, those who come to the city with great expectations do not immediately
fall into the chaos of the city. They have the chance of looking at it at a distance. The things
that are seen by those who come to the station when they disembark from the train are the
minarets of the Blue Mosque in Sultanahmet, a panoramic view of the city, the steamboats
and the Marmara Sea. The city remains just behind and in front of the building. Those who
are determined leap their step and pass over the door step. The thresholds question the
limitation between inside and outside and they actualize the possibility of transition between
those two (Eliade 1991:158). In this case, the possibility of transition between outside (the
city) and inside (the hometown) become concrete at these door steps and the station for those
who immigrate. Between those two areas, the station as a threshold, hope for a better life is a
realization. Thus, the trip which is made to the city by the ferries to is a ritual of this
transition.

38
 Tuba eyda Akehir

Figure 1. stanbul map indicating location of Haydarpaa Station

Abac (2004: 216) stresses that ferries, the Karaky dock and the Haydarpaa Main Train
Station building are the clich locations of the films. However, Haydarpaa Station presents
various meanings that may be referred to by the directors. Though, not in every film produced
after 1960 the same body- space relationship is built.

Gurbet Kular

Gurbet Kular is one of the films that refer to the station with the quite same meanings
mentioned above. The film is directed by Halit Refi in 1964. The 6- persons Bakrcolu
family immigrate to Istanbul with a hope for a better life when they got broke back in their
hometown. They reach the Haydarpaa Main Train Station with the Southeast Express
expecting to conquer the city but they are all thrown to different directions since the city is
big, dangerous, problematic, they are spoiled, fooled and in the end they are obliged to return
to their home town.
The film starts with the family arriving at the station. They walk close to each other all
in fascination of the crowd and the rush. As soon as they arrived at the station, a peddler
approaches. There are police officers appering in the next sequence dealing with a stowaway.
It is more or like a small example of a city which they were about to enter. The Bakrcolu
family climbs down the stairs of the Haydarpaa Main Train Station. The threshold has been
passed. Their step into the city is almost in a hierarchical order father in the front heading
their destination (Fig. 2).

39
 Tuba eyda Akehir

Figure 2. Gurbet Kular (1964)

The Bakrcolu family that had seen the sea

and even the ships for the first time is full of
hope and excitement. Just at this point
another space which the film director turned
his camera emerges. The moment of surprise
of the villager that passing over the threshold
defines a new inter-space between the
narration and the audience (Fig. 3). Here, the
meaning is formed in the perception of the
individual; in this case the audience, rather
than the real spaces. The ideas are directly
related to the image and the representation of
the spaces. The idea that we get in relation to Haydarpaa, as a city gate, correlates the image
that is located in our memories with this moment in the social context of 1960s. In fact, the
reason of the frequent use of Haydarpaa in the films is just related to this inter-space. The
story starting in the same place in other immigration films is a call for the audience to be
prepared. The characters of the story will create various problems for them, force new ones,
have now reached the city and hence the drama starts. They are expected to remember the
incidents that characters of the previous immigration films have suffered.

Figure 3. Gurbet Kular (1964)

Cinema has an undeniable power on

establishing common concerns, ideas in
society than any other art. It, by reflecting
and transferring reinforces general ideas
about things that we have little knowledge
about (Ghan 1992:67). Just at this point,
the definition of collective memory becomes
necessary. Bastea (2004:3) asks what is, in
fact, the thing that able us to talk about even
the buildings and events that we have never
observed before in the introduction of the
Memory and Architecture. According to
Halbwachs, as cited in umnu (2002) those things that we can talk about without
experiencing before are the ones that the society considers to be worth remembering within in
a social framework. These are in concrete (buildings, statues, etc.) and abstract (marches,
tales) forms (Nora 1992: 14). These, in any structure all have symbolic meaning residing in
various representations (umnu 2002: 28). The representation of Haydarpaa as a threshold
of a new life for immigrants in the post- 1960 period films highlights the symbolic meaning of
Haydarpaa.
According McQuire (1998) camera in our era operates as a support of the memory.
Boyer (1994) also investigates the relation between the camera, the spaces of the city and the
collective memory. According to her, the camera and the photography have been the primary
agents in the twentieth century in forming a collective memory but the memory formed here
breaks the tin connection between the experience and the perception. The image that is being
reproduced repeatedly by the camera and the photograph becomes the determinant factor
instead of the individual perception through his/her experiences. This, in turn, is the reason

40
 Tuba eyda Akehir

for the expected responses and the clich meanings (Boyer 1994:485). Benjamin thinks that,
as cited in Boyer (1994), images reproduced by illustrated press are different from the images
perceived by the unarmed eye. Haydarpaa, as a real space can establish an expectation
experienced in the movies but this is a question of a more expanded work. Through Turkish
migration films the station has a continuously reproduced, stereotype image in our memories,
as a place where everything started, which the directors use to arm us on about what to come.

Armed Eyes

After 1960 military act there had been two more in years 1971 and 1980. Especially after
1980, the general attitude in Turkish cinema was depolitization, the socialist understanding
faded out (Dorsay n.d:13). Altough the migration is part of the story in some of the films
exemplified below, the reasons of the migration are different from Gurbet Kular. However,
the characters end their journey to stanbul at Haydarpaa Station. The directors of all three
films below attribute not directly to Haydarpaa as a city space, the way Halit Refi did, but
rather to its stereoytpe image. In At (Ali zgentrk, 1981), the father in hope for a better
education for his son arrives to the city, only the steps of the gate is seen. The audience is
armed about the possible threats of this dangerous city. It is a proper notice because the father
dies and the son goes back to hometown. In Ekiya (Yavuz Turgul, 1996), the main character
travels to Istanbul to find his lover whom he has lost trace when he was in prison. He meets
Cumali in the train.
At the first sequence, the director selects to show the Haydarpaa from a distant place.
The audience must now be prepared to those incidences that may happen to heroes of the
film. As a matter of fact, Cumali who was being sought by the policemen is arrested as soon
as he arrives at the Train Station (Fig.4). Turkish viewers lastly seen the station in 2007 film
by Abdullah Ouz (Fig. 5) adapted from Zlf Livanelis book.

Figure 4. Ekiya (1996) Figure 5. Mutluluk (2007)

There is about forty years between the films exemplified in this paper. The social and political
life experienced massive changes in this period in Turkey. Still, the station remains as the
most important platform not only for films but also for commercials and TV series. These are
very few examples indicating how Haydarpaa attained a consumed identity through Turkish
films. It is a consumed identity since; its once constituted representation in 1960s is being
persistently used without forming or re-defining new body- space relationship at least in a
cinematographic concern. Nevertheless, due to its popularity, the privatization project,
including the closure of station to public use, is closely examined by the society. We will soon

41
 Tuba eyda Akehir

see whether its consumed identity will be sufficient enough to protect its identity as a city
gate.

Acknowledgments

For further information on the topic of the privatization process of Haydarpaa region refer to:
http://www.turkishdailynews.com.tr/article.php?enewsid=93990

References

Abac, T. 2004, Siyah- Beyaz stanbul in Kentte Sinema Sinemada Kent, eds N. Trkolu,
M. ztrk & G. Aymaz, Yeni Hayat Yaynclk, stanbul.
Adilolu, F. 2005, Sinemada Mimari Almlar: Halit Refi Filmleri, Es Yaynlar, stanbul.
Bastea, E. ed., 2004, Memory and Architecture, University of New Mexico Press, New
Mexico.
Bertolini, L. 1998, Cities on Rail: The Redevelopment of Railway Station Areas, E&FN
Spon, London.
Boyer, C.M. 1994, The City of Collective Memory : Its Historical Imagery and Architectural
Entertainments, MIT Press, Cambridge.
Daldal A. 2005, 1960 Darbesi ve Trk Sinemasnda Toplumsal Gerekilik, Homer
Yaynclk, stanbul.
Dorsay, A. n.d, 12 Eyll Yllar ve Sinemamz 160 filmle 1980-90 Aras Trk Sinemasna
Baklar, Inkilap, stanbul.
Edwards, B. 1997, The Modern Station : New Approaches to Railway Architecture, E&FN
Spon, London.
Eliade, M. 1991, Kutsal ve Dind, trans. M. A. Klbay, Gece, Ankara.
Ghan, G. 1992, Toplumsal Deime ve Trk Sinemas: Kente G Eden nsann Trk
Sinemasnda Deien Profili, mge Kitabevi, Ankara.
Kayal, K. 1994, Ynetmenler erevesinde Trk Sinemas zerine Bir Yorum
Denemesi,Ayyldz, Ankara.
Krel, S. 2004, Kent ocuklar in Kentte Sinema Sinemada Kent, eds N. Trkolu,
M. ztrk & G. Aymaz, Yeni Hayat Yaynclk, stanbul.
Kurt, H. 2003, Trkiyede Ky- Kent elikisi, Siyasal Kitabevi, Ankara.
McQuire,S. 1998, Visions of Modernity : Representation, Memory, Time and Space in the Age
of the Camera, SAGE Publications, London.
Nora, P. 1992, Realms of Memory: The Construction of the French Past vol 1. Conflicts and
Divisions. Trans ed. L. D.Kritzman, Columbia University Press, New York.
Onaran, A. 1996, Trk Sinemasnn Bugn ve Yarn, in Trk Sinemas zerine
Dnceler, ed. Sleyma Murat Diner, Doruk Yaynlar, Ankara, pp. 82-93.
Oskay, . 1996, Sinemann Yznc Ylnda Trk Sinemasnda Entellektellik Tartmas,
in Trk Sinemas zerine Dnceler ed. Sleyma Murat Diner, Doruk Yaynlar,
Ankara, pp. 93-110.
zkyl, G. 2006, Haydarpaa Gar Tarihe Karyor CNNTURK
Available at: http://www.cnnturk.com/TURKIYE/haber_detay.asp? PID=318&HID =3&
haberID=191236
ztrk, M. 2004, 'Trk Sinemasnda Gecekondular', European Journal of Turkish Studies,
Thematic Issue N1, Avaliable at: http://www.ejts.org/document94.html.
Sarpdere, Y. 2006, Haydarpaa Gar Evrensel, Avaliable at:
http://www.evrensel.net/06/09/22/kose.html

42
 Tuba eyda Akehir

Scognamillo, G. 1987, Trk Sinema Tarihi Birinci Cilt 1896-1959, Metis, stanbul.
enyapl , . 1978, Kentlileen Kyller, Milliyet Yaynlar, stanbul.
umnu, U. 2002, The 1912 Galata Bridge as a Site of Collective Memory, M.d Bilkent,
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Turan, . 1969, Cumhuriyet Tarihimiz, alayan Kitabevi, stanbul.
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http://www.evrensel.net/05/06/21/kose.html

43
 Helena Barranha

Views from above:

Cinema and urban iconography after Google Earth
Helena Barranha, Universidade Tcnica de Lisboa

Introduction: towards a new urban iconography

No medium has ever captured the city and the experience of urban modernity better than
film. Indeed, the relationship between the city and the cinema, although less than a
century old, is a strong and well established one. The images and sounds found in movies
today routinely bring people the experience of distant cities they may never visit. []
Movies influence the way we construct images of the world, and in many instances they
influence how we operate within it.
(AlSayyad, 2006: 1)

If, in the 15th century, the discovery of mathematically-based perspective transformed the
perception of architectural space and revolutionised its representations, throughout the 20th
century, the simultaneous development of cinematography and aviation has also motivated
radical changes in visual arts. In fact, the possibility of seeing landscape and cityscape from
the sky and, more recently, from space had a strong impact on the redefinition of urban
iconography within contemporary culture.
Gradually, the static representations of the city were replaced by more dynamic views,
which evolved from cubist painting to the cinematic zoom-in/zoom-out and, in the turn of the
millennium, to the interactivity of new media technologies. Global access to Internet
resources like on-line video-cameras and satellite images provided different pictures of urban
spaces.
As Paul Virilio explains, for a long time now, transparency has replaced appearances.
Since the beginning of the twentieth century, the depth of field of classical perspective has
been renewed by the depth of time of advanced technology. [] From the aesthetics of the
appearance of stable images, present precisely because of their static nature, to the aesthetics
of the disappearance of unstable images, present because of their motion (cinematic,
cinematographic), a transmutation of representations has taken place. [] In effect, given this
technology, over-view is no longer a question of theoretical altitude, of scale designs, but has
become an opto-electronic interface operating in real time, with all that implies about the
redefinition of image (Virilio 1984: 549-550).
In the history of cinema, views from above became a recurrent rhetorical figure, as if
cinematographers had the ambition to take a central, elevated, divine point of view (Canova
1999: 184). This global and almost metaphysical perspective often contributed to create a
poetic environment and to suggest that the spectator himself has a privileged position,
dominating the space-time relation.
While Hollywood has preferred exploring urban aerial perspectives in order to emphasise
spectacularity, grandiosity or terror, in European cinema this approach tends to be related to
the concept of flneur, the main character to be associated with modernity and urbanity
(AlSayyad 2006: 5). The idea of the flneur as someone who wanders the city to experience
and understand it has inspired some of the most lyrical European films focused on urban life.
The impression of flying or floating over the city is frequently used as a means to introduce a
reflection on contemporary culture, a state of mind, a quest or a process of self-knowledge.

44
 Helena Barranha

Berlin, the suspended city

Figure 1. Wings of Desire directed by Wim Wenders.

Director of Photography: Heidi Ldi.

When we think of cityscapes shot from above, the

film Wings of Desire, directed by Wim Wenders
(1987), inevitably comes to mind. Observed by
two angels Damiel (Bruno Ganz) and Cassiel
(Otto Sander), Berlin appears as a suspended city,
after the destruction and the division caused by the
Second World War. Despite having wings, the angels do not appear to fly over the city;
instead, they prefer contemplating the cityscape from the top of buildings and statues (Fig. 1).
Following mortals movements on their daily routines and listening to their deepest
thoughts, the angels revisit the past and the present of the city and, at the same time, they
express the dilemma between eternity and human condition. Inquiring urbanity is, thus,
wondering about the meaning of individual existence: Why am I me and not you? Why am I
here and not there? When did time begin, and where does space end? According to Eric
Mader-Lin (2002), Wenders genius was to make a film both compelling realistic, as a
documentary of life in modern Berlin, and convincingly metaphysical, as a tale of the angels
in charge of watching over Berlin.
In his tribute to Berlin, Wim Wenders reveals a cold, grey, war-scared city. Rather than
shooting architectural icons, Wenders portrays a sober, anonymous monumentality patent in
large avenues, in the bridges and viaducts or in the flat geometry of modern buildings.
Inspired by the poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke, the slow rhythm of the narrative is punctuated
with the poems and dialogues written by Peter Handke, along with the alternation of black-
and-white and colour images that correspond to the angels perception, in contrast to the
reality of humankind. Moreover, the presence and absence of colour expresses the dichotomy
between the eternal and the ephemeral. As Richard Corliss (1988) notes, Wings of Desire
works hard to be both an essay and a love story, a mural and an intimate portrait.
Sixteen years later (2003), Wolfgang Becker films a different Berlin. Good-bye Lenin
tells the story of an ordinary family in East Germany, immediately before and after the fall of
the Berlin Wall, in November 1989.
Alexanders mother (Katrin Sass) wakes up from a coma just a few months after the
reunification of Germany. Aware that the slightest shock could be fatal for her heart
condition, Alex (Daniel Brhl) decides to hide the fact and, therefore, does his best to pretend
that nothing has changed. In his moving attempt to convert the family apartment into an island
of the past, a sanctuary of the socialist way of life, Alex is confronted with the rapid
transformation of Eastern Berlin.
After the fall of the Wall, Berlin suddenly lost its significance as the major switching
station and place of confrontation of the Cold War (Leher 2006: 332). Between the
enthusiasm generated by the opening to Western culture and the nostalgia of the collapse of
socialist values, Good-bye Lenin reveals a controversial city, transformed into an arena for a
Kulturkampf (cultural struggle) around the meaning of architecture, built form, symbolic
place and historicity (Leher 2006: 332).
While he tries to recreate recent past for his mother, Alex observes the quick replacement
of political and urban icons. The predominantly achromatic tone of the city is soon replaced
by colourful outdoors advertising typical Western products, like Coca-Cola and Burger King.
If, in Wings of Desire, the angels contemplated Berlin from the top of buildings and
statues, wondering if human life would be preferable to eternity, in Goodbye Lenin we find

45
 Helena Barranha

the main characters in similar places (terraces, roofs) questioning themselves about the future
of the city and about the persistency of their own convictions.

Lisbon, a portrait of anonymity and absence

Cinema has often depicted Lisbon as a big provincial city, where everyone knows everyone.
Cinematography has usually focused on Lisbons urban particularities: the typical narrow
streets, the friendly neighbourhoods, the old yellow trams, the belvederes, and the amazing
panoramic views over rooftops and the river Tagus However, when Marco Martins shoots
the city from above, what he reveals is a dark and anonymous cityscape, which is definitely
poetic, but also tragic.

Figure 2. Alice directed by Marco Martins. Z M.

Branco - Madragoa Filmes (courtesy of Lusomundo)

Being a film about loneliness and despair,

Alice (2005) shows a different image of Lisbon.
The movie tells the story of a fathers obsessive
search for his missing four-year-old daughter,
Alice. During this insane search, he repeats the
same routine every single day. He does exactly the
same he did the day Alice disappeared. In his obsession to find Alice, Mrio (Nuno Lopes)
installs several video-cameras in the top of buildings with strategic locations. Every night, he
watches the videos at home, trying to discover someone that might have any resemblance
with his daughter. Within the constant movement of the streets, in the middle of the crowd, he
looks for a clue, a familiar face, a minimum trace of hope
The city shot by Marco Martin is not the picturesque Lisbon that appears in tourist
guides. It is neither the nostalgic, decadent city that Wim Wenders shot in Lisbon Story
(1994). Instead, Marco Martins shows an anonymous, tense, strange city. Public spaces, like
train stations, central streets and big avenues, highways and viaducts create the adequate
scenario for an unbearable absence. The blue tone that prevails throughout the film enhances
the sense of loss, loneliness and helplessness.
Marco Martins explains his approach: I did not want to show re-runs of popular
neighbourhoods in Lisbon, but rather its more urban aspect, the enormous influx of people
those coming to the city daily, and those leaving it. [] I wanted to film absence, I wanted to
film a man isolated in his quest, his anguish and his emptiness, looking at those images []
all those people you see in the streets are real people going to their everyday business, and
most of them did not realise that they were being filmed (Pinto 2005).
Focusing on the alienation of everyday life, the monotony of ordinary routines, the
uselessness of CCTV systems, and the helplessness of a man lost in the crowd, Alice reveals
that Lisbon is no longer a friendly, familiar city, but a multicultural, anonymous metropolis,
where, despite the ubiquitous and permanent surveillance of countless video-cameras, anyone
can disappear without leaving a trace.
The film expressively illustrates the abstraction of contemporary urban or suburban
spaces, as well as the new spatial logic, characteristic of the informational city that, as Manuel
Castells describes, is determined by the pre-eminence of the space of flows over the space of
places. [] and the symbolic marking of such places by the new monumentality of
abstraction, making the locales of the space flows meaningfully meaningless, both in their
internal arrangement and in their architectural form (Castells 2006: 136).

46
 Helena Barranha

London: between otherness and renovation

Kings Cross is an area of north London associated with poverty, crime and urban decay.
Will (Jude Law) leads a team of landscape architects that is developing an ambitious plan to
renovate this part of the city. Their office has recently moved to Kings Cross when the first
theft occurs. A local gang, including young boys that practise parkour, enters the studio
through the roof and steals laptops and other electronic devices.
In order to discover who is behind the break-ins, Will decides to carry out a quest that
will lead him, not only to the authors of the crime, but also to an unknown side of the city.
During this pursuit, Will ponders about his personal life and, eventually, finds out unknown
aspects of his personality. Within this context, the project for Kings Cross urban renovation
becomes the scenario for showing a different London, where the feeling of otherness can be
as disconcerting as the process of self-knowledge.

Figure 3. Kings Cross area, London. Image: Google

Earth, 2008 2008 Bluesky/Tele Atlas

The beginning of the movie is marked by the

overview of a big three-dimensional model of the
architectonic project, during the party of the studio
opening. This top perspective will be repeated
each time the thieve breaks into the studio trough
the roof.
Besides the initial overview of the office,
other decisive moments of the story are shot from
above. An emblematic example is the film stills of Alexandra Road Housing, a polemic urban
project, dating from the 70s, conceived by architect Neave Brown. This is the place where
Will meets Miro (Rafi Gavron) the boy who had been directly involved in the theft - and his
mother (Juliette Binoche), both Bosnian refugees.
The video presentation of the project for the renewal of Kings Cross area is also
representative of the importance of aerial views. The virtual model of the site is shown from
above and it reveals a new approach to design methods, confirming that for contemporary
architects and landscape architects a global and dynamic vision of territory tends to be
paramount. In fact, the video presentation of the project applies zoom-in and zoom-out to
convey the idea that the observer is flying over that (virtually) renewed area of the city. This
short animation combines the impact of satellite images with CAD and virtual reality
technologies, in order to preview the effect of urban transformation.
As Paul Virilio explains: Along with the technique of construction, there is, one must
not forget, the construction of technique, the ensemble of spatial and temporal mutations
which continually reorganize on an everyday basis the aesthetic representations of
contemporary territory. Constructed space is thus not simply the result of the concrete and
material effort of its structures, its permanence and its architectonic or urban references, but
also the result of a sudden proliferation, an incessant multiplying of special effects, which,
with consciousness of time and distance, affects perception of the environment (Virilio 1984:
547).

Conclusions

47
 Helena Barranha

If cinema has always contributed to define urban imaginary, namely through shooting of
eloquent overviews, the increasing use of satellite images has confirmed that views from
above are paramount in the worldwide diffusion of cityscapes. Reference films have elected
views from above as the central means to express the ambience of a particular city.
The poetic idea of silently observing the city from the sky, or from the top of strategic
buildings, was incorporated into collective imaginary and, consequently, into creative
processes. Films like the Wings of Desire have inspired architects and landscape designers. In
his project for the Andel Building in Prague (2001), the French architect Jean Nouvel
associated the transparency of the faade to the image of the Wenders angel Damiel. In
Goodbye Lenin, the high moments of the narrative correspond to scenes that happen on
rooftops or within sky frames. In Breaking and Entering, observing the city from above is, at
the same time, perceiving its changing cultural landscape and envisioning a hypothetic project
of renovation for a problematic area.
The mentioned films suggest different looks over European capital cities, questioning
stereotypes and proposing new iconographies. Instead of the consensual icons of common
sense and mass tourism, these films assume a dynamic and individual construction of the
citys image, through the possibilities of zoom-in and zoom-out, linking the global scale of
contemporary territory to the inner scale of the viewer. In all these films the urban overviews
introduce a lyrical reflection about the city life and about each ones life.
Inspired by these films, we can recreate the experience of the flneur using contemporary
technical resources, like the Google Earth, not as mere utilitarian tools, but as a way to
stimulate questioning and creativity, zooming in and out from the global scale of the planet to
a specific urban context or, ultimately, to the intimate scale of our personal spaces.

Acknowlegements

Cludia Figueira; Jaime Bacharel; Miguel Luengo; Nuno Matos Silva; Lusomundo SA;
Wenders Images GmbH.

References

AlSayyad, N. 2006, Cinematic Urbanism: a history of the modern from reel to real,
Routledge, New York.
Canova, G. 1999, O olhar sobre a cidade in RODRIGUES, Antnio (dir.), Cinema e
Arquitectura, Cinemateca Portuguesa/Museu do Cinema, Lisboa, pp. 183-189.
Castells, M. 2006, Cities, the Informational Society and the Global Economy in The Global
Cities Reader, ed. n. Brenner & R. Keil, Routledge, New York, pp. 135-136.
Corliss, R. 1988, The Angel Who Fell to Earth Wings of Desire, Time,
http://www.time.com [30-01-2008].
Leher, U. 2006, Willing the Global City: Berlins Cultural Strategies of Inter-urban
Competition after 1989 in The Global Cities Reader, ed. n. Brenner & R. Keil,
Routledge, New York, pp. 332-338.
Mader-Lin, E. 2002, Angels and the Modern City. Wim Wenders: Wings of Desire,
http://www.wim-wenders.com [25-01-2008].
Pinto, V., 2005 Once upon a time in another Lisbon [interview with Marco Martins],
Cineuropa.org, http://www.madragoafilmes.pt/alice [25-01-2008].
Virilio, P. 1984, The Overexposed City in Architecture Theory since 1968, Columbia Books
of Architecture, ed. M. Hays, New York, 1998, pp. pp. 549-550.

48
 Blent Batuman

City, Image, Nation:

the visual representation of Ankara and the making of national
subjects
Blent Batuman, Mersin University

By the end of 1930, the young Turkish Republic appeared to be going through a severe crisis
that displayed itself in economic, political as well as cultural spheres. The effects of the Great
Depression were heightened with Turkeys obligation to begin paying the debts of the
Ottoman Empire in 1930, according to the Lausanne Treaty of 1923. The declining economy,
which would soon force the government to take protectionist measures, also produced
discontent among citizens. Established in August 1930 as a controlled attempt at introducing a
multi-party regime, the Free Republican Party gained so significant a support that the party
was forced to abolish itself in November. Clearly, the lack of support for the Republican
Peoples Party in power meant lack of support for the new regime and the reforms it had
introduced. It was, then, necessary to implement a comprehensive campaign towards
disseminating a nationalist consciousness among citizens. Ankara, the new capital of the
republic, would become a major symbol within this campaign and the images of Ankara
would be instrumental throughout the 1930s. Yet, the first example in which Ankara emerged
as the subject of a propaganda work was the documentary film Ankara: The Heart of Turkey,
made by Soviet director Sergei Yutkevich.
The role of documentary expression in building political consent among masses
especially during the inter-War period has been discussed widely. In these years of global
political turmoil, the documentary mode was extensively used by various political regimes
ranging from the Soviet Union to Nazi Germany and to the New Deal US (Barnouw 1974,
Taylor 1998, Ellis and McLane 2005). The effectiveness of documentary stems from its
power to convince the viewers about the truth of its message. The documentary differentiates
itself from narrative film with its implication of a transparent re-presentation of reality.
Whether it is the photographers camera or that of the filmmakers, the apparatus is thought of
as a neutral recorder of reality. Yet, the critical question is not whether or not documentary
tells the viewers about the sole truth, it is rather the function of documentary within a
particular discourse reproducing power relations between the nation state and its subjects
(Tagg 1993). The documentary conceals the fact that the meaning it produces is as
constructed as any narrative, hence naturalizes the meaning it produces. Its call for
identification with the gaze of the nation state proved so powerful that the nation states coping
with social and political distress throughout the 1930s deployed documentary for establishing
cultural mobilization and social cohesion.
This paper analyzes the deployment of documentary by the Turkish state in its attempt
toward building national identity. I will argue that the idea to utilize the image of Ankara as
an ideological signifier to be identified with emerged in the first half of the 1930s. And the
first example deploying this strategy was the documentary film Ankara: The Heart of Turkey,1
made to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the Turkish Republic in 1933. Below, I will
begin with a brief history of the making of Ankara as the republican capital. Discussing the
moment of the early 1930s and its significance in Turkish history, I will situate the film
within this context. After analyzing the role of Ankara within the film and its treatment as a
1
The film has been mentioned in almost all studies on Turkish cinema. However, its significance in relation to
the representation of Ankara has not been analyzed. For the only study addressing this issue, see Sargn (2005).

49
 Blent Batuman

national symbol for viewers both home and abroad, I will finally point out the adoption of the
same strategy within publications of government agencies in the following years.

Making a new capital

In the wake of the First World War, Ankara was a small Ottoman town suffering the effects of
a declined economy. Having served as the center for the National War of Independence
between 1920 and 1923, it was declared as the capital in 1923, a few weeks prior to the
proclamation of the Turkish Republic. The renouncing of Istanbul, which had served as the
seat of imperial power for almost 500 years, was in tune with the republicans intention to
break with the Islamic past. While the cosmopolitan social structure of Istanbul was
incompatible with nationalist intentions, Ankara, being closer to the spatial center of the
country, was hoped to generate development across country. The new capital was to shelter a
modern lifestyle and act as a model for the whole nation. Hence, the success in turning the
small Anatolian town into a modern capital was conceived as an illustration of the regime in
nation building.
While plans were produced for the growth of the city after European examples, the
urban development followed two tracks. While the old city center was rebuilt with modern
buildings, a new district to contain a government quarter together with upper-class residences
was planned on the southern edge of the town. The details of the planning and construction
processes are beyond the scope of this paper;2 however, it is crucial to emphasize here that the
construction of the city was being documented by civil photographers and these images were
reproduced in the form of postcards. The intention here was not necessarily documenting the
building process but rather picturing the everyday life in the city, which was a common theme
in local postcards throughout Anatolia (Evren 1999). Hence, the documentation of the
building of Ankara spontaneously turned this construction process into a metaphor of nation
building. However, after 1930, the new capital would become an instrument of ideological
interpellation, expected to transform the people into national subjects.

The moment of crisis

As mentioned in the beginning, the year 1930 proved quite troublesome for the Turkish state.
Not only were the global effects of the 1929 Depression strongly felt, the attempt to introduce
a multiparty regime in 1930 resulted in significant support for the newly established Free
Republican Party. The FRP was intended to be a liberal party generating productive
opposition in the parliament. However, the significant support it gained in a short period of
time proved to the republican administration that the revolution was not embraced by the
people. The FRP was forced to abolish itself, and this traumatic confrontation triggered a
series of transformations in economic, political and ideological domains.
As the global crisis led to a decrease in exports and a rise in the prices of import
goods, the government turned to import-substitution and worked for strengthening the
domestic market. Beginning in 1932, a strict program of state-owned industrialization was put
into implementation (Boratav 1998: 45-62). The 1931 Party Congress formalized the single-
party regime and declared the RPP as the sole representative of the nation. Accordingly, the
state bureaucracy and the party apparatus were unified. Moreover, a new Press Law was
introduced in 1931, and the government was authorized to close down newspapers and
journals publishing against government policies. Yet, the expansion of state power into
various domains would not be sufficient to gain support for the regime. For this, a nationalist
2
For the details of this process and an analysis of the relation between architecture and nation building in early
republican Turkey, see Bozdoan (2001).

50
 Blent Batuman

discourse unifying the modernist cultural agenda and the political education in republican
notions of secularism and citizenship was to be produced and propagated nationwide. Two
significant organizations that were to support the making of a national identity, namely the
Turkish Society of History and the Turkish Society of Linguistics were established in 1931
and 1932, respectively. These two organizations were to search the roots of Turkish national
identity and fabricate a theoretical basis for the nationalist ideology. And finally, to
disseminate such discourse throughout the country, Halkevleri (Peoples Houses) were
founded in 1932, and rapidly opened branches in cities and towns across country.3 The
Peoples Houses were designed as local centers for spreading the modern way of life. They
were to become secular centers for socialization and replace the mosque as the traditional
space of assembly in Turkish cities. The Peoples Houses were modeled after cultural
organizations and youth clubs in Fascist Italy (een 1990). In fact, the reorganization of state
bureaucracy under the party structure was very similar to the organization of the Italian state
under fascism. Later throughout the 1930s, the republican intelligentsia would constantly look
to the examples of Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union as models for
implementing revolutions.
In order to understand the emergence of the representation of Ankara as an instrument
of nationalist discourse, we shall also look at the organization of propaganda in the country. A
Directorate of Press and Intelligence was established as early as 1920 under the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs.4 The main purpose of the Directorate was to support the diplomatic
endeavors of the nationalist government in Ankara by providing documents especially in
relation to the atrocities taking place under Greek occupation (skit 1939: 222). The fact
that the Directorate was organized under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs also indicates that
the main function of the organization was to propagate the views of the nationalists to the
outside world. As the Press Law of 1931 implemented a strict control over the press, the
Directorate had to be reorganized accordingly. First the existing organization was abolished in
1931, and a General Directorate of Press was established under the Ministry of Interior in
1933. Nevertheless, the new director of the organization, Vedat Nedim Tr, was aware of the
fact that the control of the press would not be enough to win the people to the republican
cause. An active campaign of propaganda had to be pursued to disseminate the nationalist
discourse and strengthen the ties between the nation state and its citizens. Moreover, the
Western world was also to be informed about the achievements of the new regime in Turkey.
To these ends, Tr prepared a new Law detailing the responsibilities of the organization.
According to this Law, which was passed in 1934, the General Directorate of Press was
organized in three sections: Intelligence, Publications and Propaganda (Law 2559, reprinted in
skit 1939: 804-6). Tr published an announcement and explained the duty of the General
Directorate as ensuring that all publications were conscious and mature towards the interior,
that is in tune with the ideology of the regime, and unified and clear towards the outside
(reprinted in skit 1939: 223-4).

3
The Peoples Houses were not established as new institutions but the existing Trk Ocaklar (Turkish Hearths)
were transformed into Peoples Houses. The Turkish Hearths were founded in 1910 in order to develop Turkish
nationalism. The scope of the Poples Houses, however, went beyond improving nationalistic ideas, since it also
contained a modernist intention of educating and civilizing the Turkish society. Therefore, the aim was to create
a modern and nationalistic identity of citizenship. The properties of the Turkish Hearths were transferred to the
RPP and the Peoples Houses were organized as an extension of the party. In addition, a National Turkish
Students Union was established in 1933.
4
The Turkish Grand National Assembly was opened in 1920 in Ankara. Between 1920 and 1923, the nationalist
government in Ankara did not only reorganize the military for a counter-offensive against Greek invasion of
Anatolia but also tried hard to gain recognition from the European powers as the representative of the Turkish
people as an alternative to the Sultans government in Istanbul.

51
 Blent Batuman

Ankara: the Heart of Turkey

While the reorganization of the nation state towards producing national subjectivity through
cultural dissemination was underway, the 10th anniversary of the Republic emerged as an
effective occasion. As the celebrations were designed as a historic event, it was decided to
film it as well. The production of propaganda films was also a responsibility of the General
Directorate of Press, and two Soviet filmmakers, namely Sergei Yutkevich and Lev
Oskarovich Arnstam were invited to Turkey. The choice of Soviet filmmakers was not
coincidental. The cultural exchange between the Turkish Republic and the Soviet Union was
an extension of the political and economic cooperation between the two countries that began
during the National War of Independence.5 For the part of the Soviet Union, cultural
exchange in foreign relations was a (rather peaceful) means for disseminating revolutionary
ideals. In this respect, a Society for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries (VOKS) was
established in 1925. It organized exchange programs for artist, scientists and intellectuals as
well as exhibitions and art festivals to travel abroad. For the part of the Turkish government,
on the other hand, the exchange aside form the obvious handiness of political and economic
support within the cultural domain served to import means to disseminate modernist ideals.
Hence, between 1925 and 1930, especially plays and films by Soviet artists provided by
VOKS were displayed in Turkey. The content of these works were generally anti-religious
(Tacibayev 2004: 180-190). Yet, the works provided by VOKS, especially the films, were
censored by first the Turkish officials in Moscow, and then those in Turkey. For instance,
although it was viewed in Istanbul during the Soviet Film Festival in 1927, Eisensteins
Battleship Potemkin was found subversive and not allowed to be viewed in other cities
(Sargn 2005: 375).
After 1930, the exchange between two countries intensified. While Soviet scholars
were invited to Turkey to work on Turkish history and linguistics within the newly
established organizations, Turkish officials and intellectuals were sent to the Soviet Union to
explore methods of mass education (Tacibayev 2004: 200). This should be understood as a
search for how to efficiently use the newly established Peoples Houses for disseminating
nationalist discourse.
Therefore, cultural exchange between Turkey and the Soviet Union had already been
established by 1933. And it was not surprising to see the Soviet filmmakers filming the
celebrations for the 10th anniversary. Upon his arrival, Yutkevich was met by a team of
Turkish intellectuals who would assist him in shooting the film (ener 1970: 33).6 Yet,
Ankara: The Heart of Turkey does more than merely documenting the celebrations. As the
title indicates, the film puts Ankara in its focus. Beginning with an interview with Prime
Minister nn against the background of the Central Anatolian plain, the film presents
Ankara as a modern city rising in the middle of the prairie.
The film is composed of three main sections. The first section depicts the celebrations
for the 10th anniversary of the Republic. It begins with the arrival of people from different
parts of the country, including the Soviet delegates traveling to Ankara via Istanbul. Here, the
welcoming of the Soviet envoy by the Turkish people is significant. Considering the fact that
the film would be viewed by both the Turkish and the Soviet audiences, the message is clearly
that of the friendship among two peoples. When the two parties meet, the musical score
switches to the national anthems of the two countries playing one after another. As the Soviet

5
The Soviet-Turkish relations began with a treaty signed in 1921 and improved rapidly. The Soviets provided
military aid during the Turkish Independence War, and continued to support Turkeys industrialization
throughout the 1930s.
6
The team included writers Fikret Adil and Reat Nuri, and composers Zeki Bey, Ekrem Zeki and Kemal Reit
(Tacibayev 2004: 210).

52
 Blent Batuman

envoy travels to Ankara by train, we see that the whole nation is actually flowing into Ankara
for the celebrations. Finally the parade is shown in details, including the marching troops,
scouts and students, as well as the representatives of different countries.
The second section of the film presents a narrative on Ankara. It begins with a
reference to the ancient history of Ankara through a shot of Encyclopedia Britannica showing
the entry on Ankara. Scanning through historical ruins in and around Ankara, the film
displays the village life at the outskirts of the city and the camera moves into the traditional
neighborhoods. The narrow streets and the people sitting idly in front of small shops present
an inactive life. The slow music also emphasizes the idleness of traditional life in the old town
(Fig. 1).

Figure 1. Film still from Ankara: The Heart of Figure 2. Film still from Ankara: The Heart of
Turkey showing street view from the old town Turkey showing the Station Street with the faade
of the Court of Financial Appeals building.
Then appears the new Ankara with its wide boulevards and modernist buildings,
which are in stark contrast with the previously viewed traditional environments (Fig. 2).
Hence, the narrative on Ankara is built on the binary opposition between the ruined condition
of the traditional settlements and the brand new spaces of the modern capital. The camera
moves in the streets showing Ankaras modernist architecture. Here, the facades of the
buildings narrate modernity as a symbol of revolutionary will.
The final section turns back to the celebrations and focuses on Kemal Ataturk, the
leader of the republican revolution. His speech at the event is accompanied with construction
views; as the leader tells about the achievements of the past ten years and the objectives of the
upcoming era, the camera shows buildings,
factories and dams under construction (Fig. 3).
Modernist construction is clearly a
metaphor of nation building; railways, factories
and dams illustrate the nation-wide process of
development. In addition, the newly finished
buildings, fine examples of modernist
architecture illustrate the new cityscape of
Ankara. The striking thing about this
architecture, however, is that it is devoid of
social life (Fig. 4). Although in two cases,
namely in the Girls Institute and the
Figure 1. Film still from Ankara: The Heart of
Turkey showing the construction of ubuk Dam. Conservatory we see young and healthy men
and women inhabiting these modern spaces,
the spatial practices they perform are not components of everyday life in the city. They are
rather specific practices fulfilling requirements for becoming modern. Aside from these two

53
 Blent Batuman

buildings, the modern architecture of Ankara exists almost exclusively as facades; an

architecture to be looked at rather than to be spatially occupied.
Nevertheless, Ankara is not presented merely as
a modernist locus in the film; it is also the focus
of the nation. Peasants on horseback, students
and scouts on trains, the nation is shown on the
move towards Ankara rushing to participate in
the celebrations. The meaning of Ankara then is
double-layered: it is both a materialized
illustration of the republican achievements and
also an ideological symbol for the nation to
identify with. As the major strategy of the film
in presenting modern Ankara is to contrast the
Figure 2. Film still from Ankara: The Heart of
traditional environments with the newly built
Turkey showing the building of the General
Chief of Staff ones, an overarching element in the narrative is
a couple of individuals. An old villager and a
girl scout appear frequently and we view Ankara through their eyes (Fig. 5). The old man and
the girl scout illustrate the contrast between the old and the new, the traditional and the
modern. They come from different parts of the country and meet in Ankara. They view the
capital proudly and the girl states that what we see is their new life. This new life is
expected to disseminate throughout the country soon. It is significant that the old man wears a
medal suggesting he is a war veteran, and the young girl is not simply a student but a girl
scout in uniform. One of them has served the country for its independence, and the other will
now serve in its modernization.

The film aims at conveying different messages

to different audiences. First of all, Ankara is
represented as a modern capital built from the
scratch in the middle of the plain, through the
will of a young nation, and under the guidance
of its powerful leader. This is an image for
both foreign and domestic viewers. While it is
an image of modernity to be affirmed by the
Western gaze, it is an object of identification
for the citizens. The citizens are expected to
see the will to modernization in Ankara. The
Figure 3. Film still from Ankara: The Heart of power that transformed Ankara into a modern
Turkey showing the old veteran and the young girl city would soon arrive at their hometown, and
scout. the modern life flourishing in the boulevards
of Ankara would soon be theirs.
The film also has to be considered regarding its place in Soviet filmography. The chief
director Sergei Yutkevich is a well-known Soviet filmmaker. Having been trained in arts and
set design, he had founded FEKS, the Factory of the Eccentric Actor in 1922 together with
Leonid Trauberg and Grigori Kozintsev.7 In the early 1930s, that is during the First Five Year
Plan of the Soviet Union advocating industrialization and collectivization of agriculture,8
Yutkevich made films about the problems of industrialization and the adaptation of

7
FEKS advocated low cultural forms such as circus and fairgrounds against high culture. Accordingly, only
the popular art forms were appropriate to represent the machine age and its modernity. (Yutkevich 1973, Taylor
1992).
8
For the relationship between arts and politics in the Soviet Union until mid-1930s, see Brewster (1976).

54
 Blent Batuman

individuals within this process. His Golden Mountains (1931) and Counterplan (1932, with
Fridrikh Ermler) were among the early Soviet sound movies. Especially Counterplan was a
forerunner of the socialist realism of upcoming years and was hailed enthusiastically by
Pravda (Kenez 1988: 432). It was possibly a result of such attention that Yutkevich was
chosen to make the film for the 10th anniversary of the Turkish Republic.
Being made during the formation of socialist realism, Ankara: The Heart of Turkey
contains precursor elements of this genre.9 Strategies such as representing the new regime
through imageries of industry and construction, the depiction of happy people enthusiastically
embracing the accomplishments of their government would become trademarks of socialist
realism in cinema. Moreover, the emphasis on the leader, which had not yet emerged in
Soviet films, appears as a central component of Ankara: The Heart of Turkey. This would also
become a significant element of socialist realism in the upcoming years. A comparison of the
depiction of everyday life in the city in Ankara: The Heart of Turkey to that of Dziga Vertovs
The Man with a Movie Camera (1929) is telling in this sense. In Vertovs work the city
appears as a dynamic environment, the daily life itself generates revolutionary energy. In
Yutkevichs work, however, Ankara is seen as a tranquil environment although the city is still
under construction, and the urban life lacks dynamism despite the constant inclusion of
vehicles in the frame.
The film was finished in 1934 and submitted to the Turkish officials in Ankara in
April 1934. It was enjoyed by the Turkish authorities and circulated throughout the country.
The film was also praised by Turkish film critics not only for successfully presenting the
accomplishments of the ten years of the revolution but also for illustrating what national
cinema had to achieve (Adil 1934: 12). It was viewed in various cities, and it attracted
significant number of viewers throughout the country (Rami 1934: 12).

Conclusion: After the Film

As it was in the process of reorganization while the film was being shot, the General
Directorate of Press was involved in the filming process only indirectly through the
intellectuals working with the artists. Yet, the organization embraced the idea to use the image
of Ankara as a national symbol to be distributed home and abroad. And for the circulation of
urban imagery, the most appropriate medium was photography. After 1934, the Directorate
undertook an extensive project of publishing visual material on Turkey, and an important
portion of this material was devoted to Ankara. Images of Ankara were included in
publications to be distributed abroad, but they were also circulated within the country via
postcards, stamps, calendars, banknotes as well as photography exhibitions. It was intended to
convince the Westerners that Turkey was now a modern nation, an equal to the Europeans. As
for its domestic function, the image of Ankara was an ideological representation calling
citizens to identify with. Ankara was an emblem of modern Turkey to be proudly embraced
and also the proof that the arrival of the wave of modernization to every corner of the country
was only a matter of time. Ankara: The Heart of Turkey, in this respect, provided a visual
rhetoric to be exploited in the publications of the General Directorate of Press toward
establishing national cohesion throughout the 1930s.

9
Socialist realism was formulated as a doctrine at the first All-Union Congress of Soviet Writers in August-
September 1934. For the emergence of socialist realism in Soviet cinema, see Taylor (1983) and Youngblood
(1991).

55
 Blent Batuman

References

Adil, F. 1934, Ankara, Trkiyenin kalbi! [Ankara, the heart of Turkey], Holivut 19,
02.05.1934, pp. 3-12.
Barnouw, E. 1974, Documentary: A History of the Non-fiction Film, Oxford University Press,
New York.
Boratav, K. 1998, Trkiye ktisat Tarihi 1908-1985 [Turkish Economic History 1908-1985],
6th ed., Gerek, Istanbul.
Bozdoan, S. 2001, Modernism and Nation Building: Turkish Architectural Culture in the
Early Republic, University of Washington Press, Seattle & London.
Brewster, B. 1976, The Soviet State, the Communist Party and the Arts 1917-1936, Red
Letters, 3, pp. 3-9.
een, A. 1990, Halkevleri [Peoples Houses], Gndoan Yaynlar, Ankara.
Ellis, J. C. & McLane, B. A. 2005, A New History of Documentary Film, Continuum, New
York.
Evren, B. 1999, Anadolu fotorafl ve fotokart estetii [Photography in Anatolia and the
photocard aesthetics], Toplumsal Tarih, 11 (61), pp. 24-9.
skit, S. R. 1939, Trkiyede Matbuat Rejimleri [Press regimes in Turkey], General
Directorate of Press, Istanbul.
Kenez, P. 1988, The Cultural revolution in cinema, Slavic Review, 47 (3), pp. 414-33.
Rami, . 1934, Holivut Anadoluda [Holivut in Anatolia], Holivut 29, 11.07.1934, p. 12.
Sargn, G. A. 2005, tekinin gzyle Ankaray kurmak: Sovyet propaganda filmlerinde
devrimci bellek kayb ve anmsama [Constucting Ankara through the eyes of the Other:
Revolutionary amnesia and recollection in Soviet propaganda films], in Cumhuriyetin
Ankaras [Ankara of the Republic], ed. T. enyapl, METU Press, Ankara, pp. 366-401.
ener, E. 1970, Kurtulu Sava ve Sinemamz [The War of Independence and our cinema],
Dizi Yay., Istanbul.
Tacibayev, R. 2004, Kzl Meydandan Taksime: Siyasette, Kltrde ve Sanatta Trk-Sovyet
likileri [Form Red Square to Taksim: Turkish-Soviet relations in politics, culture and
arts], Truva, Istanbul.
Tagg, J. 1993, The Currency of the Photograph: New Deal Reformism and Documentary
Rhetoric, in The Burden of Representation: Essays on Photographies and Histories,
University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, pp. 153-83.
Taylor, R. 1983, A 'Cinema for the Millions': Soviet Socialist Realism and the Problem of
Film Comedy, Journal of Contemporary History, 18 (3), pp. 439-61.
Taylor, R. 1992, Ideology and popular culture in Soviet cinema: the kiss of Mary Pickford,
in The Red Screen: Politics, Society, Art in Soviet Cinema, ed. A. Lawton, Routledge,
London & New York.
Taylor, R. 1998, Film Propaganda: Soviet Russia and Nazi Germany, second revised edition,
I. B. Tauris Publishers, London & New York.
Youngblood, D. J. 1991, The Fate of Soviet Popular Cinema during the Stalin Revolution,
Russian Review, 50, (2), pp. 148-62.
Yutkevich, S. 1973, Teenage Artists of the Revolution, in Cinema in Revolution, eds. L.
Schnitzer, J. Schnitzer & M. Martin, Hill & Wang, New York.

56
 Iris Burgers

Transient glamour:
the filmic representation of airports and its relation to real life
architectural developments
Iris Burgers, VU University Amsterdam

Introduction

In THE TERMINAL (Spielberg, 2004) Tom Hanks is trapped in an airport terminal,

struggling in making his environment more homely. While the film depicts airports as
ultimate non-places, alienating spaces that we pass through but do not dwell in, recently
however more and more airports present themselves as utopian airport cities. The idea
behind this is that these are places to be visited and enjoyed, even when one does not have
to fly.
Since 1950 airports as urban phenomena have undergone a vast transformation: from
meadows being used for flying to airfields to high-tech airports. Aviation was part of a larger
change of perspective concerning mobility and has had an enormous impact on our
contemporary way of living. Each stage of development has its own characteristics and
associated meanings, which are not only seen and lived first-hand, but are also reflected in
film. The cinematic airport has developed itself just like its real life counterpart, but this
development might not have been analogous.
I have distinguished three phases in the cinematic representation of airports, namely a
glamour phase (1930s 1950s), development of mass transportation phase and danger in
the sky (1960s 1980s) and lastly a current image of the airport as non-place (Aug
1995). I will illustrate the three mentioned phases with film examples and compare the
cinematic architecture of these to the most important changes within actual airport
architecture. It would be interesting to see to what extend film and real life architecture differ,
because film as part of our culture often reflects our desires and fears and also assigns
mythological meanings to our environment (Bir 1982: 3, 73 -75). These meanings could
point to changing attitudes people towards airports, because films can reflect attitudes of their
time (Hughes 1976: 52, 65, 67 - 69; Muzzio & Halper 2002: 545; Rollins 1983: 249).
This paper is a pilot study of the way airport architecture has been portrayed in film from
the nineteen thirties until the present day, as well show the way cinematic airports might have
generated meaning. It is in no way meant to be a final and complete history of the cinematic
airport. The films used for this analysis are all American and are set approximately during the
time they were produced. The cinematic airport however, is more than just the presentation of
the architecture, as it also consists of the story and the film style (montage, use of colour,
etc.). For a complete understanding of the inner workings of the filmic airport it will be
necessary to study these layers as well.

The introduction of the cinematic airport

When an airport is introduced in a movie, it often starts with an establishing shot of the
terminal or main hall, i.e. in THE V.I.P.S. (1963), AIRPORT (1970) and THE TERMINAL
(2004). This hall is usually bustling with people, travellers, pilots and stewardesses, security
people, etc. A couple of things are important for a cinematic airport, being the signage, the
presence of the flight departure and arrival board, the check-in counters and finally the

57
 Iris Burgers

presence of airplanes, which often can be seen through a window. Interestingly enough this is
quite similar to how train stations are represented in film (De Kuyper 1985). The difference
between airports and train stations is that with train travel the actual departure starts within
the station, while with airports the take off occurs in a separated area in which no passenger
can enter freely.

Filmic airports verus real life airports

1930s 1950s: glamour

One of the most memorable and glamorous airport scenes is the goodbye between Rick
[Humphrey Bogart] and Ilsa [Ingrid Bergman] in CASABLANCA (Michael Curtiz, 1942).
Interestingly though, this scene reveals hardly anything of the airport. Mist, shadows and
repetitive lights imply a runway. The scene does not revolve around the airport, but is about
the emotions played out between two characters to which the airport as a location adds some
depth. A few strategic shots of starting propellers, runway lights and a shot of a hangar when
the plane takes off, give enough visual information to make the location as an airport
believable.
In ONLY ANGELS HAVE WINGS (Howard Hawks, 1939) a daredevil pilot [Clark
Gable] flies and lands his plane in all kinds of weather conditions on unpaved runways. He
conducts his business from a bar that doubles as office and radio station. This representation
of the early stages in aviation comes close to reality. During the nineteen twenties airports
mainly consisted of grassy fields and were literally referred to as airfields. They were used for
take off and landing - sometimes dodging cows or sheep -, and usually had hangars for the
fleet and a couple of small buildings. These buildings provided shelter for passengers and
crew and were used for radio communication between planes and ground.
This situation improved during the nineteen thirties with the development of small terminal
buildings with arrival and departure halls, traffic control towers, parking space and paved
runways (Pearman 2004: 50 - 53; Bosma & Vos 2000: 187 -189). European airports like
Berlins Tempelhof and Londons Croydon are early examples of this development. Even
though these were considerable improvements, major breakthroughs in airport architecture
happened after the Second World War.
During the early stages of air travel people associated aviation with pioneering, adventure,
risk taking and glamour. Only the elite, mostly the wealthy and movie stars could afford to
fly. It was this group that provided and maintained the glamour image. Advertisements from
the twenties and thirties played on this small group and always depicted flying as a luxury
way of travel even though air travel in those early years wasnt comfortable at all [Remmele,
2004: 241]. ONLY ANGELS HAVE WINGS showed the dangers of flying, yet the film was
no scary movie, but more a display of heroism.
When it comes to memorable cinematic airport architecture, Preston Sturges THE PALM
BEACH STORY (1942) is an interesting example. At the beginning of the film we are shown
a scale model of a new type of inner city airport. The architect/engineer explains the
practicality of his design to a rich investor. A steel mesh made of stretched cables hung above
a city functions as a runway [Figure 1]. According to architect Tom Jeffers [Joel McCrea], his
design is a safe solution for having an airport in the centre of the city.
This idea might look highly ridiculous, yet it really wasnt. Architects and planners have
always used utopian designs for instance to test possible solutions for complex questions, or
to convey shared values (Reiner, 1984: 136). At the beginning of the twentieth century the
airport was a new building type and it was uncertain how aviation would develop. Architects
therefore experimented with ideas in designs to explore the possibilities of airports. This is
exactly what happens in the movie as Jeffers was trying to find a solution for the increasing

58
 Iris Burgers

demand in air travel in combination with its proximity to urban areas. Well known real life
examples of experimental designs that place aviation in the inner city are: La Nuova Citta
(1914) by Antonio SantElia; Plan Voisin (1922-25) by LeCorbusier and Frank Lloyd
Wrights Broadacre City (1930s 1959). While these plans may not be called realistic, they
are however important in the way visual representations generated new meanings for new
developments, like the combination of aviation and daily life.

Figure 1. THE PALM BEACH STORY

(Copyright 1942, Paramount Pictures)

The 1954 Honolulu airport in THE

HIGH AND THE MIGHTY (William
A.Wellman, 1954) was a happy place. It
has a stereotypical idea of Hawaii
written all over it. It is very light, almost
sunny with a bamboo interior and
flowers everywhere [Figure 2]. The
facilities are minimal, a small bar and a quirky souvenir shop that sells gifts and Flower Leis.
Its also very small, with just one check-in counter. The small scale leads to the fact that
passengers are treated as people, not as anonymous passengers. This airport does not imply
danger neither does it feel as a non-place; it almost looks as a postcard for 1950s Hawaii. This
image suited the developments of that time. During the fifties, aviation had become accessible
to more people. Airlines advertised their services and promoted the luxury of flying. Airports
were the gateways to the rest of the world. They were places where adventure began. This is
well reflected in THE HIGH AND THE MIGHTY.

Figure 2. THE HIGH AND THE MIGHTY

(Copyright 2005, Paramount Home
Entertainment)

Glamour wasnt mostly provided by the

architecture though. Glamour was
supplied by a combination of things, for
example the way stewardesses were
dressed, the service on board, the more
personal approach to passengers, and
that people seemed to be dressed up when they were flying. Tangible proof of the glamour
phase is the word jet set which was coined in the 1950s. Flying itself exuded an air of
exclusiveness, luxury and freedom; aviation induced a changed sense of mobility.
Advertisements of this time present this image beautifully. This glamour image persisted into
the fifties and early sixties, but eventually lost its sheen with the growth of flying as mass
transportation during the seventies.

1960s 1980s: mass transportation & danger in the sky

The cinematic airport of the fifties is still oversee-able; terminals werent that big yet;
passengers could still walk up to the planes and wait on the tarmac, for instance in ALL
ABOUT EVE (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1950), THE HIGH AND THE MIGHTY, THE
KILLING (Stanley Kubrick, 1956) This is more or less correct with the real situation. The

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 Iris Burgers

scale of the airport terminal and the way passengers were led through it would change
considerably during the sixties and seventies (Pearman 2004).
If one wants to have a reasonable understanding of the developments and problems within
aviation during the seventies, watching AIRPORT (George Seaton, 1970) wouldnt be a bad
suggestion. Even though the film builds up to a hijacking by a suicide bomber, a lot of film
time is set in the airport. Here the airport is a safe haven, led by airport manager Mel
Bakersfield [Burt Lancaster], who spends most of the film convincing people not to close
down his airport due to the heavy snowfall. In one scene Lancaster has a heated discussion
about the recent problems his airport is facing, noise disturbance being his biggest concern.
Bakersfield confronts one of the Airports commissioners and tells him that he should start
focussing on investing money in the development of the airport, while pointing at a scale
model of the ideal airport [Figure 3]. The problems Bakersfield was facing were very accurate
of the developments within aviation and airports in that time.
Figure 3. AIRPORT (Copyright 1970, Universal
Pictures)

Changes in airport architecture have

always been driven by innovation within
aviation technology. The jet plane was an
innovation that caused a major shift in
airport planning. Planes became heavier
and higher, thus being able to transport
more people. This also meant they needed
more space at the terminal. Unfortunately, they became louder as well, leading to a physical
separation between aircraft and terminal to protect passengers against noise exposure (Bosma
1996: 53). Also leading to noise disturbance for people living under flight routes. The
expansive growth of mass transportation during the fifties and sixties occurred on a scale that
could not have been foreseen.
The airport terminal had to be bigger to be able to handle masses of people (Pearman 2004:
137). Because of the increasing the size of the terminal, passengers had to walk further in the
airport itself, which could cause delays with connecting flights. Planners and architects were
faced with solving this big puzzle. How could more passengers be handled, while keeping in
mind that walking distances within the airport should be kept as short as possible? This
question is topical to this day and will always be a difficulty within airport design. Several
solutions have been used, shuttle buses, the use of piers and avio-bridges to get passengers out
of the planes (Bosma 1996: 53). This is exactly what Mel Bakersfield is ranting about. As a
disaster film, many people say that AIRPORT 1970 is not the best of its genre, despite its
success at the box office. This might be so, yet it is very interesting to watch it from an
architectural standpoint, because it does bring across the inner workings and problems of an
early seventies airport.
Not only did planners and architects have to deal with matters of infrastructure, but also
with increasing safety regulations since a lot of terrorist actions involving aviation occurred in
the 1970s.1 This added another layer within the airport structure but also made a big change in
the attitudes people had towards flying. Aviation had first lost its innocence after the two
World Wars. Then it recovered during the rebuilding stage after the Second World War when
aviation went through several huge developments and finally became available to the masses
(Spode 2004: 24).

1
For instance the 1977 hijacking of Lufthansa Flight 181, in what was later named the Landshut Hijacking.

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 Iris Burgers

With air travel becoming mass transportation and in combination with aviation related
terrorism, one could say that flying lost its innocence and glamour for good. Even though
AIRPORT 1970 revolved around a hijacking, the film doesnt seem to be too concerned with
the fear of acts of terrorism. Even though terrorism became current in the seventies, you cant
really see a lot of attention for airport security in films and when you see it, most of the time it
isnt very good.

1990s present: non-place

It is safe to say that an airport doesnt settle into a permanent shape just as it doesnt allow its
visitors to settle in for a long stay even when one is stranded there. In the 2004 film THE
TERMINAL (Steven Spielberg 2004) Viktor Navorski [Tom Hanks] is trapped in the
International Transit Lounge. He is lost, fallen between the cracks of two countries. This
makes him, according to the head of Homeland Security, unacceptable as a non-person
without an identity. With some difficulty Navorski eventually made a home within the
terminal, found friends and even love. How is this possible in a location that is a non-place
according to Marc Aug (1995)? The airport, mainly a representation of New Yorks JFK, is
state of the art; high security, high-tech architecture that exposes the structure of the building,
huge light passageways, shops everywhere. But a home its not and that becomes very clear at
the beginning of the film when an officer of Homeland Security puts Navorski in the lounge.
Navorski asks him what he is supposed to do while hes there. The reply is: Theres only one
thing you can do here, Mr. Navorski. Shop.
When applying Augs theory on non-places we find that in this case Navorski builds
himself a place within the non-place airport. While a non-place is a passage, which
creates solitude amongst its visitors, places assign identity to its dwellers, are connected to
other places and things and are in a sense historical (Aug: 85 -86, 94 95). According to
Aug, people can establish a certain familiarity with specific non-places when they frequent
them a lot (Aug 1995: 98). Navorski of course becomes very familiar with the airport, but
what he does that eventually makes him at home, is that he adapted his environment to his
needs. The viewer sees this when the new and unfinished terminal where he sleeps and eats,
starts showing more and more signs of habitation [Figure 4 & 5]. For instance we can see that
someone has put a plant there and a wheelchair functioning as a chair has a makeshift cover
over it. Navorski making friends and a finding job, contribute to his place within a non-
place, yet this situation is only applicable to him.

Figure 4. THE TERMINAL (Copyright 2004,

Dreamworks Pictures)

Figure 5. THE TERMINAL (Copyright 2004,

Dreamworks Pictures)

The architecture of THE TERMINAL is very accurate, even though the movie was not filmed
in an actual airport. Everything right up to the lettering on the signs is very realistic. The

61
 Iris Burgers

terminal is mainly combination of a huge waiting room and shopping mall with high security.
This is the current state of affairs for real life airports. More and more airports have invested
in facilities, aimed at attracting non-flying visitors as well as making sure that flying visitors
spend as much money as possible.
In the disaster movie FLIGHTPLAN (Robert Schwentke, 2006) Jodie Foster and her
daughter have to fly back from Berlin to New York. The presentation of the German airport in
this film is striking. This airport is incredibly dark and menacing. Deep blues and greys
dominate the colour scheme, making everything look cold and uninviting. The scale of the
airport also feels much larger than normal. You could say that this is taking the non-place-
aspect of airports to an extreme. Its obvious though that this airport gives a foreboding of the
trouble that is ahead.
The massive airplane in which most of the film is set, the Aalto Air E-474, supposedly has
a wingspan of twenty nine car garages and can seat 800 passengers. The only plane that
comes near in real life is the new Airbus A380 that has a wingspan of nearly 80 metres and
can seat 555 people. Current airports already have a considerable problem accommodating the
Airbus. An airplane this big cant land on a runway if its not enforced with special concrete
and it would also be a problem of dealing with so many extra passengers at once (Knox
2005). This problem is not addressed in the film and seems to be no problem. FLIGHTPLAN
is therefore a little bit ahead of its time.

Conclusion

An airport is a place of transit and a transient place, in film as well as in real life. Airports will
always be transient structures because its architecture and planning are subjected to
innovation within aviation and to social and economic changes. This makes it a most
challenging building type for architects but also an exciting location for a film.
After comparing the cinematic architecture with the actual developments in airport
architecture it can be said that there are no big discrepancies. Whenever airports went through
architectural developments, it is most likely to be reflected in films. The architecture of
cinematic airports seems often the architecture of real airports, because a lot of films look like
they were shot on location. This is probably the most important reason as to why there were
no real inconsistenties between the cinematic and real airport.
The difference between cinematic and real airports lies not in the way the architecture is
presented, but more so in the meanings that were given to the location. During the fifties,
glamorous connotations were attached to flying, although the glamour itself was mostly
generated by fashion, and the amount of service on board, than through extravagant
architecture. Depending on the story line, a filmic airport can mean a safe haven, a tedious
environment or a place of terror. An airport can also be a pleasant place of gathering, like in
THE HIGH AND MIGHTY or a non-place where the only time people are not anonymous is
at the customs desk. Looking at meanings that have been attached to airports in film, it does
point us to the belief that different attitudes towards airports are reflected in films. It would be
therefore very worthwhile to make a more extensive analysis of the cinematic airport.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Dr. Heidi de Mare and Nadine Akkerman for their suggestions.

References

Aug, M. 1995, Non-Places. Introduction to an anthropology of supermodernity, Londen,

62
 Iris Burgers

Verso.
Bir, Y. 1982, Profane mythology. The savage mind of the cinema, Bloomingtoon, Indiana
University Press.
Bosma, K. 1996, 'European Airports, 1945-1995: Typology, Psychology, and Infrastructure',
in Building for air travel. Architecture and design for commercial aviation, John
Zukowsky (ed.) Munich/New York, pp. 51-65.
Bosma, K. & Vos, M. 2000, 'Een Amsterdamse snelweg door de lucht. De hoofdstad van
Nederland en de nationale luchthaven', in Historisch Tijdschrift Holland. Werken aan een
open Amsterdam 32 (3 & 4), pp. 183-205.
Hughes, W. 1976, The evaluation of film as evidence. in Smith, P. (Ed.) The historian and
film. Cambridge, London, Cambridge University Press, pp. 49 79.
Knox, N. 2005, A380 makes massive debut, in USA Today (online), Posted 1/19/2005 4:01
AM, http://www.usatoday.com/money/biztravel/2005-01-16-a380-usat_x.htm.
Kuyper, E. de 1985, In het begin was het station, in Versus, kwartaalschrift voor film en
opvoeringskunsten (Wonen in film), pp. 105-113.
Muzzio, D. & Halper, T. 2002, Pleasantville?: the suburb and its representation in American
movies, in Urban Affairs Review, 37, pp. 543 - 574.
Pearman, H. 2004, Airports. A century of architecture, Laurence King Publishing Ltd,
London.
Reiner, T.A. & Hindery, M.A. 1984, City Planning: images of the ideal and the existing
city. in Rodwin, L. & Hollister, R.M. (Eds.), Cities of the mind. Images and themes of
the city in social sciences. New York and London, Plenum Press, pp. 143 147.
Remmele, M. 2004, An invitation to fly: poster art in the service of civilian air travel. In
Vegesack, A.V. (Ed.) 2004, Airworld. Design and architecture for air travel, Weil am
Rhein Vitra Design Museum, pp. 230 - 262.
Rollins, P.C. (1983) Film, television, and American studies, in Rollins, P.C. (Ed.)
Hollywood as historian. American film in a cultural context, Lexington, Kentucky, The
University Press of Kentuky, pp. 249.
Spode, H. 2004, Let us fly you where the sun is: air travel and tourism in historical
perspective, in Vegesack, A.V. (Ed.) 2004, Airworld. Design and architecture for air
travel, Weil am Rhein Vitra Design Museum, pp.12 - 34.

Websites
Information about the fictional airplane Aalto Air E-474: official movie website by
Touchstone Pictures, http://video.movies.go.com/flightplan/ (viewed november 2007).

63
 Graham Cairns

The city, the car and filmic perception:

the commonalities between Robert Venturi and
Michelangelo Antonioni.
Graham Cairns, Writtle School of Design

Zabriskie Point was the second film of a trilogy Michelangelo Antonioni made with
the American studio MGM in the late 60s and early 70s. Released in 1970 it was a
complete financial and critical flop. Criticised as naive, idealistic and fetishist it cost
$7 million dollars to make and grossed only $900,000 at the box office. Nevertheless,
it would later be considered one of Antonionis most ambitious and, in purely
cinematographic terms, successful films ever.
In this paper parallels will be drawn between the Antonionis cinematographic
interpretation of Los Angeles and the ideas laid out by Robert Venturi with respect to
Las Vegas. In particular, it will be argued that although Venturi identified the need to
develop and use new modes of architectural representation when dealing with cities
such as these, he failed to understand the potential of the filmic medium in this regard.
By contrast, it will be suggested that Michelangelo Antonioni fully understood its
possibilities and consequently produced a far more effective representation of LA
than Venturi was able to do of Las Vegas.
The film is basically split into two sections. The first is set in the city of Los
Angeles whilst the second is filmed exclusively in the Nevada desert. This
juxtaposition is the backdrop to the films principal narrative dynamic, the
relationship between two young lovers; Mark (Mark Frecette) and Daria (Daria
Halpin). Presented as alienated from the society that surrounds them the two
protagonists play out roles seen in many of Antonionis previous films; the
disenfranchised, misunderstood and ultimately lonely individual. In this case they are
disenfranchised from the commercial society that surrounds them.
The nature of this commercial society is dealt with in two principal ways;
firstly through the character Lee Allen played by Rod Taylor and secondly through
his presentation of LAs urban fabric. Allen, the director of the Happy Dunes Real
Estate Agency, is promoting and constructing dream estates on the citys outskirts.
The promotion of these estates forms an important part of Antonionis ironic take on
modern American consumer culture with numerous adverts starring happy plastic
consumers being woven into the films narrative structure. Fig. 1
Figure 1. Antonionis parody of consumerism in the
US.

As has been noted by various other authors

this particular theme was being dealt with at
the same time by Reyner Banham. 1 In 1972
Banham made a BBC documentary entitled
Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles and one
year later would write a text that was to

1
River, Gamez, David. 2005, Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Zabriskie Point, in La
ventana indiscreta, No.2. ed Jmanuel Roig. Mairea editores. Madrid. p48.

64
 Graham Cairns

become a reference point on LA and commercial US cities in general, Los Angeles,

the architecture of the four ecologies. Banham refers to these estates as closed
communities for the privileged; as one of the few places in LA where conventional
controlled planning may be seen.2
Of more interest in the context of this essay however is the second way in
which Antonioni deals with consumer culture; his presentation of Los Angeles as a
city visually dominated by advertising. Fig 2. Again picking up on themes dealt with
in the architectural world Antonioni presents the viewer with an image of Los
Angeles in which the visual impact of buildings has been replaced by that of
billboards and promotional signage of every type. It was something commented upon
by the likes of the urbanist Jane Jacobs and the landscape architect J.B Jackson who
saw it as part of the vernacular landscape of he U.S.; a landscape he described as
based on a lack of long term goals and constant adjustment to circumstance. 3

Figure 2. LA as a city dominated by advertising

imagery.

Undoubtedly however, the architectural

theorist who most famously engaged with
this characteristic of the American city of the
1970s was Robert Venturi. At the time of
Zabriskie Points release Venturi, together
with Denise Scott Brown and Steven Isenour,
was studying Las Vegas. In their ground breaking book Learning from Las Vegas,
1972, Venturi et al offered one of the first, and certainly the most extensive, analysis
the city and the nature of its individual buildings ever produced.
Amongst the numerous points they raised was the fact that the city plan is
based on a regular grid that gives the streets a certain architectural order. However,
they highlighted that this order gets completely lost due to the complexity and
spectacular nature of the individual buildings built along it. This architecture of the
spectacle they argued, resulted directly from the commercial nature of the city itself;
a centre for a multitude of service industries that use architecture as a way of
attracting the attention and curiosity of prospective clients.
In short these authors argued that the need for bars, restaurants, hotels and
casinos to be more visible and attractive that their neighbours resulted in the visual
cacophony that is the Las Vegas street; a street in which signage is seen as more
important than buildings. Fig.3 For these authors, the resulting architecture of Las
Vegas was the architecture of the graphic sign in space. 4

2
Banham, Reyner. 1971, Los Angeles; the architecture of the four ecologies.
University of California Press. Los Angeles. p127
3
Jackson, J.B. 1984, Discovering the Vernacular Landscape. Yale University Press.
New Haven. p151
4
Venturi, R. Scott Brown, D. Izenour S. 1972, Learning from Las Vegas. MIT Press.
Cambridge, Massachusetts. p13

65
 Graham Cairns

Figure 3. Architecture as graphic sign in space.

In the contexts of Las Vegas, and Antonionis

presentation of LA, this use of graphic imagery
revolves around advertising. However, in both
Learning from Las Vegas and Zabriskie Point
the conversion of architecture into graphic
signage is explored in a more nuanced way
than simply seeing buildings as tools for
capitalisms need to promote consumption. Antonioni and Venturi both understood
that not only advertising but car transportation too was central to the urban
development, spatial layout and visual character of the cities they respectively dealt
with.
In raising questions about the role of car transportation of the nature of the
contemporary city they were again echoing ideas found in the works of important
theorists in the fields of architecture, urbanism and landscape design. For example,
Reyner Banham argued with respect to LA that to understand this city it was
necessary to understand the requirements of the car driver. 5 In short, LA was a city
that had developed according to the logic of the automobile.
A central tenet of that logic is the relative reduction in the importance of
distance. Being able to cover large distances in little time the car led to ever growing
expansion of urban centres. J.B. Jackson referred to this as the decentralisation of the
American city and saw it as key to understanding the reasons behind Americas
urban make up. 6 Venturi et al were then picking up on ideas developed by their
contemporaries. One thing they added however was the resulting need to provide
large amounts of car parking space in Americas cities.
In the context of Las Vegas this had fundamental consequences for the nature
of its architecture and the way it is perceived by the car user. Being based on the
service industries consumer convenience becomes central. If potential customers have
nowhere to park their cars the probability of them stopping, and thus spending money,
is reduced significantly. As a result argued Venturi et al, car parking provision tends
to be in a visually prominent position in Las Vegas; on the road side. Consequently,
the Las Vegas strip is characterised by buildings that are set back from the road so as
to leave car parking space in front. 7 Fig.4

Figure 4. The LA strip: buildings set back for cars and signs.

One obvious result of this is that the buildings

themselves become less dominant on the streetscape.
In certain situations this may not be a major issue
however, in a commercial environment this is a
potentially crippling characteristic. Whether it be to
play on slot machines, buy a hot dog, fill up with
petrol or take a drink, the success of individual
enterprises depends on them being able to both inform customers about what is on
offer in their buildings and to subsequently attract them in.
5
Banham, Reyner. Ibid. p196
6
Jackson, J.B. 2002, How to study landscape, in Theory in Landscape Architecture,
ed Simon Swaffield. University of Pennsylvania Press. Philadelphia. p17.
7
Venturi, R. Scott Brown, D. Izenour S. Ibid. p9.

66
 Graham Cairns

Given that the building itself is not in a position visibly prominent enough to do this,
they identified that the architects of Las Vegas tend to communicate through signage
that is independent of the building proper. The concept of the decorated shed thus
takes on a slightly different aspect. No longer a self contained decorated box
advertising its wares, it becomes a decorated box accompanied by extravagant signage
placed some distance in front. The graphic sign in space is thus intrinsically linked
with the city in motion.
Being a city geared towards car users Las Vegas can appear strange and at
times disconcerting for a pedestrian with more European sensibilities. The strip is
characterised by a lack of pedestrians, exaggerated distances between points of
interest, a relative absence of public space and wide streets that are not enclosed by
buildings; all characteristics that tend to mark the cities of the old continent. In short,
as with LA, Las Vegas obeys the logic of the car.
Following this logic it is not surprising that Venturi et al, identified Las Vegas
as a city that makes no sense when seen on foot. It is however they argued, a city that
makes perfect sense when seen through the window of a moving vehicle. In a moving
vehicle the sense of distance between buildings is reduced, the wide streets clearly
facilitate easy traffic flow and, not being enclosed, allow clear views of potential car
parking areas. The signage that lines the street no longer seems excessively
extravagant or large but rather simply easy to read in a fraction of a second whilst
travelling at speed. In its most basic terms, the excessively open and visually erratic
nature of the city is condensed in a live, complex, fluctuating but ultimately
comprehensible experience.
In order to turn this apparently chaotic city into something comprehensible the
eye must be functioning in a very different register to that of the pedestrian. What one
needs to do in Las Vegas is use the eye of a car driver. By identifying that in order to
understand Las Vegas one must read it from the perspective of somebody in a moving
vehicle Venturi et al brought up the question of perceptual experience, and in
particular the perceptual experience of the city in motion.
In this respect they referenced the work of three Harvard University professors
who some years earlier had dealt with precisely this issue; Kevin Lynch, Donald
Appleyard and John Myer. In 1963 these three authors had conducted various studies
into the nature of optical perception whilst driving. Their stated aim was to develop
design strategies for urban planners that would help create interesting and
understandable driving experiences. 8 Published in a book entitled The View from the
Road, their studies involved describing the perceptual and mental experience of
driving.
Although driving sequential they argued that it is not necessarily experienced
as such. Out attention is not constant but, on the contrary, tends to be inattentive and
jump between multiple stimuli that occur at random intervals and at varying speeds;
the blinking of traffic lights, the passing cars and the numerous actions of pedestrians
on the sidewalk for example. Attention they argued becomes focused at points of
decision, it switches from the interior to the exterior, jumps from the fore to the
background and centres itself on things seen straight ahead and events seen behind in
both rear view and wing mirrors. In addition sound plays a part in the highly complex,
fluctuating and multiple perceptual experience of driving with beeping horns,

8
Appleyard, D. Lynch, K. Myer, J. 1963. The View from the Road. Cambridge
University Press. Massachusetts. p18.

67
 Graham Cairns

pedestrian shouts and general street noise all becoming part of the perceptual
menagerie of the driver. 9
In trying to find a form of architectural representation capable of capturing this
Lynch, Appleyard and Myer proposed a number of strategies. One of these was the
use of film. However, the type of filming they suggested was continuous shooting
with a static camera placed inside a car. The visual effect that this creates is one that
captures some of the characteristics they describe but loses any sense of the
dynamism they identify with the act of driving. The direction of view is static and
constant and does not shift its focus in response to what happens around it.
In conjunction with static filming they also developed an abstract graphic
language that was highly complex. Involving notational techniques that indicated
things like sense of speed, change of viewing direction, zones of acceleration and
deceleration this graphic language was only decipherable by the initiated and
completely failed to capture the sense of dynamism that they themselves had
described. They had however identified an issue that was to re-emerge in the work of
Venturi et al; the need to develop new modes of architectural visualization to
represent this new way of perceiving architecture.
In Learning from Las Vegas Venturi et al questioned whether the modes of
representation used by architects when engaging with cities like LA and Las Vegas.
Plans, sections and elevations they argued were not only incapable of representing the
nature of experiencing cities in motion but actually distorted that experience by
turning it into a series of static and isolated images. In response to the inability of
these representational techniques to capture our perceptual experience they proposed
the use of a technique that was still popular in the dying days of pop art; the collage.
As a design tool and means of visual communication the collage clearly breaks
with the formality of the elevation, fragments the rationality of the plan and
deconstructs the logic of the section. It is clearly far more representative of the live,
chaotic experience of the car driver as described by Lynch, Appleyard and Myer.
However, it still lacks two very important features of this perceptual phenomenon;
movement and change.
In the introduction to Learning from Las Vegas Venturi indicates that the
authors did consider making a film as part of their investigations; only financial
constraints preventing its realisation. What the nature of that film would have been is
of course pure speculation. However, just two years earlier Michelangelo Antonioni
had released Zabriskie Point, a film that offered various examples of how the
cinematic medium can successfully represent the perceptual dynamism identified by
the authors referenced here. In Zabriskie Point Antonioni clearly attempts to capture
the experience of the driver on celluloid.
This is seen most clearly in two scenes respectively starring the young
protagonist Mark and his antithesis Lee Allen. Antonionis first move in the
construction of these scenes is to place the camera inside the car and thus to film from
the drivers point of view. This means that the heads and faces of the protagonists
come into shot and fragments of the seats, dash board and steering wheel are seen in
the corners of the screen. He then allows reflections in the rear view mirror and on
windscreen to superimpose themselves on our view of car interior and the street in
front.
All of this disrupts any sense of unity to the images seen on screen and
becomes the basis for a highly complex cinematographic collage. This collage is

9
Appleyard, D. Lynch, K. Myer, J. Ibid, p5.

68
 Graham Cairns

fragmented and layered even more through the inevitable sense of movement and
change to the exterior views. We are presented with a constant stream of fragmentary
images of road signs, traffic lights, pedestrians, buildings and above all, advertising
hoardings that run across the screen as the car moves through the city streets. Fig.5

Figure 5. The city in motion from the interior of a

car.

In addition to this visually charged imagery

he layers a menagerie of sounds that are both
real and imaginary on top of the main
dialogue inside the car; squeals from
slaughtered animals, the clanking sounds of
machinery in action and multiple snippets of street noise such as traffic and beeping
horns and wailing sirens. The complex visual and aural effect produced by all of this
is subsequently multiplied yet again through a series of additional cinematographic
techniques such as the use of rapid cutting, changes of camera position, exaggerated
zooms and the inevitable fuzziness produced by a moving camera. In short, Antonioni
creates an exaggerated cinematic collage of a commercial city in motion.
Clearly the use of an artificial soundtrack, the employment of exaggerated
zooms and the accelerated speed of the editing was never intended to simply
reproduce the optical reality of the LA driving experience. It is an example of what is
known as psychological editing; the use of the filmic medium to capture the
psychological impression of a live experience. It is on these terms that it has to be
judged and on these terms that it stands out as an excellent and evocative visual
representation of our perceptual engagement with cities like LA and Las Vegas.
Produced at a time when Reyner Banham, J.B. Jackson, Kevin Lynch and
Robert Venturi were all examining related themes and cities, it is a representation of
our perceptual engagement with the city in motion that is far more convincing than
anything produced by the architectural establishment. Out of the collective
investigative of that establishment came a realisation that architects were lacking the
tools necessary to investigate and represent this type of city experience.
However, the only responses to result were limited to the use of static
collages, the development of abstract graphic languages and the employment of
continuous filming techniques. The fact that none of these architects or urban planners
saw the true possibilities of film in this sense would seem to indicate that not only did
financial and perhaps technical restrictions came into play, but so to did the fact the
that the medium of film was not sufficiently integrated into the architectural mindset
of the time.
Had film been more fully understood one could have expected to see Venturi,
Lynch and co. using it to a far greater degree than they did. Indeed, one may have
expected to see a film with the cinematographic characteristics of Zabriskie Point
coming from within the field of architecture itself. As it was, it was left to a
filmmaker not an architect or urban planner to truly investigate and capture the nature
of our engagement with the city in motion.

69
 Teresa Castro

Cinemas Mapping Impulse and the City

Teresa Castro, Universit de Paris III Sorbonne Nouvelle.

In recent years, the idea of mapping has become the object of much critical attention,
gradually turning into a fashionable notion that found its way well beyond the field of
cartography. Responding to a general and widely acknowledged spatial turn in the social
sciences and the humanities, this interest has both focused on the map as a meaningful artefact
and on the process of mapping itself. The latter is understood to cover much more than the
conventional techniques and operations deployed in order to produce traditional cartographic
objects. In this new critical context, mapping can therefore refer to a multitude of processes,
from the cognitive operations implied in the structuring of any kind of spatial knowledge to
the discursive implications of a particular visual regime.
Drawing on these general assumptions, I would like to suggest that cinemas approach
to urban space has been closely informed by what could be called a mapping impulse. The
latter is an expression I retain from art historian Svetlana Alpers. In her book The Art of
Describing (Alpers 1983), an exploration of seventeenth century Dutch visual culture, the
author convincingly argues for a connection between painting and the techniques of
cartography that she addresses under the general designation of a mapping impulse.
According to Alpers, maps were the model for this particular visual tradition, which favoured
description and emphasised the images flat surface. Martin Jay subsequently proposed that
this art of describing corresponded to a scopic regime of modernity, i.e. an historical
mode of visuality (Jay 1988). Moreover, the late John Brian Harley, a renowned historian of
cartography, also observed that:

There has probably always been a mapping impulse in human consciousness, and
the mapping experience - involving the cognitive mapping of space- undoubtedly
existed long before the physical artefacts we now call maps. For many centuries
maps have been employed as literary metaphors and tools in analogical thinking.
There is thus also a wider history of how concepts and facts about space have
been communicated, and the history of the map itself the physical artefact is
but one small part of this general history of communication about space (Harley,
1987: 1).

Understood in such a way, the mapping impulse is less about the presence of maps in a certain
visual landscape and more about the processes that underlie the very conception of images. If
we understand maps to be graphic representations that facilitate a spatial understanding of
things, concepts, conditions, processes, or events in the human world (Harley and Woodward
1987: XVI), our focus shifts from object (maps) to function: spatial understanding.
Within this context, the coupling of eye and instrument that distinguishes cartographys
observation of space seems not so distant from the one that determines cinemas careful
coding and scaling of the world.
Using very different examples from distinct periods in film history, I will try to
illustrate three of the several formal strategies that distinguish this mapping impulse. The first
is a certain topographic fascination, if not a real topophilia, in the sense of love of place.
This feature covers different manifestations, either related to the politics or to the poetics of
space: examples are many, from early cinema to contemporary works. Such a topographic
appeal often goes hand in hand with a second formal procedure: the seemingly descriptive

70
 Teresa Castro

motivation of the works in question, made evident by such camera movements as the panning
shot or the travelling. This idea will take us to the ancient notion of chorography, the
description of the visible features of single parts of the earth. Finally, a third formal strategy
would be drifting, or walking as an artistic practice. Again, such a method can take different
forms and cover various agendas, from those of the modern flneur (and flneuse) to the post-
modern (and post-situationist) wanderer. Both serialization - maps only exist in the context
of a series, of a collective production spaced out in time (Jacob 1994: 465) - and layering - in
the sense of establishing connections and producing meaningful relationships (Curnow 1999)
- should also be mentioned as possible clues for the development of this study.

Topophilia, or the love of place.

The term topophilia couples sentiment with place.

Tuan 1974: 113

The famous opening sequence of Woody Allens Manhattan (1979) remains one of the
filmmakers most accomplished love declarations to his home city. As a black screen cuts to a
series of shots of the citys unique skyline, we hear Gershwins Rhapsody in Blue. More
Manhattan shots follow: the skyline at dawn, the Empire State Building, parking lots,
crowded streets, Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park in the snow, etc (Fig. 1).

Figure 1. A view of New York in Woody Allens

Manhattan (1979).

We start hearing Ikes voice (Woody Allen), as if

reading aloud: Chapter One. He adored New
York City. He idolized it all out of proportion.
Ike goes on reading, hesitating about the way to go
about what clearly sounds like the beginning of a
book, his book. As he goes on reciting, we see
more of the island of Manhattan: shots of women strolling down the Fifth Avenue, of men
drilling the streets, of ferries approaching the port, etc. The images respond to Ikes words,
not because they illustrate them, but because they allude to the same heartfelt attachment to
place at the origin of Ikes writing / Allens filming. As we listen to Ike saying New York
was his town. And it would always be, Gershwins song loudly returns to fill the screen. The
sequence ends with a view of Manhattan skyline at night, firecrackers flashing against the
dark sky.
Watching Woody Allens Manhattan one is struck by his discrete sensibility to the
natural and artificial features of the island. The initial sequence of the film constitutes a
detailed description of these features, a cinematic topography of Allens Manhattan providing
the cue for the emotional mapping that ensues. Such an exploration brings to mind the notion
of topophilia. Coined by Chinese-American geographer Yi-Fu Tuan in his 1974 epochal
study of environmental perception, the term addresses all of the human beings affective ties
with the material environment (Tuan 1974: 93). These can be very different in nature and
intensity, as Tuan himself explains: the response to the environment may be primarily
aesthetic: it may then vary from the fleeting pleasure one gets from a view to the equally
fleeting but far more intense sense of beauty that is suddenly revealed (Tuan 1974: 93).
Giuliana Bruno has recently used the term in her Atlas of Emotion, giving it a new twist. The
notion, which is central to the authors argument, is used in order to describe that form of
cinematic discourse that exposes the labour of intimate geography. Moreover, Bruno argues
that such work is driven by a passion for mapping that is itself topophilically routed (Bruno

71
 Teresa Castro

2002: 354). Woody Allens Manhattan corresponds in many ways to this labour of an
intimate geography, closely articulated to the narrative development, as if the feeling of place
was a commanding principle.
Observing that such heartfelt attachments to place constitute a distinctive trait of many
city films is certainly not an original claim. However, the consideration of urban filmscapes in
terms of mental geographies and emotional mappings allows us to reconsider the relations
between cinema and place. If the term topophilia doesnt cover all the implications of urban
films topographic fascination, it can nonetheless offer a way of addressing cinemas
fascination and sustained commitment to exploring the specificities of place. One can only
hope that further theoretical investigations are able to turn the term topophilia into a fully
operative notion, allowing us to address such different examples as early-cinema travelogues
or contemporary art objects.

Cinematographic urban portraits: the art of describing.

During the 1920s, the same city to which Woody Allen was later to pay a poignant tribute was
already a thriving metropolis, attracting millions of African-Americans and immigrants from
all over the world. Lured by its flourishing economy, many of them were to found
employment in the construction industry: New Yorks skyline in particular was changing
quickly, high-rise buildings competing with one another for the title of tallest skyscraper in
town. A number of short documentary films recorded the transformations taking place, while
simultaneously portraying the hectic life of a modern industrial city. Such is the case of
Twenty-Four Dollar Island, shot in 1926 by American filmmaker Robert Flaherty. The films
title alludes to the Dutch purchase of Manhattan in 1624: the film begins with several old
maps, of which one, depicting the new-founded colony of New Amsterdam, will dissolve into
a modern aerial view of the island (Figs. 2 and 3).

Figures 2 and 3. The map of New Amsterdam dissolves into a modern aerial view of Manhattan in Twenty-
Four Dollar Island (Robert Flaherty, 1926).

In Flahertys own words, Twenty-Four Dollar Island is a picture story of the most dynamic
city the world has ever seen (Flaherty 1927). In his effort to depict the New York, Flaherty
chose high vantage points and a long-focus lens, assembling many extraordinary views from
the countless ongoing construction works. We see the citys busy docks, Brooklyn Bridge,
clouds of smoke and jutting skyscrapers: this is a film in which New York is the central
character not a picture in which individuals are portrayed (Flaherty 1927).

72
 Teresa Castro

Nor a travelogue, nor an articulate avant-garde experiment, Flahertys picture obeys

nonetheless to a recognizable structure, typical of what could best be defined as a form of
cinematographic urban portrait. Among such filmic portrayals of urban space one can include
a wide variety of works, ranging from the archival-like compilation of picturesque views in a
city (tourist films remaining the best example of this accumulation of views) to the calculated
experiments aiming to recreate the wealth of urban sensorial experiences (among which one
can count the so-called urban symphonies, such as Ruttmanns Berlin, Symphony of a City
[1927] or Vertovs Man with a Movie Camera [1929]). Their common trait is their will to
portray the city as an autonomous and recognizable entity: their different visual and rhetorical
strategies shouldnt put us off this primary objective.
The notion of portrait as a description of something in this case, urban space
seems to me to be particularly interesting. Much in the manner of the Dutch scopic regime
mentioned before, the idea of description can refer to the presentation of objects, processes
or events in a straightforward manner, revealing sometimes a real love of enumeration,
illustrated in many travelogues by a succession of shots of emblematic places in a city
(description can also refer to a more complex and paradoxical process). By putting an
emphasis on description, the notion of a cinematographic urban portrait allows us to
inscribe what looks like a heterogeneous production of films in the distant continuity of a
particular visual tradition: sixteenth century town portraits. As a matter of fact, the idea of
portrait refers to an old geographical and figurative problem: how to describe by visual
means the scene of the world?
During the Renaissance, and following the discovery of Ptolemys geographical texts,
painted town portraits were associated to chorography, i.e. the study of regional geography.
The question of chorography refers both to a problem of scale and to an image problem. As
Lucia Nutti has rightly observed, chorography was the work of painters, not geographers, a
matter of pictorial and sensual knowledge (Nutti 1999: 91). In addition to this, town
portraits of the time evince the ambition to achieve a total view the city. In their quest for a
totalising vision of the town, a film-style iconography was developed (), by combining
different techniques of observation from life ((Nutti 1999: 102), among which Nutti counts
panoramas and the assemblage of photogrammatic shots. In the long history of
communication about urban space, chorographic painting is perhaps an interesting entry point
for the consideration of the city in film. In this sense, both Flahertys Twenty-Four Dollar
Island and Allens Manhattan can be reassessed as 20th century relatives of chorographic
town portraits.

City mapscapes: urban wanderers and aerial views.

The ordinary practitioners of the city are walkers whose bodies follow the thicks and
thins of an urban text they write without being able to read it.
De Certeau 1984: 93

The practice of flnerie is nowadays consensually considered to be related to cinema and to

its constitution of a mobilized gaze (Friedberg 1993). While I am not so concerned here with
the historical figure of the flneur (and of the flneuse) and with its manifold filmic
incarnations, the link between this typically urban phenomenon and the filmic city should not
be forgotten. Instead of focusing on flnerie, I would rather explore another historical
example of drifting: the situationist drive. According to the definitions issued by the
Internationale Situationniste, drive is an experimental mode of behaviour linked to the
conditions of urban society: a technique for hastily passing through varied environments.
The practice is based on the notion of psychogeography, the study of the specific effects of

73
 Teresa Castro

the geographical environment, consciously organised or not, on the emotions and behaviour
of individuals. As Guy Debord further noted on his Theory of the drive, the exercise is
quite different from the classic notions of journey and stroll (Debord 1981: 53) as it is
from flnerie (McDonough 1994).
Drive-driven psychogeography provides us with a compelling illustration of walking
as an urban-oriented artistic practice and critical tool. As recent critical readings have made
clear, the drive and the original conception of space that ensues extensively draw on the
French geographic tradition and on the project of a renovated cartography (McDonough
1994; Vidler 2006). As Debord writes in his 1955 Introduction to a Critique of Urban
Geography:

The production of psychogeographic maps, or even the introduction of alterations

such as more or less arbitrarily transposing maps of two different regions, can
contribute to clarifying certain wanderings that express not subordination to
randomness but complete insubordination to habitual influences (influences
generally categorized as tourism that popular drug as repugnant as sports or
buying on credit). [Debord 1981: 7].

Debords last film, In girum imus nocte et consumimur igni (1978), takes on many of these
issues. Combining static images and various movie clips with an autobiographical text, a
significant part of the film consists on a poignant meditation by Debord on his own life and
times. After an initial section where the author criticises and condemns traditional cinema,
he observes that: considering the story of my life, it is obvious to me that I cannot produce a
cinematic work in the usual sense of the term. I think the substance and form of the present
communication will convince anyone that this is so. Debord goes on to evoke his early years
in Saint-Germain-des-Prs, saying that the city of Paris was at that time so beautiful that
many people preferred to be poor there rather than rich anywhere else [Ctait Paris, une
ville qui tait alors si belle que bien des gens ont prfr y tre pauvres, plutt que riches
nimporte o ailleurs]. He adds, as the camera pans across some aerial photographs of the
city: Who, now that nothing of it remains, will be able to understand this, apart from those
who remember its glory? Who else could know the pleasures and exhaustions we experienced
in these neighbourhoods where everything has now become so dismal? [Qui pourrait,
prsent quil nen reste rien, comprendre cela; hormis ceux qui se souviennent de cette
gloire? Qui dautre pourrait savoir les fatigues et les plaisirs que nous avons connus dans ces
lieux o tout est devenu si mauvais?]. Bearing this sequence in mind, I would like to focus on
Debords choice of aerial views as a means of penetrating the urban environment. This choice
seems to be linked in some way to the situationist practice of drive and to the mapping of
urban space entailed by psychogeography (Fig. 4).

Figure 4. Aerial view from Paris, in Guy Debords In

girum imus nocte et consumimur igni (1978).

Why did Debord choose aerial images? To look

from above was for many centuries the
prerogative of gods and monarchs; during the
20th century, and partly because of the
simultaneous development of both image and
flight technologies, aerial imagery came to
epitomize the abstract, documentary look of
cartography. Obviously, birds eye views and
aerial photographs are not, strictly speaking,

74
 Teresa Castro

conventional maps; but they share with them a number of important traits, among which the
graphic deployment of a spatial understanding of the world. Because aerial photography was a
mechanical image meant to be exact, it was from its beginnings quickly envisaged as a new
means to represent the earth. After its development during the First World War, when it was
meant to provide coverage and detail, aerial imagery was cherished by the different avant-
gardes as a means to both disrupt and renew ones vision of the world. The role of aerial
images in 20th century visual culture is both complex and paradoxical: to someone of
Debords generation, they certainly evoke the war experience and the vision of aerial
bombers. But Debord was also an attentive reader of Paul-Henry Chombart de Lauwe, a
French geographer who advocated the use of aerial photography and who believed to have
found in it the means for accessing a certain knowledge about urban-social space.
In Debords film, the frequent aerial views constitute still lives of a city suspended in
time (Vidler 2006: 29). But they also participate of a visual and conceptual strategy that
addresses within the film the multiple issues entailed by the situationist questioning of urban
environment and the city. The overview appears in the film as the cinematic counterpart of the
drive, suggesting a dialectics between the act of seeing and surveying the earth from above
intensified by the camera movements across the image - and experiencing it by walking. This
dialectics is certainly evocative of cartographic methods; moreover, in In girum imus nocte
the panned shots of aerial views coexist with filmed maps, both topographic and collaged, as
well as with personal photographs and news shots of demonstrations. All these documents are
part of a scaling strategy, constantly moving from the vertical, synoptic view of the aerial
image to fragmented details, whose final goal is to map its object. However, more than
mapping Paris, Debord is perhaps cinematographically mapping himself. In that, he echoes
Walter Benjamin, who confessed in his A Berlin Chronicle, I have long, indeed, for years,
played with the idea of setting out the sphere of life bios graphically on a map (Benjamin
1979: 314).

Conclusion

As a way of concluding, I would like to recall Harleys comment on the mapping impulse.
According to the author, the physical artefact we call map is but a small part of a wider
history, that of mapping, i.e. communicating about space. Reading Harley, one is tempted to
ask how urban screenscapes fit into this general history. If the notion of a mapping
impulse can constitute a starting point for such a questioning, it seems evident that the idea
needs to be further explored. The arguments roughly sketched above intend to be a modest
contribution to this ongoing debate.

References

Alpers, S. 1983. The Art of Describing: Dutch Art in the Seventeenth Century, University of
Chicago Press, Chicago.
Benjamin, W. 1979, A Berlin Chronicle, One Way Street and Other Writings, Verso,
London, pp. 293-346.
Bruno, G. 2002, Atlas of Emotion. Journeys in Art, Architecture and Film, Verso, New York.
Chombart de Lauwe, P.-H. 1948, La Dcouverte arienne du monde, Horizons de France,
Paris.
Cosgrove, D. (ed.) 1999, Mappings, Reaktion Books, London.
Curnow, W. 1999, Mapping and the expanded field of contemporary art, in Mappings, ed.
D. Cosgrove, Reaktion Books, London, pp. 253-268.
De Certeau, M. 1984, The Practice of Everyday Life, University of California Press, Berkeley.

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 Teresa Castro

Debord, G. 1981, Introduction to a critique of urban geography, in The Situationist

International Anthology, Bureau of Public Secrets, Berkeley, California, pp. 5-8.
Debord, G. 1981, Theory of the drive, in The Situationist International Anthology, Bureau
of Public Secrets, Berkeley, California, pp. 50-54.
Harley, J. B. & Woodward D. 1987, Preface, in The History of Cartography, Cartography
in Prehistoric, Ancient and Medieval Europe and the Mediterranean, eds. J. B. Harley
& D. Woodward, Chicago University Press, Chicago, vol. I, p. XVI.
Jacob, Ch. 1992, Lempire des cartes. Approche thorique de la cartographie travers
lhistoire, Albin Michel, Paris.
Jay, M. 1988, Scopic regimes of modernity, in Vision and Visuality, ed. H. Foster, Bay
Press, Seattle, pp. 3-23.
McDonough, Th. 1994, Situationist Space, in October, vol. 67, Winter, pp. 58-77.
Nuti, L. 1999, Mapping Places: Chorography and Vision in the Renaissance, in Mappings,
ed. D. Cosgrove, Reaktion Books, London, pp. 90-108.
Tuan, Y.-F. 1974, Topophilia. A Study Of Environmental Perception, Attitudes and Values,
Prentice Hall, New Jersey.
Vidler, A. 2006, Terres inconnues: cartographies of a landscape to be invented, October
115, Winter, pp. 13-30.

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 Jessica Ka Yee Chan

Third Meshchanskaia and The Goddess:

Gendered Space in Cinematic Modernity

Jessica Ka Yee Chan, University of Minnesota

A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.

Virginia Woolf (1957: 4), A Room of Ones Own

If the dancer must know her center before she can move in space, if journey means an absence from a
starting point, if ones own body is the measure of the restricted space necessary to imagining the great
space where one can lodge the universe, then this parable, I believe, points the way to the female discovery
of felicitous space.
Judith Fryer (1986: 50), Felicitous Space

Beginning with Virginia Woolfs essay A Room of Ones Own, much has been written about
the need of women in patriarchal society for what Judith Fryer (1986: 50) calls felicitous
space. Writers interweavement of women and space illuminates the intricate relationship
between space and gender relations: space is not merely a backdrop; it is a material reality and
articulation of the female experience and can be read as text. Cinematic representation of
space is a powerful and provocative means by which the woman question can be put forward
visually and spatially. Early cinema, as a new visual medium born in modernity, provides
unprecedented visual possibilities of representing city space, urban culture and social relations
engendered by it.
Early cinema itself is a poetics of space that opens up new possibilities of presencing.
Gaston Bachelard (1969) sees space as a poetic, subjective, sensual and tactile experience of
the phenomenological subject. Cinema itself is in fact a visual and spatial experience which,
like the poetics of space, constitutes new subjectivities and subjects. Cinema defamiliarizes
and visualizes movement and space on a two-dimensional screen that nonetheless appears
three-dimensional to the perceiving subject, who, as Hugo Mnsterburg (1916: 24, 74)
describes, actively translates the forms of the outer world, namely, space, time, and causality
to forms of the inner world, namely, attention, memory, imagination and emotion. Walter
Benjamin (2002: 111), commenting on the new visual medium, argues that cinema generates
estrangement, self-alienation and possibilities of identification and allows workers to reclaim
and assert humanity against the apparatus after long hours of mechanical work in factories.
Early cinemas capacity of opening up another dimension of space generates possibilities of
engaging the new urban subjecta visual and spatial possibility that is impossible in any
other cultural productions such as literature and theater.
Early cinema, as a poetics of space, engenders the female subject and subjectivity as
the touchstone of city life and the project of modernization. Victorian London and Paris were
named as the cesspool city and the city of pleasure where woman, as the Sphinx in the city,
as Elizabeth Wilson (1992: 9) describes, was seen to be an irruption in the city, a symptom of
disorder, and a problem. How is the figure of woman, as the locus of the plight of
modernization and city life, depicted in cinema of belated modernities where the emergence
of the filmic medium coincided with revolution and modernization that called for the
emancipation of women? I have chosen the Soviet silent film Third Meshchanskaia [Tretia
Meshchanskaia] (also known as Bed and Sofa) (1927) and the Chinese silent film The

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Goddess [Shenn] (1934) to analyze how the two early silent films experiment with social
realism and spatial representation to articulate the female experience in modernity. Contrary
to what some scholars have argued, Third Meshchanskaia and the The Goddess are not
maternal melodramas that accommodate the patriarchal status quo, but are two of the earliest
feminist films in early cinema. Both films develop a sophisticated film language and craft a
gendered space that extends beyond the diegetic world in cinematic modernity, thereby
engendering subjectivities and possibilities of identification in what Miriam Hansen (2000:
342) describes as the sensory reflexive horizonan alternative public sphere that engaged
the contradictions of modernity at the level of the senses. If, as Zhen Zhang (2001) suggests,
early cinema is not an aesthetic style but an emblem of multiple modernities, especially
womens place in modernity, juxtaposing Third Meshchanskaia and The Goddess sheds light
on how female destiny was envisioned in two early cinematic regimes that were deeply
invested in defining the social, not only aesthetic, function of cinema in modernity before the
advent of socialist realism.

The woman question

The woman question was explicitly put forward in the project of revolution and
modernization in Russia and China in the early twentieth century. One of the most ambitious
goals of the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917 was the emancipation of women, which was
unprecedented in world history at the time. In the Chinese discourse of revolution and
modernization during the New Culture Movement, Hu Shih put forward the woman question
[fun wenti] in 1918 and evoked the Western image of the emancipated woman in order to
overthrow four thousand years of Confucian tradition deemed cannibalistic by the Chinese
writer Lu Xun. Hu looked to Europe and the United States for examples of the New Woman,
which was translated as xin nxing or xin fun. However, despite the call for emancipation,
the woman question remained unsolved in Russia and China throughout the 1920s and 1930s
and the modernizing cities of Moscow and Shanghai became the locus of womens plight and
social contradictions generated by modernization and early capitalism.
In responding to the woman question, directors Abram Room and Wu Yongang
experiment with social realism and put forward social critique by spatializing gender politics
with the filmic medium. Third Meshchanskaia (1927), set in post-revolutionary NEP (New
Economic Policy) years in Soviet Russia, is a wife-swapping comedy of a runaway pregnant
woman. The film depicts the domestic space of a married couple Kolya and Lyudmila and its
infiltration by Kolyas old comrade in the Red army, Volodya, who, having arrived in
Moscow to work as a printer, is invited by Kolya to sleep on the sofa. Volodya and Lyudmila
subsequently commit infidelity and Lyudmila becomes pregnant, not knowing which of the
men is the father. The comedy ensues with the strengthening of the masculine bond between
Kolya and Volodya and the marginalization of the pregnant Lyudmila who in the end runs
away from home. The Goddess (1934), set in Republican China, is a melodrama about the
unconditional love of a sacrificing mother-prostitute played by Ruan Lingyu. The film
depicts the domestic space of Ruan and its infiltration by a gangster who, having gambled
away all her money, is murdered by Ruan on the verge of nervous breakdown. Ruan in the
end is jailed in prison, and her son was taken care of by the headmaster as the surrogate father.
In spatializing gender politics, both films not only juxtapose domestic space and the city
space of Moscow and Shanghai, but also develop a filmic language that does not so much
suture the audience into a male subject position but opens up possibilities for identification
with the female heroines.

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Women in the city: absence and veiled existence

Mark Wigley (1992: 350) suggests that place is not simply a mechanism for controlling
sexuality. Rather, it is the control of sexuality by systems of representation that produces
space. Space, instead of being a pre-existing a priori or a backdrop, is produced and
engendered by social relations as a posteriori and therefore can be read as a text with gender
inscriptions. In Third Meshchanskaia and the The Goddess, gender roles are inscribed in the
modernizing cities of Moscow and Shanghai where few places are reserved for female
sensibility. The directors self conscious cameras defamiliarize city space to engender a new
consciousness of gender politics in city space.
Moscow, once a feminine city depicted by Tolstoy as mother of Russia in War and
Peace, is instead associated with masculinity, machine wheels and architectural grandeur
from which the domestically confined Lyudmila is excluded. Wilson (1992: 5, 7-8) describes
the urban consciousness as a male consciousness: the city is masculine in its triumphal
scale, its towers and vistas and arid industrial regions. In Third Meshchanskaia, the urban
scene of Moscow is always shot in daylight in the male point of view to instill a sense of
vibrancy and grandeur. Volodya, a character frequently associated with movement, is first
depicted by a point-of-view shot as a traveler leaning out of the window and looking at the
rail of the speeding train. The chauvinist Kolya, also depicted by a point-of-view shot, enjoys
the panoramic view of the city as he sits high above the Bolshoi Theatre in front of a statue
with his head leaning against the phallus of that statue, as if the whole of Moscow is under his
feet and his phallic power. The cameras fascination with city space to which Lyudmila is
excluded sets up a male consciousness that is in the end subverted by Lyudmilas runaway.
In The Goddess, Shanghai, a city of prostitution, is the locus of Ruans plight.
Shanghai, as Yingjin Zhang (1994: 620) describes, is a masculine city, with only a few
places that are temporarily reserved for the feminine or feminized sensibility. Ruans
existence in Shanghai nightlife is illegitimate, fleeting, fugitive and anonymous, best
visualized by a series of montage that enmesh Ruan, the floating traffic, shining towers and
sea of people. Wilsons (1992: 16) sentence best encapsulates prostitutes veiled existence in
the city: to live in it, but hidden; to emerge on sufferance, veiled. Ruans veiled and hidden
existence in Shanghai nightlife is visualized by the self-conscious camera that frames her
anonymous body parts in subtle spatial language. Two camera shots are particularly
remarkable in defamiliarizing Ruans anonymous existence. The first shot, shooting
vertically from above, frames Ruan walking with a man: what appears on the screen are two
anonymous heads viewed from above. The second shot frames the feet of Ruan and a man
walking side by side. These two shots of the anonymous heads and feet are not the cameras
voyeuristic gaze that functions as societys displaced desire as Rey Chow (1995: 24)
suggests, they are instead estranged visions that defamiliarize Ruans fleeting and concealed
existence, making spectators look at her illegitimate existence anew with sensitivity. Wus
camera, with an estranged vision, depicts Ruan as but one of many anonymous prostitutes
selling their bodies, demanding spectators to fill in the gap and acknowledge the tragic stories
behind each of those unacknowledged existences.

Women in domestic space: marginalized existence

Room and Wu engender a spatial language that not only defamiliarizes the absence and veiled
existence of women in city space, but also generates new ways of seeing the female body, its
gesture and movement as the measure of space and the lack thereof, thereby raising awareness
of the need for felicitous space for the female subject. Fryer (1986: 50) suggests that women

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has been unable to move. She has been denied, in our culture, the possibility of dialectical
movement between private spaces and open spaces []. In Third Meshchanskaia and The
Goddess, Lyudmila and Ruan are both denied movement in the real sense of the word. Woolf
(1929: 24) speaks of [] how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse
perhaps to be locked in []. Lyudmila and Ruan are both locked in: Lyudmilas house
becomes a dolls house whereas Ruans house becomes a gangsters property. The frequent
use of close-up accentuates the heroines facial expression and body language and engenders
female subjectivity which the audience identifies with.
Lyudmila is locked in and marginalized by the masculine bond between Kolya and
Volodya. Lyudmila is marginalized to the corner as Kolya and Volodya play chess in the
sitting room, completely ignoring her. At this point, spatial representation in the film
comically implies that the marriage between Kolya and Lyudmila is replaced by a marriage
between Kolya and Volodya. Marginalization of Lyudmila is visualized by a montage that
enmeshes Lyudmilas face in close-up with the kitchen curtain when Lyudmila overhears the
mens talk. Light and shadow projected onto Lyudmilas face also function as a disclosure of
her subjectivity and invites the audience to reflect upon her inner conflicts.
bell hooks (1990: 42, 3) describes home place as site of recovery, healing and
resistance where black women strive to be subjects, not objects. In The Goddess, the
domestic space of Ruan, as a site of healing and recovery, is invaded by a gangster who
penetrates every single corner of the apartment. The gangsters evil oppression is vividly
visualized by a close-up of his giant legs standing apart, framing the oppressed Ruan and her
child kneeling on the floor. Ruans illegitimate occupation literally means selling smile
[maixiao] in Chinese. Ironically, behind Ruans smile for sale is a bitter smile that is
repeatedly framed in close-up throughout the film, signifying her lack of an emotional outlet
and aligning spectators to identify with her misfortune. With a subtle spatial language and the
use of close-up, Rooms and Wus cameras sympathetically depict the heroines lack of a
room of ones own in both material and emotional terms.

Gendered space in cinematic modernity

The filmic and spatial language of the two films create a gendered space of cinematic
modernity that extends beyond the diegetic world, and engender a discursive space where the
woman question can be dwelled upon by various urban subjects. The ending scenes of the
two films, rather than succumbing to the patriarchal status quo as some scholars argue,
exploratively and provocatively pose the woman question to the film watching public. Both
Lyudmila and Ruan resist victimization and transgress boundaries: Lyudmila leaves home
during her pregnancy whereas Ruan kills the gangster on the verge of nervous breakdown.
Judith Mayne (1989: 125) sees Lyudmilas runaway as nonetheless a resort to motherhood:
to the obvious question of how womens legal and social autonomy is to be achieved, Bed
and Sofa puts forth a rather pat answer: motherhood. Yingjin Zhang (1999: 168) argues that
The Goddess participates in a male discourse on prostitution: the woman of ill repute is
safely locked behind bars, though she is still seen pacing uneasily like a caged animal, and
that she willingly erases herselfand her motherhoodfrom the male narrative. I would
argue that the apparent conservative resolutions are the results of censorship. In Third
Meshchanskaia, Lyudmilas decision to raise the child responded to the alarming abortion
statistics in Moscow at the time. In Moscow there were eighty-seven abortions per hundred
births in 1926 and by the late 1920s, abortions were outnumbering births in many cities
(Farnsworth 1977; Goldman 1991: 263). Although abortion was legalized in 1920, it was a
necessary evil that was not to be encouraged. Director Room and scriptwriter Viktor
Shklovsky possibly worked within such a confinement (Shklovsky 1985: 62). On the other

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hand, Wus social and economic concern for the fallen women was virtually unrepresentable
on Shanghai screen under the growing film censorship of the Nanjing governments Central
Propaganda Committee. I would suggest that the achievement of the two early feminist films
lies in the way filmic signification bypasses censorship and leaves room for social critique by
creating a gendered space in cinematic modernity that extends beyond the diegetic world.
The ending scene of Third Meshchanskaia, with a point-of-view shot, depicts
Lyudmila leaning out of the window and looking at the rail of the speeding train, and the
scene forms a parallel to the opening scene when Volodya is also depicted in the same manner.
It can be said that Lyudmilas position and that of the mens are reversed. Kolya and Volodya
are depicted as two scoundrels, one on the bed and the other on the sofa, in a restored
domestic order whereas Lyudmila is finally depicted in movement that has been denied to her
throughout the film. Yet, one wonders where the train goes: Lyudmilas destiny is beyond the
diegesis. The final shot of the film lures spectators to identify with Lyudmila in a moment of
awakening and in a dream of the present that sustains itself in perpetual movement,
visualized by the speeding train, to a destiny that is beyond the diegesisthat is precisely
why the final shot of the film directs our gaze to the open sky. For Room, the task of a
director is not to solve, but only to sharpen, not to instruct, but only to denude and pose that
theme for the audience to discuss (Hill 1971: 18). The cameras directing of our gaze to the
open sky opens up a discursive space beyond the diegesis and invites spectators to reflect
upon female destiny.
The Goddess ends with Ruan sitting in the prison cell in frontal medium close up
facing the camera. Through double exposure, Ruans hope is projected to an imagined space
where her son smiles. As William Rothman (1993: 69) suggests, we are envisioning her
envisioning her son. What is notable about the final shot is the opening up of an imagined
space beyond the diegesis. The final shot where Ruan faces the camera is an invitation for the
audience to step into the filmic world to judge. In fact, Ruan becomes the embodiment of
womens suffering and the role she plays extends beyond the diegetic world and mediates the
mass experience of modernity. In 1935, Ruan, living the role she played in The New Woman
[xin nxing] (1934), committed suicide after the making of the film, and a few of her female
fans followed suit. Christine Harris (1997: 293) writes, the studio and press coverage of the
funeral accentuated the circle of correspondences between the stars personal life and her
roles []. But now the audience, as mourners, became actors in this public theater staged by
the same studio that had produced the film. The iconic image of Ruan as the victimized new
woman illuminates how cinema became a mass mediated experience of modernityand
especially female experience of modernity.
It is remarkable that Third Meshchanskaia and The Goddess, as products of social
realism in the early project of modernization, develop a sophisticated filmic and spatial
language to engage the new urban subject in a gendered space of cinematic modernity.
Rather than offering simple solutions to social ills, both films engender female subjectivity
and pose the woman question for the spectators to reflect upon. Film watching, as a visual
and spatial experience, points to the discovery of felicitous space for the female subject.

Acknowledgements

For critical readings, research and suggestions, I wish to thank Jason McGrath and John
Archer. I am most grateful to the kind assistance, encouragement and financial support from
the graduate program in Asian Literatures, Cultures, and Media (ALCM) in the University of
Minnesota.

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 Jessica Ka Yee Chan

References

Bachelard, Gaston. 1969, The Poetics of Space, trans. Maria Jolas, Beacon Press, Boston.
Benjamin, Walter. 2002, The Work of Art in the Age of its Technological Reproducibility,
in Selected Writings vol. 3, ed Michael W. Jennings, the Belknap Press, Cambridge.
Chow, Rey. 1995, Primitive Passions: Visuality, Sexuality, Ethnography, and Contemporary
Chinese Cinema, Columbia University Press, New York.
Farnsworth, Beatrice Brodsky. 1977, Bolshevik Alternatives and the Soviet Family: The
1926 Marriage Law Debate, in Women in Russia, eds Dorothy Atkinson, Alexander
Dallin and Gail Warshofsky Lapidus, Stanford University Press, Stanford, pp. 139-166.
Fryer, Judith. 1986, Felicitous Space: The Imaginative Structures of Edith Wharton and Willa
Cather, University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill, NC.
Goldman, Wendy. 1991, Women, Abortion and the State, 1917-36, in Russias
Women: Accommodation, Resistance, Transformation, eds Barbara Evans Clements,
Barbara Alpern Engel and Christine D. Worobec, University of California
Press, Berkeley, pp. 243-266.
Hansen, Bratu Miriam. 2000, The Mass Production of the Senses: Classical Cinema as
Vernacular Modernism, in Reinventing Film Studies, eds Christine Gledhill and Linda
Williams, Oxford University Press, New York, pp. 352-350.
Harris, Kristine. 1997, The New Woman Incident: Cinema, Scandal and Spectacle in 1935
Shanghai, in Transnational Chinese Cinemas: Identity, Nationhood, Gender, ed
Sheldon Hsiao-peng Lu, University of Hawaii Press, Honolulu, pp. 277-302.
Hill, Steven. 1971, Bed and Sofa (Tretia Meshchanskaia), Film Heritage 7 (1), pp. 17-20.
hook, bell. 1990, Yearning: race, gender and cultural politics, South End Press, Boston.
Mayne, Judith. 1989, Kino and the Woman Question: Feminism and Soviet Silent Film, Ohio
State University Press, Ohio.
Mnsterburg, Hugo. 1916, The Film: A Psychological Study, Dover Publications, Inc., New
York.
Rothman, William. 1993, The Goddess: Reflections on Melodrama East and West, in
Melodrama and Asian Cinema, ed Wimal Dissanayake, Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge and New York.
Shklovsky, Viktor. 1985, Za 60 let: Rabotyi o Kino, Isskustvo, Moscow.
Wigley, Mark. 1992, Untitled: The Housing of Gender, in Sexuality and Space, ed Beatriz
Colomina, Princeton Architectural Press, New York, pp. 327-389.
Wilson, Elizabeth. 1992, The Sphinx in the City: Urban Life, the Control of Disorder, and
Women, University of California Press, Berkeley.
Woolf, Virginia. 1957, A Room of Ones Own, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, New York and
London.
Zhang, Yingjin. 1994, Engendering Chinese Filmic Discourse of the 1930s: Configurations
of Modern Women in Shanghai in Three Silent Films, Positions 2 (3), pp. 603-28.
. 1999, Prostitution and Urban Imagination: Negotiating the Public and Private in
Chinese Films of the 1930s, in Cinema and Urban Culture in Shanghai 1922-1943, ed
Yingjin Zhang, Stanford University Press, Stanford, pp. 160-80.
Zhang, Zhen. 2001, An Amorous History of the Silver Screen: The Actress as Vernacular
Embodiment in Early Chinese Film Culture, Camera Obscura 16 (3), pp. 229-263.

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Modernity and Colonized Otherness:

Early Actuality Films of Exhibitions in London

Maurizio Cinquegrani, Kings College London

The striking cultural diversity displayed on the streets of late-Victorian London, in its theatres
and exhibitions, must have impressed Alexandre Promio on his first visit to Britain. The
Lumire cameraman was fascinated by the streets of London, and filmed the exotic folklore of
Londons artists and buskers. Ngres dansant dans la rue (Negro Street Dancers) was
filmed in 1896 and represents black and white minstrels dancing and playing musical
instruments in Rupert Street. Danseuses des rues (London Street Dancers) was filmed on
the same year in Drury Lane: three foreign girls dance accompanied by an organ grinder as
they are watched by a group of men and boys. The impact of imperialism and cultural
otherness on Londons urban landscape emerges from these films and, as Driver and Gilbert
suggest, it encourages us to consider the ways in which the experience of modernity in
Europe reflected or represented the European encounter with the world beyond (1998: 13).
As a product of the forces of Victorian capitalism, early cinematography contributed to what
Antoinette Burton defines as a refiguration of metropolitan culture enforced by commodity
capitalism for the display of imperial culture (1996: 128). Between 1815 and 1914 the direct
British colonial dominiom expanded considerably and influenced the geographical imagery of
the British people. Through a discussion on the role of cartography in forging spatial
imagination, Denis Cosgrove has argued that during the last years of the nineteenth century,
the global imagination of many Westerners had been dominated by a pervasive sense that
spatial limitis had been reached, for technological inventions had brought geographically
distant regions into regular contact. Cosgrove has also explained how the conception of world
as exhibition, which had found its expression in the nineteenth century in the colonial
exhibition or Worlds Fair, has also been fundamental to a modern Western geographical
imagination. Modernity and pastness, Cosgrove continues, offer a binary opposition which
defines the British consciousness of modernity itself (2001: 220-224). The categories of the
modern were perceived as belonging to Britain and its colonial explorers, who brought into
the country the others, in the form of people, things, photographs and moving pictures. On
the other hand, as Peter Hansen suggests, the colonized people and their cultures were
perceived as non-modern, ancient, primitive, traditional and superstitious. In urban settings
like the Crystal Palace, imperial exhibitions displayed peoples, animals, places, cultures and
products, and were both underpinned by a celebration of technological modernity offered by
new constructional, industrial, communication and transport technologies (2001: 186). As
Thomas Richards suggests, late Victorian Britain accumulated knowledge in cultural and
scientific fields which was enlisted into the service of the empire and led to the consolidation
of a corpus of global knowledge and power (1993: 73-77). The exhibitionary project was a
fundamental part of imperial knowledge as it aimed at containing the world as exhibition.
Films of the exhibitions, such as those made by G. A. Smith and John Benett-Stanford in
1899 at the Greater Britain Exhibition in Earl's Court, documented imperialism as the
dominant ideology and exemplified ethnocentrism as the belief which influenced
cinematography and which was represented in early films in different forms. 1 In this

1
These are the titles of films made by G. A. Smith and John Benett-Stanford: Kaffirs and Zulus on the Warpath,
Savage South Africa at Earl's Court, a series including "Acrobatic Piccaninnies", "Piccaninnies and Lion Cubs",

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 Maurizio Cinquegrani

presentation, I will look at the imperial determination of Londons urban space and the
relation between cinema and urban motifs of display, through a discussion of figurative
representations of imperialist movement to and throughout the Empire.

Exhibition and film practices at the heart of the Empire. Two case studies: the London
Zoo and the Crystal Palace

On the 17 May 1900, Queen Victoria laid the foundation stone to the left of the main entrance
of the new Aston Webb building at the South Kensington Museum, and it was during this
ceremony that the name of the museum was changed to Victoria and Albert Museum. This
event, which was destined to be Queen Victorias last official public appearance, was filmed
by both the Warwick Trading Company (Her Majesty the Queen Arriving at South
Kensington on the Occasion of the Laying of The Foundation Stone of The Victoria And
Albert Museum) and Biograph Syndicate. These films have not survived and their loss is
particularly unfortunate as they represented a place which was key to the imperialist idea of
the world as an exhibiton. Tony Bennett (1995) has discussed the emergence of the role of
museum in the formation of the bourgeois public sphere, and as a vehicle for the fulfilment of
the empires educative and moral rule. Bennett has argued that the central message of the
Victoria and Albert Museum was to materialize the power of the ruling classes in the interest
of promoting a general acceptance of ruling-class cultural authority:

To visit institutions like the Victoria and Albert is, accordingly, to experience and witness the
power of the ruling culture, a power which manifests itself precisely through its ability to
exclude everything which, through its exclusion, is defined as other and subordinate (1995:
118).

Early actuality films such as those representing the Victoria and Albert Museum were also
aimed at the fulfilment of the imperial message, and the association between film and
permanent or temporary exhibitions was embodied in the imperial educative rule.
Timothy Mitchell suggests that modern ways of seeing the world were exemplified by the
growth of museums and exhibitions throughout the nineteenth century, and by a political
exploitation of these sites which was aimed at displaying national, cultural and racial
differences (1991). Exhibitionary representation, Mitchell argues, was strictly bound to ideas
of improvement and progress, and also a reflection and a production of that sense of scientific
and political certainty which rendered history, progress, culture and empire in objective
form (1991: 2-19, 160). Exhibitions enabled Europeans to apprehend and colonize reality
by offering an ordered, domesticated and organized experience of the world as though it was a
picture. Victorian Britain saw the emergence of a modern culture of exploration which, as
Felix Driver suggests, was related to empirical and geographical knowledge and required a
wide range of material and imaginative resources (2001). The display of newly-discovered
worlds in Londons exhibitions and museums contributed, as Driver argues, to the
development of an imperial scientific project, and provided a great volume of information to
the metropolitan experience of the empire by representing the identities of the colonized and
the colonizer and the boundaries which defined them. Travel photography and painting,
catalogues and guidebooks all contributed to the determination of the imperial theme, and so
did early cinematography. Opening ceremonies of temporary exhibitions were a common
subject for early actuality films: in 1907, for example, two actuality films representing the
South African Exhibition were produced by the Warwick Trading Company and Walturdaw.

"Taming a Lion", "Parades of the Apes", "Boers Hunting Zebras and Wild Beasts", "The Somersault Ape",
"Captain Taylor and His Trained Cinnamon Bear", "Savages attacking the Square".

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The work of pioneer filmmakers representing exhibitions reflected the emergence of an

imperial culture of exploration and display, and resulted in a visual mapping of the heart of
the empire.
Films and exhibitions were also born out of the movements of modernity, both in terms of
technological progress and transculturation. As Donald Lowe argues, during the nineteenth
century the perception of time, space and distance was changed by the developments in
transport and communication technologies (1982: 35-38). The western rail network and the
application of steam-engine in ships made long-distance journeys more affordable, and
enabled the middle-class to traverse the world and encounter distant cultures. During the
second part of the century, photography made it possible for the growing number of travellers
to bring home images of exotic realities. Along with photographs, collectors brought back to
Britain objects, beasts, and even individuals which were spectacularly displayed by
institutions and trustees in purpose-built galleries, museums and exhibition palaces. Those
who were unable to travel to remote destination could admire the British Empires
possessions in London or at the cinematograph. Nineteenth-century visual traditions, such as
photography or lantern-slide lectures, displayed scenic views of exotic countries, and were
carried over into film in the form of panorama or travelogue films (Mackenzie, 1986: 72-73).
Cinematography partially replaced photography and the magic lantern as the favourite
medium to record the travel experience, and during its early years a great number of British
operators visited distant destinations filming colonial cities, people and objects. Their films
were shown in London and, by bringing distant realities into the western metropolis, served
the same purpose as photography and exhibitions. On the other hand, pioneer filmmakers
filmed Londons exhibitions and created a cinematic representation of something which
already was a representation of colonized cultures and technological development, for the
benefit of those who were unable to visit them in person or wanted to re-experience these
attractions.
When Alexandre Promio arrived in London in 1896, he did not only film architectural
landmarks like Tower Bridge, the Houses of Parliament, Marble Arch or Piccadilly Circus.
The Lumire operator also made three short films in the London Zoological Gardens: Lions,
Pelicans, and Tigers. Promio was probably the first filmmaker to film the zoos beasts, but
during the following fifteen years many British and foreign film companies sent operators to
Regents Park in order to film the attraction offered by exotic animals. London Zoological
Gardens was opened in 1828 and situated at the northern edge of Regents Park. The location
of the London Zoo is particularly meaningful. Created by the architect John Nash at the
beginning of the nineteenth century, the project of Regents Park was based, as Richard
Sennett suggests, on the principle of park-as-lung, but adapted to a city where greater speed
was possible (1994: 325). Sennett has explained how Nashs plan worked against a socially
connected use of the park by creating a road of fast-moving heavy traffic around the park
aimed at discuraging the rapid organization of groups on its open space (1994). The
construction of Regents Park embodied the development of urban modernization by enabling
the movement of a great number of individuals and disabling the movements of groups
understood as agglomerations of men and women presenting, according to Gustave Le Bon,
very different characteristics from those of the individuals composing the crowd (2000). The
opening of the London Zoo on this space brought this development into an ideological
territory, as Nashs original plan aquired a space where a Londoners identity as resident of an
imperial metropolis was fully confirmed. According to Jonathan Schneer, the Zoological
Societys project to list and classify all species of animals was inherently imperialist, and
capturing and caging wild beasts from every corner of the Empire and displaying them in
London was the ultimate figuration of Englands imperial enterprise (1999: 97-98). Imperial
culture was underpinned by scientific progress but it also attract popular interest. Until 1846

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entrance to the gardens was restricted to an elite membership, but at the turn of the twentieth
century the zoo had became a much-loved form of popular recreation. Books, articles and
music-hall songs were devoted to the animals kept in captivity in Regents Park: Birth of
Kangaroo at the Zoological Gardens was the title of The Illustrated London News in July
1896.2 The song Walking in the Zoo is the OK Thing to Do was written by Alfred Vance in
1870 and at the turn of the century was still sung in Londons music halls. The most curious
subjects of the animal kingdom represented the colonized territories, and it was indeed as
representatives of the colonies that animals were filmed by pioneer filmmakers. London:
Zoological Gardens was produced by Chard & Co in 1897, and included Feeding the
Pelicans and Polar Bears. The Warwick Trading Company produced Feeding the Tigers in
1899, and Charles Urban made A Ramble Around the Zoo in 1900. In 1903 one of Thomas
Edisons operators came to Britain to film the London Zoo (Scenes at the Zoo). The
Walturdaw company produced The Zoo Series and A Peep at the Zoo in 1905, and five years
later released A Peep round the Zoo. British Path produced At the Zoological Gardens in
1909, and the Gaumont made A Visit to the Zoological Gardens on the same year. In 1911,
Gaumont also filmed Who's Who at the Zoo, and one year later it released A Visit to the
Zoological Gardens: the Ruminants. In 1912 Kineto produced Snapshots of the Zoo, and one
year later B&C filmed A Ramble through the Zoo. Most these films are now considered to be
lost. Among the few which have survived Scenes at the London Zoo is arguably the most
remarkable for editing, variety of shots and length. Filmed by Cecil Hepworth for the
Warwick Trading Company in 1898, this films offers a series of shots representing a man
playing with snakes, a big bear, a llama, a camel, a dromedary, several flamingos, parrots, and
tucans. Most strikingly, Hepworths Scenes at the London Zoo shows, in its two longest
sequences, children and adults riding an Indian elephant on the Zoos alleyways. The elephant
symbolizes Asia in one of the allegorical sculpture groups at the four corners of the Albert
Memorial in Kensignton Gardens. The elephant at the London Zoo had the same purpose: it
was perhaps the most imposing animal in the Zoo, and the one which best represented the
most exotic territories of the British Empire. This docile elephant was devoted to the
amusement of children and adults in the imperial city, and well exemplified the Indian
subordination to Britain. The cinematic image of this symbol of submission served to spread
the imperial message all over the country, for the benefit of people who were unable to visit
London and its attractions.
In 1911, New Agency produced a film representing two of the major attractions of
London: The Crystal Palace and a Glimpse of the Zoo. The Sydenham Crystal Palace
attracted as many filmmakers as the London Zoo. Nicky Levell (2000) has discussed the
representations of the distant Orient at the Crystal Palace, and argued that the development in
transport and media in Victorian Britain enabled the masses to travel to urban exhibition sites
and observe other cultures through the medium of display. The image of the oriental otherness
displayed at the Crystal Palace, Levell continues, was constructed in relational opposition to
the West, and was central to the constitution of the self as the superior dominant culture
(2000: 11). Originally erected in Hyde Park to house the Great Exhibition of 1851, the Crystal
Palace was moved to Croydon, South London, in 1854. In these premises, the display of other
civilizations contributed, as Andrew Hassam has argued, to offer a self-congratulatory image
of Victorian Britain of which the Crystal Palace became a symbol (2003). In All That Is Solid
Melts Into Air, Marshall Berman defines the Crystal palace as the most visionary and
adventurous building of the whole nineteenth century and describes it as a key architectural
landmark in the topography of London:

2
The Illustrated London News, No. 2985, Vol. CIX (Saturday, July 4) 1896.

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No building in modern times, up to that point, seems to have had the Crystal Palaces capacity
to excite people. As for foreigners, the Palace, more than enything else in London, became the
sight they wanted to see first. Contemporary journalists reported that it was Londons most
cosmopolitan zone, crowded at any given time with Americans, Frenchmen, Germans,
Russians, even Chinese and Japanese (1988: 237-238).

Berman identified the Crystal Palace as one of those modern environments that promises
adventure, power, joy, growth, transformation of ourselves and the world (1988: 15). A place
like Crystal Palace, and the attraction that it offered, fitted perfectly the kind of visual material
sought by cameramen. In 1896 Promio filmed Javanese performers in the park grounds of the
Crystal Palace: Danse Javanaise represents a group of Javanese dancers and musicians
performing in traditional costumes. In Jongleur Javanais a Javanese man performs a series of
juggling routines with a ball, which he kicks up and balances it on his shoulders and feet.
Javanese musicians seated on the ground accompany his performance. The same group of
Javanese performers appears in Lutteurs Javanais, where two men wrestle, while the juggler
performs accompanied by the same musicians seen in Danse Javanaise. British film pioneers
filmed the Crystal Palace focusing prominently on technological novelties and parades. In
1898 the ascent of a gas balloon at the Crystal Palace was filmed by an operator of the
Interchangeable Ltd. In 1899 a Warwick Trading Company operator filmed The Swings at
Crystal Palace and Horse Parade at Crystal Palace; three years later the Warwick Trading
Company produced Brock's Firework Display at Crystal Palace, Crystal Palace Chutes and
Shooting the Chutes at Crystal Palace. In 1900, G.A. Smith made for the Warwick Trading
Company a number of films at the Crystal Palace documenting its attractions: horse parades,
bicycle races, the well-known prehistoric monsters and the Kansas City Fire Department
shows. 3 In 1903 H. M. Lomas filmed for Charles Urban a series of views of the Palace, its
park and terraces: Crystal Palace Panoramas, Looping the Loop, and Shooting the Chutes. In
1902 the Crystal Palace Company organized an exhibition of motor-cars, motor-cycles and
accessories and offered a number of awards to the exhibitors. 4 The Lancaster Engine
Company, based in Armourer Mills near Birmingham, gave a demonstration of its motor cars
in Crystal Palace, where several cars climbed steps in the park. At least two films
documenting the event have survived: Lanchester car test on steps at Crystal Palace and
Motor Car Climbing Contest at the Crystal Palace.5 In 1906, G.A. Smith went back to the
Crystal Palace and filmed Togo's Heroes at the Crystal Palace and International Cycling
Race at Crystal Palace for Charles Urban. In 1911, John Y. Brown filmed for the London
Cinematograph Co. The Pageant of London, which represented the Crystal Palace during the
Festival of the Empire held in London to celebrate the coronation of George V. The filming of
imperial events like the Pageant offered the pleasures of the Crystal Palace, the Zoo and the
museums to the masses unable to visit the actual place, and gave them an image of London
which was saturated with symbols and sights of imperial determination.

Acknowledgments

I am grateful for suggestions and comments from David Green, Sally Parrott and Mark Shiel.
References

3
These are the titles: Panorama View of Crystal Palace Terraces, Panorama of Crystal Palace Lake, The
Prehistoric Monsters at Crystal Palace and Bicycle Race at the Crystal Palace, Exhibition of Quick Harnessing
with Trained Horses, Drill of the Kansas city Fire Department.
4
The Times, Saturday, 15 February 1902, p. 14.
5
There are no credits available for these films.

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Bennett, T. 1995, The Birth of the Museum, Routledge, London and New York.
Berman, M. 1988, All That is Solid Melts Into Air: The Experience of Modernity, Penguin,
New York and London.
Burton, A. 1996, London and Paris through Indian spectacles. Making a spectacle of Empire:
Indian travellers in fin-de-siecle, London, History Workshop Journal, No. 42, pp. 127-
146.
Cosgrove, D. 2001, Apollos Eye: a Cartographic Genealogy of the Earth in the Western
Imagination, The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore and London.
Driver, F. 2001, Geography Militant: Cultures of Exploration and Empire, Blackwell, Oxford
and Malden, Massachusetts.
Driver, F., and Gilbert, D. 1998, "Heart of Empire? Landscape, Space and Performance in
Imperial London", Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, vol. 16, no. 1, pp.
11-28.
Hansen, P. 2001, Modern Mountains: The Performative Consciousness of Modernity in
Britain, 1870-1940, in Meanings of Modernity: Britain from the Late-Victorian Era to
World War II, ed. M. Dauton and B. Rigier, Berg, Oxford and New York, pp. 185-202.
Hassam, A. 2003 (first published in 1999), Portable iron structures and uncertain colonial
spaces at the Sydenham Crystal Palace, in Imperial Cities, ed. F. Driver and D. Gilbert,
Manchester University Press, Manchester and New York, pp. 174-193.
Le Bon, G. 2000 (first published by T. Fisher Unwin, London, in 1896). The Mind of
Crowds, in The Fin de Sicle: a Reader in Cultural History c. 1880-1900, ed. S. Ledger
and R. Luckhurst Oxford University Press, Oxford and New York, pp. 55-61.
Levell, N. 2000, Oriental Visions: Exhibitions, Travel, and Collecting in the Victorian Age,
Horniman Museum and Gardens, London.
Lowe, D. 1982, History of Bourgeois Perception, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.
Mackenzie, J. M. 1986, Propaganda and Empire, Manchester University Press, Manchester
and New York.
Mitchell, T. 1991, Colonizing Egypt, California University Press Berkeley and Los Angeles.
Richards, T. 1993, The Imperial Archive: Knowledge and the Fantasy of Empire, Verso,
London and New York.
Schneer, J. 1999, London 1900: the Imperial Metropolis, Yale University Press, New Haven
and London.
Sennett, R. 1994, Flesh and Stone: the Body of the City in Western Civilization, Faber and
Faber, London and Boston, Massachusetts.

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London and the Cinema:

Space, Narrative and Iconicity in Cinematic Representations
of Londons East End
Phillip Drummond, New York University in London

Introduction

In the longer paper which I summarise here, Ive tried to approach the cinematic
London as a bundle of representational themes, icons, and structures, drawn together
in richly ambiguous relationships to reality and continually overdetermined by the
insistences and needs of the British and international film industry. For instance, Ive
tried to see London as a site for encounters between different versions of Britain and
of Britishness within the fragile unity of the kingdom. In a second move, I look at
films which dramatise arrival in the city, and the resulting encounter with difference,
on the part of powerful North Americans and impoverished denizens of Second and
Third Worlds. I go on to examine the relationship between the city and the country, as
a run of texts build their meanings from deliberate contrasts between the resolutely
fictive urban landscape and the increasingly eclipsed and occluded world of rural
Britain.
These studies emphasise the role of London as a site of social encounter,
friction, and exchange. The processes dramatised here are frequently mediated
through geographic motifs to do with mobility and travel, in any number of films are
preoccupied with crossing the great city to bring its differences into focus. And if
arrival is an important starting point, then so too, in my analysis, are themes of
departure - concerning both what happens when characters leave London, and also
when they return to it from other places, other socialities. These concerns lead me on
to focus on the East End, that particular London quarter, more transformed than any
other by the convulsions of the modern urban experience.

The Convulsive East End

The East End is from the outset a very special kind of urban quarter. Gathered
around a river flowing to and from the sea, London, with its North and South
riverine divisions, starts by being double. On its heavily developed northern shore, it
bifurcates again, into East and West, and here begin its symptomatic alternations
in the west, a city of civic and royal wealth and power, in the East a city of poverty
and powerlessness; a city of consumption and display versus one of industry and
labour; a city of urban rhetoric and spectacle contrasting with a city of the routine and
the quotidian. In short, we might simply say: a borough which is also a city
(Westminster) versus a mere borough (Tower Hamlets) just like any other (except, of
course, that other very different exception, the neighbouring borough, the City of
London).
The West End indeed grew to balance the very centrality of the City, the old
Roman and medieval centre, Londons walled up heart until modern times. Thus City
governance in Guildhall, and national governance in Whitehall; thus banking in the
City, retail in the West End; thus St. Pauls in the City, and St. Peters church at

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Westminster, the Abbey; thus the competing ritualistic archaisms of monarchy (in the
West) and mayoralty (in the City). And so the evolution of London favours the dense,
civic North against South, and in turn the westward flow of the old Roman pulse. The
East End, cheek-by-jowl with the City, was yet different again: excluded by the West
End/City power nexus, starkly subordinate whichever way we turn in the alterities
of both East End/City and also East End/West End.
The East End, as it grew, was marked by its exclusion from the protocols and
privileges of the protected City. A wide range of industries emerged outside the
favoured regiments of the City guilds, centred as they were on the trade halls and
marshalled through the Guildhall and the mayoralty. Beyond the City walls, the East
End sprawled and teemed, servicing its own needs and those of the emerging West
End: the rag trade from Huguenot silks to Jewish schmutter, the bricks to build the
new metropolis, bells to hang in Westminster. Central to this site of myriad forms of
labour were the docks and shipyards, especially from around 1800, as the trade of
Empire flowed through the East End, was comptrolled in the City, and found public
expression in the building boom and the architectural extravaganzas of the new West
End.
The East End thus became fertile ground for hectic and anarchic social change.
In the last two centuries, for example, its human composition has been successively
dominated by the influx of Irish Catholics, French Protestants, East European Jewry,
and more recently Bangladeshi Muslims all survivors of their own earlier
convulsions elsewhere in a complex, mosaic and desperate adventure in modern
urban multiculturalism. These great migrations created one of the major
concentrations of working class energy, talent, poverty and deprivation in Europe in
the second half of the 19th Century, laying down historic templates for alarmed and
yet compassionate consideration of the region as separate, different, alien and other,
as Darkest England (Charles Booth) or even the hellish abyss (Jack London). In
the 20th Century, still more dramatic environmental transformations would take place.
An early landmark on the German flight-path, and with the Docklands target at
its very heart, the East End inevitably bore the brunt of the WWII Blitz of 1940 and
1941. Countless lives and homes disappeared in the annihilation. Post-war
reconstruction then reduced the East End population further, typically dispersing it to
the further reaches of the northern and eastern counties. By the 1960s, the old Jewish
quarter was fast giving way to the new Bangladeshi East End as post-imperial London
experienced a profound reorientation of its ethnic profile. And then, from 1981
onwards, the decaying Docklands, especially the Isle of Dogs, began to be regenerated
as older housing stock gave way to new modern forms of residential and business
accommodation. Along the river, the remnants of the old tenant working class were
displaced, on the one hand, by the brutal elegance of the designer property explosion,
and, on the other, by the re-industrialisation of the region as the City itself came
marching Eastwards: Fleet Street came to Wapping, and the bankers came to rise in
Canary Wharf on the Isle of Dogs. The 2012 Olympic developments promise related
upheavals on the other side of the East End, in the north, at Stratford.
The East End is thus perpetually in change, more so, perhaps, than any other
London quarter. In the critical nostalgia of Hackneys Ian Sinclair, it is thus an
important feature of a City of Disappearances a fading dream environment
endlessly mourned, searched for, and re-invoked, in prose which is elegiac, surreal
and madcap by turns. For Michael Young and his colleagues at the Institute of
Community Studies in Bethnal Green, the change is more precisely sociological
from a culture in which family and kinship were the early powerful parameters of

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communal bonding to one in which these ties are bound ever tighter by the potentially
divisive identities of race. The East End thus presents a highly explicit case of
representational mutability. And so analysis of these representations in the case of the
notoriously fictive world of cinema then undergoes a classic, fundamental challenge:
is there an essential East End, we might start by asking, and if perhaps not, then
which variant of this rich and troubled pattern merits and achieves attention and re-
presentation?
In the fuller paper I start to suggest various understandings of the space of
the East End by looking at the textual geographies of two symptomatic East End films
from different eras, It Always Rains on Sunday (with its central interest in the
contrasts between domestic and external urban space) and Face (with its more
dispersed sense of cinematic geography, rendering a more diffuse sense of the
Londonicity of the East End). I go on to challenge traditional preoccupations with
East End types, especially Jack the Ripper and the Krays, by broadening out the
notion of the East End monster to embrace other monstrous manifestations such as
the hooligan film cycle, and the emblematic bigot Alf Garnett. Through examination
of a wide range of films (over 50 at the last count) I reprise some of the earlier themes
of the paper by examining the ways in which the East End can be understood as a
spatialised arena for social difference and intercultural encounter, in a movement that
takes us from Broken Blossoms to Brick Lane, from Bronco Bullfrog to Britz, from
Till Death Us Do Part to 28 Weeks Later.

Geography and Iconography

The final section of my paper narrows down these questions to the matter of
iconography and iconicity, working on the question of the individual images by which
the city is recognised, which become its semiotic shorthand. Take Tower Bridge, for
instance, that great emblem of late Victorian engineering prowess, vitally connecting
the City to the South Bank on behalf of the very modern world of cross-river traffic
and commuting, and yet emphatically medieval in appearance, a steel structure clad in
stone to harmonise with the thousand-year old Tower of London lying alongside it on
the north bank of the Thames. Consider then its articulations in films as various as
Frenzy, The Innocent Sleep, London, The Long Good Friday, The Mummy Returns,
Night and the City, Pool of London, The Revengers' Comedies, Spiceworld: The
Movie, The World is Not Enough, and 28 Weeks Later. These films make their
meanings of the bridge comic, tragic, mundane, and spectacular by turns from the
intersection of the identifiable referent (the actual Bridge itself) with the narrative,
stylistic, and ideological play of the cinematic text in which this icon has been caught
up and redeployed.
The iconic spaces of the East End, however the home, the street, the shop,
the pub, industrial land differ in kind from the bold and often rasher iconography of
the West End, and its more popular cinematic articulations. The latter tends to be
more monumental, more historic and less susceptible to change. It also tends to be
more public, more spacious, less pragmatically usable in daily life, more remote
from the lived environment. This makes it both more inclusive (embracing a broader
sense of London and of Britain) and more generalised (recognised and misrecognised
the world over as representative of London and of Britain). The East End, by contrast,
has no such equivalent. Its locations are both more generic and also less individuated:
for Tower Bridge and Nelsons Column, think instead Rodzkinskys room or the
Rothschild Buildings.

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That is why, in my final discussion, I want to consider one such generic icon, which is
in turn a generic icon of East reality itself, that essential architectural icon, the tower
block. In the post-war clearances of East London intended to sweep away bomb
damage and also sweep away the slums new forms of mass housing were
inaugurated on block and high rise principles. These replaced individual dwellings
with concentrated masses of apartments, drove buildings and their inhabitants
upwards in space (layering them on top of one another in the process), and
reconfigured the traditional role of the street as foreground to, and connector between,
individuated dwellings. These massified dwellings, with their concentrated volumes
and streamlined, hard-edged, lines, were the expression of a kind of pragmatic
modernism. But as they came to embody an emblematic form of urban alienation, and
as their architectural weaknesses became tragically apparent with the collapse of
Ronan Point in 1968, they in turn become the symbol of a certain moment, and a
likely error. Their logic was to be abandoned in successive decades as more varied
forms of architectural provision were brought into play.
The shift to tower living produces a number of ambiguous social consequences
and effects ranging from domestic comfort to domestic isolation which the cinema
marks at the level of the audio-visual. The tower-block, for example, produces a new
kind of verticality, of visual prominence and difference. It thus becomes the source of
visual novelty, in terms of both being looked at and as a vantage point from which
new visual perspectives may be gained on London. These modalities contrast
conspicuously with earlier and pervasive images of the East End as earth-bound,
subterranean, even abysmal, and of an East End darkly replete with such a density of
habitation that life was hidden rather than revealed. The tower block, instead,
promised the sky, offering clarity and visibility and views.

High Rise Allegories

In general terms, the tower block becomes a significant icon in British cinema in the
1960s. If the teen musical The Young Ones begins with a song-and-dance routine in
which Cliff Richard and friends make their way down a high rise building under
construction, the remainder of the film deploys them as defenders of small buildings
against the imperialist designs of his developer father. The effects of these transitions
are seen from a different angle in Sparrers Cant Sing, where Barbara Windsor has
not only taken up with a local bus conductor whilst her sailor husband is at sea, but
has been installed by him in a tower block after the couples traditional terraced
house has been bulldozed. When he comes home from his travels he must start out on
a new journey, looking for his wife while searching for a new home in a transfigured
landscape.
Towards the end of the decade the changes can be seen in the neo-realism of
Bronco Bullfrog, where the young couple at the centre of the drama are drawn
together from their different dwellings he in a terraced house and she in her tower
block flat. The same year (1969) the tower block makes a still more significant
semiotic contribution to Till Death Us Do Part. Here, after a long trawl through the
history of the East End, the films conclusion brings us up to date with the moment of
its own production, we experience the process of social displacement itself as Alf
Garnett helplessly resists the destruction of his East End street and the move to a far-
flung tower block. If London has no equivalent to the Newcastle-set (but Liverpool-
and Warrington-shot) tower block drama Downtime, then as the London film

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develops, the tower block is less emphatically symbolic and acts instead as a given,
normative space.
It plays an unexceptional we might say normalised role in such recent
London films as Face, The Football Factory, Ill Sleep When Im Dead, or The
Plague. But closer to the moment of the architectural experiment itself, in the 1970s
and 80s, the expressionist potential was never far away, as when the geography
schoolteacher protagonist of Nighthawks cruises night-time London in search of
casual sex, and meanwhile studies a transfigured city, creating photographs of the
removal of the old Covent Garden and the rise of the new towers; or when the blocks
loom large in the landscape of West London as the protagonist of Radio On travels to
Bristol to investigate the death of his brother; or when a former British paratrooper
returns from war in the Falklands and in Northern Ireland to civil war in the alienated
estates of For Queen and Country. This depiction of the tower block as a theatre of
change has not, however, disappeared: the flight from London to Spain at the
beginning of The Business is triggered by a drama witnessed in the tableau created in
the window of a South London tower block.
One of the most arresting of recent articulations of the tower-block residence
is perhaps the example provided by 28 Days Later. Here, following a road accident,
cycle courier Jim wakes from a coma to find a hospital, and an entire city, emptied out
by the rage virus, and now peopled by murderous infected zombies. He is rescued by
the ruthless Selena, but has found his parents, dead by suicide, in South London. His
final resort in the city sees him and Selena escaping ambush by zombies when they
are welcomed into an isolated tower block (in fact Balfont Tower in the East End). It
is a bizarre building, filled with abandoned shopping trolleys. As they climb the stairs
they are urged on by a huge figure in protective armour, who slaughters the pursuing
zombies before revealing himself as a gentle giant, Frank, who is now living in
isolation with his daughter, Hannah. In a room festooned with Christmas lights, the
group drinks crme de menthe to celebrate. On the roof, envisioned in a spectacular
colour composition, Frank shows Jim the receptacles he has laid out in a futile attempt
to collect rainwater. In the morning, the film deploys another traditional London icon
when he reveals a more valuable asset still as the party leaves the tower, and starts
their journey out of London in the hope of salvation in the North, in his black taxi.
The pre-eminent East End tower since the 1980s has, of course, been a
building dedicated to commerce rather than to domestic life, Canary Wharf, or, more
strictly, the tower block at No. 1 Canada Square E1 which has popularly taken on the
name of the area a whole. At 800 feet, this is Britains tallest building, the central
symbol of the Docklands regeneration project and in turn foreshadows the London of
the future in which high-rise towers seem likely appear with ever increasing
frequency. Slowly cinema has incorporated this singular but resonant icon of the
Citys shift eastwards whilst a new vision of the East End began to take shape, with
the Isle of Dogs cleared of dwellings to make way for the new business district at
first struggling, and then thrusting of the Thatcher years.
In a divided world, the towering complex could become a focus for
monumental achievement, but also overwhelming threat and danger. In its unfinished
state it became the high rise from which the protagonist risks being thrown to his
death by his enemies in Layer Cake, whilst in a cheeky metaphor it could go on to
become the base for the chief villain in the spy spoof, Johnny English. More
important roles were to follow in the ecological disaster sequel 28 Weeks Later, and in
the terrorism drama Britz. In these cases the world of Canary Wharf has become the
setting for a world gone wrong, and even of a world itself under attack. In 28 Weeks

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Later the wider allegory is clear: the rage virus seemingly contained since the films
precursor re-emerges on the Isle of Dogs, which (like London as a whole in the earlier
film) has become a protected but repressive sector from which the hero must escape to
re-form his shattered family. Britz turns the symbolism of Canary Wharf in a different
direction, and with it opens a new chapter in the representation of ethnicity in the East
End, in its bi-focal drama of radical Islamic terrorism in Britain.

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Avant-Garde Film and Its Role in Understanding the Space of

the City
Gordana Korolija Fontana-Giusti, University of Kent

This paper will address the category of film with the emphasis on spatial analysis that is
relevant in the making and the perception of the moving images. Historically, film has been a
product of a predominantly urban psyche, as its emergence is linked to the modern city. As a
result of its dissemination, film continues to affect our perception and understanding of the
city space.
This analysis is followed by the examination of selected examples of the avant-garde
film production concentrating on the work of the Constructivists in1920s Russia and
examples of the production in the1950s France and Japan.

The role of film in perception and understanding

All representations, including film, are unstable categories and are always in a state of flux.
Consequently the way in which we perceive and represent space in various media, including
film, changes. Driven by our desire, the visual models for representing space are always
slightly out of phase and in need of renegotiation and restructuring. This is due to the fact that
the desire-driven scopic mechanism has the propensity to explore, use and wear out both
representations and its visual mechanisms of production. The wish to see and be astonished
anew is therefore set to search for novel visual regimes and setups.
The invention of different visual mechanisms for both presentation and perception
bestows upon us the secondary feeling of identity in space and time that is experienced as
delight. The sense of identity is therefore established by the systematic production of
differences characterised by this constant search for newness. This gradual but nevertheless
perpetual mutation of visual mechanisms of representation is paramount.
Both cognitive theory and psychoanalysis have been involved in theorising this
phenomenon. Cognitive theory, provided the vehicle for the examinations of the role of film
in the works of Rudolf Arnheim (1954/74, 1958) ) and more recently David Bordwell (1989).
Affected by the emergence of psychoanalysis and the Gestalt, cognitive theory stated that
people's perceptions, feelings, and actions result in significant part from the processes that are
beyond the input to the senses. In regards to the same issue the emphasis of psychoanalysis
has been on the examination of the role of the libido and the unconsciousness.
Both schools of thought agree that the processes of perception depend upon prior
mental representations that subsequently become projected onto the world as a way of
ordering it, or making sense by arrangement. These inner processes construct, in a significant
sense, something new out of the data - a stable perceptual world consisting of both an
inference about the state of its affairs in the environment, but also of ideas, theories and
attitudes.
According to the cognitive theorists, for evolutionary reasons the mental constructs
that we bring to the task usually correspond to the patterns shaped by the environment itself.
In this constellation the roles of architecture and urban design cannot be underestimated as
they provide the psyche with the blueprints by which it will outline and mould most of its
ideas and theories.

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Eyes are given to us at birth, but vision is not. We gradually construct it as we

progress through life. For example, the "early vision" processes taking place in the cells of
various parts of the eye have the role of sharpening and exaggerating minute variations of
illumination, texture, and other clues. This is visual data is collected in the early life and stays
in the subjects depository. The same goes for the tactile quality of objects and materials that
become linked to their visual perception. Experiences of certain spatial configurations about
the relationship of the inside/outside, of the threshold, of climbing, descending or falling etc.
are all stored and embodied in the subject.
Through these experiences the visual system "constructs" objects from our rather
disorganised visual field. However this construction doesn't mean complete creation, instead
the perception is the product of the collaboration between external spatial phenomena and
internal processes (Arnheim 1958). The first house, the neighbourhood and the city - have
their roles in the formation of our ability to perceive spatially. The specific qualities of the
perception will be unique and personal, determined by the experiences of different setups and
their configurations and by our own imagination.

Film and spatiality

Film has a privileged position in this context. It offers for viewing and appropriation
numerous visual and spatial assemblages that join the psyches amassed inner supply of
spatial and visual configurations.
From the point of view of the subject, there is always a desire for newly generated
physical and mental spaces where announcements and creations can happen. The promise and
the belief is that in these freshly formed spaces the dichotomies, as oppositions between rival
entities, may be considered, reconciled and understood as belonging to metaphysics. Film
appears to be able to provide such a space.
Like the perspective in Quattrocento (Korolija Fontana-Giusti, 1999), the emergence
of film has granted the same comfort and reassurance about the world. The comfort arises
from the fact that the realm of internal processes and imagination (fantasy) could be first
externalised and then retrieved in the form of the film. This room and the opening for fantasy
is about going beyond and surpassing the outdated. In this sense the role of the avant-garde
film is exceedingly pertinent. It contains and marks big leaps in the habitually gradual
mutation/evolution of representations, visual mechanisms and vision itself.
On the subject of film and reality, Rudolf Arnheim (Grundmann, 2001) points out the
crucial difference between him and Siegfried Kracauer. For Kracauer the world was
understood as a raw material and photography and film were in the business of rescue of
outer reality by introducing physical nature in its original state. By contrast Arnheim argues:
But images do not imitate reality, they hint at it. They have the ability to make the essential
part visible, and are thereby a fundamental principle for understanding the world. Vision and
perception are not processes that passively register or reproduce what happens in reality
(Ibid).
This emphasis on the difference between the hint at reality and the physical imitation
of it is significant. Arnheim continues: Vision and perception are active, creative
understanding. You have to imagine the following: When we observe something, then we
reach for it; we move through space, touch things, feel their surfaces and contours. And our
perception structures and orders the information given by things into determinable forms. We
understand because this structuring and ordering is a part of our relationship with reality.
Without order we couldn't understand at all. Thus in my opinion the world is not raw material;
it is already ordered merely by being observed (Ibid).

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When we use the camera to make a shot, we begin to represent, by means of its lenses
and mechanism of capturing the image, that, which we have essentially already ordered by
observation. However additional play and negotiations happen between us and the camera
that result in the footage for viewing and subsequently the montage. The extent to which the
work is adding innovation to the viewing depository of the spectators will mark the works
originality. The degree to which that added visual value is able to connect to the subject on
various levels will mark its overall signifying, expressive, and emotional value.

Depicting movement in urban space

One of the main novelties about film had been the fact that it was apparently able to capture
the fourth dimension time. In doing so, it depicted movement as it spread-out. By depicting
various kinds of transfer, passage, shift or interchange, film became involved in the
exploration of space in a qualitatively new fashion.
Depicting moving rearrangements meant that film was able to represent life as it
unfolded in time and space by the speed of twenty four images a second. This is due to the
persistence of vision that secures the illusion of motion which results when a series of film
images are displayed in this quick succession.
On the unconscious level and expressed poetically, this flux/animation of images
meant that for the first time that which moves us all, the spirit (anima mundi), (Deleuze 1993)
was apparently ushered into previously dead and immobile representations. With film, at
stake was something much greater the representation of the special breath of life that goes
through all of us from the moment we are born until the last of our traces are preserved for
another persons memory.
While the presentation of movement and life in space and time, sits comfortably with
films whose structure follows a textual narrative, the challenge and innovation came from the
area of the avant-garde film as it does not necessarily follow the narrative storytelling. Rather
it aims to go beyond text in order to explore and experiment with the structure of the film
itself (Bordwell & Thompson 1979). This orientation toward trans-textual norms in the avant-
garde films allowed for the possibility of sensing beyond conventions.
Concerning architecture, urbanism and the representation of space this
experimentation was significant. It enabled the audience to see the cities and the environment
in a different way. Crucial contribution is to be found in the early works of the film makers
such as Dziga Vertov and Sergei Eisenstein. Their works exhibited ambition and imagination
that have shown the inventive power of the new medium. In these ground breaking works by
both directors we also sense the cross-fertilisation with other disciplines.

Figure 1. 1 Dziga Vertov Man with the Movie

Camera (1929)

Vertov, initially studied music and later

medicine at the Psychoneurological
Institute in St. Petersburg while
experimenting with "sound collages". He
worked for the newspapers and for the
Kalinins agit-prop train. His aim was to
capture "film truth"that is, fragments of
reality which, when organized, conveyed a deeper truth routinely not available to the naked
eye. In the "Kino-Pravda" series, Vertov focused on everyday experiences, filming
marketplaces, bars, and schools, sometimes with a hidden camera and without permission.

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The Man with the Movie Camera (1929) Fig.1, for example, is about this kind of exploration
of space, cities, movements, vision, sound and speed. It is a novel representation of the
experience of daily life.
Sergei Eisenstein (Bordwell 1993, Shaw 2008) is acclaimed for his use of montage,
his film structure, fast cuts, sense of rhythm, spatial knowledge, and abstract counterpoints.
His most famous shot is architectural in its nature. The anthological take shows babys pram
moving overwhelmingly down the Odessa Steps Figs 2 and 3 as advancing soldiers step
down at workers, women and children. It is a remarkable scene in its cruelty, and remains
seminal in viewers helplessness, Battleship Potemkin (1925).

Figures 2 and 3 Sergei Eisenstein, Battleship Potemkin Odessa Steps (1925)

The sequence is spatial, architectural and urban. Over the years it has turned the original film
location into a major tourist attraction in Odessa. The multiple shots provide a clear idea of
space and the workings of its elements. The viewer is painfully aware where the danger
comes from. The geometry of the square and of the movement of the army echelon is
projected with architectural clarity. They contrast the random soft swarms of people. The
swift montage and its arrangement of shots and sequences produce striking effects upon the
viewers.
In his later essay, Eisenstein argues for organicness of the overall structure:
Organicness can be defined by the fact that the work as a whole is governed by a certain law
of structure and that all its parts are subordinated to this canon (Eisenstein 1949). These
concerns about the parts and the whole coupled with the urge to govern them by the same law
of structure the same canon- reads like a page taken from the Renaissance architectural
treatises, where the principles could be traced back to the ancient notion of harmony. The five
part structure often used by Eisenstein corresponds to the five bays of the classical temple, or
the five parts of the Greek tragic drama. Eisenstein, an architect by education, had
incorporated into his films the principles that had originally determined his understanding of
the notion of structure.
With films ability to represent time, a fresh language has emerged an idiom that
timeless art of architecture could not embody. Such new expressions were: the overall
dynamism of the sequences, the acceleration of cuts taken from different angles producing the
effect of urgency, depiction of architecture in movement (the drawbridge in October, 1927)
and in use (the dying woman and the dangling horse on the same bridge).
Both Eisenstein and Vertov indulged in shooting variety of movements and editing
them inventively. The montage included array of the crowds, moving vehicles, trains, buses,
ships, bridges etc. Indeed many of these sequences became anthological for Constructivism
and film in general. The experiments with spatial representation enriched the understanding of
the possibilities that modernism had to offer both as a world view and as a particular system
of expression and production. Consequently, a great deal became absorbed into the film
syntax, the language of the main stream and later avant-garde cinema.

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The city space as impermanence

One such example is the work of Yasouro Ozu (Bordwell 1988). Ozus oeuvre comprises
many apparently abstract urban shots involving cityscape, pedestrians, vehicles and deep
perspectives. Film critics call these pillow shots- stating that their role is to give the
spectator a rest between the dialogues. They could also be interpreted as typically infused
with the Japanese concept of Mono no aware, an awareness of the impermanence of things
what Europeans call sic transit gloria mundi. In addition to their documentary or
interpretative value, these shots make the settings livelier by means of movement not
burdened by the main narrative. Consequently, the film becomes vibrant and instinctive.
As an architect and urban designer I increasingly watch all movies with this private
interest in mind. With its big dives into experimentation, the avant-garde production is
resourceful about this aspect. For architects these shots are appealing as they are often
valuable portrayal of the cities. Streets, cars, trains, trams, pedestrians - are often necessarily
involved in the scenes of urban choreography. The dynamism they fabricate has a structural
role in the narrative suggesting passages of time or other allusions in regards to the plot. Often
the amount of movement would align or contrast itself to the amount of time that needs to be
suggested.

Figure 4. Yasouro Ozu, Tokyo Story, 1953

In Ozus portrayals of Japanese cities in the

1950s, the pillow shots have a structure that
often includes a poster or a sign in the first plan
while the background contains movement. The
movement is generally slow and sometimes
interlaced with signs; rare pedestrians meander
around city corners. Sharp-angled perspectives
with layering of void spaces are deployed for the
depth of the picture containing gentle strata of shimmering lights, occasional unhurried
movement of people and vehicles, floating drapery etc. Shadows are often from the side and
under approximately forty five degrees. Characters are implied by their absences. The shots
capture time and its passage suggesting the transcendence of the city space Fig. 4.

The space of a wounded city

In this context it is impossible not to mention Hiroshima mon amour (1959) the seminal film
by Alain Resnais. The film works through the superimposition of the narrative (text and
screenplay by Margueritte Duras) and the city.
A French young woman has spent the night with a Japanese man, at Hiroshima, where
she went to shoot a film about peace. He, a married architect, reminds her, an actress, of the
first man she loved during World War II he was a German soldier. The lovers feel deep
passion for each other and she discloses him her secret. The main themes of this film are
memory and oblivion.

The main structure of the film consists of the juxtaposition of sequences depicting, on the one
hand, the post nuclear context of the ravaged city and on the other, the scenes of the lovers
discourse. The extreme state of the city is presented by the portrayal of its wounded and
desolate inhabitants. Through the camera lenses of the French actress we see the defects and
disfigurations of the survivors. The gravity of the citys impairment and the parallel

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emergence of life in the empty spaces between the ruins, fourteen years after the fatal nuclear
bombing, are both fascinating and sore. The black and white shots and the documentary
footage reinforce the historicity of the event Fig. 5.
The documentary aspects of the film are
intertwined with the shots of a hand touching
the body. The sound track of her voice provides
the underlying rhythm. The womans admission
of the utmost love (culminating in: Tu me tues,
tu me fais du bien), is edited to correspond to
the gradual opening of the shots, gliding into
the city by means of lengthy perspectives
caught by the moving camera that penetrates the
layers of urban walls and concludes its journey
in the centre. These sequences, and possibly
the whole film, are the prime example of urban
metaphors.
Figure 5. Alain Resnais, Hiroshima mon amour, 1959

The city space as drama

Situationist International (1957-78) provides another set of experimental examples relevant

for our subject of the avant-garde films contribution to the understanding of the space in the
city.
Debords films have the form of a manifesto, where the visual language borrowed
from the revolutionary posters. Debord records his own voice on the sound track, with
slogans such as: The spectators do not find what they desire, they desire that what they find.
The films often quote leftist proclamations taken from Marx, Nietzsche, Hegel, Bakunin,
Wilhelm Reich etc.. They are mixed with commercial advertising, newspaper articles, comic
strips etc.
Situationists believed that the repetitive gestures of everyday were destroying the
public life. They were concerned with the human experience transformed and replaced by
spectacle and consumption. The protagonists believed in actively constructing new
situations of daily life in the city in order to confront alienation. This had involved
psychogeography- creation of games at urban sites where play is a free and imaginative
activity. Situationists could be credited for inventing the unitary urbanism which meant
seeing the city in a new integrated way.

Conclusion

Through the selected examples this paper has demonstrated how the innovative language of
the avant-garde film of the twentieth century had managed to establish itself in our
consciousness. It has explained and analysed this phenomenon by focusing on the selected
examples and on the space of the city.
These examples and their subsequent re-evocation in the works of the following
generation of film makers (Hitchcock, Welles etc) has resulted in the fact that film is
embedded part of our visual and mental mechanism when contemplating about the cities of
today. There is plenty of evidence for this occurrence.
In conclusion I shall quote one observable trend. In visiting new places we are no
longer simply surprised as we have almost always already seen them all on pictures and in
film. Upon arrival on the actual site we now always (often unconsciously) compare what is

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front of us with previously observed representations. We seek the right angle and the correct
position for experience and viewing in order to retrace and confirm the (right) sequences
already incorporated in our visual and cognitive mechanisms by film. Why do we do this so
faithfully?
We act in this way not out of being spoiled by choice or blas by the abundance of
references, but because in the era of visual saturation and overdrive, we necessitate to keep
the endless fragments of our perception, of our mental space and of our identity together.

Acknowlegements

To all my friends, colleagues, students, and family members with whom I have discussed this
subject.

References

Arnheim, R. 1958, Film as Art, Faber, London

Arnheim, R. 1954/74, Art and Visual Perception: A Psychology of the Creative Eye,.
Berkeley
and Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Bordwell, D. and Thompson K. 1979, Film Art: an introduction, Addison-Wesley, Reading,
Mass., London
Bordwell, D. 1989, A Case for Cognitivism, first published in Iris no 9. 11-40
Bordwell, D. 1988, Ozu and the Poetics of Cinema, BFI Publishing, London
Bordwell, D. 1993, The Cinema of Eisenstein, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass.
Bordwell, D. Cognitive Film Theory, DB Website on Cinema, retrieved 11 February 2008.
Deleuze, G. 1993, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque, trans. Tom Conley, Athlone,
Derrida, J. 1986, Architecture Where Desire Can Live. Domus, April: 17-24. also in
Theorizing a New Agenda for Architecture. 1996 Ed. Kate Nesbitt. New York:
Princeton Architectural Press, p.147.
Eisenstein, S. 1949, The Structure of the Film in Film Form: Essays in Film Theory, edited
And translated by Jay Leyda, Harcourt Brace, New York, p.161
Grundmann, U. 2001, Cabinet, Issue No2
Korolija Fontana-Giusti, G. 1999, The Cutting Surface: On Perspective as Section, Its
Relationship to Writing and Its Role in Understanding Space, AA Files No40,
Architectural Association, London
Shaw, D. Sergei Eisenstein in Senses of Cinema, retrieved 14/02 /2008

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The Three Spatialities of Los Angeles Latino/a Cinema

Ken Fox, Canterbury Christ Church University

In this paper I elaborate the complex relationship between Latina/o mobility and identity in
cinematic Los Angeles by focusing on how the tripartite spatialies of barrio/city; barrio/prison
and barrio/homeland are developed. These three spatialities extend Vosss (1998) analysis of
the use of prison space and barrio space as spatial tropes in Mi Familia (Nava,1994). The
tripartite analysis also draws upon the three presences identified in Halls (1993: 230)
rethinking of the positions and repositionings of Caribbean cultural identities. Like the three
presences elaborated by Hall, the use of barrio/city, barrio/prison and barrio/homeland all
have the presence of the other within them. I argue that in Mi Vida Loca (Anders, 1993), Born
in East L.A. (Marin, 1989) American Me (Olmos, 1992), Stand and Deliver (Mendenez, 1989)
and Mi Familia (1994) there is an attempt to engage with the history of images of the barrio
disseminated by Hollywood and in some cases to re-make or re-imagine them. Los Angeles
becomes a cinematic city in all of these films to the extent that it functions as a character in
itself. The city also functions metonymically in that it stands in for the rest of the United
States in the reconstruction of history and the affirmation of identity of Latina/os.

Barrio/City

Barrio is the Spanish word used to describe the poorer districts of South American and
Central American cities, and those North American cities that have a high concentration of
Latino/a population, such as Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, and Miami. The word barrio
has taken on a metonymic power in the representations of Latina/os, much as the word hood
has in African-American representations (Massood, 2003). The barrio is that place where
Latina/os live; their territory, their neighbourhood, where networks of family relations exist
and where street gangs define their territory through symbols, rituals, and territorial marking.
However, the multiple geographies of Los Angeles highlight the dispersion of
Latina/os from the old East Side core. So while the barrios metonymic function in films is
still powerful, it fails to describe the complexity of the development of the Latina/o
population in Los Angeles.
Though the barrio is still the primary location for films about the Latina/o experience,
in the films analysed below it emerges as a more complex space where the relationship
between the barrio and the city of Los Angeles is explored. The films highlight the
importance of the barrio as a place of identity, a trans-national site for family and social
networks, and a place of intersections as well as boundaries.
As the opening credit music fades out at the beginning of Mi Vida Loca (1993) the
establishing mise-en-scne locates the downtown skyscrapers of Los Angeles in the distance.
The voice-over of a young Latina is heard on the soundtrack and the scene cuts directly to
Echo Park, drawing attention to the relationship between the barrio and the city and the
determination of the young woman whose voice we hear to tell the story of her people.
In Mi Vida Loca the use of mise-en-scne and multiple voice-overs emphasize the
importance of the link between the barrio and the city for the residents of Echo Park. Sad
Girls (Nelida Lopez) introductory voice-over states the strong link between the barrio and
the city and sets up the project of the film to tell the history of the barrio from within.

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This is the L.A. neighbourhood where I grew up, Echo Park. Were East of Hollywood
and then youre downtown. Our homeboys take pride in telling the history of our
barrio cos white people leave out a lot of stuff when they tell it (Sad Girl, Mi Vida
Loca prologue).

The sense of belonging to both the barrio and the city is fundamental to the young women
characters in Mi Vida Loca.
In many ways Mi Familia (1994) provides a more conventional view of the barrio as
a space of confinement and limitation. Yet it too attempts to critique the notion that the barrio
is located in Los Angeles but not of Los Angeles. Mi Familia is an ambitious family saga
charting the sixty years and three generations of the Sanchez family, where the mise-en-scne
is adapted to the decades of the story, the arrival in Los Angeles from Mexico City in the
1920s, the death of the Chuco (Esai Morales) in the 1950s and the struggle to stay out of
prison by Jimmy (Jimmy Smits) in the 1980s. Pacos (Edward James Olmos) tells how his
father, Jos (Eduardo Lopez Rojas) has to join the workforce crossing the Los Angeles Bridge
from the barrio to do the citys work. His narration also emphasises their movement is only
ever one-way, with none of the citys elite crossing the bridge into the barrio.
While Mi Familia draws attention to limitations of mobility enforced on its
inhabitants Stand and Delivers central character, Jamie Escalante (Edward James Olmos) is
given more room to move. The significance of the early morning drive by Escalante crossing
the L.A. Bridge in the other direction is the awareness that, though a Latino, Escalante lives
outside the barrio. His spatiality is less confined but his relationship to the barrio and the city
suggest a strong sense of identity with Los Angeles. As a former computer scientist who has
given up his well paid job to teach computers in barrio schools Jamie Escalante represents
another complex version of Latino identity. The central character, perhaps because he is male
and middle-class, seems to have a greater ability to move through the city, and this mobility
suggests a broader spatiality to be considered in relation to the Latino experience, while also
highlighting the developing importance of class as a key element of identity. As Acuna (1996:
6) observes:
the location of Latino peoples in Los Angeles is closely linked to economic status.
They are hardly uniform in class background; in fact, class differences among Latinos
are becoming increasingly important. For example, there is a growing gap between
Latino homeowners and renters; increasingly homeowners come from the older and
more affluent sectors of the Latino community, although this includes working-class
people in older barrios such as Boyle Heights, unincorporated East Los Angeles, the
San Gabriel Valley and other sections of the county. While working class Latinos are
spread throughout the city, middle-class Chicanos are concentrated (but not
exclusively) in the San Gabriel Valley.

In these examples of Latina/o cinematic Los Angeles the barrio/city relationship is a key
concern. In Mi Vida Loca the connections between the barrio and the city are expressed
explicitly through the voice-over and dialogue but also in the ways in which the mise-en-
scne of Echo Park is established as being part of the wider city. The film makes more
complex the representations of Latina/o identity and mobility with its focus on the visibility
and developing sense of agency of the young women. Mi Vida Loca sets out to tell stories of
the barrio through the homegirls just as Mi Familia sets out to represent the history of the
Sanchez family as an integral part of the development of the city. Stand and Deliver takes this
geography and history of the barrio and locates it in a more dynamic relationship to the city
by having the central character commute from the city into the barrio, symbolically reversing
the flow of Latina/o workers who service the city from the barrio. The barrio/city relationship

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forms the first part of the spatial grid that the Latino/a cinematic city represents but this is
developed by the addition of the second co-ordinate of Latina/o identity, the relationship
between the barrio and the prison.

Barrio/Prison

What films about the Los Angeles Latina/o experience have appeared to focus on is the use of
the prison as both a reflection and a critique of the East Side barrios. Films such as American
Me (1992), Blood In Blood Out (Hackford, 1994), Mi Familia (1994), and Mi Vida Loca
(1993) use prison as an essential element in the history and identity of their Latina/o
characters. A key element in the mirroring of prison life and barrio life is the inability of
central characters such as Santana (Edward James Olmos, again!) in American Me, to leave
the prison behind in his barrio life. After his long-term prison sentence he replays the sexual
violence of the prison in his efforts to form a relationship with Julie (Evelina Fernndez). On
their first date attempting to make love, he can only express his feelings violently and tries to
sodomize her. Through cross-cutting the viewer is drawn back to prison where Santana has
arranged the rape and murder of the son of a rival gang leader. It is clear Santana cannot
escape the prison in his head, and as he is the voice-over narrator, neither can the audience.
Another key element in the mirroring of prison life and barrio life is the construction
of the gang or clica as a social unit. In Mi Vida Loca, American Me and Blood In Blood Out,
the gang is seen as being essential to the formation of individual identity, community/barrio
identity and mobility, and in prison, the gang becomes the organising unit of ethnic identity.
The links between barrio space and prison space identify this co-ordinate as another important
factor in the formation of cinematic Latina/o identity. In the main, the mirroring of these
spaces is used to reiterate the sense of confinement and limited mobility of the barrio, but in
Mi Vida Loca, there is an attempt to undercut the rite-of-passage mythology of prison.
Giggles (Marlo Marron), one of the central characters in Mi Vida Loca, is released from
prison and is seen by her homegirls as adding to the prowess of the gang, however, Giggles
wants to move away from the barrio/prison connection as she attempts to democratise the
gang and share the powers of leadership. If prison is often mythologised as a rite-of-passage
for gang members it can also be portrayed as a surrogate homeland, for example, in American
Me, and Blood In Blood Out. Again the presence of each spatiality is evident in the other
establishing the complexity of Latina/o identity formation.

Barrio/Homeland

The problematic notion of homeland is the third spatiality in the inter-relationship of the
barrio/city, barrio/prison and barrio/homeland. In each of the films considered here the
representation of a place from which some of the main characters emerge, or are grounded by,
becomes known as the homeland. Often there is an attempt to recreate the homeland in a
version of identity and place politics. In a foreword to Daviss Magical Urbanism, Roman
del la Campa (2000: xiii-xiv) suggests this complex nature of Latina/o identity.

Each Latino group may be unique, but even those who are newly arrived come to
share a call for a different, if unstable, sense of ontological space characterized by
doubleness too American to seriously undertake a return to the motherland, but able
to nurture a different cultural and linguistic heritage in the United States, with which it
maintains contact in multiple and contradictory ways.

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This doubleness is a feature of the identities of most of the central characters in American
Me, Mi Familia and Born in East L.A. For many Latina/o immigrants, Mexico and Central
America are the geographical locations of their homeland, although this oversimplifies the
strong regional differences that exist. The relationship between Latina/os and their homeland
is dependant on their length of residence, gender, class, and age. The imagined homeland is
often the site for cross-generational conflict in Latina/o families, seen by the younger
generation as an adherence to a nostalgic past that inhibits their chances of assimilation into
the dominant white culture. These differences are evident in the relationship between the
father of the Sanchez family in Mi Familia and his children. They strive to achieve a different
sense of identity that marries, sometimes uncomfortably, their Mexican-ness and their
American-ness, representing the doubleness that de la Campa (2000) above has observed.
The interconnection between prison space and barrio space established in the last
section is complicated further by the representation of the prison as a surrogate homeland, a
place of exile, where local or national geography is subsumed by the colour of your skin. This
politics of identity is taken up with some vigour and narrative presence in American Me.
Using flashback and flash forward Santanas history is represented as a model for identity
formation forged in the conflict between oppressor (United States) and oppressed (Latina/os).
Santana is the product of a rape by an American sailor in a tattoo parlour during the Los
Angeles Zoot Suit riots of 1943.
Born in East L.A. addresses directly the politics of identity, posing questions about
assimilation and integration, Chicana/o nationalism and homeland nostalgia. The comedy
genre and the director, Cheech Marin, are crucial elements in the construction of this vision of
Latino existence in contemporary Los Angeles. Born in East L.A. tells the story of Rudy
Robles (Cheech Marin), a third-generation Chicano living in East L.A. who doesnt speak
Spanish, who while picking up his undocumented Mexican cousin from the toy factory in
downtown L.A. is himself considered an illegal by the immigration authorities (la migra) and
deported to Mexico. In a series of comic episodes the film tells the story of Rudys efforts to
return to his home in East L.A. In an interview with Chon Noriega (2001: 190) Marin
declared the idea for the film came to him when he read a similar story in the Los Angeles
Times while listening to Bruce Springsteens Born in the U.S.A. on the radio. A close
analysis of the opening scene reveals the ways in which the mise-en-scne with its carefully
placed iconography sets up the paradoxes and contradictions of Rudys Chicano birthright
and the notion of homeland as Mexico/U.S.A.
Like Mi Vida Loca, Born in East L.A. begins with an establishing shot of the
downtown skyline, the camera pans left to East L.A. and then tilts down and through a
series of dissolves comes to rest on a house beside a church, with a fence, well-kept yard
and a tree, a location that becomes the defining unit of the barrio (Noriega, 2001: 192).
This shot overturns the usual Hollywood stereotype of the barrio as a place of chaos and
danger.
Through the vehicle of comedy Marin, as director and star, poses much more than the
initial question set up by the films plot, instead notions of home and homeland are
questioned and complicated. In Mexico, the homeland of his forebears, Rudy has to make
money in order to return home to East Los Angeles. A white bar-owner/entrepreneur Jimmy
(Daniel Stern) hires Rudy to Americanize a group of Asians. Rudy teaches them the style,
mannerism, talk and dress of a Chicano homeboy from East Los Angeles. When they do
emerge in the midst of a Cinco de Mayo parade in the barrio, passing as Chicanos, they
approach a white LAPD officer who accepts their homeboy credentials of language and
gesture. In comedic terms at least they are assimilated into the framework of institutionalized
racism. Noriega (2001: 200) argues:

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In Born in East L.A., there is not a call for a nationalist homeland that exists within
and against the United States itself as an ideological overlay, but rather an attempt to
make East LA synonymous with U.S. and, hence, with citizenship. This is
achieved through a rhyme that establishes metonymy between barrio and nation, I
was born in East LA, and thereby signifies two seemingly opposite birthrights:
Mexican descent and US citizenship.

The end title sequence has a parodied version of Springsteens Born in the U.S.A with Cheech
Marin singing Born in East L.A, happy to declare his U.S. citizenship and his Mexican
ancestry not as an either/or but as a both/and. Some of the key examples I have offered as
representing hybrid identities, the young Latina women in Mi Vida Loca, the Cheech Marin
character from Born in East L.A, the Edward James Olmos character in Stand and Deliver
illustrate how pre-ordained identity can be modified and new ones created out a sense of both
Mexican-ness and American-ness. The mask of either/or has been reconfigured as both/and.
Old-style assimilation has given way to the active maintenance of multiple loyalties,
identities, and affiliations. This is a reconceptualisation of identity and mobility that is made
visible through film analysis of the tripartite spatiality of barrio/city, barrio/prison,
barrio/homeland.

References

Acuna, R. (1996) Anything But Mexican. London: Verso.

Davis, M. (1990) City of Quartz: Excavating the Future in Los Angeles. London: Vintage.
de la Campa, R. (2000) Foreword in Davis, M. Magical Urbanism: Latinos Reinvent the
U.S. Big City. London: Verso.
Fregoso, L. (1993) The Bronze Screen: Chicana and Chicano Filmmaking. Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press.
Fregoso, R.L. (1995) Hanging Out with the Homegirls? Allison Anderss Mi Vida Loca,
Cineaste, Vol. 11, No. 3, 17-19.
Hall, S. (1990) Cultural Identity and Diaspora, Rutherford, J. (ed.), Community,
Identity and Difference. Routledge: London. 222-237.
Massood, P.J. (2003) Black City Cinema: African American Urban Experiences in Film.
Philadelphia: Temple University Press.
Noriega, C.A. (1993) El hilo latino: representation, identity and national culture, Jump
Cut, No. 38, 45-50.
Noriega, C.A. (1993) Internal Others Hollywood Narratives about Mexican-Americans,
Alvarado, King, & Lopez, (eds.) Mediating Two Worlds: Cinematic Encounters in the
Americas. London: British Film Institute. 52-66.
Noriega, C.A. (2001) Waas sappening? Narrative structure and iconography in Born in
East L.A., Tinkcom, M. & Villarejo, A., (eds.), Keyframes: Popular Cinema and
Cultural Studies, London: Routledge. 187-202.
Voss, K. (1998) Replacing L.A.: Mi Familia, Devil in a Blue Dress, and Screening the
Other Los Angeles, Wide Angle, Vol. 20, No. 3, 157-180.

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Know the Territory!

Musicals, Bridges, and Urbanism
David M Foxe, Boston Architectural College

At the Tony awards for Broadway theatre productions that had opened in 19571, two new
shows were among those that competed for that year's best musical. The Music Man2 and
West Side Story3 were both subsequently adapted into landmark films that expanded upon the
theatrical productions. These motion pictures, the means by which many viewers today first
encounter the shows, feature the rich musical vocabularies composed by Meredith Willson4
and Leonard Bernstein, respectively, and they also demonstrate competing ideals of postwar
American cities.
These two musicals, whose stage versions opened exactly fifty years ago this fall, are
particularly fascinating in the dramatic way they feature particular bridges and the character
of infrastructure to punctuate their narratives and dramatic arcs. Both the small footbridge in
The Music Man's fictionalized River City (based upon Mason City, Iowa) and the mammoth
viaducts in West Side Story (prime examples of New York City's vehicular arteries
spearheaded by commissioner Robert Moses) are interpretations of actual bridge spans, both
constructed to redevelop tarnished or neglected urban wastelands.
This discussion, illuminated not only by the musicals and their film incarnations but
also by previous archival research about the designers who gave form to the ideals of Mason
City and New York City, considers the resiliency of narratives about what residents "know"
about cities. Echoing the opening cries of traveling salesmen in The Music Man, that the title
musical swindler doesn't "know the territory," these musical works offer points of departure
into the urban ideals evident in the films narratives.
It is well-established that film and video media are common evidence of how we
construct intentional and subconscious impressions of places, what constitutes the necessary
and typical conditions required to know the territory for a locations identity. Yet when
these visual conditions closely match viewers preexisting notions of how such places should
appear, notions of typical sights and landmarks, then these settings recede into the
background.5 Unfamiliar or unexpected settings which are not congruent with expectations
highlight attention toward the buildings or very rarely to the architecture itself.6 These two
films tend toward the former, showing typical backdrops which represent expectedly
contrasting visions. Mason City (i.e. River City) circa 1912 is depicted as a rural burgeoning
railstop with unpaved roads, a green central square, and woodframed houses. New Yorks
West Side is depicted at the present time of the show, complete with swarming interchanges,
vacant lots, brownstone apartments and superblock housing. These two generalized
backgrounds shown in the films bear evidence of their prior compression through musical
theater and stage settings: their vignettes often remain fixed upon static frontal viewpoints
rather than continuous roving action. Both settings rely frequently on porches and fire
escapes, the physical boundaries outside typical housing. These spaces buffered
uncomfortable social exchanges and meetings with romantic interests between the transient
music enthusiast and salesman Harold Hill and Marian the Librarian, and between white
(Polish) Tony and Hispanic (Puerto Rican) Maria.
Both pairings trajectories reach decisive climaxes at their respective symbolically
charged bridges: a wooden trussed causeway in verdant River City, and a dingy steel overpass
in New York. One could rhapsodize on the resonance of these pairings, and how their
categorical characters situate within larger generic socioeconomic trends, but I shall instead

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zoom in toward particularities of the two urban territories. Keeping in mind this contrast of
generic and particular, Maria and Marian both highlight deviations from demographically
predicted norms in their highly particular actions7, so we shall seek to know more precisely
the actual territories their fictions sought to
evoke.
The filmic West Side Story bears layers
of depth because it was filmed in the vacated
neighborhood of urban rubbish8
subsequently demolished to make way for the
Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts.9 This
destructive act of urban renewal, implemented
through commissioner Robert Moses efficient
manipulations of Title One housing
redevelopment grants, was but one of many
examples in a federal program. Using statistics
to calculate and deem neighborhoods
blighted and rife for clearance, these
redevelopments were designed at a giant scale
to make new private tower developments
profitable. The 1961 aerial opening shots of the
film show both before and after: territories
that were raw material for Moses bureaucracy,
and then the first thirty years of his results: the
Triborough and Queensboro bridges, the UN,
Fig. 1 (a) Rumble from West Side Story; (b) and the traffic ramps near the Lincoln tunnel
West Side c.1961 (Garebian, op.cit.) on the West Side. In fact, just a few blocks
north, the street now posthumously named
Leonard Bernstein Place, is where the composers opening crescendo brought us to the
battlefields of pirouetting gangs.
Since 2004 much of my work in preservation and research has concentrated on
parkways and bridge viaducts of this era, and among the findings has been Moses
requirement through the 1920s and 1930s of the uniqueness and particular adaptation of the
sites.10 The team of Moses Men and the consulting engineers and landscape architects who
Moses managed were subject to his oversight on everything from development locations to
particular materials and tree species Moses envisioned. Even though his major infrastructural
landscapes were often designed, financed, and constructed within only a couple years, he
insisted upon maintaining a superlative level of design. He wrote in 1944, public projects
should maintain the highest standards of design because bridges and other structures are
the most conspicuous features ofimprovements[].11 The resulting projects used
variations of approaches and materials to articulate similar site features along his parkways,
and a variety of unique approaches to public pool and recreation design. While both the stage
and film bridges portray the dark underside of these bridges, the greater tragedy is that
examples from the 1940s onward, as in the film, epitomize the results of traffic
standardization and economies of banal overpass construction. These became far removed
from the delicate filigree of previous designs that had been uniquely customized to individual
crossing sites only a few decades earlier, crossings which more closely considered the
designed aspects for pedestrians and boats underneath.12
Moses power to envision technological modernism and comprehensive design at the
scale of entire cities before World War II was challenged in democratic countries perhaps
only by Walter Burley Griffins infrastructure and development for Australias capital

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territory, Canberra. Griffin planned and partially realized Canberra after winning a 1912
international competition. Yet at the time he and his wife Marion Mahony Griffin won this
commission, they were designing not giant metropolises but instead contributing to Mason
City, Iowa, the city which gained the largest concentration of Prairie School architecture
outside of Frank Lloyd Wrights Oak Park neighborhood.13 Focused within the Rock Crest
development of blighted and disused urban wastelands along a rivers rocky ravine next to
downtown, Griffin and his wife14 designed a high-density residential neighborhood with
houses sharing in central green spaces connected by wooden footbridges, and surrounded by
shared pedestrian walls of local stone. While Wrights more famous reputation was built upon
organic relationships of architecture to site, his Stockman House in this part of Mason City
was one of many Wright works reproduced from standard prototypes with generic siting and
no particular orientation; it has since been moved and rotated on a nearby site.
In contrast, my research since 1997 on Mason
City has highlighted how the Griffins and their
successors thrived on emphasizing the
particular topographies that made unbuildable
sites desirable. Their final link amidst these
ravines and parks toward the museum and
library of the town was a series of wooden
pedestrian bridges constructed circa 1912 and
envisioned to be expanded; these set the
inspiration for the rendezvous in Music Man.
A 1940 steel replacement bridge stands today,
just a short walk and a musical segue away
from the city square, and the bridge was named
for Meredith Willson in the 1960s after the
shows fame spread.15
Therefore these two bridge situations
Fig. 2 (a) Scene at footbridge in The Music and their respective films constitute the two
Man (b) Footbridge at Rock Crest c.1930, faces of urban infrastructure: bridges obviously
courtesy Mason City Public Library connect the people and vehicles who are given
access to cross, but their shadows and points of
support often coincide with the leftover areas which were (or became) undervalued. Yet as
depicted in films, the bridges also point to the decisive separation of urban and nonurban life
in mid-century America. Unlike other countries unchallenged primary urban cores, American
towns up to this point long maintained their own narratives as potential cities. Their names
alluded to their aspirations: Mason City, River City, Oklahoma City, even Metropolis, Illinois
(pop. 6482)16 sought to emulate cities whose strategic location or particular resources along
rail or water routes would enable them to follow Chicago, and become economic
powerhouses within only a few decades. They wanted to become outposts like Phoenix rising
during mid-century from the Arizona desert into todays desirable real estate.
While the urban blight and crowding, that which West Side Storys Title One
demolition sought to ameliorate, swept inner cities across mid-century America, these filmic
musicals presented the two caricatures of city and town; they presented microcosms of what
middle-class America feared in cities, and what they desired in town-like suburbs. With its
unexpectedly shocking realism of the darker realities17 in cities, West Side Story was the
first Broadway musical to seriously question the universality of the American dream.18 Yet
for all of its daring thematic and harmonic material its familiarity has outlasted the particular
West Side which it portrayed and which it no longer resembles. While the locus of Culture
for most urban planners was in the institutions such as Lincoln Center that would drive street

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gangs away, immigrant19 and neighborhood culture" remained resilient throughout New
York past Moses interventions. As one of the only dense American urban cores that did not
implode and empty, even after some had left for the suburbs, the territories of Manhattan
retained their vividness in the American imagination. Radio host and author Garrison Keillor
traced this trajectory using the two musical films in a story told to New York audiences in
2005:
.
[] Natalie Wood [who played Maria] had that kind of dark neurotic beauty to
her that we immediately associated with New York and New York women. We
loved her in West Side Story. [] Until I saw West Side Story my favorite
musical had been Music Man, and you know, there were bells on the hill but I
never heard ringing never them at all til there was you, but then I saw Natalie
Wood and Richard Beymer singing and you knew he was going to die when he
was in her arms singing, Theres a place for us, A time and place for us,
Somehow Someday Somewhere

And you knew he was going to die.

[] Natalie never could have been Marian the Librarian, she never would have
hung around River City, even though they had a pool table which began with
P, which rhymes with T, which stood for Trouble. She was trouble and she
would have gone elsewhere to any town she could find she wouldnt have
waited for her Music Man. She would have gone to New York where she could
find Tony and sing somehow someday somewhere, and then die, which
was the right thing of course.

Many years later when I came New York and bought an apartment on the West
Side, all of the Marias I met had moved with their Tonys up to the Berkshires,
they had gone up to Lenox and Great Barrington, they had left the West Side
behind and they were no longer interested in somehow someday
somewhere. They were looking for [in the lyrics of Music Man,] (1) bells on
the hill, (2) birds in the sky, and gardens with roses and dew. They werent
interested but we were [it] keeps hope alive, the thought that someday
somehow somewhere20

As an urbanist and architect, I believe these musicals and films evocation of someday,
somehow, somewhere are indeed the panaceas with which urban idealism has struggled in
the decades since the shows opened. The conformist generality of what replaced the West
Side represented the best of what architects and planners believed they could improve by
knowing the territory through statistics and zoning to implement superscale changes.
In the backlash of incremental urban redevelopment since, the professions and
communities have relied on narratives of Someday, narratives of design meant to evoke
earlier times or styles. Or they have built upon narratives of Somehow, upon the method or
means of how to implement change with partnerships or public process to temper the
markets possible effects. Or, as we have seen particularly outside the US, the strategy of
Somewhere has been to evoke a false region, to connote a place in a different exotic
location that is somehow desirable and to replicate a caricature of it: French house stylings
reproduced in California suburbs, Californian ranch homes reproduced in China, or Chinese
pavilions reproduced in the French gardens of Toulouse.
But the concern for particularity in how developers know the territory is driven at

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larger scales beyond individual houses and gardens. The generalized forms of these two
American urban forms Music Man urbanism and West Side Story urbanism are precisely
what many designers within and beyond the US seek to replicate in form and profitability: the
small-town close-knit live-work fabric of River City, and the gridded development machine of
New York with its towering skyline. In practice I have seen these American patterns
reproduced around the edges of European cities, advised by eager developers wishing to
insert a few blocks of Manhattan here, and a little bit of Main Street there with streets and
lots as the empty stage sets upon which designers desire to direct the action of urban life.21 If
you build it, will they come?
The problems of urban design are not hampered by lack of successful models and the
technologies to visualize and design, they are constrained by the homogenizing and narrowing
of possibilities. In seeking to rid cities of trouble with a capital T,22 to remove the shadowy
crime-ridden havens with which both musicals struggled, how can we know the territories and
improve them into truly unique backdrops for everyday performances of public roles23
without inhabiting generic reproductions? The placelessness of towers24 and parking lots,
spaghetti-like conduits for traffic, and other constructions have become so ubiquitously
standardized and typical that, without local materials, topography, and character, much of our
built environment no longer contributes to a coherent recognizable backdrop.

Archbishop Rowan Williams writings clarify this need for urban particularity and knowing
our territory; I shall close with his analysis from 2005:

If we are going to plan sustainable communities, then, we have to have a good

nose for what depletes human capital[including] the sense of living without
landmarks in time or space. How much building and development in recent
decades has proceeded as if the aim was indeed to create an impression of
nowhere in particular? Human beings from their earliest days work out their
identity by learning to cope with a specific set of triggers and stimuli, the
geography of a room, the rhythms of feeding and sleeping, a face that becomes
familiar.

[] But it seems fairly clear that a physical environment that is repetitive,

undifferentiated, can fail to give adequate material for a person to develop. A
varied environment with marked features that perhaps have narratives and
memories attached to them offers multiple stimuli to respond to. There is a
local geography that is more than just an abstract plan of the ground: it invests
places with shared significance. But for this to happen, places must be
distinguishable, differentiated. A landscape which proclaims its sameness with
countless others in its layout, building materials, retail outlets and so on is
a seedbed for problems. If its true that I cant answer the question Who am
I? without at some level being able to answer the question Where am I? the
character of a built space becomes hugely important. There will always be
small scale domestic answers to Where am I? because we all imprint
distinctiveness on our homes and are imprinted by them; but when this is
restricted to the domestic, we should not be surprised if there is little sense of
investment in the local environment outside the home.

[] So a community that is committed to replenishing and not depleting

human capital is one that is aware of being in a real place that has its own
integrity and character and memory. Memory cannot be manufactured; but any

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new development needs to build, metaphorically as well as literally, on

genuinely local ground, on an area and its history and human geography.25

If the next generation of metropolises in the developing world erect the trappings of a typical
world city in hopes of sharing in the connotations of New York, or to have a Main Street
indistinguishable from all others, these acts of building will not necessarily result in the urban
life that might be envisioned. If the leaders of the design community become sources for
branded objects to be collected in an otherworldly assemblage, then the resulting replication
will diminish the differentiation which we value in our best cities and towns. Designers must
demonstrate how cities can change and add new layers without removing or obscuring the
character-defining presence of irreproducible fragments, be they buildings, landscapes,
bridges, or populations. These unique elements possess qualities that continue to make places
worth communicating in our narratives, whether spoken or sung, whether imagined or built.
Urban designs must envision cities not only through portraying generic user groups in
sunny renderings, but through addressing seriously the everyday experiences of individual
imperfect characters, the broad range of people who inhabit the territories of our films, our
musicals, and our actual cities.26

New York, New York

Cambridge, Massachusetts
January, 2008

References

1 Jones, John Bush: Our Musicals, Ourselves. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press,
2003, p.192. The reviews [of West Side Storys opening] were strong but not the
uncritical raves three months later for Meredith Willsons The Music Man (12/19/57),
which also walked away with nearly all the seasons awards and played 1375
performances. West Side Story garnered only the Tony awards for best Choreography
(Robbins) and Best Scenic Design (Oliver Smith) and had an original run of 732
performances, with another 249 after a tour, making the total number 981. While no
Music Man, that kind of run was impressive for just about any musical at the time, and
especially for one as risky and innovative as West Side Story.
2 The Music Man. Book, Music, and Lyrics by Meredith Willson. 1962 Film directed by
Morton daCosta, Production Design by Boris Leven.
3 West Side Story, based on a conception of Jerome Robbins; Book by Arthur Laurents,
Music by Leonard Bernstein, Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim. 1961 Film directed by Robert
Wise.
4 Willson (1902-1984) wrote an autobiographical book published in 1959, But He Doesnt
Know the Territory.
5 On the perception of places through visiting, see Urry, John. The Tourist Gaze / Leisure
and Travel in Contemporary Societies. London: Sage Publications, 1990. See also Foxe,
David: Landscape, Continuity, and Tourism: Les Grands Projets at Bercy and La
Villette, Cambridge, UK: M.Phil. Dissertation, 2004; Republished in excerpts as Urban
Tourism in Landscapes of Les Grands Projets, in 2A Architecture & Art Winter 2007.
Dubai, UAE: 2007.
6 For example, Frank Lloyd Wrights Ennis-Brown house in Los Angeles as shown in Blade
Runner (1982).
7 Jones, John Bush: Our Musicals, Ourselves. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press,
2003, p.196. While the action of West Side Story does not speak out against idealism, it

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suggeststhat if ones idealistic vision is to have any chance of succeeding it must be

grounded in a thorough understanding of lifes practical realities.
8 Lewis, David H: Broadway Musicals / A Hundred Year History. Jefferson, North Carolina:
McFarland & Company, Inc., 2002, p.86. Brooks Atkinson[, who] described it as a
profoundly moving show that is as ugly as the city jungles and also pathetic, tender,
forgiving. West Side Story is an incandescent piece of work that finds odd bits of reality
amidst the rubbish of the streets. Everything is of a piece. It reached the summit of
musical theatre history in this country, and there it still stands.
9 Hilary Ballon and Kenneth T. Jackson, ed.: Robert Moses and the Modern City / The
Transformation of New York. New York, NY: W. W. Norton, 2007, pp.282-289
10 Caro, Robert A. The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York. New York,
NY: Alfred A. Knopf, 1974.
11 Moses to Charles K. Panish, Army Corps of Engineers, November, 30 1944 (NY
Municipal Archives microfilm) Cited in Pressley Associates et al.: Shore-Belt Parkway
Master Plan Historic Inventory Report. Cambridge, MA: 2006. The author was an
employee of Pressley Associates for this report and thanks the entire team for their
insights and collaboration on that project.
12 Garebian, Keith: The Making of West Side Story. New York, NY: Mosaic Press, 1998, p.69
The dramatic climax, however, is reached in the next scene, under the highway, as the
almost-silhouetted gangs enter from separate sides by climbing over fences or crawling
through holes in the walls. It is now 9pm and after the eight preceding scenes all of
which are set at early evening or night or midnight it becomes clear that, as in Romeo
and Juliet, the one character we hardly ever see is the sun. There are, of course, numerous
light and dark contrasts in the play, but all the action occurs in fading light or penumbral
darkness.
13 Brooks, H. Allen: The Prairie School / Frank Lloyd Wright and his Midwest
Contemporaries. New York, NY: W. W. Norton, 1972, pp.241-259.
Also, Kruty, Paul and Mati Maldre: Walter Burley Griffin in America. Urbana-
Champaign: University of Illinois, 1998.
14 See also Marion Mahony Griffins account in her unpublished manuscript The Magic of
America, now online at http://www.artic.edu/magicofamerica/moa.html.
For example, Section IV, page 303: Rock Crest & Rock Glen occupy the two sides of the
valley which Willow Creek has carved out of the rocks within 3 blocks of the central
square of Mason City, Iowa. In common with many such beautiful pieces of nature it has
been neglected during the growth of the community in favor of the commonplace
building sites all around it, awaiting the day which seems to be approaching when the
imagination of the people is sufficiently stimulated by opportunity for unique
development in those instances where long abuse has not been, as is generally the case,
coincident with the neglect. This example comprises 18 acres of the creek frontage
between two bridges. That at the North is a permanent masonry arch carrying an
important thoroughfare route [State Street] and fixes definitely the boundary in that
direction but the western footbridge is merely a temporary structure and its removal in
the near future is promised for the opening up of another 5 acres up-stream of a territory
where rock and dell have still different forms of expression to be preserved and
respected. The vertical bluffs of Willow Creek alternate from side to side of its sinuous
course. In the portion illustrated they comprise the south and west banks, opposed by a
gentle slope of meadow and open woods extending gradually up to almost equal
elevation north and west within the limits of the tract.

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15 The 1940 bridge was completed by Howard R. Green of Cedar Rapids, IA. Documentation
courtesy Terry Harrison, Archivist, Mason City Public Library.
16 2000 US Census
17 Lewis, David H: Broadway Musicals / A Hundred Year History. Jefferson, North Carolina:
McFarland & Company, Inc., 2002, p.84. Like an angry conflagration of warring punks
spilling out into a civilized crowd, two rival gangs nearly leapt off the stage and into the
audiencetheir gut-wrenching tensions, set poundingly to music by Leonard Bernstein,
gave first-night theatergoers a ride they would never forgetwith spare brittle lyrics by
new kind on the block Stephen Sondheim. West Side Story mined the darker realities
of street life with sizzling theatricality.
18 Jones, John Bush: Our Musicals, Ourselves. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press,
2003, p.193.
19 A further direction of study would contrast the experience of immigrants as shown in these
and other related accounts, as Lithuanians, Irish, and other European immigrants are
identified in Music Man compared to Puerto Ricans in West Side Story, and to also
account for the actors portraying these immigrants: George Chakiris, who played (white)
Riff in the London production of West Side Story, was cast as (Puerto Rican) Bernardo
in the film version.
20 Keillor, Garrison: Prairie Home Companion 25 April 2005, Town Hall, New York,
transcribed from radio broadcast.
21 A recent example of this occurred as I participated in design workshops in Kyiv (Ukraine),
August-September 2005, MIT Urban Design Studio with INVI Investment
Environments. Other examples abound in my experience of discussions from the
Netherlands to Poland.
22 Harold Hill sings: You know youve got Trouble, right here in River City, with a capital
T which rhymes with P which stands for Pool A further direction of study would
trace the inability of the public sector to possess complete legitimacy in films of this
time, portrayed as individuals hampered by the tendency to generalize rather than to seek
patterns in their leadership or in the fighting of illegal activity. It is striking that in this
vein, West Side Storys filmic use of the blood-red shards of light amidst the bridge
supports portrays the hidden areas under the bridge, where the light of the authorities
cannot fully penetrate.
23 Sennett, Richard. The Fall of Public Man. New York: Penguin Books, 1974.
24 Sennett, Richard: The Conscience of the Eye. New York, NY: W.W. Norton, 1990, pp.33-
34: These assertions call upon the planner to set himself or herself against towers
equally buildable in Rangoon, Poitiers, or Boston.
25 Rowan Williams, Lecture at Chatham: Sustainable Communities 16 March 2005,
reprinted at http://www.archbishopofcanterbury.org/1005
26 See also Carl, Peter: Architecture Imagines a Better Future in Scroope 16, Irina
Davidovici, David Foxe, et. al, editors. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University
Department of Architecture, 2004.

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Barge Culture - The ebb and flow of cultural traffic

Karen Gaskill, The University of Huddersfield

'Film's undoubted ancestor... is architecture'

Sergei M Eisenstein

Early moving image devices and viewing apparatus more often than not used the city as their
muse. Displaying and re-representing urban views, they revealed the spaces of illusion in our
everyday environment, offering prefilmic spectacles to a receptive public.
Bruno discusses the eve of cinema's invention in her book, Atlas of Emotion, noting
how a network of new architectural forms produced a new spatiovisuality. Venues such as
arcades, department stores, exhibition halls, glass houses and winter gardens incarnated the
geography of modernity. They were all sites of transit. Mobility, a form of cinematics, was
the essence of these new architectures[1]. This new relationship of bodily motion and spatial
perception paved the way for the invention of moving image. Early film became an imaginary
sort of Flanerie, or streetwalking, extending personal boundaries beyond that of the
immediate.
Early spatial curiosity led to the development many pre-filmic visual devices and
paraphernalia. The concept of landscapes and of travel dates back to the Sala Femenina, the
ladies chamber in Barcelona, where Frederic Mares (1893-1991) collected an astonishing
assortment of memorabilia. This cabinet of curiosity reveals a rich journey around a room of
panoramic scenes and cityscapes; a gift of curiosity and a widening of horizons [2]. It
contained handheld objects such as the fan, that formed early veduta in motion; a mobilised
view painting, a panorama unfolding as a succession of views, its motion telling the story of a
moving site.
In contrast to the travelling of urban pavements and such spaces of curiosity, Camera
Obscuras became the first 'filmic rooms' where a spectator would sit and passively observe
moving images, the natural projection of a 'live' scape. This and equivalent smaller devices
such as Mondo Nuovo (a small portable viewing device), and the optical box, introduced the
architecture of the movie theatre, a private viewing space housing a form of urban popular
spectacle [3]

'A public cabinet of the curiosities of the everyday, film inherits the very architectonics
of this 'new world'. It is the new art travelling the urban pavement.' [4]

In his book, The Language of New Media, Lev Manovich defines the screen as 'the existence
of another virtual space, a three dimensional world enclosed by a frame and situated in our
normal space'. [5] The screen of cinema and video brings with it 'a certain relationship
between the image and the spectator' [6], expecting us to suspend disbelief and focus our
attention fully on the representation, thus disregarding the spaces outside the screen. This is
why it is frustrating in a cinema when the projected image does not coincide precisely with
the screens boundaries. It disrupts the illusion, making us conscious of what exists outside the
representation. [7]
Social as much as than architectural, this interest in observing our immediate
environment has provided us with a rich history of the relationship between architecture and
the human body. Early films such as Vertov's Man With a Movie Camera and Laing's
Metropolis create an interplay between the viewer and their spatiotemporal confines. The

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ability in film to manipulate time through freeze framing and slowing, and the multiplication
and acceleration of movement, renders time as something elastic and magical. In the
structures of many modern films such as Memento and Mulholland Drive, narrative structures
are played with and chopped up, representing in themselves a fracturing of thought in
different space-time structures.
I want to discuss a project I curated in July 2006 called Fast and Slow Networks, that
through its format considered the body in relation to urbanism, and also in relation to its
peers.
This project took place on a barge on the Bridgewater Canal in central Manchester, and
highlighted how technologies of the information age mirror older, slower networks of the
industrial past. This work was interested in the collision of physical many2many networks
with their digital counterparts, and how both have shaped our urban culture.
The UK's canal systems have always provided a source of fascination, primarily as they
formed one of the original many to many industrial networks. Many essential services were
provided by these networks, and not solely commercial or economic ones. Canal systems are
representative of early social networks, connecting locations and people and forming essential
communication loops - an analogue parallel to what digital networks are today.
The Bridgewater Canal, on which the barge sailed its journeys, is said to be one of
England's first canals. It delivered goods and services amongst to other places what is now the
Museum of Science and Industry. This was the location of the worlds first passenger railway,
and nurtured the growth of industry, containing factories, goods warehouses, and residential
housing, effectively, a community.
Lining the edges of the canal are old warehouses, railway arches, a spectrum of the
derelict and broken to the glossy and renewed. However the route of the canal as an artery
through the city centre is a course that is tattooed on the topology of the city, and through its
keylines comments on Manchester's iconic role as the centre of the industrial revolution.
The project took place on a wide beam restaurant barge, that journeyed up and down the
Bridgewater canal four times a day. The trips lasted 40 minutes in total, and were open to the
public and free. This mobile media space hosted four video works that were projected onto a
full size screen installed in the interior of the boat.
The works that were invited to be shown aboard the boat were all perceptions on
urbanism, and through representative technologies highlighted unique perspectives on
differing landscapes. They also aimed at drawing similarities to what the audience was
experiencing as they took their own visual journey down one of the oldest and most
historically rich routes through central Manchester.

* * * * * * * *

I want to show a short 2 minute excerpt of each work, introducing them with a brief synopsis
written by the artist.

The first work is 'Block' by Joe Duffy, a Manchester based artist.

"Block is a video piece concerned with the relationship of individuals to their contemporary
urban environment through the modernist architectural living spaces of a tower block in
Salford, UK. An observational gaze on social habitus implicates the viewer in a dialogue with
surveillance, monitoring and spatial dynamics.

The grid like structure of social urban planning is investigated through the rhythmic patterns
of lights signaling room occupation and human habitation. The light changes indicate

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movement paths and spatial usage that create an illusion of tower block as an entity, the
flickering lights as pulses with the residents reduced to signals and data, as reflected through
the sound design. The relationship to politics and economic realities is displayed through
evidence of material objects, televisions, curtains but with little trace of subject matter. The
patterns and data referencing point towards consumer monitoring. The block itself containing
a complex weaving of personal histories, identities, subjectivities and relations hinted at by
physical movements that transform the block into a fictive arena."
Joe Duffy 2006
www.sandproject.org

Figure 1. 'Block' still

* * * * * * * *

The second work is After the house is burnt, pick up the nails by Katie Davies.

"Working with appropriated and collected footage, After the house is burnt, pick up the
nails investigates manifestations of language.

Filmed in the mesmeric city of Seoul, the film draws out contradictory flashes of familiarity
and ambiguity as the international language of advertising sells you the notion of Metropolis
as utopia.

Using commercial and personal video footage and audio recordings, this work presents us
with impressions of a chaotic and bustling metropolis and hints at the ideologies to be found
within its fabric. This piece explores the idiosyncrasies of an unfamiliar culture, investigating
seemingly impenetrable cultural references. Fragments of advertising and television present in
the work function as a common ground between East and West, offering some resolution
through this shared, global mode of representation."
Katie Davies 2006
www.katiedavies.com

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Figure 2. 'After the house is burnt, pick up the nails' still

* * * * * * * *

The third is 'Municipal 44', a work by Graham Clayton-Chance.

"Municipal 44 is an experimental film exposing the inherent anxiety and conflict between our
perception of space and the built environment. Taking its inspiration from "The Image of the
city" by architectural theorist and city planner Kevin Lynch, Municipal44 freely explores
notions of place legibility, spatial cognition and way-finding. The work explores the idea of
this perceptual encounter of the subject of the city with its architecture and in this case the
abstract modernism of brutalist architecture.

Undertaking site visits to document the visual impact of these encounters a catalogue was
constructed of hundreds of photos taken from London's Trellick Tower, National Theatre,
Pimlico School and the Roehampton Estate. New architectural structures and facades were
generated from this site research reworking the original geometry, perspective, lines and
edges of the buildings. These primary clean communicators of a built environments
imageability are radically reworked to form a dystopian ("Bad", "nowhere") setting. The
project was then developed using performative methodologies creating
choreographic/performance based sequences to work within the 3D architectural scenic
environments."
Graham Clayton-Chance 2006
www.ddfilms.tv

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 Karen Gaskill

Figure 3. 'Municipal44' still

* * * * * * * *

The final work is called 'Cornholme' and is by artist Katy Woods.

In Cornholme, Katy Woods re-presents to us a small village situated on the border between
Yorkshire and Lancashire in the Calder Valley. The route through the valley to this place, for
the most part, is a pleasant and picturesque one; the landscape is beautiful and dramatic, the
houses and buildings are old and characterful. People come here for their holidays, for walks
and days out, for canal boat trips and cycling tours. Before reaching Cornholme though, the
beautiful landscape ends; it becomes ambiguous, natural beauty and post-industrial decay
overlap and it begins to feel claustrophobic, empty and ruined.
Katy Woods 2006
http://www.axisweb.org/seCVPG.aspx?ARTISTID=11730

Figure 4. 'Cornholme' still

* * * * * * * *
It is compelling how contemporary artists reflect on urbanism, revealing abstract notions of

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cultural usage. Cities that are represented by their advertising and its clinical, ordered
approach. Forgotten pockets in our cultural fabric housing areas of decay and disintegration.
The emergence of anxieties and phobias parallel the rise of city skylines, revealing the hiatus
and rupture frequenting modern cities and their populations. Through the devices that capture
these undertones, although dramatically different in their technological prowess, we document
our environment, allowing us to culturally, socially and politically travel; to tread those urban
pavements and to bring to life through our actions such spaces of curiosity. If mobility was
the essence of the architectures at the eve of cinemas invention, what is the essence of today's
architecture? Locativeness, placement? The city is increasingly mapped and categorised
through social profiling and postcode lotteries. Already our perceptions of the observed city
as filmic muse have been reversed. The UK is one of the most surveilled nations in the world,
cameras capture our movements on every street corner translating us into urban statistics. No
longer are we able to observe our city pleasurably, in contrast to the experience of the Camera
Obscura. Threat exists in the action of being observed, safety is in autonomy and private
actions. What of the Flanerie, the streetwalker, do we have a contemporary cultural
equivalent?

http://www.interval.org.uk
http://www.karengaskill.info

* * * * * * * *

References

[1] Bruno, G, 2002, Atlas of Emotion. Journeys in Art, Architecture and Film, Verso. p.17
[2] ibid. p.134
[3] ibid. p.159
[4] ibid.
[5] Manovich, L, 2001, The Language of New Media, MIT Press. p.95
[6] ibid. p.96
[7] ibid.

Auge, M. 1995, Non-Places - Introduction to an anthropology of Supermodernity, Verso.

Bachelard, G, 1994, The Poetics of space - A classic look at how we experience intimate
places, Beacon Press.
Kwon, M, 2002, One Place After Another Site specific art and Locational Identity, MIT
Press.
Tuan, Y, 1977, Space and Place The Perspective of Experience, University of Minnesota
Press.
Vidler, A, 2000, Warped Space: Art, Architecture, and anxiety in modern culture, MIT Press.
Virilio, P, 2000, Polar Inertia, SAGE.

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 Tessa Maria Tan-Guazon

Urban Decay, Redemption and the Feminized City Cinematic

Representations of Revive Manilas Renovated Parks
Tessa Maria Tan-Guazon, University of the Philippines Diliman

This essay charts the articulations of disease and decay in urban renewal, specifically through
cinematic representations of public parks renovated under the Revive Manila program an
urban renewal program implemented in Manila from late 1999 to mid-2007. I weigh these
articulations using bodily metaphors that frame urban imaginaries to justify urban
redevelopment and its perpetuation of exclusion. The work of which this essay is part
examines the conjoined nature of the representational systems that buttress Revive Manilas
goals. I argue that the popularity of the program amongst city residents was enabled by the
amplified deployment of city government campaigns under Lito Atienzas leadership. The
campaigns were farmed out using various media including the built space of public, state-
sponsored parks, commissioned sculpture pieces for the same parks, Maynila a television
series aired during Atienzas three terms as city mayor and films released by private
production houses during this period. While some of these media overtly promote the
program campaigns, others like the films to be analyzed here present an ambiguous reading of
Revive Manila. Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You til Now) and Babae sa
Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater) were released at a time when most of Revive
Manila projects were in process or were already completed. Both films also feature the
renovated spaces of Liwasang Bonifacio and Bay walk, two of the flagship projects of the
programs early phase. These two parks were used as templates for park renovations that were
carried out in smaller parks in the city.
The entwined representational systems of the built environment, commissioned art for
public parks and film imagery, despite their different imaging technologies were all geared
towards the manufacture of a renewed and revived Manila. The city government thus was
intently reshaping Manilas urban landscape and actively manufacturing the urban imaginary
to articulate, promote and justify urban renewal. The manufacture of the dominant urban
imaginary of revived Manila and the new Manileno was about a deep-seated anxiety
coupled with desire. This anxiety in turn, is anchored to nostalgia for Manilas glorious past
while the desire is linked to Manilas eventually becoming a global city. As we will soon
discover, these forces also shape the narratives of the film and the specific geographies they
construct. Decay and its associations with urban developments metaphors for the city will be
traced to nostalgia and the implicit gendering of urban public space through Revive Manila.
The decayed city / grotesque, monstrous body will be examined through their metaphorical
appropriations through film. These cinematic representations will be assessed against the
larger project of transforming Manila into a global city through the production of pacified
local publics, docile bodies fed with the fantasy of partaking of developments benefits.

Double-screening the city - plotting cities and bodies in film narratives and cinematic
representations

Cities and cinemas have an interesting dialogic relationship. Their mutually constitutive
natures provide a vantage point from which to tease out shifts and continuities in the
formation of urban imaginaries. El-Sayyads (2006) analysis of films to articulate the modern
emphasizes the need to engage both cities and films simultaneously and acknowledge that the
divide between the reel and the real is increasingly becoming nebulous. El-Sayyad (2006:3)

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astutely points out that the synchrony of narratives and representational techniques in films
contributes to the project of revealing new urban conditions. The images and ensuing urban
imaginaries emanating from Revive Manila however, do not merely circulate in the meaning
systems generated by the city government agencies, they spill over onto other representational
systems where they take on other forms and become subjected to other interpretations. What
other articulations of Manila are found in these film representations? Do these extend or
negate Revive Manilas operative concepts? Cinemas constructions of the city largely
influence our shared imaginaries of urban spaces in the same way that actual sites in the city
frame cinematic narratives.
Both Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You, til Now) and Babae sa
BreakWater (Woman of the BreakWater) use the renovated parks of Revive Manila as actual
geographic sites for the unfolding of their narratives Liwasang Bonifacios open spaces for
Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon and Bay Walks sea wall for Babae sa BreakWater
(see figs 1 and 2). Cinematic geographies are meant to encompass an assemblage of spaces.
These spatial registers include that of the films themselves (the screen image and their mise-
en-scene), the real site of filming (the actual spaces of the renovated parks) and the spatial
nuances articulated by the bodies of the women protagonists in the films narratives. In what
ways are the cinematic geographies inherent in the films further articulated in the
geographies closest/ the bodies of the women protagonists? In turn, how are these
articulations related to the larger discourse of decay and disease in urban development? I
highlight both the films constructs of womens bodies and how these bodies are used as
anchors in the unfolding of the narrative.

Figure 1. Liwasang Bonifacio view from Figure 2. Newly renovated Bay walk Malate,
Lawton Manila

Geographies closest urban decay and womens bodies

The dialogic relationship between cities and films extends to the citys relationship to bodies.
Cities are often imagined as bodies and urban imaginaries are often couched in terms of
embodied imaginings. Cities and bodies are mutually constitutive constructs. In this sense, it
will do us good to think of cities as more than material terrain but as site shaped by bodies
constantly negotiate territory, rights and power. Often planners and urban image-makers
equate the well-managed city to a healthy body and a disorderly city to a sick body. This
conflation is evident in Revive Manilas project briefs and in several interviews with the
mayor Lito Atienza. Manilas Urban Planning and Development Office published a 2005
project brief that outlined the planning approaches for Revive Manila. It revealed that the
planning models used were mostly British and North American in origin. An implicit
assumption is made about the direct translation of development to a better way of life for city

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residents. This is again enunciated through the notion of Revive Manila becoming a way of
life for the Manileno after the implementation of its projects. Thus, the program was also
contingent on the construction of a body-self (the new Manileno) considered fit to inhabit the
revived spaces of Manila. What the brief ignores is the apparent disjuncture in urbanization
contexts between Western cities and most cities in Southeast Asia. As Caoili (1999) rightly
stressed, Metro Manila is a product of both its colonial past and subsequent relationships
formed between its local governments and the state. Metro Manila cities themselves are not
self-sufficient but are highly dependent economically on its rural peripheries. I surmise that
the increasing competition between these cities was a primary impetus for the implementation
of Revive Manila and reflects the shifting configurations of the urban center within a
globalized world. Metro Manila cities compete with each other for global city status and
interviews with former mayor Lito Atienza often cite the anxiety over Manilas lagging
behind other Metro Manila cities like Makati and Mandaluyong, which are increasingly
becoming centers of business. For Atienza however, this yearning to become a global city is
couched in nostalgia the return to Manilas glorious past, a past that includes his childhood
in Malate one of the earliest residential districts for Manilas gentry. As the next section
illustrates, the crafting of the Manileno is also contingent on a gendered understanding of
Manilas new spaces as illustrated by the translations of Revive Manila goals in various
representational systems. How can we make sense of the gendered nature of public space
within Revive Manilas dominant imaginary?

Feminine as Presence, Lens, and Tool

Films are instructive because they embody a double-screen - a system that filters and shapes
concepts of the city. Cinematic images of urban spaces inform particular geographies of space.
Since film images are consumed and interpreted across a variedly constituted audience, these
become powerful means in shaping our perceptions of place. The organization of these spaces
likewise points to the configurations of public life and the arenas in which these public lives
unfold. Urban redevelopment programs employ a variety of metaphors that stand for the city
and which can be translated and linked to overarching development discourses. Revive Manila
employed a campaign strategy that inherently juxtaposes the decayed body/disorderly city
against that of the renewed city/revived body. This organic model of urbanization relies on a
unitary concept of the body and the biological determinacy that defines the tacit trajectory of
modernist progress, thereby reifying urban space. This reification is tied to the nostalgia that
shapes Revive Manila and the centralized decision-making process inherent in the
implementation of its projects. Revive Manila thus, is a fantasy besieged by the malady of
brittle order.
What are the permutations of this fantasy and how are these related to the gendering of
public space which formed the core of the urban renewal program? How do we explore the
connections between the feminine and the feminized city in relation to city form (both
inscribed and performed) and urban experience? May Datuin asserts that the feminine does
not refer to essences attributed to women; the feminine is understood as a position formed by
a set of socially constructed characteristics, meanings, and behavior that give rise to culturally
and historically specific concrete conditions and experiences (2002:18). I take on the feminine
both as frame and tool to elaborate the embodied aspect of urban experience in Manila. The
pre-formed and the performed aspects of public life are located in and through bodies.
Pre-formed is that which is pre-inscribed (written before hand, later projected onto or
inscribed). Urban planning largely proceeds from this pre-inscription on space, a field that
engages the imaginary, competing representations, differing interests, ideologies and
positionalities (Sassen 1996:6). These contradictory imaginings of the city that are inherent

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in planning is the same contentious character which can be taken advantage of and from
which alternatives can be drawn. The performed aspect of the city corresponds to
Lefebvres (1994) notion of representational spacemultiple understandings of public space,
a process of constant reinterpretation and ceaseless remaking. Pre-formed points to the pre-
inscribed and later on, projected or inscribed onto space imagined as a void, onto unruly
bodies. Performing the city, in this sense, transpires from corporeal interactions within its
spaces. Further, Griselda Pollock sees the body as both representation and constructed site, a
place where sexual difference is marked. And because the body is a sign, it is also a site
where resistance is possible (1998:6). Feminism is a space off a space of signification
both a movement and in movement, being in the present and invoking a future (De Lauretis
cited in Pollock 1998:18). The feminine refers to this spatial and temporal location, with
emphasis on the everyday and the spaces yet to be chronicled. By using feminine lenses and
taking on a feminist position, we can possibly ask: Who is speaking through the
redevelopment project that is Revive Manila? Whose body is deemed fit to dwell in the new
spaces of the city?
The organic model of the city configures the city as a body that is birthed, reaching its
prime and eventually ageing and decaying. To redeem Manilas stature as the countrys
capital city, redeeming measures are called for and duly implemented. These measures
translate to urban renewal and redevelopment strategies which are disproportionately justified
as necessary acts, more like a call of duty. Deustche (1995) rightly insists on the urgent
necessity of viewing the city as social process instead of technical product. In technocratic
language, the discourse of public is often cited as justified end. Images are one means
through which these justifications are simplified and disseminated to the various publics that
constitute the urban fabric. Alongside the circulation of these fabricated images, a parallel
public is constructed. This dovetailed process somehow succeeds in erasing the
heterogeneity of the city and ultimately obscures the lopsided benefits of urban
redevelopment.

Crafting redemption traversing linked topographies through film narratives

Can we tease out alternative, and possibly enabling ways of understanding the city and public
life through film? In what ways do films with its formal language construct specific urban
geographies? What cinematic devices are used to image these film geographies and in what
ways are they linked to the actual spaces where filming was done? I approach these questions
by continually tracing the theme of disease and decay in cinematic narrative and their
particular expressions in cinematic space. Urban decay, I argue is linked to a gendered
construction of a dominantly masculine public space. My discussion of these film narratives
hence, will focus on the way they utilize a moving through a manner of unfolding
through both the actual sites of the narrative and through the enactment of the lives of both the
women characters, Katherine (in Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon / You til Now) and
Paquita (in Babae sa BreakWater / Woman of the Breakwater). The city is embodied by these
women, their lives inscribed in decay, their bodies with disease/dis-ease and their eventual
healing. Disease and decay then is juxtaposed with redemption and salvation. I move through
the layered screens of film sites, womens bodies (Katherines and Paquitas) and the actual
spaces of Revive Manilas parks to disclose the entangled construction and deployment of the
image of the city as decayed body.
Alongside my discussion of disease and decay, I use the theme of redemption and its
implicit references to urban renewal to make sense of these films layered geographies. While
Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You til Now) couches the theme in the allegory of
romantic love, Babae sa Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater) focuses on the contrast

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between core and periphery to underscore the marginal, the refuse of the global city. In
revealing the jarring poverty that besets these break water communities, Babae sa
Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater) subverts and thus makes unreal Bay walks newly
renovated spaces. Like Ikaw Lamang. however, this revelation is channeled through the
lead woman characters (Paquita) body and the narrative revolves around her struggles and
eventual salvation which curiously was aided by a man (Basilio, Paquitas love interest).
Figure 3 Poster for Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You til
Now)

In Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You til Now) the

image of urban decay is paralleled with the protagonists
lives but more so in the character of Katherine, who
eventually finds her salvation and reclaims her self
through the love she finds with Ryan. The interesting
parallel between urban degeneration, the character of
Katherine and the life she leads is deftly inserted into the
film narrative. During her prolonged absence and while
Ryan waits for her in Liwasang Bonifacios, her presence
is conjured by the ongoing construction of the park an
event that frames Ryans wait. The emergence of
Katherine is signaled by the end of the renovation work
which becomes the static background to the couples
swirling image in embrace. A recurring shot of the Manila
in Ikaw Lamang is the panning movement of the
camera across Pasig River, punctuated by either Jones or Ayala Bridge and ending with the
Neo-Classical faade of the Post Office building, seeming constants in Manilas landscape.
Manila in the film is configured through the spatial registers embodied in Katherines
character and the various locations that reference her eventual redemption. Views of the
landscape are used as cues and visual anchors to the narratives culmination of personal
redemption they reinforce the anticipated ending to both Ryans and Katherines quest for
personal redemption.
It is interesting to note that the many spaces that bear witness to the unfolding of
Ikaw Lamangs narrative signify the contradictions inherent in late capitalism of the
states incapacity to provide basic needs and the increasingly privatized modes of providing
public services. Katherine works at the Post Office, the need for which has increasingly
diminished in an age of virtual communication and on-line shopping. Like her seemingly
stagnant life, she manually sifts through mail and stamps them listlessly on her dimly lit desk.
Post office work conditions are depicted as rife with gossip, inefficiency and a laggard
atmosphere. On the other hand, the golf courses of Intramuros where Ryan works as a golf
instructor signify openness and access that ideally characterize public spaces. In truth
however, these pseudo-public spaces are private spaces of consumption and access to them is
defined by wealth and class. In the real spaces of Intramuros, these barricaded golf courses are
ringed with homeless families living in carts. The disparate worlds of the wide, open spaces
and the cramped carts of the homeless mutely illustrate that which the state futilely conceals
and which development forces paradoxically surfaces. The geographies of work where the
characters of Katherine and Ryan labor can be understood through a juxtaposition of
development outcomes. The love that blossoms between these main characters however,
redeems their lives and infuses these spaces with new meanings. Nowhere is this inordinately
emphasized than in Ryans long wait at Liwasang Bonifacio while his redemption
unravels, the park undergoes renovation. Old benches are replaced by new ones, paving is

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repaired and the bustle of construction activities is heard through the films soundtrack. Ryan
seemed oblivious to all else that is happening around him but all these activities serve to
signal to the viewer the end of his long wait. As anticipated, Katherine emerges from the
crowd of commuters in Lawton and they lovingly settle in one of the parks new benches at
the end of the film.
The placid narrative stream of Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You til Now)
forms a jarring contrast to the indelible inversions inBabae sa BreakWater (Woman of the
Breakwater). This film opens with upheaval and madness in two different locations. The first,
a scene of cult carnage and sacrifice in a seaside town in Leyte and the second, a
carnivalesque celebration of city dregs along Bay Walk in Manila. Both these events oddly
signal uneasiness, a sense that something must have been misplaced or that these events must
be happening in the wrong places. The opening scene is preceded by the information on the
countrys urban poor, 41% of the population who live below the poverty line. The segment on
the Leyte cult ritual explains the presence of the brothers Crispin and Basilio in Manilas Bay
Walk sea wall shanties. Their father single-handedly killed members of the cult group and he
ends up being killed himself, he dives into the sea when he felt he was near death and his
body is never found. The sea constitutes a central geography in Babae sa Break Waters
mise-en-scene. The sea understood as place is embedded at various nodes in Crispin and
Basilios bodies and in Paquitas body which it heals. It is fitting to claim that indeed, the sea
both literally and figuratively imaged by the film is the space of salvation and redemption for
the films protagonists. The sea that demarcates both Leyte and Manila is to be understood as
the location that links far-off places, it is a belonging that streams through Basilios and
Crispins bodies. Its dark waters are spaces of refuge for them, where traditional knowledge
and belonging is sought and found. Hence, their deaths were understood by the sea wall
community they considered as family as claims made by the sea they were claimed by the
seas as their father before them.

Figure 4 Babae sa Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater)

poster

Redemption in Babae sa Break Water (Woman of the

Break Water) is embodied by Paquitas character. She
survives the hardships of life along the sea wall, the
physical pain wrought by her being a prostitute. It is
Basilio who rescues and redeems her healing her of
the skin disease that marks her and making her believe
that a better life is possible. We find Paquita screaming
like the mad Sisa in Rizals Noli Me Tangere as she
struggles with the seas strong waves for Basilios lifeless
body. She finally leaves the sea wall as their shanties
were burned by thugs and found belonging in the
Basilios Leyte hometown. The city in Babae sa
Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater) is imaged as a
bleak landscape for poor migrants from the provinces.
The gleam of their dreams of life in the city becomes
incomprehensible against the dirt and indignity of their lives in Manila. The mis-placed
narrative of the film cast against the newly refurbished Bay Walk echo this frustration and
despair.

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 Tessa Maria Tan-Guazon

Fragmented narratives of Manila

The juxtaposed topographies in Babae sa Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater)

succeeds in imaging the harsh outcomes of urban renewal programs. By inserting the
carnivalesque into a seamlessly ordered landscape, it surfaces a film topography that aims to
reveal. The film thus, presents us a disrupted image of the newly refurbished Bay Walk. On
the other hand, Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You til Now) endorses the necessity of
the overdue renovation to Liwasang Bonifacios open spaces. Manilas filmed landscape
anchored the narratives unfolding to its layered sites bodies, lives and romantic partnership.
These chosen sites are articulated through the films topography, which served as visual cues
and anchors to the narrative. Both films share a preoccupation with depicting the city as
amalgamated whole a site of dreams, desires and hope yet afflicted with diseased despair.
The citys darker face is rescued by both the films underlying theme of redemption. In Ikaw
Lamang Hanggang Ngayon (You til Now), we find blossoming love and personal
redemption coming to their fruition in a site which was also redeemed / reclaimed. On the
other hand, Babae sa Breakwater (Woman of the Breakwater) loosely configures such
redemption in the healed body and psyche of Paquita; in the sense of community that sustain
the illegal settlers beneath the sea wall, and ultimately to Paquitas move to a sea-side town in
Leyte.
In both cases however, it is the body and person of the main woman protagonist who
carries the symptoms of site. In various ways, their bodies supplant the city and become
metaphors for the city itself. It is also interesting to note that the theme of redemption is
couched in heterosexual relationships that blossom between the main characters. These are
gestures that elucidate an understanding of the city as inherently gendered. Degenerated,
decayed cities are often imaged as monstrous, grotesque bodies to be tamed. This monstrosity
in Katherines character is her bleak outlook in life, her dowdy appearance and a job that
initially didnt fulfill her. Paquitas monstrous body on the other hand, is plagued by disease,
her being a prostitute and her hardened ways. In both cases, their eventual healing was
possible only through the presence of the men in their lives, Ryan in Katherines and Basilio
in Paquitas. I believe that this narrative strand is related to the way the Atienza city
government imagined Manila.
Examination of the various texts within the representational systems dealt with in this
paper point to a dominant discourse of disease and decay inherent in urban renewal. This
discourse is further gendered and sexualized. In most cases, the decayed city is imagined as a
grotesque female body. This is nowhere more obvious than in sources that articulate Revive
Manila goals. In the context of the program, salvation is tinged with like redemption as that
viewed in the films discussed. In the published interviews with the mayor, he points to the
necessary act of revival which we can make sense of as parallel redemption. This paper
aimed to show that the theme of decay courses through images of the city even in
representational systems that function separately from the official propaganda machinery of
state agencies. The main reason why the city government campaigns for Revive Manila are
effectively deployed is that they draw from already instituted, ideologically stable ways of
thinking about the city. I think it is crucial that we draw these questions deeper and delve into
questions of class and gender that are initially ignored. These have the most repercussion on
actual, real lives lived on the citys streets which are most often in stark contrast in idealized
images of city life. Thus, the entwined character of various representational systems whose
relationships may not be readily discerned can be mined to reveal - and perhaps disrupt the
seamless, overriding character of imaginaries shaped from a dominant position of power.

127
 Tessa Maria Tan-Guazon

References

Atienza, Jose. 2000, City Redevelopment Agenda Buhayin ang Maynila, City Mayors
Office, Manila.
Babae sa Breakwater Dir. Mario OHara, 2005.
Campaner, Marlou and Amores, Roberto. 2005, Buhayin ang Maynila: A growth
management approach in empowering Manilas urban governance, City Government,
Manila.
Caoili, Manuel. 1999, The Origins of Metro Manila: A Social and Political Analysis
University of the Philippines Press, Quezon City.
City Information Development Office. 2005, Maunlad na Maynila sa Pilipinas kong Mahal
434th Araw ng Maynila Catalogue, City Government, Manila.
Datuin, Flaudette May V. 2002, Home, Body, Memory Filipina Artists in the Visual Arts,
19th Century to the Present, University of the Philippines Press, Quezon City.
Deustche, Rosalyn. 1998. Evictions: Art and Spatial Politics, MIT Press, Cambridge,
Massachusetts and London.
El-Sayyad, Nezar. 2006, Cinematic Urbanism A History of the Modern from Reel to Real,
Routledge, New York and Oxford shire.
Grosz, Elizabeth. 1998. Bodies-cities in Places through the Body. eds by H. Nast and Pile.
Routledge, London and New York.
Guieb, Eulalio. 2000. Historico-Geographical Imaginations in Ishmael Bernals Nunal sa
Tubig in Geopolitics of the Visible, ed. Tolentino Ateneo de Manila Press, Quezon City.
Ikaw Lamang Hanggang Ngayon Dir. Yam Laranas, 2004.
Maynila Ngayon, October 2001, 2:16. 2.
Nast, Heidi and Steve Pile, eds. 1998, Introduction: Makingplacesbodies in Places Through
The Body, Routledge, London and New York.
Sassen, Saskia. 1996. Rebuilding the global city: Economy, ethnicity and space in Re-
Presenting the City Ethnicity, Culture and Capital in the Twenty-First Century
Metropolis, ed. King, A., Macmillan Press, Houndsmill, Basingstoke and Hampshire and
London.
Summers, David. 1997. Representation in Critical Terms for Art History. eds by Nelson, R.
and Schiff, University of Chicago Press, Chicago & London.
Tadiar, Neferti Xina. 2004, Fantasy ProductionSexual Economies and Other Philippine
Consequences for the New World Order, Ateneo de Manila Press, Quezon City.
Tolentino, Roland. 2000, Geopolitics of the Visible, Ateneo de Manila Press, Quezon City.

128
 Theodora Hadjiandreou

Touchez pas au Grisbi (1954), Du Rififi chez les Hommes (1955)

and Bob le Flambeur (1956): Discussing Criminal Paris, Spatial
Representation, Memory and Modernity in mid-1950s
Theodora Hadjiandreou, University of Warwick

Introduction

The paper places at its centre three classic noir crime thrillers from the mid 1950s: (a)
Touchez pas au Grisbi (1954) an expensive production directed by well-established French
director Jacques Becker, with national star Jean Gabin as the protagonist. (b) Du Rififi chez les
hommes (1955) a modest FrenchItalian co-production, with no stars in its cast, directed by
American Jules Dassin already famous for his semi-documentary depiction of New York (The
Naked City, 1948) and the expressionistic depiction of London (Night and the City, 1950). (c)
Bob le Flambeur (1956) a small-budget independent production, without stars, produced and
directed by Jean-Pierre Melville, a relatively new entry in French film Industry.
The cinematic and real setting in all three films is 1950s Paris. It is exactly this
citys spatiotemporal representation which will form the basis of present analysis. Avoiding
the tendency within film noir studies (an urban genre par excellence) which emphasise the
city as a static backdrop expressing danger, melancholia and a general pessimistic mood, I
will attempt to map the cinematic geography of Paris and present snap-shots of the essence of
the invoked Paris real, lived and cinematic.
Mid 1950s, which forms the running thread of the present discussion, was a time of
great global mobility and change. Tourism, modernisation predominantly in the form of
imported Americanisation was dynamically establishing their grounds in Europe at a time
when Europe was eager to heal or bury the psychosomatic trauma of World War II. In the
case of France attempts of healing were further complicated due to the trauma referred as le
syndrome de Vichy (Rousso 1991) caused by the years of official collaboration with the Nazi
regime, causing a rift at the core of nations psyche between collaborators and those who
resist. The Algerian war, started in 1954, would further add to the national trauma and
uncertainty since colonial France was threatened to lose part of her territories but also part of
her post-war prestige as a global colonial power.
The paper is divided in three parts: the first part introduces post-card landmark Paris,
and some thoughts on how this setting is used. The second part discusses the infiltration of the
foreigner in the physical form of tourist and the implications to the geographical
representation of Paris on micro-cosmic local level or macrocosmic national level. The last
part discusses briefly the visual and ideological construction of periphery, the space outside
the core of the city.

Post-card Paris

Paris was and remains one of the most photographed and recognised cities in the world. It is
exactly this photographic quality which is re-created with the panoramic elevated and skyline
images in the opening scene of both Bob and Grisbi. The camera reveals a densely-built city,
not particularly photogenic in its anarchic and mismatched building formation. It could have
been any-city if it wasnt for the image of the Basilique du Sacr Coeur, in Montmartre which
places the image firmly in Paris. The leisurely and nonchalant pace of the cameras movement

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 Theodora Hadjiandreou

in both films mentally recreates the act of street-level strolling, rendering the city historical
continuity by invoking memories of the indigenous Baudelairian flneur, and through a
modern economical entity in the form of tourist who had rediscovered and invaded 1950s
Paris as part of the practice of mass tourism (Furlough 1998), a term introduced in mid-
1950s France as tourism de srie (Siegfried, 1955: 107). In Grisbi the Sacr-Coeur remains
part of the general background, one building amongst many, thus democratising the visual,
public experience of the city. In similar democratic vein the camera in a long shot includes in
the images of city not only the Sacr-Coeur, a monument of high culture but also the Moulin
de la Galette, the windmill situated near the top of Montmartre, a modern monument,
classified as such in 1939 before it concludes its geographical introduction of the city with
Moulin Rouge on Place Blance, another landmark of popular mass culture. This resulted in
three ideologically different Parisian markers, which synopsize best the two essences of
visited/touristy Paris, that of a city of high/serious cultural past and that of light/amorous fun.
While in Grisbi all three recognised landmarks remain part of the general background in Bob
the camera freezes and isolates the Sacr de Coeur in a snap-shot of an unmistakable post-
card aesthetics. While this particular practice of isolation and visual prioritazion of this
particular cultural monument may indicate on a first level an ideological and cultural eliticism
on Melvilles part, it becomes clear as the film progresses that Sacr-Coeurs visual
prioritisation is not merely because of its significance as a public landmark. It becomes a
personal marker connecting the domestic/private space of the aged gangster Bob Montagn
(Roger Duchene) not with an anonymous neighbourhood but with a recognisable nationally
and internationally landmark.
As Bob enters his apartment, the tall window
which covers a whole wall brings the Sacr de
Coeur indoors, becoming part of the personal
space, while maintaining its postcard quality in its
static framing (fig.1). On a personal level this
permanent architectural presence of a famous
landmark preserves spatiotemporal Parisian
memory in domestic space, particularly poignant
in the changing mid-1950s geography, where big
areas of the capital were demolished as part of
modernisation (Ross 1998). On a cinematic self-
Figure 1 referential level the image of the tall and extremely
wide oblong window with the transparent curtains
paired with Bobs conscious acknowledgement through a fixed gazing can be read as a
reference to cinematic screen. What this framing implies however is the visual connection
between photographed, post-card Paris and cinematic one, acknowledging the contribution of
both to the construction and marketing of photographed Paris.
While both French directors, Becker and Melville seem frugal in the usage of images
of post-card landmark Paris, American director Dassin lacking indigenous national grounding,
follows the opposite route, with a significantly greater number of landmark images appearing
in Rififi. While the opening of the film locates the action in a claustrophobic gambling room at
the back of a coffee shop, a place that could be anywhere, as soon as the action moves
outdoors, the parked 2CV (an emblematic French car) firmly grounds the film to French soil.
In the next scene this general French geography will be specified by the framing of the
famous Mappin and Webb jewellery shop. Thus the space is furthermore identified as part of
central Paris and most specifically as Rue de la Paix, the heart of commercial landmark Paris,
an attractive space for local and international buyers and tourists alike attracted by the famous
Place Vendme column and good expensive shopping. As the film progresses Rue de la Paix,

130
 Theodora Hadjiandreou

Place Vendme, the Arc de Triomphe, the Place de la Concorde with the Egyptian obelisque
of Luxor in the centre and the church of Madeleine, the Pont dAusterlitz, the Place Valhubert
the Jardin des Plantes, the river Seine and the Moulin de la Galette will all be captured in
numerous snapshots. However, what makes a number of those recognisable Parisian
landmarks incompatible with traditional post-card aesthetics is the awkward angling of the
camera, the fast editing often paired with the speed of a car, and the lack of natural or
artificial lighting on night shots, the later in accordance to noir aesthetics.

Parisian Landscape and the Intrusion of Foreigner

From the post-card Paris of the opening scene both Grisbi and Bob swiftly move and zoom
onto specific locales. In Grisbi it is an enclosed space, Mme Bouches restaurant, placed
somewhere in Montmartre since it follows on immediately from the opening credits (Hewitt:
71). The camera frames Max (Jean Gabin) and his company, enjoying a generous feast. A
small group of anonymous people possibly tourists but nevertheless unknown to Mme Bouche
(Denise Clair), attempt to enter the space in order to eat. Despite the empty tables and the
plethora of delectable food, openly displayed and admired, they are refused service, sent
instead to the restaurant across the road. France as a country throughout the 20th century and
particularly in the decades after the war had built a reputation as the country of good food.
Delicatessens and champagne were two of Frances most important export categories,
targeting predominantly the American market particularly after the Blum-Byrnes agreement
(Hubert-Lacombe 1996) Furthermore, Paris was consciously using the art of gastronomy in
order to market itself to visitors, progressively gaining the status of the world capital of
gastronomy. This scene is poignant for two reasons. It acknowledges the marketability of
French food in a rather straightforward manner. However, Mme Bouches resistance to the
invasion of foreigners emblematic in the 1950s French cinema (Forbes 1992: 48) reflects in
its heroic attempt to maintain territorial integrity the popular ideological rhetoric of French
resistance, mythologized in the immediate post-war years. It is exactly that national heroic
rhetoric that makes the scenes inherent xenophobia more palatable. It is only towards the end
of the film that the foreigner will successfully infiltrate Mme Bouches restaurant in the form
of Betty, Maxs American elegantly dressed girlfriend. Singled out by the locals she manages
however to negotiate her place not only through her close relationship with Max (furthermore
enhanced by Jean Gabins national emblematic status) but also through her impeccable sense
of fashion and elegance, both in spatiotemporal harmony with the strong tradition of Parisian
haute couture.
While the intimate and physical enclosure of Mme Bouches restaurant fights for the
maintenance of its original micro-geographic identity, the Parisian open place also struggles
to resist the foreigner. In Bob the camera zooms-in at the Pigalle Metro at Boulevard de
Clichy before it moves on, to map the particular geography of the area, revealing a
commercial area of erotic bars and clubs. The international dimension of this space is revealed
instantly by the visual presence of English written language at the menu/advertisement of a
little fast-food place. The culture of fast-food, inherently against the grain of the traditional
French gastronomic art, together with the emblematic presence of the coca-cola sign
visualises the infiltration of American culture (Kuisel 1993), a far more serious danger
compared to the physical infiltration of the American sailor. The laters visual (uniform) and
aural (spoken English in American culture) presence has a limited temporal dimension as seen
speeding out with Ann (Isabelle Corey) unlike the geographical permanence of the fast-food
restaurant, framed as integral part of the area. However, the slow pace in Anns eating style,
picking leisurely one fry at the time, putting it in her mouth and chewing it for some time

131
 Theodora Hadjiandreou

before moving to the next one maintains some national resistance in its leisurely pace as it
goes against the essence of fast-food.
Unlike Bob or Grisbi where the tourist is approached with caution, Dassin in Rififi
uses the space of public landmarks and tourism as the perfect cover-up for criminal action. So,
Jo le Suedois the Swedish (Carl Mhner) the night of the robbery is geographically positioned
in an area which the snap-shots of the obelisk of Luxor and the church of Madeline identifies
it as Place de la Concorde a well-visited touristy landmark. The suitcase he holds, his exit
from the subway steps of the metro, ascribes to him the identity of a visitor/tourist.
The robbery is planned meticulously; Jo assumes the role of the tourist and resides in the hotel
Calais at Rue de Paix at Place Vendme. It is under this pretext that he collects vital
information about the spatiotemporal specificities of the area, vital for the success of the
impending robbery. The eye (placed at a privileged elevated space) that watches this area is
neither the nonchalant eye of flneur nor that of tourist. The seamless, smooth infiltration of a
public area paired with the scientific thoroughness and the intensity of an obsessive visual
surveillance has ideological and visual elements of espionage, evoking uneasy memories from
Frances recent Vichy past. The right to watch without being looked at, can be transported to
the colonial problem, according to Leenhardt (1973), thus rendering to the scene not only a
past but a contemporary (mid-1950s) relevance, if read within the context of the repressed
colonies and the Algerian conflict. Dassin here plays with aspects and levels of foreigners
inherent in Jos filmic character played by Austrian actor Carl Mhners rendering to his real
and cinematic immigrant status a real power, reversing dominant order and restoring to the
immigrant what was denied by the state. The setting in Rue de Paix, the core of 2nd
arrondissement with its economical significance also adds to the colonial/immigrant reading.

Out of Paris and back

In both Grisbi and Bob all the spectacular criminal action (with the exception of Marcs
execution by Paulo at central Pigalle) takes place outside the borders of the city, which seems
to be in accordance with the 1950s contemporary official state ideology, promoting Paris (the
core of the nation) as a modern, purified and safe city (Ross 1998). In Rififi the criminal
action is equally shared between urban and outer spaces, making crime a dark reality you
cannot escape from, regardless of the space, a far more hellish image closer to the genres
style and history.
In Grisbi it is la route de Villennes, just one kilometer from the junction with
Autoroute de lOuest, as the road sign indicates. It is here where the battle between the two
rival gangs takes place: Max (Jean Gabin) agrees to hand over the loot together with Angelos
captured man Fifi (Daniel Cauchy) in exchange for his friend Ritton (Ren Dary), kidnapped
and held prisoner by Angelo (Lino Ventura). The long and straight stretch of road with a long
clear view sets the scene for the prisoner exchange. From this point on and up to the
disastrous final outcome with the destruction of the loot and the perishing of people from both
sides the scene bears an essence of pre-war gangster imagery. However, it is predominantly
executed with techniques associated with war practice: the blindfolded prisoner and his
exchange, the use of the ambiguous citren avant-tranction, a car ideologically and visually
associated with the Vichy period and ideology (Vincendeau 1992), the use of grenades, the
practice of surveillance, surprise and assault, concluding in a spectacular explosion, are all
reminiscent of Frances recent past. The fact that the Autoroute de lOuest, Frances first
motorway which came to symbolize the nations accession to the modern world (Hewitt
2004: 74) is so close yet not the setting for this scenes actions pins the scene further to the
past, reinforcing dark memories of Vichy.

132
 Theodora Hadjiandreou

In Bob outer Paris is introduced by the open freeway as Bob in his American car
leisurely cruises to his destination: a gambling day at the Deauville-La Touques Racecourse.
Later on the framing of open fields with stud farms confirms the area as outer Deauville, the
main horse breeding region in France. However, both the race-course and the open fields are
identifiable as part of Deauville only to those sharing the regional information. Therefore,
they are most likely recognised on a national rather than international level. Similarly, we get
few external shots of the town of Deauville, taken from inside the moving car while a quick
map is drawn on the spot. Found in the Bass-Normandie region, Deauville is famous for its
good life and a popular destination predominantly for internal tourism; the camera reveals a
town with harbour, marinas the Grand Casino and sumptuous hotels. This space has an
unmistakable bourgeois appeal and since it has hardly suffered during World War II it can
stand as a symbol of national continuity and duress, particularly when compared to Mantes.
Mantes is another outer-Paris locale, never visited but seen in the form of a road-sign, on the
way to Deauville. Written in bold, capital letters at the very top of the sign-post, Mantes
presents on screen as a name but it never materialises in its physical form. Mantes was the
location of the first allied bridgehead across the Seine on August 9, 1944 by General Pattons
Army. It is also a place which suffered almost total physical destruction signalled by its visual
absence on screen. In a country like France that suffered overall few casualties of that type,
this reference cannot be accidental. Symbolically it unites two towns that suffered very
different fates during World War II. Combined with the visual of the freeway and the big
American car Mantes becomes also relevant to modernity, not only through its symbolical
reference to the American invasion of General Patton but through the general rebuilding
which took place in Mantes after the end of the war, eradicating symbolically and purifing
the past while erecting a new future.
Rebuilding and expansion were two important elements of Pariss transformation and
reinvention in the 1950s (all the way into the 60s and 70s). The rural exodus in the 1950s
reached between 100,000 and 150,000 people per year for the city (Rioux 1987: 181). In
Paris, the core of the nation and a metonym for the whole nation, a substantial part of quartier
populaire was demolished with the ideological pretext of hygiene and security (Evenson
1979: 309-310) What is interesting is that while Grisbi does not incorporate in its visual
cinematography any of those changes and Bob might only imply them by locating them in a
non-Parisian setting, Rififi observes and addresses both issues on a political level, placing
against the old fashion working-class neighbourhood the rediscovery of the capitalist dream.
Expansion is presented in the symbolic form of an under-construction villa located in St-Rmy
ls Chevreuse a posh suburb, south-west of Paris. It belongs to Grutter, the villain of the
narrative, the owner of LAge d Or in Pigalle. Connected with Paris through the Metro Port
Royal but also by car through the boulevards extrieurs St-Rmy ls Chevreuse is not
presented as a cohesive geographical reality but rather as open fields, primitive paths with
scattered, partly visible houses, one of them Grutters. The impressive construction of the
villa reveals the bourgeois aspirations of its criminal/businessman owner, poignantly
visualised in the framing of the big suitcase, full of money and placed at the core of this
construction next to Jos lifeless body. The physical removal of the kidnapped Tonio
(Dominique Maurin) the sole survivor of this space and his return from outer/suburban Paris
to his birth space of the 20th arrondissement known as Bercy is framed as a succession of
hurdles. Heavily wounded, Tony frantically drives Grutters American flashy car (part of the
capitalist dream with clear American overtones) in empty freeways racing against time as the
heavy bleeding threatens to stop him from safely delivering Tonio back to his house. His
attempts to maintain high speed as he leaves the boulevard extrieurs and penetrates the core
of old Paris are appropriated and regulated by an invention of urban modernity; the traffic
lights privileged by the cinematic camera. Yet as he enters the Boulevard de Belleville,

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 Theodora Hadjiandreou

Boulevard de Menilmontant, Rue de

Menilmontant, Avenue Simon Bolivas at the Rue de
la Bidaso his trip comes to an end. From posh St-
Rmy ls Chevreuse, Tonys trip maps both the
space of modernity in the form of a new suburban
area and the space of tradition in the form of
old/pre-war working-class faubourgs to the east of
Paris; areas which from mid-1950s suffered
demolition. The American car, disproportionally
big, looks out of place in relation to the other on-
screen local cars (fig.2) Furthermore its awkward
Figure 2 positioning in space indicates an act of almost
violent invasion, which can be read on a visual
level as an aesthetic and ideological cacophony of an imported modernity. This last image
which concludes the film pays homage to the old working-class Paris capturing its essence
before it disappears.

Epilogue
The shape that I have given my discussion of cinematic Paris is just one of many and by no
means the only one. As it is in the form of an overview capturing only a short space and time
of cinematic Paris it is by no means conclusive but hopefully can add to discussions and of
reconsideration of cinematic Paris in the 1950s. And I am aware that my mapping and
discussion of spatial Paris is just the beginning of more discussions to follow.

References

Evenson, N. 1979, Paris: A Century of Change, 1878-1978, New Haven, Yale University
Press.
Forbes, J. 1992 The Cinema in France after the New Wave Bassingstoke, Macmillan.
Furlough, E. 1998, Making Mass Vacations: Tourism and Consumer Culture in France,
1930s to 1970s, Comparative Studies in Society and History n.40, pp.247-286.
Hewitt, N. (2004) Gabin, Grisbi and 1950s France, Studies in French Cinema, v4 n.1, pp 65-
75.
Humbert-Lacombe, P. 1996 Le Cinma Franais dans la guerre Froide 1946-1956,
LHarmattan, Paris.
Kuisel, R.F. 1993 Seducing the French: The dilemma of the Americanization, University of
California, Press Berkeley, Los Angeles, London.
Leenhardt, J. 1973, Lecture politique du Roman, Edition de Minuit, Paris.
Rioux, J-P.(ed.) 1987 The Fourth Republic 1944-1958 trans. Godfrey Rogers, Cambridge
University Press, London.
Ross, K. 1998, Fast Cars, Clear Bodies; Decolonization and the Reordering of French
culture, MIT Press, Cambridge Mass.
Russo, H. 1991, The Vichy Syndrome: History and Memory in France since 1944, trans.
Arthur Goldhammer, Harvard University Press, Cambridge Mass.
Siegfried, A. 1955, Aspects du XXe Sicle, Hachette, Paris.
Vincendeau, G. 2003, Jean-Pierre Melville; An American in Paris, BFI, London.
Vincendeau, G. 1992, France 1945-65 and Hollywood; the Policier as international text,
Screen v.33, n.1, pp.50-80.

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 Richard Koeck

Cine-Tecture:
A filmic reading and critique of architecture in cities
Richard Koeck, University of Liverpool

Context

As historians have repeatedly claimed, the number of prominent architects, particularly in

Germany and France, who have engaged with film productions from the 1920s onwards
suggests the longstanding applied reciprocity between the disciplines of architecture and
film. Examples include the German architect, Hans Poelzig, who built the set for Carl Boeses
and Paul Wegeners expressionist film classic, Der Golem, wie er in die Welt kam (1920).
Robert Mallet-Stevens, one of the pioneers of French architectural modernism, claimed that
although film has a distinct influence on modern architecture, modern architecture also shares
filmic properties since both essentially consist of images in movement. (Mallet-Stevens
1925: 96).1 Mallet-Stevens was also involved in the production of films, working on both the
set design for Marcel L'Herbiers film, LInhumaine (1924), and featuring his architecture in
Man Ray's surrealist film, Les Mystres du Chteau de D (1929). Le Corbusier, who was
influenced by the architectural historian, Sigfried Giedion, who insisted in 1928 that only film
(rather than photography) could intelligibly capture the essence of the Franco-Swiss
architectural work (Giedion 1995: 176), collaborated with Pierre Chenal on the documentary
film, LArchitecture daujourdhui (1929). In this instance, the medium of film was not only
used to solve the problem of visual representation, such as that presented by the so-called
multi-perspectival character of modern architecture, but was also a means of promoting the
architect and his work. Another example is Bauhaus Master Lszl Moholy-Nagy who, in
1921, drafted a typo-photo script for a film that, although never produced, intended to capture
dynamic aspects of the Berlin metropolis. Moholy-Nagy also used film to capture his
experimental work (for instance in Lightplay: Black-White-Grey, 1932), to produce a record
of events important for the development of modern architecture (for instance in his film shot
during CIAM [International Congress of Architecture] in August, 1933) and to document
various aspects of urban life (for instance, in Marseille Vieux Port, 1929). Later on in his
career, Moholy-Nagy even participated in a commercial feature film production, Alexander
Kordas film Things to Come (1936), for which he made a special effects sequence. To his
disappointment, only about nine seconds survived in the final cut of the film (Frayling 1995:
71-73).2
While these notable examples appear, at first glance, to demonstrate an intense
engagement between architects and film production in the early twentieth century, it is worth
remembering that the group mentioned above forms an exception to the rule. The majority of
their forward-looking contemporaries were more sceptical towards narrative film and did not
consider it to be an expedient medium for their practice. Many considered that narrative film,
as a genre, was too influenced by stage arts and, as such, could not be considered an art in its
own right. As such, it is debateable whether any of the filmic products mentioned above
actually informed the architectural practices of those architects involved. However, they may
have informed the architectural practices of other architects, especially if one accepts the idea

1
See also: (Bruno 2002: 67).
2
For further reading on the role of film in the representation and production of modern architecture see:
(Colomina 1994) and (Albrecht 2000).

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 Richard Koeck

that, for example, Mallet-Stevens and Le Corbusiers portrayal of ultramodern architecture in

film promoted a short-lived, but triumphal phase of architectural modernism in Europe. The
question remains, therefore, as to whether the work of those architects involved in the
medium of film show any visual, narrative or conceptual traces from their engagement with
moving images. Perhaps, in this search for the reciprocity between architecture and film the
question has been posed the wrong way around. Instead we should be questioning the kind of
knowledge that a filmmaker could bring into architectural practice and how s/he could
engage with spatio-urban formations through his/her comprehension of film narration and
editing. Arguably, this unconventional approach would provide a new meaning to Gideons
quote, only film can make the new architecture intelligible.
During La Nouvelle Vague period of French filmmaking practices in the late 1950s
and 1960s, celebrated figures, such as Goddard, Truffaut, Rohmer, Chabrol and Rivette, drew
attention to a type of filmmaking practice that, after a long period of studio productions, took
the camera onto the streets of Paris and other cities. Perhaps it is no coincidence that this
transition from studio to street was directly preceded by a series of architectural writings that
considered both the fragmented and disjointed, as well as linear and sequential nature of the
city, and, as such, considered urban space as an almost proto-cinematic entity. For example,
Gordon Cullens The Concise Townscape (1961) developed the concept of serial vision.
Similar to those methods employed by storyboard artists, he undertook a shot-by-shot analysis
while travelling at equal pace through a series of urban spaces. Likewise, Christopher
Alexanders work A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction (1977), which is
derived from a study of medieval cities, scientifically dissects architectural design into a
grammar of discrete units. Depending on the particular situation and by making use of his
rules and regulations, these units can be reassembled (edited) and applied to any scheme, so
that the result, once again, produces a harmonious environment. Colin Rowe argues in his
book Collage City (1978), written in association with Fred Koetter, that since the 17th
century, cities, being a didactic instrument, consist of ambiguous and composite buildings
(Rowe 1984: 121,168). As such, they are disintegrated and fragmented, and call for an
enlightened, pluralistic design strategy in which historical references reside collage-like
alongside and within contemporary architectural articulations.
The aforementioned term practice does not, of course, limit itself to a unilateral form
of knowledge transfer, but includes the production of architecture and urban space, as well as
its consumption. The public on the streets of a typical city in the Western hemisphere is, in
most cases, surrounded by the products of architects and planners. Most people that use these
spaces are not trained in a planning discipline, but have grown up in a culture that, since the
early years of childhood, exposes them to an active and passive consumption (or reading) of
moving images. It does not, therefore, seem too farfetched to hypothesize that concepts
surrounding film production, such as the way a film is edited, could inform our consumption
of architecture in an urban context. Central to this investigation lies the realisation that film
and architecture share a number of properties of which narration is arguably one of the most
important agents in the transfer of spatially-embedded information. As many filmmakers will
confirm, any film narrative, no matter how well it is put together, will fail without a decent
plot.3 The same could perhaps be applied to cities. Cities that have no coherent spatio-
narrative structure tend to be places that have little lasting impression on our memory. The
plot, which an experienced video editor normally assembles on the timeline from a multitude
of small visual fragments (shots), seems to be missing in many contemporary cities today.

3
This does not apply to abstract film.

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 Richard Koeck

Embodied narrative: The art of walking through urban spaces

Like films, architecture and entire cities can have linear, non-linear and multi-narrative
qualities. Unlike film, this narrative quality is linked in architecture to our bodily movement
through space and our engagement with the social practices occurring in those spaces. In this
model, our body is, to use Merleau-Pontys analogy, not simply a passive object in space or
time, but inhabits space and time (Merleau-Ponty 1962: 139). Due to the corporality of our
consciousness, the body has the power to generate space itself (Merleau-Ponty 1962: 387).
Merleau-Ponty further explores this non-dualist ontology between the overlapping of the body
and the world that surrounds it in The Visible and the Invisible (1968), in which he argues that
things pass into us, as well as we into the things (Merleau-Ponty 1968: 123). When
translated into the world of an embodied filmic reading of architectural space, this could be
interpreted as our movement through, and activities within, urban space influence the way in
which that space is edited and, therefore, influence its narrative.
Michel de Certeau compares the act of
pedestrians walking through a city with
linguistic formations, such as writing, whereby
the individual becomes an active part in the
creation of an urban reality: Walking, which
alternately follows a path and has followers,
creates a mobile organicity in the environment,
a sequence of phatic topoi (de Certeau 1988:
99). Such linguistic qualities are further
explored by Roland Barthes, in Semiology and
Figure 1: Liverpool city centre.
Urbanism (1967). He names Victor Hugo as
being the first to have recognized the
signifying nature of urban space. Barthes notes that the city is a writing (Barthes 1997: 167).4
He who moves about the city, e.g. the user of the city (what we all are), is a kind of reader
who, following his obligations and his movements, appropriates fragments of the utterance in
order to actualize them in secret (Barthes 1997: 170).
It is clear from these and other phenomenological examinations of cities that our urban
centres are more than just a static formation made from brick and mortar. Cities are kinetic
constructs, a physical manifestation of a strategy (de Certeau 1988: 35), places which can
have more than one identity, and whose meanings and interpretations depend on the
physical engagement with this space. In raising questions about the practice of moving
through space, De Certeau talks about a temporal articulation of places and criticises its
often insufficient representation in a spatial sequence of points (de Certeau 1988: 35).
Rather than a direct link between the city and the medium of film (for example, a 35mm film
strip), this description of everyday urban practices and the embodied consumption of space
permits another link to be made between a city and a linear sequence of interchangeable film
fragments on a digital timeline with which many film and video editors work today.
In this metaphor, the profession of architect and planner is akin to that of the
filmmaker and editor who creates moving images of the city that are produced and assembled
spatially for public consumption. This is not to say that the architect or planner can claim the
status of an auteur who produces a particular reading of urban space. It is rather that s/he
contributes to the spatial dispositif with which the walker transforms each spatial signifier
into something else (de Certeau 1988: 98), thereby making the act of writing at least as
important as the act of reading urban space. In fact, architectural practice shows that the acts

4
See also: (Rabate 1997: 5)

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 Richard Koeck

of reading and writing urban space are interconnected in that the design of urban settings can
influence the way they are used; or at least this is what architects want to believe.
Georg Simmel famously described the nineteenth-century metropolis with the words:
With each crossing of the street, with the tempo and multiplicity of economic, occupational
and social life, the city sets up a deep contrast with small town and rural life with reference to
the sensory foundations of psychic life (Simmel 2003: 133). Simmel objects to big cities
because living within them can lead to the intensification of nervous stimulation, resulting
from the swift and uninterrupted change of outer and inner stimuli (Simmel 2003: 132).
When Simmel published this point of view in 1903, the rapid crowding of changing images
(Simmel 2003: 133) which aside from those elements of urban life that he criticises also
provided the spatial grandeur and visual splendour of cities such as Berlin, Paris and London
was an appropriate framework for his argument. Faced with the bleak urban architectural
reality of many post-war, post-industrial cities and the changes in our perception of cities, we
now look back to Simmels argument with a mixture of nostalgia and antagonism.
Today, many of the urban centres that we inhabit suffer from either an architectural
identity (or rather a homogenous lack of identity) that is tied either to an (inter)national
corporate uniform of retailers, or to a post-modern pastiche architecture (paradoxically, not
unlike that described in Rowes book, Collage City) that tries to avoid any dialogue (or
conflict) with the context in which it is situated. Cities that are in the fortunate position of
having preserved historical buildings following both the Second World War and the atrocities
of the 1960s urban regeneration projects, still seem to have problems integrating
contemporary architecture into their fabric. What starts out as an opportunity, the Baulcke
(the gap between buildings) a re- or undeveloped open plot of land within a dense urban
fabric often attracts the kind of architecture that tries to avoid contrariety and difference at
all costs, often becoming meaningless in the process. More than any other urban activity, the
act of walking mindfully through such re-generated areas reveals the full depth of this self-
inflicted misery. Even those projects that have perhaps considered the immediate adjoining
flanks of existing architecture, but have failed to engage with the wider narratives (with which
every city is equipped and which consists of one or more storylines), risk contributing to a
spatio-narrative incoherency, which is indicative of cities whose entire plot has begun to fail.

Cine-Tecture: A cinematic engagement with urban space

A number of highly regarded architects with successful practices, such as Bernhard Tschumi,
Rem Koolhaas, Coop Himmelblau, Juhani Pallasmaa and Jean Nouvel, have pointed out that
either the spatial qualities in film (cinematic architecture) or film language (the architecture of
film) have influenced their approach to architectural design. Giuliana Bruno notes that this
phenomenon is linked to the advent of post-structuralism and especially the philosophy of
deconstruction. The theories of its main protagonists, such as the architect, Peter Eisenman,
and the philosopher, Jacques Derrida, have entered into a contemporary architectural
discourse that is linked to a theory of various forms of mobilization (Bruno 2002: 67). While
Bruno sees in this an architectural impulse to embody the moving image (Bruno 2002: 68),
this development also poses the opposite question concerning the filmic embodiment in
architecture in other words, whether or not it is possible to engage with architecture in
cinematic terms.
Bernhard Tschumi has played an important and pioneering role in generating a new
consciousness regarding the overlapping character traits between film language and
architectural design; one that continues to cast its shadow over the work of contemporary
architects and architectural students today. In his book, Manhattan Transcripts (1984),
Tschumi offers an experimental, deconstructed reading of architecture in which space,

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 Richard Koeck

movements and events are independent, yet stand in a new relation to one another (Tschumi
1984: 7). He argues the pertinent point that the profession-specific modes of communication
between architects, such as plans, sections, spaces and implied movements, are not dissimilar
to filmic instruments, such as, Eisensteins use of montage (Tschumi 1984:.7). Tschumi
illustrates in his book disjoined levels of reality (Tschumi 1984:.8); a condition that is not
unlike the layering of various filmic narratives occurring simultaneously in time and space.
Importantly, this thinking, inspired by post-structuralist linguistics, has also inspired his
practice and has substantial influenced projects, such as the Parc de la Villette on the outskirts
of Paris and Le Fresnoy, The National Studio of Contemporary Arts in Tourcoing (Tschumi
1984: XXX). Tschumi is sensible to the notion that architecture and the context by which it is
surrounded have a narrative function, one that also seems to be an agent in the production of
subjective urban identities.
Rem Koolhaas, who studied scriptwriting at
the Dutch Film Academy before going into
architecture, famously recognized that there is
surprisingly little difference between one activity
and the other [] I think that the art of the
scriptwriter is to conceive sequences of episodes
which build suspense and a chain of events []
The largest part of my work is montage [] spatial
montage.5 Like Tschumi, he alludes to the fact that
we can engage with architecture as a series of
events, which, not unlike filmic events, are parts of Figure 2: Casa da Musica, Porto.
a sequentially arranged narrative that unfolds as we
engage bodily with his buildings. His Casa da Musica in Porto, for instance, is built at the
edge of the Praa Mouzinho de Albuquerque, one of Portos main circular inner-city
intersections. A walk through the interior of the building reveals a series of disjointed, multi-
angular spaces, platforms and auditoria, whose large openings serve as a frame and mediation
between the starkly contrasting building itself and its immediate architectural environment.
As for the exterior, the building serves in form and function as montage-like cut between two
distinctly different parts of Porto: the citys historic quarter and a residential working-class
neighbourhood.
Jean Nouvel sees time and movement as the key constituents in both architectural and
filmic practices: Architecture exists, like cinema, in the dimension of time and movement.6
However, he goes one step further by using the same specific terminologies normally
assigned to film language in order to describe the way in which he engages with the spatial
qualities of architecture: One conceives and reads a building in terms of sequences. To erect
a building is to predict and seek effects of contrast and linkage through which one passes [].
In the continuous shot/sequence that a building is, the architect works with cuts and edits,
framings and openings [].7 Inspired by such discourses, this paper will now expand such
thinking out and onto an urban scale and offer a filmic reading of urban space that, as Barthes
described, stands in a constant dialogue with us:

The city is a discourse and this discourse is truly a language: the city speaks to its
inhabitants, we speak our city, the city where we are, simply by living in it, by
wandering through it, by looking at it. (Barthes 1997: 169)

5
Quoted in: (Toy 1994: 7) and (Bruno 2002: 68).
6
Quoted in: (Tauttenbury 1994: 35).
7
Quoted in: (Tauttenbury 1994: 35) and (Pallasmaa 2001: 17).

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 Richard Koeck

However, unlike Barthes approach to urban semiology, this interpretation of urban space
does not consider the city to have a particular language, author and reader. The urban
cinemantics (derived from the term semantics) discussed here can be understood without a
precise linguistic knowledge of units, syntax and grammar. It considers the city as a layered,
multifaceted system that is open to interpretation, a sphere that is shaped and understood by
more than just functional programme, economic constraints, environmental concerns and
social impacts (being the measures that lie at the fingertips of architects and planners when
considering urban interventions). The standard methods of measuring urban situations, which
are discussed in the following chapters, rely not only on the signifying nature of the city, but
also on the individual inhabitant and collective populace engaging with this urban setting. In
these shifting, multi-cultural times, for many cities there are, naturally, multiple possible
perspectives. Yet, not unlike Dziga Vertovs ambition to harness the potential universality of
filmic language, the cine-tectural reading of or, perhaps better called engagement with cities
requires relatively little prerequisite knowledge. In order to discern our knowledge about film
language and to apply it to architecture in an urban setting, it is necessary to examine some
principles of film editing strategies, such as continuity and montage, and editing
techniques, such as cut and dissolve, and editing pace and rhythm, some of which will be
further elaborated on in the presentation for this conference.

Conclusion

This scope of this paper can only give a few examples of the ways in which one can engage
cine-tecturally with architecture and the urban fabric. It is seen as an introduction into the
study of a screen language of cities, in which explorations of the citys continuity/montage
qualities, the presence of urban cuts and dissolves, and the existence of an urban pace and
rhythm, will forms the basis for further investigations. Ultimately, investigations into the
filmic qualities of cities, as outlined above, must be tied to investigations into everyday
practices and how these, in conversation with the physical fabric of the city, shape particular
urban landscapes. By questioning what sort of urban narratives take place, and where and why
they occur, we will hopefully gain a better understanding of the way in which we perceive and
engage with urban spaces and places. Furthermore, it would be intriguing to bring different
forms of spatial formations (spatial, geographical and architectural) into a closer dialogue, for
example, by using Geographic Information System (GIS) (which is part of our next AHRC-
funded project). This would enable certain narrative and cine-tectural qualities to be assigned
to specific urban terrains. In return, such a mapping of the city could give architects and
planners some location-specific insights and strategies into effective ways of implementing
urban regeneration programmes in response to existing urban narratives.

Bibliography

Alexander, Christopher. A Pattern Language: Towns, Buildings, Construction. Oxford:

Oxford University Press, 1977.
Barthes, Roland. "Semiology and the Urban." In Rethinking Architecture: A Reader in
Cultural Theory, edited by Neil Leach, 156-72. New York, London: Routledge, 1997.
Bruno, Giuliana. Atlas of Emotions: Journeys in Art, Architecture, and Film. New York:
Verso, 2002.
Cullen, Gordon. The Concise Townscape. Oxford, Burlington MA: Architectural Press, 2005.
Originally published 1961.
de Certeau, Michael. The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley, Los Angeles, London:
University of California Press, 1984. Originally published in French 1980.

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 Richard Koeck

Frayling, Christopher. Things to Come. London: British Film Institute, 1995.

Giedion, Sigfried. Building in France/Building in Iron/Building in Ferro-Concrete. Los
Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 1995. Originally published 1928.
Highmore, Ben. Cityscapes. New York: Palgrave, 2005.
Lefebvre, Henri. The Urban Revolution. Minneapolis, London: University of Minnesota
Press, 2003. Originally published 1970.
Lynch, Kevin. The Image of the City. Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 1960.
Mallet-Stevens, Robert. "Le Cinma Et Les Arts, Larchitecture." Les Cahiers du Mois, no.
16-17 (1925): 96.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. The Visible and the Invisible. Translated by Lingis. Evanston:
Northwestern University Press, 1968.
Merleau-Ponty, Maurice Phenomenology of Perception. Translated by Colin Smith. New
York, London: Routledge, 1962.
Rowe, Colin, and Fred Koetter. Collage City Cambridge MA: MIT Press, 1984. Originally
published 1978.
Simmel, Georg. "The Metropolis and Mental Life." In Art in Theory, 1900-2000: An
Anthology of Changing Ideas, edited by Charles Harrison and Paul Wood. Malden,
Oxford, Carlton: Blackwell Publishing, 2003.
Tschumi, Bernhard. The Manhattan Transcripts. London: Academy Editions, 1984.

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 Cludia Sofia Gonalves Ferreira Lima

Filmic Narratives of the City

Cludia Sofia Gonalves Ferreira Lima, University of Liverpool

Introduction
Reading the city, and experiencing urban space offer us a kinetic experience. Film and
architecture are intrinsically related not only for their spatial and temporal structures, but also
because they articulate lived spaces, creating comprehensive images of life (Pallasmaa,
2001). Film and the city are art forms that define existential space; they create everyday life
scenes.
Films incessantly offer us access to different realities of the city that might not be fully
apprehended in the moment we watch it. The reproduction of the city in film can enable us to
mentally reconstruct a whole scenario of images of the city as a whole or as fragments.The
resulting images can be used in a way to understand the hidden layers of city; the elements
that are not grasped because they are distant or not fully comprehended. Film is a valuable
source material for studying the city, enabling us to know its most hidden features (Jackson,
1973). How often has one been in parts of a city, when watching a motion picture, that one
would hesitate going because of the stigma they have gained through time (ghettos, slums, red
light districts etc.). Boyz N the Hood is an example of how we can experience the city of
modern gangs and crime in the mid eighties America without even stepping foot in it.
Because in film there are various effects that influence the scenario and the characterisations
they are a manifestation of contemporary views and interpretations of the city. Films convey
messages and views about the city: they may include urban issues such as post-
industrialisation, housing, gentrification, alienation, fear and crime, or racism, but they are
always subject to our own interpretation given the array of individual experiences and
perceptions. Thus films can no longer be thought of in their pure state because they are
influenced and interpreted by other communication forms. (Madsen & Plunz, 2002)

Spatial metaphors

Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its
presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be.
Walter Benjamin, 1936

Since the end of the 19th century, cinema and the city have been intrinsically related to each
other. Cinema has been interested in the representation of places, lifestyles, and human
conditions from the Lumire Brothers Paris (1895) to John Woos Hong Kong (1995)
(Shiel, 2001). The 19th century was the cradle of numerous visual forms which could be
regarded as the predecessors of cinema. The virtual transports (Featherstone, 1998, p. 919) -
the machines of the moving image grasped the city and its people for the new flneur of a
reproduction era.
Could the city have become shaped by the cinematic form, or was it the other way
around? Surely cinema would have not been developed without the city (Clarke, 1997, p. 1):
Cinema owes much of its nature to the historical development of the city. (Ibid, p. 2) It is in
the city that cinema assumes no form: [it] simply invests the streets and the entire town with
a mythical atmosphere. (Baudrillard, 1988, p. 56).
Interest in cinema and its relationship with the city have been growing, and
particularly in the thematic and formal representations of the city architecture, film studies,

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 Cludia Sofia Gonalves Ferreira Lima

cultural studies: from Benjamin to Bruno, De Certeau to Baudrillard among others. Recent
studies of culture and society have been focusing on space and spatialisation, with great
attention on film as the ideal cultural form through which to examine spatialisation (Shiel,
2001).
Formally, film has the power to capture and express the citys complexities, diversity
and social dynamism. Thinkers like Benjamin or Baudrillard have recognized and observed
the interesting correlation between the mobility and visual sensations of the city and the ones
of cinema. Cinema is overarching, dominates and invades everything in society (Bruno,
1993, p. 79) and the city is like a continuous performance of films and scenarios (Baudrillard,
1988, p. 56).
In a particular way, to live in cinematic cities is almost to live according to the
metaphors put across by the film industry (an approach by Baudrillard and Davis in the case
of Los Angeles). Stenger (2001) argued that when film industry begins to play an important
role in the production and distribution of the citys cultural mythology it becomes increasingly
difficult to distinguish the citys cultural geography from that of its cinematic counterpart. Is it
that the city can not be really differenciated from film? We might be firstly influenced by all
the filmic imagery convey through all media, but as we experinece the city we realise its true
imagery and not the one put across by film.
Looking at a European city, from the seats of America, Baudrillard speaks of the
feelings one gets when stepping out of an art gallery in Italy or Holland onto the city streets
that seem the real reflections of the painting one has just seen: as if the city had come out of
the paintings and not the other way around (Baudrillard, 1988, p. 56). In precisely the same
way, some Western cities seem to have come out of film, where one should begin knowing
the city starting from the screen and then moving into the city itself.
We surely have had the experience of walking the city as we might walk in a set of a
film. Cinema can no longer be restricted to the screen upon which films are projected, or to
the interior of the movie theatre where we directly become the spectators of the film. In the
absence of a consistent body of moving pictures, we tend to focus on visual fragments. The
nature of these fragments frame enlargements, publicity stills, or other filmic images frozen
by a moviola1 lends itself to the highlighting of an artistic palimpsest composed of
photographic and pictorial referents (Bruno, 1993, p. 201).
On Location: Cities of the World in Film (2006) is a world journey to film locations,
offering a round the world tour with a mix of film stills and cinematic photographs. The
reader is induced to visit film locations and experience a feeling of dj-vu. This induced
cinematic experience is important for understanding the powerful vehicle that is film; and
mostly where the connection between plot and place is superbly achieved. The selected
films were based on their success and how well they have captured the atmosphere of each
city. The authors tracked down film locations around the world (from Europe, to the Far East,
Australia and North America) and discovered unknown layers of information on each
location. As Wim Wenders argues, film is an historic document of our time, capturing the
material and immaterial features of life (Hellmann & Weber-Hof, 2006).
According to Shiel, film is a human spatial system and this spatiality is what makes it
different, thus giving it a special potential to illuminate the lived spaces of the city and urban
societies, allowing a full synthetic understanding of cinematic theme, form, and industry in
the context of global capitalism (Shiel, 2001, p.6). Cinema operates and is best understood
in terms of spatial organisation: both space in film (the space of shot; the geographical
relationships of various settings in sequence in a film; etc ) and film in space (the shaping of

1 The moviola allowed editors to study individual shots in their cutting rooms, thus to determine more precisely
where the best cut-point might be.

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 Cludia Sofia Gonalves Ferreira Lima

lived urban spaces by cinema as a cultural practice; the spatial organisation of its industry; the
role of cinema and globalisation). Thus, and according to Jameson (in Shiel, 2001), cinema
could be termed as cognitive mapping, that is an attempt to think spatially.

Dramatised Cities

Film can be a vehicle for documenting and portraying the city through recreated or real
settings. In Bunker Hill: Hollywoods Dark Shadow (Shiel & Fitzmaurice, 2001, p 33-45),
Mike Davis holds that the cinematic mapping of the metropolis anticipated similar
conceptions in literature and painting, becoming avant-garde (films such as Berlin,
Symphony of a City, 1927 or I, the Camera, 1955 and Rome, Open City, 1945).
However he also argues that studio film prefers the familiar interconnections of literature,
commercial photography and advertising. Davis discusses the urge, by writers, novelists, and
the film industry, to explore the underworld and all its imaginary images that come about
when the city faces dusk in the form of the film noir. For example, in John Carpenters
They Live (1988), In this motion picture the districts are linked to the classic aspects of the
city life bohemia, immigrants, poverty, ostentatious classes, delinquency, etc that started
to be used in film, paintings, photography, journalism, and making them recognisable to those
who actually had never been to Gotham. In this way the city was familiar in an imagined way.
Through film we are able to walk in created environments or to explore and document
the effects of buildings on society, and urban settings. Film is an invaluable instrument for the
quasi-perceptual experience of the city it enables us with an almost first person contact with
the city. Also in film, architecture and the city can be used cinematically in different ways
with the intent of creating an experience derived by cinematic images; interplay between
architecture and the characters that live in the city.
In A Cidade de Deus (The City of God) Rio de Janeiro became the real setting of a
universal story of gangs warfare based on real-life accounts of a slum in the citys outskirts.
The film is an allegory for the fight for survival of the protagonists children recruited from
the favelas of the city - in a ferocious blast of gangster chaos. Rocket, a child of the 1960s,
witnesses through the eye of a camera - two decades of barbarity, greed, rape and revenge in
the housing project in which he grew up from a shantytown to a war zone. At the end of the
film a documentary footage is shown: an event previously seen is dramatised, which serves to
emphasise this filmic narrative actually took place in the real City of God.

Figure 1. Rio de Janeiros slums. Real setting for Cidade

de Deus (2002).

There is also the power of film to distort and

reinterpret the city. John Walton in Film Mystery
as Urban History: The Case of Chinatown (Shiel
& Fitzmaurice, 2001, p. 46-48) holds that events
can be distorted through the medium of film,
altering history in popular media: [h]istorians and
students of films are familiar with movies based
upon historical events and particularly with cinematic representations of these events which
are said to distort, reinterpret, or otherwise alter history in popular media (Shiel &
Fitzmaurice, 2001, p. 46). Walton argues that life imitates art and that depictions of the past
in popular culture have great impact on the making of history.
Not only cities preserve images of their own culture and ways of life, but film can also
preserve both the time of its making and the time that it represents. Film becomes similar with
the discourses o archaeology when it assumes the role of preserving the city, its life, society

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and culture.Following this line of thought film could almost be regarded along the lines of a
photographic mummy complex and its embalming of time (Bruno, 1993, p. 147).

Envisioned Cities

Film is also a valuable instrument to convey the citys visions and desires. But even before
film represented the city of the future, already literature, painting and architecture pursued this
same desire.
In New York, Sanders explores the potential of the city to enable dreams and
desires. It is the New York - New York, what Tallack would call the city whose adjective is
its own name, and even De Certeau once refered to it as the most immoderate of human
texts (1988, p. 92). Sanders talks about a New York of two faces: a real city and a dream
city.
The real city is the physical entity, the mass of people and their constructs. The dream
city is a mythic city created by film holding the real citys charisma, rich in memory and that
for many can resemble the real city: in films such as Just Imagine, Taxi Driver, Blade
Runner or The Fifth Element - these are cities of imagination born from popular media.
Sanders holds that the filmic or mythic city is more than a mirror of the real city, rather it is a
statement of urban presence and greatness (Sanders, 2001).

Figure 3. Metropolis (1927)

Figure 2. La Citt Nuova (1914)

In Just Imagine (1930) there is a sense of the ideal city, a futuristic projection of what is to
be. It achieves some sense of reality of the fast moving modern city much in the lines of the
futuristic equivalent works of SantElia. The city was a futuristic vision of suspended bridges,
towers, pedestrian arcadian walkways, highways of more than fifteen lanes, etc. Another
example is Langs Metropolis, whose architectural and art training is evident in his visual
approach. Like in Metropolis in Just Imagine, a city is envisioned with air networks and
transit. The emerald dream cities restate visions of a city with towers linked by walkways
and bridges (Sanders, 2001).
These futuristic projections of the city also had their way after seventy years in the
fantastic city of The Fifth Element (1997) that took a gigantic step into virtually
manipulated environments creating flashing spatial dynamics, much like the real citys
dynamics, order and disorder.

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Soon catastrophic visions and apocalyptic messages took place within the
representations of the city where memorable architecture and institutional environments
succumbed to natural disasters, urban and social failure or threats coming from outer space.
The city is invaded by aliens in Independence Day (1996), it is threatened by a comet in
Deep Impact (1998), and it is in peril 28 Days Later (2002) when a deadly virus spreads
throughout the city. In these fear cities people are at risk and under threat looking desperately
to survive. One interesting thing stands out, which is the iconic power of the city being
questioned and threatened with no possible escape.

Figure 4. The Fifth Element (1997)

Figure 5. 28 Days Later (2002)

Representative of real or imagined realities, the city became true setting for film which meant
a turn from the studio based shots to shooting on location in the city. This is how the real city
gains a parallel filmic world which could be called the dream version of itself (Sanders,
2001, p.4). Real cities or envisioned ones can discover, change, and reflect each other
allowing us to experience both.

Conclusion

Understanding genre films about the city is to understand ways of dealing with change,
complexity - the ways we live and adapt to a city: it is understanding the past, present and
future. It becomes important to perceive how the city can be envisioned and dreamed through
reconstructed realities that reach us through film. As Lynch points out, the passage of time
can be witnessed from two view points: rhythmic repetition (cyclical and automatic) and
progressive and irreversible change (through alteration mainly) (Lynch, 1972, p.65).
However changes occur, we will always read times passage in the environment as complex
gathering of artefacts of the past, present and future visions.
Film enables us to experience envisioned environments or to explore and document
the effects of the built environment on society, and urban settings. More than being a
reproduction of our society, film can be a useful resource for exploring new ways for thinking
about the city and society itself. Can architecture be associated with these explorations being
conceived to achieve dreams and visions?
Cities are recorded in many different ways, using different instruments and methods
for many different purposes, and there is no such thing as an objective record
(Frampton,1986). Because views and perceptions of the city are as subjective as the ones who
create them, film is never objective. The efforts here were to explore the ways in which the
city can be envisioned through the medium of film, dramatised or envisioned, taking
examples that touch both representational narratives in diferent ways.
Dramatised and envisioned filmic cities are important for documenting and reflecting
about the reality and projecting for the future - these impact on the ways we think about the

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 Cludia Sofia Gonalves Ferreira Lima

opportunities and failures of urban life. Filmic narratives document and help imagine the
citys changes; exploring other realities and showing contrasts. Could film transform the city
by providing ways for thinking about the city as a plastic raw-material moulded through
time and by our actions?

List of Figures

Figure 1 - Rio de Janeiros slums. Real setting for Cidade de Deus (2002). Source:
http://www.leelau.net/chai/images/Brazil/favela.jpg
Figure 2 - La Citt Nuova (1914). SantElias utopian city. Source: http://erewhon.ticonuno.it
/arch/rivi/colore/futimg/s1_26.jpg
Figure 3 - Metropolis (1927). Still from the documentary film Early German Cinema &
Making of 1927 Film Metropolis. Source: http://br.youtube.com/watch?v=t2rsoBD8SAY
Figure 4 - The Fifth Element (1997). Source: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/
thumb/2/25/Valerian_FifthElement2.jpg/600px-Valerian_FifthElement2.jpg
Figure 5 - 28 Days Later (2002). Jim (Cillian Murphy) wakes up from a coma into a
nightmare in the deserted city of London. Source: http://www.kansaiscene.com/2003_09/html
/film.shtml

References

Baudrillard J. 1988, America, Verso, New York (Translated by Chris Turner).

Benjamin, W. 1936, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, Transcribed: by
Andy Blunden 1998, proofed and corrected Feb. 2005, UCLA School of Theatre, Film and
Television. Available at: http://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/philosophy/works/ge/
benjamin.htm.
Boyer, M. C. 1997, The City of Collective Memory: Its Historical Imagery and Architectural
Entertainments. MIT Press, Cambridge. (Part One: Historical Precedents for the City of
Collective Memory).
Bruno, G. 1993, Streetwalking on a Ruined Map: Cultural Theory and the City Films of
Elvira Notari, Princeton University Press, Princeton, N.J.
Clarke, B. 1997, The Cinematic City. Routledge, London; New York. ( Introduction:
Previewing the cinematic city. p. 1-18).
De Certeau, Michel. 1988, The Practice of Everyday Life (trans. Steven Rendall), University
of California Press, Berkeley; London.
Featherstone, M. 1998, 'The Flneur , the City and Virtual Public Life', in Urban Studies,
35:5, pp 909-925. Available at: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/0042098984619
Frampton, K. 1986, A Note on Photography and its Influence on Architecture [online]. The
Scholarly Journal Archive. Perspecta, Vol.22, Paradigms of Architecture (pp.38-41),
Accessed at: http://www.jstor.org/view/00790958/ap050020/05a00040/0
Hellmann C. & Weber-Hof C. 2006, On Location: Cities of the World in Film, Bucher
Verlag, Munich.
Jackson, M.A. 1973. Film as source material: Some preliminary notes towards methodology
[online], in The Scholarly Journal Archive, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, Vol. 4,
No. 1, The Historian and the Arts, Summer, 1973, pp. 73-80. Available at:
http://www.jstor.org/view/00221953/ap010005/01a00050/0
Lynch, K. 1972, What Time is this Place, MIT Press, Massachusetts.
Madsen, P. & Plunz R.(eds) 2002, The Urban LifeworldFormation, Perception,
Representation, Routledge, London.

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 Cludia Sofia Gonalves Ferreira Lima

Pallasmaa J. 2001, The Architecture of Image: Existential Space in Cinema, Building

Information LtdP, Helsinki
Sanders, J. 2001, Celluloid Skyline: New York and the Movies, Bloomsbury, London.
Sanders, J. (n.d.), Essay in Search of the Dream City [online], Celluloid Skyline Website.
Available at: http://www.celluloidskyline.com/main/home.html
Shaviro, S. 1993, The Cinematic Body, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis.
Shiel, M. & Fitzmaurice, T. (eds) (2001), Cinema and the City: Film and Urban Societies in a
Global Context, Blackwell, Oxford.

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Tokyo: Cartography of a Cine-City

A Study about the Identity of a City and its relation with Moving Images

Salvator-John A. Liotta, Chiba National University of Japan

1. Introduction

1.1 Screens as Modernity New Plaza, Movies as a Cinematic Section

In this paper, Tokyo is viewed in its relation with moving images. They are intended as
cultural tools used to reveal the relationship between architecture, urban space and society.
When they first appeared, moving images were not just a new art form, they were a
new way to perceive and produce reality that strongly influenced the modern society; a
society that needed to have a new esthetic to express itself as much as it needed new spaces
in which to do it. This new esthetic was film and this new space was the cinema.
In this study, moving images are seen as a tool by which it is possible to read,
record and reconfigure the image of a city. In this sense, moving images can be seen as
mobile maps, or better yet, as a slice of a broader reality, a cinematic section by which one
can travel.
Paraphrasing film critic Tazawa Ryuji (Tazawa 2006:10), when the first cinemas
opened, going to watch a movie meant going to meet the whole world. Indeed, a cinema
screen was the place where spectators of different countries could visually meet each
other. As a real plaza hosts a citys main activities, the screen metaphorically seen as
modernitys new plaza- hosted in its visual depth, a displaced reality in which spectators
could temporarily reside.
First, this paper discusses the role cinema theaters had in shaping Tokyos first
modernity cityscape. Second, it discusses the role that both cinema and television screens
played in the postwar reconstruction period.Third, it discusses the role moving images
played in shaping Tokyos public space, and the disappearence of the large scale cinema
and the rise of the mini-cinema. Finally, the rise of the cinemacomplex and the relation
between moving images and the emergence of Tokyo as an information city are discussed.

1.2 Cinema, Modernity, and Japan

In 1868, Emperor Meiji ended Japans 300 year period of self-imposed seclusion from the
rest of the World. Japans boundaries opened up to foreign nations modernization process
spread in all cultural fields. The Age of Civilization and Enlightenment had started; to
become modern was the imperative. According to Richie (2001), in 1896, when film was
first seen in Japan, a fifty-year-old kimono-clad member of this initial audience would have
been born into a feudal world where the shogun and samurai ruled. He could not have left
his archipelago, or, if he did, he could not have returned upon pain of death and his
ignorance of the outside world was general. The abolition of the feudal socioeconomic
system; the forced adoption of the Western calendar; the emergence of a nationwide public
school system; the inauguration of telephone and postal service, and the construction of
railways and cinema theaters were among theories, technologies, and scientific inventions
imported from the modern Western countries (Richie 2001: 9).
From an architectural point of view, a blending of styles occurred. Giyoufu
Kenchiku, a half Japanese, half-Western style of architecture was a typical result of the
transfer of technology in a field with a pre-existing system (Suzuki 1990: 3). This

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architectonic mix became a typical paradox and a permanent feature of Tokyos modern
cityscape.

1.3 Study Methodology

In order to measure changes in Toykos cityscape, maps and photos from 1900 to 2007
were screened. Main changes happened in architectural typologies and technological
innovations, and they have been accordingly divided in five periods. For each period an
area in Tokyo and a cinema was chosen. They were classified as representative of some
important events in Tokyos 20th century urban history.

2. Cinema Theaters Dawn in Japan

The cinema was first introduced to Japan in 1896 when the kinetoscope, invented by
Thomas Edison three years earlier, was imported to Kobe. In February 1897, the
cinematographe, invented by the Lumiere brothers, was imported to Japan (High 1984: 23).
After cinema was introduced to Japan, it was considered an object of curiosity and
was billed as a rare Western invention. At the end of the 19th century, due to the shortness
of most films, there was no need to build a permanent building to show movies. Once the
average length for a film became longer, the time to build permanent cinemas arrived.
During the first decade of the 20th century, the entertainment area of Tokyothe sixth
district in the Asakusa areachanged into an urban space that stood out for its modern
atmosphere. This marked the beginning of the era of the movie theater in Japan (Jinnai
1995: 108).

3. 1900-1945

3.1 Film-City: Asakusa Rokku Michi.

Cinema in Japan has its origin in Tokyo, when one of the first companies that became
involved in cinema, Yoshizawa, in the year 1902, imported enough films from the West to
allow up to two months of showings at one location (Kato 1999: 80). This helped pave the
way for the opening of a permanent cinema in 1903. In the Asakusa area, a former X-ray
clinic was equipped with a projector and turned into the Denkikan Movie TheaterJapan's
first permanent movie theater (Uchida 2000: 15). In this small area, in less than 20 years
since the first theater opened, another 20 theaters followed. All of the cinemas were
positioned along one street called Rokku Michi,. producing a homogeneous space. Asakusa
was the first cinema entertainment district ever (Jinnai 1995: 108), and it was commonly
known as Eiga-Machi, which means Film City.

3.2 Western Style

Cinemas were built as much as possible in a
Western style in order to pique peoples
curiosity. According to Jinnai (1995) this odd
street scene came into being when the theaters
owner became convinced, after visiting an
exhibition in the United States, that the quickest
way to lure customers was to astonish them
with the appearance of the building.
Figure 1. Tokyo, Asakusa, Film-city, 1914. The designs of buildings and the spatial
structure of the main avenues in this area were made over entirely in a Western style,
though the first and second stories of the buildings were almost entirely covered by

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 Salvator-John A. Liotta

fluttering banners and hanging portraits of actors -the devices used in the tent theaters of
Edo (Tokyo) to heighten the festive atmosphere. Even though the straight streets were
crammed with neo-baroque-style buildings, the laws of perspective made them disappear
completely (Jinnai 1995: 110).

4. 1945-1960

4.1 Post-war Reconstruction and Rapid Economic Growth Period

In 1945, Japan faced the end of the War in ruins. The post-war reconstruction was seen as
an opportunity to restructurate Japanese urban areas with more modern layouts. According
to Sorensen (2002) the Special City Planning Act adopted in 1946 set ambitious targets for
rebuilding, including land use planning controls, building standards and controls on
building coverage. To accomodate future motorisation, large boulevards of over 50 meters
in width were to be built in large sized cities. During the 1950s and 1960s economic growth
was the unquestioned top priority of the central government. In this context the most
important consequence was rapid urbanisation.
During the war, many Japanese cities lost their substantiality behind aggregations of
glowing neon light and superficial elements. Cities began to transmit their meanings more
by using semiotic codes. In this period in Tokyo, there were events where TV was used
both as an attraction and as a spontaneous gathering of people who watched it in open
space. These types of events are to be seen as a first unconscious yet spontaneous fusion of
media and public space, since from then on, moving images displayed in open spaces were
destined to become a constant of the cityscape. The city started to be in a fluid condition,
invisible and virtually simulated by the codes that fill it in (Isozaki 1994:41).

4.2 Cinema as Urban Landmark

For what concerns cinemas, the Emperor, in
person, invited his populace to watch movies to
lower the sorrows and burdens left by the war
(Ikeda 2002: 10). The total number of movie
theaters in the country surged from about 850
immediately after World War II to 2100 by the
end of 1947, more than doubling in about two
years (Tokizane 1948: 22). By the early 1950s
demand for the improvement and enlargement
of movie theater facilities had risen nationwide.
The construction of new movie theaters and the
remodeling of existing ones was facilitated by
the lifting of restrictions in construction laws in
Figure 2. Toho Hall, Ginza, 1951. May 1950, opening up a new age in audience
service (Kato 1999: 82).
During reconstruction, cinemas were built in a modern style, and they were not
concentrated in a single district the way they were in Asakusa, but were more integrated in
the city public space. One example is the Toho Hall in Ginza area. That started to play the
role of an independent and easily recognisable landmark in the city fabric. In this period,
though cinemas were massive in size, they had just one projection hall. (Kato 1999: 90).

5. 1960-1975

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 Salvator-John A. Liotta

5.1 Japan as a Major Economic Power

During the 60s the Japanese economy was booming. The popularity of cinemas peaked in
1958 when 1.13 billion tickets were sold -- the equivalent of every Japanese in the country
visiting the cinema more than a dozen times, and in 1960 there were a record 7,457 screens
nationwide (Kato 1999:95). But as TV and home video infiltrated the home, the number of
movie screens across the nation began to fall. In 1965, 372 million tickets were sold, and in
1975 this figure hit 174 million tickets. On the other hand, in 1964 more than 4 million Tv
sets were sold (Kato 1999: 95). The impact of television meant the demise and razing of the
benchmark, downtown movie palaces. The exterior spaces that are the face of the city, the
avid pursuit of modern urban design, remade the Tokyo cityscape again and again
(Jinnai1995:161). Inventions of Sonys Betacam in 1975 and Vhss Victor in 1976
contributed, on one hand, to giving spectators more options to watch moving images, yet
on the other hand, they worsened cinema conditions.

5.2 Two Different Directions

In this period, in cinema theater history,
two different events were recorded: in
1962 the Shochiku Hall (Fig.3) was the
first theater that doubled its projection
halls (Kitao 1964: 12) and in 1968 it
opened the first Tokyo mini-theater called
Iwanami (Ikeda 2002: 8). The shape and
size of movie theaters went in two
different directions: one tended to be
larger, equipped with new services such
as restaurants- and had a prominent
Figure 3, Shochiku Hall, 1962, Cinema theater as a architectural role in the cityscape; the
landmark. second tended to be an unpretentious
place. Hidden in the basement of a
multifunction building, it had no incidence on the city image.
In this period moving images appeared more often on building faades. In fact, tvs
began to be massively displayed as if they were image textured walls. At the same time,
architects belonging to the Metabolists group started to make electronic graphic
experiments on building faades (Franklin Ross 1978: 168). According to Fumihiko Maki
(2005), a founding member of the Metabolists, in 1960, Tokyo was a city where dynamic
and static elements were in continual conflict, and being in its midst was like standing on
the beach as waves ceaselessly advanced and receeded. Architecture can no longer provide
the old order of traditional townscapes but it may have an even greater influence today as
the nexus between human beings and a constantly changing environment.
Strangely, even if the number of cinemas were declining, places displaying moving
images were increasing. It was as if the walls that had enclosed the moving images were
metaphorically evaporating. The moving image, left without a solid house, started to float
more constantly in the public space in search for screens to reincarnate.

6. 1976-1990

6.1 Tokyo as a Global City

The 1980s are remebered as an era in which an uparalleled construction boom extended
from central Tokyo to its hinterland (Huang 2004: 66). According to the urban plan
proposed by the National Commision on Land Development in 1986, the rapid trend of

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Tokyo into a world city increases an already excessive demand for office space, Tokyo was
facing many new problems, such as the rise of the price of land in the central areas
(Machimura 2004: 68).
To achieve the goal of Tokyo as a global city, relocation of an over-concentrated
city population was needed. Such logic of changing living conditions for the sake of a
future of global city is articulated in Suzuki Shunichis project of realizing the ideal of My
Town Tokyo as the twin of World City Tokyo. According to Huang (2004) the long
reigning patriarch governor of Tokyo from 1979 to 1995 vigorously advocated the concept
of My Town Tokyo as his central guideline of urban plans since 1981. From then on
Suzuki promulgates the idea of a global city that remains a town that one can call home.
Commercialism was a rising driving force in the making of the image of the city.

6.2 Giant Screens, Mini Spaces

Due to the invention of the VCR and video sales
and rental shops opening, spectators options to
enjoy moving images increasead. While the 1980s
are the golden age of the mini-theater (Ikeda
2003: 10), during this time, cinema theaters were
gradually disappearing. In this period, cutting
edge companies such as Sony, Panasonic, and
Nec were using a more intensely intermittent
display on the faades of their shops and
buildings (Franklin Ross 1978: 174).
Figure 4. Iwanami Hall,1968, Entertainment districts, such as Shinjuku and
inaugurated the Anonymity of Cinemas Shibuya were the place where moving images
started to be displayed on a daily basis. In the 1980s, the newly built Toda Corporations
headquarters showed a giant screen, soon followed by other buildings that concurred in
making Tokyo-scape appear as a space of signs, where the presence of the screen in the
public space was now nearly continuos. The urban space of Tokyo was changing once
again, producing hybrids and multilayered spaces made by an integration of technology,
architecture and media, hitherto not yet seen elsewhere.

7. 1990-2007

7.1 The Cinema Complex and Shopping Centers

The number of traditional cinema theaters declined inescapably. At the start of the third
millennium just 11 were left in the whole of Tokyo. Land prices, old equipment, and a low
rate of spectators were the main reasons for this decline. Besides, the DVD format, portable
players, and car players allowed people to watch movies in any location. In the early 90s,
cinema attendance was at the minimum, with just less than 120 million tickets sold. The
advent of cinema complexes helped reverse this trend. In 1993, in the Greater Tokyo area,
the Warner-Mycal Company opened the first cinema complex in Japan. In 2005, out of 211
cinema theaters in the whole city, cinema complexes amounted to 72% of the total.
Generally, cinema complexes opened in extra-urban areas, though some of them opened
also in the city center. The first type was usually established at shopping centers located in
areas such as Itabashi, and it was part of a more complex project of transformation and
development of a suburb. The second type opened in central areas, such as Roppongi or
Ginza (Mori et al. (2001), and has been integrated in an already existent social and
economic tissue (Bassani et al. (2004).

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 Salvator-John A. Liotta

7.2 Information Age, Architecture in a

Simulated City
By the 1990s, Tokyo had became a robustly
capitalist city, and in 1991, architect Toyo Ito
realized two works that depicted Tokyos identity
in the information age in an exemplar way: The
Egg of Winds, and Dreams-Visions of Japan. The
first is an egg-shaped architecture -a station
entrance- on which are restlessly projected
images of Tokyo. The second is a work displayed
in 1991 in London, where Ito saturated a room
with overlapped and blurred images of Tokyo, projected by 44 projectors (Ito 1994: 32).
Visitors found themselves floating and undulating
Figure 5. Shinjuku District Area, 2003.
among superimposed images of the Japanese
capital. An extreme experience, but still, according to Ito (1994), it was meant to simulate
walking on the streets of Shinjuku or Shibuya at night, inundated by sounds and video-
imagesa sort of simulated city. With these works he showed how Tokyo-scape had
definitely lost a defined configuration in favor of an undeniably always-changing image.
The city had become a dominion of the digital screen that is now nearly continuous; from
the scale of the human hand to the largest urban spaces (Wagner 2005: 9).

Periods 1900-45 1946-60 1960-75 1976-90 1991-on

Cityscape Cluster Landmark Landmark Anonymous Extra-Urban,

Impact Urban-landmark
Type 1 Hall 1 Hall 2 Halls Mini Theater CineComplex
Style Neo-Baroque Modern Modern Post-modern MixedCommercial
Screens 1 1 2 1 6-20
Function
Cinema and theate Cinema Cinema, Cinema, bookstore Shopping Center
restaurant
Asakusa, Ginza, Ginza, Shibuya, Itabashi,
City Area
Shinjuku Hibya Shinjuku Shinjuku Roppongi

Represen-
Tative
Cinema
Theaters

Denkikan Toho Hall Shochiku Hall Iwanami Hall VirginRoppongi

Cinemas
Areas
in Tokyo

Asakusa Hibya Ginza Shinjuku Shibuya

Public Space
with
Moving
Images

Asakusa Shibuya Ginza Shinjuku Odaiba

Table 1. Classification of Periods, Representative Cinemas Theaters and Public Spaces with moving
images.

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 Salvator-John A. Liotta

8. Conclusions

Tokyos cityscape has had a complex relation with the moving image. This was due mainly
to two factors: first, the change of the cinemas architectural style, form, size, function and
impact on the city. Second, the moving image has not just been displayed inside cinema
theaters and private houses, but also massively in the public space. These factors had a
strong visual impact on the formation of Tokyos cityscape: a flow of images that exceed
its geographical limits flowing out all over Japan to Asia and the West (Sang-Jung &
Yoshimi 2001).
At the dawn of cinema, the screen was metaphorically seen as a new type of plaza.
At the time, the evaporation of theater wall left the screen floating in the public space.
According to the changes of new media inventions, the screen/plaza has changed shape and
size, regenerating itself in an always new relation with the city and its inhabitants. Media,
motion, commodities, bodies, and buildings continuously meld and separate, producing an
always changing urban-scape.
The moving image projected in public and private space, be it an indoor or outdoor,
pemanent or temporary one, reveals the intimate relation and the importance it has on the
constitution of Tokyos identity.

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Maki, F. 2005, Early Memories of Tokyo, in Tokyo from Vancouver, School of
Architecture, British Columbia, Hemlock Printers, Vancouver, pp.14-19.
Ministry of Commerce, Film Yearbook 1951, Jijitsushinsha, Tokyo, p. 69.
Ministry of Commerce, Film Yearbook 2005, Jijitsushinsha, Tokyo, p. 10-40.
Mori, M. Mau, B. 2001, New Tokyo lifestyle Think Zone, Dai Nippon Printing, Tokyo,
p.172
Richie, D. 2001, A Hundreds Years of Japanese Film, Kodansha Intl., Tokyo. p. 9.
Sang-jung, K. & Yoshimi, S. in New Tokyo Lifestyle Think Zone, p.117.
S.n. Focus: Television History - The First 75 Years, [internet]. Avalaible at
http://www.tvhistory.tv/1969-69-JAPAN.htm [accessed 14 January 2007].
Sorensen, A. 2002, The Making of Urban Japan, Routledge, New York, p. 168.
Suzuki, H. 1990, Urban Architecture in Meiji, Kashiwa Shyoubo, Tokyo, p.3.
Tazawa, R. 2006, Tokyo Meigaza Graffiti (Tokyo Graffiti), Heibonsha, Tokyo, p.10.
Tokizane, S. 1948, Tenki ni Tatsu Eigasangyo (The Film Industry at the Turning Point) in
Kinema Junpo no.2, February, p. 22.
Uchida, J. 2000, Asakusa Street in the Age of the Urban Masses, Exhibition Catalogue
Folklore and Folk Life in Japan, National Museum of Japanese History,Tokyo,
Wagner, G. 2005, Tokyo from Vancouver, in Tokyo from Vancouver, School of
Architecture, British Columbia, Hemlock Printers, Vancouver, pp.9-11.
100 Years of Tokyo (JCII Photo Salon 1999), Tokyo.

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Acousmtric Architecture: Filmic Sound Design and its Lessons

for Architects
Raymond Lucas, University of Strathclyde

Introduction

Acousmtre is a specific condition in sound design referred to in depth by Michel Chion in

his work on voice in cinema. The effect describes a rupture, an off-screen voice where the
source is absent. This effect is suggestive of Sergei Eisensteins early understanding of the
potential of sound in cinema as lying in the point of rupture or montage rather than in
continuity, corroboration or naturalism.
Urban design and architecture are disciplines at a similarly early stage as far as sound
design is concerned, given that sound design is often reduced to acoustics and noise reduction
rather than a creative part of the environment at hand. These design disciplines are also
theoretically naive in their dealings with sound, so much so that it is fruitful to consider what
can be learned from cinematic sound design.

Asynchronous sound: Grierson, Eisenstein and Chion

Cinematic sound designers have a great wealth of knowledge at their hands which deepens
our understanding of the relationship between perceiving and recording sound. In the major
work of the CRESSON institute, edited by Jean-Franois Augoyard and Henry Torgue
(2005), the following definition is given of the Cocktail Party Effect.

This effect, named by E. Cherry with reference to the sound space in which we can
observe it best, refers to our ability to focus attention on the speech of a specific speaker
by disregarding irrelevant information coming from the surroundings. In this type of
metabolic context, sound components are almost equivalent in intensity and frequency:
it is their multiplication that creates the surrounding sound level. From the physical
point of view, one of the predominant elements in the cocktail effect is the spatial
separation of noise and speech. In consequence, we know that, on the psycho-
physiological level, selective listening is governed by our capacity to discriminate
sounds from the different sources that is, by our capacity to localize in the noise.
(2005:28)

Accounts differ on the nature of the cocktail party effect, but it is regarded to be evidence of
the way in which the brain pre-processes sounds, allowing us to edit and select what we
actually attend to. The original definition of the problem by Cherry (1953) is actually made
with reference to recording technology, and the problem of filtering to accurately reproduce
this effect. This is something that remains an issue to this day, despite advances both in the
understanding of this effect, and in reproducing it technically using hearing aids or public
broadcast. There remains an artistry to the sound design of cinema, for example. This is for
both narrative and perceptual reasons: film with rigorously synchronous sound is rare and
difficult to watch and listen to. This is partly due to the equal weight being given to each
sound, quite differently to how we understand such signals. Film practitioners and theorists
have identified a number of other effects which are a function of perception rather than the
fidelity of recording.

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What we learn from the cocktail party effect is the necessity of design when
reproducing sound. Design in this sense can be understood as a form of knowledge, a way of
describing and reproducing the environment as observed. To replicate the cocktail party
effect in film, a Sound Designer has a number of tools at their disposal. Why, then, do
architects and Urban Designers not use the aural tools at their disposal for the creation of
unique aural spaces?
Since the arrival of synchronously recorded and exhibited sound, film makers and film
theorists have sought to understand the relationship between the moving image and sound.
Key contributions have been made by Sergei Eisenstein and John Grierson (Lucas 2001) at
the very dawn of this era. Eisensteins early work in the field of sound is best explored in his
essay Vertical Montage (1991) where he extends his general theory of cinematic montage
beyond the visual image and into the sonic image. This necessitates a shift in understanding,
from the traditional horizontal montage over time, from one scene to the next as we are
accustomed to with cinematic editing - but also within each frame, different parts of the image
can be observed to have the tension of montage between them. To Eisenstein, it was a missed
opportunity to simply use the synchronous sound track to reinforce and illustrate the images
on the screen - when further artistic potential could be wrung from the juxtaposition of these
elements.
The British documentary film pioneer had similar regard for sound in film, and
produced one of the most consistent explorations of this notion in Night Mail (1936, directed
by Harry Watt and Basil Wright). Night Mail assembled the most accomplished film-makers
available to the GPO film unit at the time in order to tell that story of how mail is transported
from London to Edinburgh. The film seized the opportunity to record sounds other than the
actual noise made by the train moving over the tracks. The soundtrack instead consisted of
commissioned works by composer Benjamin Britten and poet W H Auden. The power of the
documentary is widely understood to lie in this collaboration, which gives reference to the
pace of the train, but which resists the urge to simply record and play back a familiar sound in
a naturalistic manner. Admittedly this was born of necessity, as the sound recording
equipment available at the time could not cope with the sound of the train, producing only a
great roar whenever the microphone was exposed to the sound.
This rupture of sound from its source is examined in some detail by Michel Chion in his
works Audio-Vision (1990) and The Voice in Cinema (1999).

We can describe as acousmtres many of the mysterious and talkative characters hidden
behind curtains, in rooms or hide-outs, which the sound film has given us... Fiction
films tend to grant three powers and one gift to the acousmtre, to the voice that speaks
over the image, but is also forever on the verge of appearing in it. First, the acousmtre
has the power of seeing all; second, the power of omniscience; and third, the
omnipotence to act on the situation. Let us add that in many cases there is also a gift of
ubiquitythe acousmtre seems to be able to be anywhere he or she wishes. (Chion
1990:129)

Acousmtre is, then this voice from elsewhere, carrying as it does, connotations of
authority and power. This voice has a longer history than that of cinema, of course, much of
which is charted in Steven Connors (2000) cultural history of ventriloquism, which identifies
origins in antiquity - and again with those same qualities of power, and authority - a voice
with a source that cannot be seen is taken to have the ability to see all.
This quality of voice is also found in everyday life - particularly in the example of the
railway station. Early in the 20th Century development of the station typology, station
management realised that purely visual information was insufficient to the purpose of

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directing travellers around a station. The introduction of public address systems such as
Tannoys in the 1920s in places such as stations reinforces the authority represented by the
disembodied voice. Nowadays, the prevalence of mobile phone communication also takes
this quality of voice into the public realm on a regular basis. The urgency of this voice often
taking precedent over the speakers companions who are present in the space with them. This
is interestingly humanised in Schlesingers Terminus (1961), where the source of telephone
and station announcements are shown.
The acousmtric effect in the urban environment is often understood as a disruptive
effect, severing the corroboration between senses. The very disconnection that is celebrated
by Eisenstein is eschewed by contemporary best practice in acoustics. This sonic assumption
is akin to the use of sound to reinforce in Hollywood cinema. Interesting effects are still
employed by this sound design, as identified by David Bordwell in his work on Narration in
the Fiction Film (1985). A number of complexities are identified by Bordwell in this work,
such as the introduction of multiple camera set-ups with the advent of synchronous sound
cinema. The scene would now have several cameras filming at once, and cutting between
these, for example two point-of-view shots and one giving an overview of the whole scene.
These are unified by the continuity of the soundtrack. Hollywood sound cinema also employs
redundancy and reinforcement such that the sounds source is obvious and shown, except in
cases where suspense or danger is suggested.
Prevailing practice in soundscape design for urban and architectural environments
follows this Hollywood pattern closely. Interestingly, soundscape design is relatively
uncommon in architectural projects, with sound being discussed mainly in terms of acoustics.
Acoustics deals in the same stuff as sound design, but it has a very focused agenda for how to
control sounds. Acoustics is particularly prevalent in the design of performance spaces such
as theatres, lecture halls and cinemas. The acoustics are the equivalent of a museum white-
box space, where the building provides a neutral blank canvas for whatever works are to be
performed or exhibited there. This is all very necessary for that building typology of course,
but other building typologies need not be measured according to the same criteria.
While a great deal can be learned for use in the design of the built environment from
cinematic sound design, I believe the starting point to be acousmtre. As Eisenstein asserts,
the creative moment of authorship in film occurs at the point of montage, be this a transition
between scenes such as a cinematic cut or transition or an architectural threshold or doorway;
or whether this is a point of montage between one sensory modality and the other - the spaces
between the visual, the kinaesthetic and the aural.

Designing with sound: Vocal Ikebana and Sensory Notation

This has been tested as a spatial design discipline by the Inflecting Space research group in a
sound installation titled Vocal Ikebana (see Coyne & Lucas 2007). This project employed
simple environmental audio recordings of railway station announcements, antique auctioneers
and other voices played back on three wireless speakers. The installation took place in a
gallery space with a few columns, some furniture (a chair, low tables) and some props for the
subject to use: several transparent plastic crates and some textile throws. These could be used
to elevate or contain the speakers in a variety of ways.

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The volunteers were asked to participate in

the installation on their own, and first asked for a
series of responses on a questionnaire about the
three sets of voices. The main part of the task is to
redesign the aural environment of the gallery using
the speakers and props provided. This is given a
loose brief the ikebana of the title lending a
more aesthetic or decorative aspect to the task,
rather than the intimidating task of designing for a
particular purpose.
The participants were then asked more
questions about their design of the space through questionnaire once again as well as through
various drawing tasks. Interestingly, the drawing task influenced the designs significantly,
and respondents often chose to re-work their design once parts of it had been put down in the
form of a drawing.
There is, however, a deficit in the visual language for such activities, and respondents
often struggled to depict their impressions of the sounds in this, and an earlier installation
called Banal Rhythms and a series of focus group sessions.
Our current research faces many of the challenges presented above, proposing a
pragmatic solution that will enhance the activities of the design disciplines as well as
informing areas such as presence.
This is informed by the work of urbanist Kevin Lynch (1960). Lynch was interested in
the image of the city, and constructed a form of adding information to the traditional urban
plan drawing with thresholds, districts, landmarks, paths and nodes. This analysis is used to
describe the actual functioning of urban spaces at the neighborhood and district scales. More
recent work in a similar vein has been taken on by Simkins and Thwaites (2007).
The solution we have chosen to the problem of sound and the other sensory modalities
is to create a notation system which builds upon traditional architectural drawings such as
plans and sections, but which can also communicate something of the complete experience of
a place through describing each sense. The senses are categorised in a similar manner to
Gibsons perceptual systems, recalling that sensory perception is an active rather than passive
process. Figure 1: Respondent to Vocal Ikebana
designing the gallery.
The channels of sense are not subject to
modification by learning. The data of sense are given, by definition. The perceptual
systems, however, are clearly amenable to learning. It would be expected that an
individual, after practice, could orient more exactly, listen more carefully, touch more
acutely, smell and taste more precisely, and look more perceptively than he could before
practice. Gibson (1966:51).

The notation fits in to a structured form of environmental observation. Rather than measuring
absolute sound levels and other measurable qualities of sound, the notation is considered to be
more akin to sketching than to a scientific measure of a places dimensions. This is partly due
to the inadequacy of measuring equipment for sound and the other senses, but also due to a
commitment to the sketching model, relying upon description and understanding in practice
and in situ. This description of qualities rather than measurement of qualities is essential to
the final stage of the system: the pattern book.

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Figure 2. Table of Descriptor terms for Sensory Notation.

The research project shall be producing a

pattern book recording a variety of urban spaces
according to how they affect all the senses. These
are not to be understood as positive or negative
spaces, simply flat descriptions of space as
encouraged by writers such as Georges Perec.

Nothing strikes you. You dont know how

to see.
You must write about out it more slowly,
almost stupidly. Force yourself to write
down what is of no interest, what is most
obvious, most common, most colourless. Figure 3: Radar diagram for Sensory
(Perec, G. 1997:50) Notation system including notations for
temporality and sensory corroboration.
force yourself to see more flatly (Perec 1997:51)

This pattern book shall augment the personal pattern book of each Sensory Notation
practitioner, as the system allows the designer to record experiences in a sketchbook for later
use.

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The notation proceeds in the following order:

Location: plot the site being recorded,

whether a part of a route or a static
position. Details such as time, date and
weather may also be included.
Descriptor: use a word from the list
given to characterise each of the six
perceptual systems: visual, aural,
olfactory/gustatory, tactile, thermal,
kinaesthetic.
Priority: draw a line on the chart Figure 4. Temporal modifiers applied to
corresponding to the priority given to that Radar diagram lines in Sensory Notation.
perceptual system in this context.
Corroboration: indicate how the senses overlap.
Temporality: indicate the repetition, singularity, etc. of the observations.

The notations can be used for analysis of the site as well as for description and pattern
building. The Radar diagram allows a shape to be drawn for each set of experiences. By
layering notations up on top of one another, charts of a route or place can be made, and these
charts can identify which modalities are strong and which are weak in a given set of results.
Cross-comparisons between a number of respondents are also possible. This analysis can be
used to diagnose areas which are overloaded with sensation compared to those which are
neutral or lacking.

Conclusion: Lessons for Architects and Urban Designers

It is clear that there is a need for designers of urban

environments to consider sound more carefully. Sound is
often problematised as noise - unwanted and excessive,
undesirable and clouded in negative connotations. Noise
has, however, been understood differently by both
contemporary music and sound design as something wholly
necessary and interesting in its own right, as a category of
sound with its own rules and aesthetics equivalent to other
special categories such as voice and music.
Architecture and Urban Design need to learn the
lessons from this, without the pejorative assumptions of
influential pioneers such as Schafer (1977), but to grasp the
complexity of the aural with the same detail as the visual is
understood. Texts such as those by de Nora (2000) and Bull Figure 5. Authors notation of
(2000) aid us in understanding contemporary soundscapes two different arcades in
such as commercial environments branding space with Dortmund, one of which is a
music or the creation of personalised space through the use deadened and sterile environment
of portable devices such as MP3 players and Walkman. scoring 2 for each sense whilst
the other is a rich combination of
The creativity of sound designers in cinema lies in experiences.
constructing space through sound. Walter Murch (2001,
2003) successfully does this in film, finding ways to take recordings and render them as more
environmental, messy and noisy as ways of validating fictional worlds.

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The advent of sophisticated speaker and microphone technologies allows this realm of
design to be exploited by architectural and urban design. Traditional acoustics plays a role,
but the form of a space no longer determines the shape of its sound as artificial amplification
of sound can now be directed and controlled with great precision. In notating a contemporary
shopping mall location I recently found it impossible to determine a priority for any sense.
This was not due to sensory overload as it can be in some locations, but rather a paucity, a
complete lack of differentiation. This banality of the urban environment is easily avoided if
the designers use the tools at their disposal.

Acknowledgements

This work of the Multimodal Representations of Urban Space research group it supported
by the United Kingdom Arts & Humanities Research Council and the Engineering & Physical
Sciences Research Council under the Designing for the 21st Century scheme. The author
would like to thank Wolfgang Sonne for his invaluable input to the project. Thanks are also
due to project investigators Gordon Mair and Ombretta Romice as well as our advisory board
of Edward Edgerton, John Marshall, Mairghread McLundie, Kevin Thwaites, Nigel Fabb and
Ian Simkins. Observations from the Vocal Ikebana installation are drawn from the authors
work on an earlier AHRC project, Inflecting Space with thanks to Richard Coyne, Martin
Parker and Peter Nelson of the University of Edinburgh.

References

Alexander, C. et al. 1978. A Pattern Language. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Augoyard, J. F. et al. 2005. Sonic Experience: A Guide to Everyday Sounds. McGill-Queens
University Press.
Bordwell, D. 1985. Narration in the Fiction Film. London: Routledge.
Bull, M. 2000. Sounding Out the City: Personal Stereos and the Management of Everyday
Life. Oxford: Berg.
Cherry, E.C. 1953 Some Experiments on the Recognition of Speech, with One and Two
Ears in The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America. Vol. 25, Number 5, pp. 975-
979.
Chion, M. 1990. Audio-Vision: Sound on Screen. New York: Columbia University Press.
1999. The Voice in Cinema. C Gorbman Trans. New York: Columbia University
Press,
Connor, S. 2000. Dumbstruck: A Cultural History of Ventriloquism. Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Coyne, R. Lucas, R. Li, J. Parker, M, and Lee, J. 2007. Co-operation and complicity:
Voices, robots, and tricksters in the digital marketplace. In International Journal of
Architectural Computing (IJAC), (5) 1, 161-175.
Cullen, G. 1971. The Concise Townscape. Oxford: Architectural Press.
de Nora, T. 2000. Music in Everyday Life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Eisenstein, S. M. 1986. Synchronisation of Senses in The Film Sense. London: Faber and
Faber.
. 1991. Vertical Montage in Writings Vol.2: Towards a Theory of
Montage. London: BFI.
Gibson, J, J. 1966. The Senses Considered as Perceptual Systems. Westport, Connecticut:
Greenwood Press.
Lucas, R. 2001. The John Grierson Multimedia Archive. Edinburgh: SCRAN. Available at
http://www.scran.ac.uk.

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2005b. Towards a Theory of Notation as a Thinking Tool. Unpublished PhD

Thesis. University of Aberdeen.
Lynch, K. 1960. The Image of the City. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.
Malnar, J. M. & Vodvarka, F. 2004. Sensory Design. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press.
Murch, W. 2001. In the Blink of an Eye: a Perspective on Film Editing. 2nd Edition. Los
Angeles: Silman-James Press
2003. Touch of Silence in Soundscape: the School of Sound Lectures 1998-
2001. London: Wallflower Press.
Perec, G. 1997. Species of Spaces and Other Pieces. London: Penguin.
Schafer, R. M. 1994. The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World.
Destiny Books.
Thwaites, K & Simkins, I. 2006. Experiential Landscape. London: Routledge.

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From the circular boulevard to the merry-go-round-a-bout: the

lamentation (Tativille) and resolve of the destruction and loss of
Paris in Jacques Tatis PLAY TIME.
Louise MacKenzie, University of Melbourne/La Trobe University

In an interview in 1958, with Andre Bazin and Francois Truffaut(2000: 296), Tati said,

These days I feel sad because I have the impression that people are having less and
less fun. They obviously dress better, they clearly wash more, they certainly have
more hot water, they surely imbibe cooler drinks; and now their windows are larger,
which means that they can get additional sun, but, in the past they lived on the street
more and got all the sun they wanted there.

If we look at Jacques Tatis films from JOUR DE FETE, which was made in 1949 to PLAY
TIME, which was made in 1967, we will notice, amongst other things, a change in the way of
using and experiencing the street. You could almost say that the life and activity disappears
from his streets, at least an activity that is to do with the interaction and connected(ness) of
the people. Marshall Berman (1995:164) in his chapter on Paris, in his book ALL THAT IS
SOLID MELTS TO AIR wrote,

The distinctive sign of nineteenth century urbanism was the boulevard, a medium for
bringing explosive material and human forces together: the hallmark of twentieth-
century urbanism has been the highway a means for putting them asunder.

Berman (1995:159) here is writing about the Boulevards of Paris. They were chaotic and had
an activity not seen before, he writes Thus the life of the boulevards, was more radiant and
exciting than urban life had ever been, He continues,

In this environment, urban realities could easily become dreamy and magical. The
bright lights of the street and caf only heightened the joy: in the next generations, the
coming of electricity and neon would heighten it still more
(Berman 1995:152).

Baron Haussmann from 1850 to 1870 transformed Paris significantly. He achieved this for
the most part by cutting many new boulevards across the city. His new boulevards not only
changed the city physically, they contributed to creating a street life unique to Paris. The
author David P. Jordan (1995: 348) writes,

On Haussmanns boulevards an elegant, sophisticated, vital, cosmopolitan, uniquely

Parisian live was lived and he goes on to say that, the preeminence of the
boulevards, of an extroverted outdoor, theatrical urban life was not seriously
challenged until after World War Two (Jordan 1995: 349).

Jacques Tati was born in 1907 and he lived on these boulevards. The work of Haussmann
was significant at the time, in the changes it made to the lives of the people in Paris (CUR
1967: 47), as were the urban changes that took place in Paris during the decades of the 1950s

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and 1960s and on into the 1970s. Joan Ockman (2000: 182) in her essay on PLAY TIME
wrote that,

Between 1954 and 1974, 24 percent of the buildable surface of the city was subjected
to demolition and redevelopment, and entire districts were razed and reconfigured in
the name of urban renewal.

she continues,

Subjected to successive rent increases, more than two-thirds of the population of Paris
moved out of the urban centre. By 1969 the grands ensembles that sprang up around
the periphery, built by a technocratic Gaullist regime and notorious for their shoddy
construction, lack of amenities, and morbid geometrism, housed one-sixth of the
inhabitants of the greater Paris region and were as familiar a part of the metropolitan
landscape as historic monuments (Ockman 2000: 182-183).

Marshall Berman (1995: 166) writes that Le Corbusier was possibly the greatest twentieth-
century architect and certainly the most influential. In Le Corbusiers (1998: 281) 1924
book THE CITY OF TOMORROW AND ITS PLANNING he suggests in his chapter THE
CENTRE OF PARIS that both a residential city and a commercial city be created. The site
for this proposal was, in the centre of Paris, on the right bank of the Seine. He called this the
VOISIN PLAN. Le Corbusier writes,

imagine all this junk, which till now has lain spread out over the soil like a dry
crust, cleaned off and carted away and replaced by immense clear crystals of glass,
rising to a height of over 600 feet; (Le Corbusier 1998: 281).

Le Corbusier did though want to keep some of the old monuments, as works of art, he
writes, Similarly the Voisin plan showscertain historical monuments, arcades, [and]
doorways, carefully preserved because they are pages out of history or works of art (Le
Corbusier 1998: 287). This is similar to the images of Paris caught in the glass reflections in
PLAY TIME: the images caught in the swing of the glass doors. The Paris of Tatis
childhood in the Voisin plan is no longer a part of a living city but something to be parcelled
up as museum pieces.
In the film, Mr Hulot, played by Jacques Tati, has come to Tativille (which is Paris) to
meet Mr Giffard (who he constantly misses). At the same time a group of American women
tourists have arrived in Paris/Tativille. While Hulot has come to Tativille from the Champs-
Elysees, (we see him arriving on a bus), and we know that the American women visit
Montmartre and Montparnasse, we the film viewers do not see Paris. We only see Paris
caught in reflection(s).
What is notable, and important for Tati, in PLAY TIME, is that which he does not
show us: which is Paris. It is no small matter that in PLAY TIME everything that we know of
Paris is not visible. It can only be caught in reflection, and seen in the distance (in the
distant past, perhaps). In the 1958 interview, previously motioned, Tati said What bothers
me most today is that Paris is being destroyed (Bazin and Truffaut 2000: 298).
It is significant that the world of PLAY TIME is entirely constructed. The city in this
case is a set. We only know that Tativille is Paris because at the airport from, the American
womens bus, we see the sign Paris. All of Paris as we know it has gone. There are little
bits left for the tourists, the flower stand, for example. As Barbara from the group of

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American women tourists tells us This is really Paris, which of course, Tati is telling us, it
is not, as (his) Paris has been destroyed and rebuilt. It is only Paris in name.
Tativille can be read as a criticism, of Le Corbusiers VOISIN PLAN. Perhaps Tati
did not really fear that Le Corbusiers VOISIN PLAN would eventuate in total, but when
PLAY TIME was made, from 1964 to 1967, some of Le Corbusiers ideas for Paris in the
Voisin plan had, in part, been realized.
Most of Jacques Tatis films are concerned in some way, with a sense of home, or at
least a way of life. This home is not just the house but it is also the neighbourhood the house
is in - we see this, for example, in the old square in MON ONCLE (1958), and the town
square of JOUR DE FETE (1949). In these cases we can see life was also lived on the
street.
What we see in PLAY TIME is a reaction to the devastation for what has been lost. It
is not only the physical fabric of the city that has been lost. The destruction and rebuilding of
the city has also brought a change in the way people live and use these spaces. Rob Sheilds
(1995: 65). in LEFEBVRE, LOVE AND STRUGGLE writes, Modernization wrought rapid
changes in the patterns and routine of daily life and highlighted the loss of individual control
and sense of community.
Tati was not only bothered by the destruction of Paris, the distress of having what he
knows as home, destroyed, but also he did not like the effect, as he sees it, that the new
architecture was having on people. Laurent Marie (2001: 259); writes,

Tati was adamant that he was not against modernization or modern architecture per
se Tati explains that he is against a certain way of life, a sterile homogenization
which affects the way we think as much as the place where we live (2001: 259).

In PLAY TIME there is no life on the street. The streets are for getting from A to B. We
see none of the activities that we saw in the old square, in MON ONCLE, where the people
lived, worked and socialized. In PLAY TIME each of these activities, (as Le Corbusier
suggests they should), are in separate parts of the city. Berman again, (1995: 167), in citing Le
Corbusier wrote, Cafes and places of recreation will no longer be the fungus that eats up the
pavements of Paris. In PLAY TIME all these spaces are absent from the city.
What we see in PLAY TIME is the arrival at a point where everything important, to
Tati, has been taken from the city, from the life of the people of the city, as they experience it.
He said of Paris, its uniformity that I dislike. You go to a cafe on the Champs-Elysees
these day and you get the impression that they will soon announce the landing of flight 412:
you dont know anymore if you are in a pharmacy or a grocery store (Bazin and Truffaut
2000: 298). Today when you go to a restaurant its as if were eating in a clinic (298).
We can see expressions of these sentiments reflected throughout PLAY TIME, especially in
the opening scene of the air port/hospital and later in the caf/pharmacy scene.
Tativille is very very tidy: too neat and too clean. In the nineteenth century the city
was big and messy and unhealthy - people died, by their thousands of diseases such as cholera
(Higonnet 181). If before the city was unhygienic and people died as a result of this, now in
Tativille, Tati tells us, this rationalization has been taken too far; and the result is that all the
life in the city is dying. Patrice Higonnet (2002: 177) writes in PARIS: CAPTIAL OF THE
WORLD,

In the nineteenth century, when machines were a source of wonder, a fascination with
order, physics and mechanics gave rise to the myth of the city imagined as a perfectly
regulated instrument as a place free of traffic jams or slums, the kind of ideal place,
perfectly planned and conceived, .

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And this is what we see in PLAY TIME.

Tati tells us in PLAY TIME that we have created cities that can not be used well by
people. When we arrive at the air port we are at first made to believe that it is a hospital.
But it is not only the hospital which is a sterile place in the new city, everywhere in city, all of
Tativille has the same sterile environment.
The sameness that is conveyed in the confusion of the hospital/airport is expressed
again in the office cubicles. This leaves Hulot (and us the viewers) disoriented. As all points
are the same; there is no point of orientation. The architecture not only disorientates the
individual but actively keeps people apart. We see this in the joke when the trades man asks
the porter for a light. There is a glass wall between them which at first the tradesman (and us
the viewers) do not see. At another point in the film, Hulot losses Mr Giffard, when he
mistakes a lift for a picture alcove, and ends up on another floor. Hulot also walks into a
board room meeting; Tati is implying here that in this architecture you do not know where
you are. The architecture gives no indication of how to use the space - in this particular case
which parts are private, and which parts of the building are for visitors.
The community in the old square of Saint Maur in MON ONCLE is absent in
Tativille. It has been banished from the business district where Hulot has come to meet Mr
Giffard; and as we follow Hulot to the residential district, we do not see the community here
either. As the business and residential districts have been separated, so have the people. The
people in the residential area of Tativille have no community. There is no life on the street.
The communication they have with people outside the home, in their neighborhood, is
through the huge glass windows. The apartments themselves are no longer homes but display
boxes. These people are separated from each other very neatly into boxes of glass and steel,
we do not see the neighbors meet. Their communication as far as we know is mediated
through something, the television or the glass windows. This scene is shot from the out side,
from the street looking into the apartments. We see all the goings on through the windows
looking into the apartments. The sounds are that of the street. The sounds we hear as film
viewers are that of the street, not the sounds from inside the apartments. In doing this Tati is
including us the viewer (or at least those in Paris in 1967) in the story. It links what is
happening in the film directly to us.
Despite the architecture and way of life in Tativille keeping people apart there is still
the possibility of some community. When Mr Giffard, who lives in the apartments, takes his
dog out for a walk he bumps into Hulot on the street; and here we see people grouped together
in a small communal activity. In this case watching work men install yet more glass.
However in Tativille everything is separated. The business area is separated by a bus
ride away from the apartments. As mentioned the people in the apartments are separated, at
least at a community level. The design of the buildings themselves with their steel and glass
arrangement are articulated into neat squared off geometric segments. Henri Lefebvre (1995:
199) in NOTES ON A NEW TOWN writes,

Here I cannot read the centuries, not time, nor the past, nor what is possible. Instead I
read the fears modernity can arouse: the abstraction which rides roughshod over
everyday life the debilitating analysis which divides, cuts up, separates the illusory
synthesis which has lost all ability to reconstruct anything active the fossilized
structures, powerless to produce or reproduce anything living but still capable of
suppressing it.

Tati is telling us our lives are turning into sterilized homogenous versions of what they once
were. He says we are having less and less fun (Bazin and Truffaut 2000: 298). We see this

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in the first half of PLAY TIME. The architecture and the people are ordered, dull (blue/grey
in color), homogenized, sterile. This starts to change (slowly) when we get to the Royal
Garden. Here at the Royal Garden we meet the architect: the person responsible for Tativille.
The Royal Garden is a bourgeois restaurant/night club. To start with it is almost as
ordered as the rest of Tativille. However at the Royal Garden the architect is still at work - as
the restaurant is opening. They are putting the tools away as the first guests arrive. From
here things break - the lights do not work - or things malfunction - the air conditioning is too
hot, and then too cold. The architects chairs leave a print on the back of peoples jackets. The
column near the entrance is in the wrong place. The maitre d has to step around it when he
his welcoming the guests; Hulot bumps into it and makes himself dizzy. The space is poorly
designed. Tati has a lot of fun with the architect in this sequence.
It is from the ruin and chaos that Hulot and his new friends create a little club of
their own and it is here that people start to have fun. It is the first time in the film we see
people loosen up and enjoy themselves (and each other). Laurent Marie (2001: 263) writes
Where as, before the city prevented people from meeting one another, the Royal Garden has
now become a social place. We again see some of the social community of the old square.
Tati uses this sequence to show us what the resolution might be, as things become more and
more disordered and chaotic some of the people start to loosen up have some fun.
The colours of PLAY TIME move from the blue grey tones we see for the first part of
the film, to the mostly black and white tones of the Royal Garden, and then finally the bright
colors of the merry-go-round, at the end of the film. During the sequence at the Royal Garden
the colors start to brighten, mostly through the dresses of the American women, and the
flowers on their hats. As the night goes on, more and more different types of people start to
wander in. This is enabled by the breaking of the Glass door. The point that Tati is
emphasizing is that the variety we see emerging here in dress, class, age, sub cultures is
exactly that which has been banished from Tativille in the sterilized homogenization. The
next day has dawned and we find our selves with Hulot and Barbara at the new market. We
see more people of different ages children for example, who have been mostly absent until
this point.
PLAY TIME after the upheaval of the Royal Garden ends up at a small modern round-
a-bout, which Tati pictures as a merry-go-round. By the time we reach here we have a lot of
colour. We see the orange of the girls dress on the motor bike; the bright red and blue of the
cars in the workshop; the colours in the childrens clothing. It is full of life.
In this sequence we see a lot of variety, in the cars (their shapes and colours); in the
people, we see unfashionable people, people of different ages, different classes. The merry-
go-round-a-bout is slightly chaotic and dizzying. Tati emphasizes this point when he makes
the joke with the women in the bus, and the big dipper, with the man cleaning the window. As
he cleans the window he tips it up and down. The womens reflection is caught in the
window. The joke is they are being tipped up and down as if they were on a big dipper ride.
This merry-go-round-a-bout is fun.
In the merry-go-round-about Tati references his earlier films, we see the ice cream cart
and boats from MR HULOTS HOLIDAY. The round-a-bout itself is a reference to JOUR
DE FETE, both these films are about fun times, holiday times. This is one thing Tati believes
is missing from most of peoples lives in Tativille: play time.
The abundance of children suggests the future. In twenty years when these children
are adults, what will the city be like then? What sort of city will they have? What will be left
of Tatis childhood Paris?
Tati does not leave us in the blue grey world of the earlier part of PLAY TIME. The
American Tourists are also on the round-a-bout, they circle around with everyone else, and
then move off the round-a-bout, and back out to the air port. Even though these travelers are

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not great adventurers, their paths are marked out for them, (and we see from the posters in the
film that each city they visit in modernity is the same) they still travel off, as Tati fades his
film to black, into the unknown, and importantly, as we know from the sequence at the Royal
Garden, they know how to have fun.
In light of the sadness and regret Tati feels toward the destruction of Paris, that was
happening at the time this film was made, his solution is to loosen (up): have more and
more fun.

References

Bazin, A and Truffaut, F. 2000, An Interview with Jacques Tati by Andre Bazin,
with Participation of Francois Truffaut, Trans. B. Cardullo, Quarterly Review of Film
and Video, 19, pp 285 298. (Online. Internet. 21 Oct. 2005.)
Berman, M. 1995, All That Is Solid Melts Into Air, Simon and
Schuster, New York.
Centre de recherche d'urbanisme (CRU), 1968, Urbanization and
Planning in France, CRU, Paris.
Higonnet, P. 2002, Paris: Capital of the World, Trans. A. Goldhammer, Harvard
University Press, Cambridge Massachusetts.
Jordan, D. P. 1995, Transforming Paris: The life and Labors of Baron
Haussmann, Simon and Schuster, New York.
Le Corbusier, 1998, Essential Le Corbusier LEsprit Nouveau Articles, Trans.
J Rodker, Architectural Press , Oxford.
Lefebvre, H. 1995, Introduction to Modernity, Trans. J Moore, Verso, London.
Marie, L. 2001, Jacques Tatis Play Time as New Babylon, in Cinema
and the City, eds. M. Shiel & T. Fitzmaurice, Blackwell Publishers, Oxford
pp 257 269.
Ockman, J. 2000, Architecture in a Mode of Distraction: Eight Takes on Jacques
Tatis Play Time, Architecture and Film, ed M. Lamster, Princeton Architectural Press,
New York pp 171 - 195.
Shields, R. 1995, Lefebvre, Love and Struggle, Routledge, London.

Filmography

Tati, J. dir, Play Time, 1967.

Tati, J. dir, Mon Oncle, 1958.
Tati, J. dir, Mr Hulots Holiday, 1953.
Tati, J. dir, Jour de Fete, 1949.

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Film/Architecture/Narrative
Lee Stickells, University of Sydney and Jonathan Mosley, University of the West of England

Introduction

The discussion of architecture and film has often been framed by references to set design
and backdrop: the glamour or frisson lent by iconic buildings and the documentation of
historical periods and styles through the mise-en-scne. The links between film and urban
culture made in recent research have provided another rich field of discussion; for instance the
exploration of the close interaction between the images of cities and their filmic
representations.1 However, despite their pleasures, these investigations often leave interesting
structural and perceptual questions less explored. Those questions concern the influence that
cinematic techniques and concepts (given the enormous cultural influence of the medium)
might have on the embodied process of perceiving the built environment, as well as the
potential for their incorporation in architectural and urban design processes. This paper will
discuss and reflect on an architectural design studio and subsequent exhibition that explored
some of those questions.
Film/Architecture/Narrative was a Design Unit within the Bachelor of Architecture
programme at Bristol, UWE in 2006-7; the work of which was exhibited at The Architecture
Centre Bristol in May 2007. The projects sprang from intensive site studies and an analysis of
film elements such as montage, depth of field and open-form. Students interwove large-scale
models with site footage in video and image sequences, using the process as a way of
interrogating their designs. Ultimately, the Unit strove for an architecture not simply
conceived as set-design but as a more thoughtful exploration of the possibilities of the filmic
imagination for architecture.
A number of key elements of the studio perhaps distinguished it from other
investigations into the use of film in architectural design. Firstly, we were interested in
exploring the adaptation of filmic concepts (e.g. montage) to underpin the design process;
avoiding simply deriving an architectural aesthetic from a films mise-en-scne. Secondly,
development of the schematic designs and sketch proposals was through intense cycles of
modelling and filming; developing a feedback process for the design rather than treating the
film as a highly refined client presentation device. Thirdly, in keeping with the quick and
dirty approach, we concentrated on students using accessible, relatively inexpensive software
and hardware in order to produce the work (this included using mobile phones to film and
editing on freeware).
This paper will examine some of the results of the studio and reflect on the way that
the projects allowed us to investigate a number of questions. How do we experience the city
in a cinematic sense? Can our understanding of space and place be enhanced through film?
Can zooms, montages, jump edits, storyboarding, scripting, establishing shots, pans, close-

1
The following very brief list of texts gives an idea of the breadth of research into film and architecture: D.
Neumann, D. Albrecht & David Winton Bell Gallery (Brown University) (1997), Film Architecture: Set designs
from Metropolis to Bladerunner. Prestel, New York; D. Albrecht (1987), Designing Dreams: Modern
Architecture in the Movies. Thames & Hudson, London; E. Dimendberg (2004), Film Noir and the Spaces of
Modernity. Harvard University Press, Cambridge; F. Penz & M. Thomas (1997), Cinema and Architecture:
Maeliaes, Mallet-Stevens, Multimedia. British Film Institute, London; M Schwarzer (2004), Zoomscape:
Architecture in motion and media. Princeton Architectural Press, New York.

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ups, framing, tracking shots, sequencing, depth of field, continuity and other aspects of film
productively contaminate architectural design? Finally, can we, as architects, use filmmaking
as a tool for stimulating and redefining our own practices?
After outlining the studio brief and structure the bulk of the paper will examine and
analyse some films produced by students in the studio and speculate on their implications for
architectural design processes. It should be noted that within the Film / Architecture /
Narrative Design Unit, the Narrative element of the studios investigations was also critical -
particularly in developing students concerns and consideration for the experience of building
occupants. However, in recognition of the conference theme, and a need to maintain focus
and brevity, it will only be discussed in this paper in relation to the film/architecture
interaction explored in the studio.

The Studio

The studios site area was Spitalfields in East London. Historically situated outside the City
Wall of London the area has been defined by a fluctuating mix of marginalised activities and
migrating populations. Currently, the expanding City financial centre looms over the site to
the west and the increasingly gentrified Bethnal Green rubs up against the eastern edge
stock market to street market to art market. Power relationships and hierarchies flow and shift
through the site, while the atmosphere of the place continually changes. Using diverse media
students navigated, explored, filmed, mapped and walked boundaries, charted sections,
examined sky to sewer, east to west, placed old maps on new ground to uncover and to know
this terrain.
A series of projects were completed over the year: an exploratory urban intervention, a
threshold study, and a building design for a new International Film School. Each involved the
use of film within the design process and its presentation.2 The first project, and the focus of
this paper, was titled Imaginary Construction and involved the development of an urban
intervention responding to daily rituals observed in the site area. The interventions were
generated by four approaches. Firstly, an analysis was made of a number of urban narratives
(stories by authors ranging from Paul Auster to Banana Yoshimoto) in order to encourage
students to think through the site in terms of its stories and their spatial inscription. It was
also a means to develop approaches to notating spatial narratives and diagramming the
gestures of inhabitation.
Secondly, students identified a client for their interaction. The focus was a person or
group of people who the students identified as performing an everyday ritual in the area.
Examples included tradespeople, beggars, students and kitchen-hands. The students, through
video, drawing, sound recording and photography, mapped particular activities these people
conducted in the public realm, with an emphasis on diagramming and storyboarding the
chosen ritual. Thirdly, and concurrent with that process of identification and documentation
was an exploration of the more general site area and the identification of a site for the
intervention. The fourth approach of the project required students to investigate and focus on
a single material for use in constructing the intervention.

2
The client representative for the Film School was Breda Beban, Professor of Visual Culture at Sheffield Hallam
University, filmmaker and artist. Bredas input was also extremely valuable in helping to review the Urban
Intervention projects. Other guest staff, whose input across the year also helped make the studio successful, were
Robin Wilson, Sophie Warren, Paul Shepherd, Richard Hannay, Elena Marco, James Burch and Harry
Charrington.

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The project then entailed bringing together the approaches within a design proposal that
evolved through a repeated process of model making and filming. The resulting architectural
interventions were required to address aspects such as spatial sequence, threshold, and
material quality and quality of light, view, rhythm and perception. The project aimed to use
that process to intensely study the way architecture is experienced by a user, culminating in
the production of a large-scale model (1:1 to 1:20) and a moving image sequence exploring
the presence of the intervention in its site.

The Films
In analysing and discussing the students film work we used a number of questions that relate
to the studios initial research premise. They were: how did the student relate a sense of
Spitalfields cinematically? What filmic techniques can be seen to influence the design and its
representation? How did the process enhance the students understanding of the space/place
of Spitalfields? What aspects of the interventions character did the filmic representation
emphasise or reinforce? The questions often overlapped and they wont rigidly structure the
discussion of the students work; however, they do provide a useful grounding to the
following analysis. What follows is a detailed exploration of one students film in order to
convey a sense of the way in which the film fitted in to the overall studio process. Following
that is a discussion of particular aspects of some other films to reinforce a few of the key ideas
that emerged from the studio.

Labyrinth

Matthew Hynams film Labyrinth is a melancholic, dream-like journey that overlays sights
and sounds of the existing Spitalfields market with a proposed intervention into that space.
The films cool tones and abstracted imagery convey both the detached sensation he sought
for his project (linking a characters uncertain sense of reality with the confusion of a market
space) and an elegiac rendering of the market that is disappearing because of the sites
continued gentrification. The existing market is represented through a series of black and
white still images, an overlaid, continuous tracking shot of the roof structure and a time-
stretched, muted field recording. These are interspersed and overlaid with images of an
intervening, imaginary structure in cool blue tones.
Three aspects of the film emerge as useful for this discussion: the purposeful
construction of a sense of immersion and motion, a structural relationship between the
intervention, film and market, and the imparting of a specific atmosphere, or mood, within the
film. The first of these aspects is most directly evoked through the continual tracking shot of
the roof, which provides an obvious sense of motion and a temporal register for the film. Its
also reinforced by the repeated dissolve from one market image to the next that adds to a
sense of time passing. Each of these elements is shot from a first person point of view
further establishing the camera as the roving eye of the viewer, weaving through the market.
The structuring of the film, particularly the visual continuity, rhythm and framing also
describes a relationship between the site, intervention and film. The overlaying and
interspersing of images of the intervention with those of the existing market suggests the
physical insertion of the new structure. The underlying framework of the tracking ceiling
shot suggests a spatial sequence to the images while the frequent alignment of forms found
within images of the site with those found in the intervention enhance their visual and spatial
overlap. These tactics build to create a convincing sense of an interwoven site and proposal
that still allows for a useful perceptual gap between the two elements the intervention can
be interpreted as an insertion that reframes the market rather than something that obliterates
the existing.

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The control of the visual palette and aural quality of the film also provides a strong sense of
mood that relates simultaneously to Matthews reading of the existing market as well as the
proposed character of the intervention. The grainy black and white imagery, muted and
distorted field recording, and the slow pace of the overlaid tracking shot combine to evoke a
melancholic, documentary atmosphere. These tactics, along with a shifting set of image
scales (ranging from long shot to extreme close up) offer the film as a capturing of a
disappearing sense of place. At the same time the abstractions at work (for example, the
slowing down and stretching of the sound recording) and the way they generate a sense of
detachment help to embody the experience of the disoriented visitor within the Labyrinth
intervention. The images of the model interwoven with the site footage inter-play and set up
ambiguities; their cool blue tonal range keys in with the sense of loss and detachment while
the visual overlays hint at the physical insertion of the labyrinth structure. Finally, all the
shots used in the film are first person point-of-view, encouraging a fluctuating reading of the
film as an immersion in both the environment of the existing market as well as the proposed
intervention. Reinforcing this further is the absence of a totalising shot that would reveal the
overall spatial structure and allow the viewer a definite emplacement the market and
intervention interaction is represented as a labyrinthine experience.
We consider Labyrinth a successful film because of the productive ways that it
interweaves site and proposal, as described above, as well as the way it developed through a
series of experiments in modelling and filming. This process identified the importance of the
interventions temporal quality and its framing of the market for the user. This emerges in
the film through the careful control of the relationships between its own structure and the
architectural structures in terms of view, rhythm and continuity. The film ended up becoming
a stimulating method of interpreting the space of the market as well as evoking an
atmospheric experience of the intervention.

Canopy of Raindrops

Florence Wongs film and intervention was located in Dray Walk and focused on the impact
of elements such as rain, light and wind. Dray Walk, part of the old Truman Brewery
complex, is a fashionable pedestrian laneway that houses cafes, bars, clothing stores and
galleries. Both the film and the intervention emerged as exploratory gestures the
architectural project and its filmic representation involved a series of experiments with forms
and materials, and the possibilities for their filtering of climatic conditions within the site.
The current role of Dray Walk as a public space of promenading, voyeurism and display
initially drew Florences attention. Documenting the ways people acted (in multiple senses of
the word) within the space during a day that featured sunshine, wind and heavy rain squalls,
and then into the evening prompted the subsequent experimentation with a climate-sensitive,
theatrical intervention. A very definite relationship was set up between the site exploration,
documentation and the intervention design. The project developed as a weather register
structure as well as a device that could trigger or encourage particular behaviours in response
to the climatic conditions. The design process, with the film as an integral part of it, was used
to develop an intervention that filtered light, cast shadows, created sound and suggested
pathways through the space triggered by rain, wind, sunlight, night-lighting and the
movement of crowds.
The film techniques were directly bound to the material exploration: the initial site
studies documented various weather conditions and atmospheres and the subsequent filming
documented various trials of form, material, structural system, scale, tone and volume. The
final film attempted to interweave the evocation of the site and the intervention, using a
number of techniques to place the project physically and temporally within the place. These

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included a chapter structure to communicate daily cycles and rituals, the creative use of studio
effects to replicate different weather conditions and times of day, a moving camera to try and
animate the static model, and combined field recording with studio sound to reinforce a
carnivalesque atmosphere.
Canopy of Raindrops isnt a wholly successful film. There are problems with its
sometimes crude editing and the attempts to reproduce models at varying scales with
particular atmospheric effects (e.g. rain) stretched Florences technical abilities. However,
this also leads to the key strength of the film its role as a kind of cinematic sketchbook
containing a series of experimental vignettes. These short sequences, although not really
forming a cohesive piece, contain ideas that are strong and that would often be impossible to
explore through simply sketching or model making. As a response to some of the initial
research questions we asked ourselves, the film clearly demonstrates its usefulness within the
design process for thinking through some of the ephemeral qualities of an architectural
proposal in a schematic way.

Brick Lane Ribbon

Tim Hawkers film makes a stark contrast with Canopy of Raindrops. As a short film it is
much more successful in terms of visual and aural control, sense of rhythm and overall
aesthetic cohesion. As an exploration or representation of an architectural intervention it is
far more ephemeral and impressionistic. In that way it failed to meet some of the objectives
of the studio but it has some extremely poetic elements that are worth discussing here.
The most interesting aspect of Tims project for this discussion is the way that both the film
and the intervention it represents are assembled from fragments; the process of montage is
critical to the establishment of a mood and a suggestion of form. The structuring of the
steady-paced, monochromatic image sequence relates closely to the suggestions of an
intervention formed from a single piece of translucent material - twisted and deformed to fit
the site and to provide a platform for appropriation by people in the street.
The building up of this suggestion happens through a series of similarly scaled detail shots of
the model arranged in a well-paced sequence. Although it lacks a clear relationship to its
context, it gives a very persuasive study of form and detail that suggests ways by which such
filmic studies can help generate a material poetics. The communication of context through
images reflected on the surface of the Ribbon is a technique that reinforces that material
focus while also starting to place the intervention. An atmospheric field recording and a
minimalist, minor-key piano piece, support the image sequence. Their combination provides
an editing rhythm as well as introducing a sense of narrative: suggesting the intrusion into the
dark, rainy street of a late night argument and bottle-smashing. This is a particularly effective
detail as it balances the optimism of the intervention as a non-programmed object for free
play with an obvious potential for misuse and vandalism; the film begins to act as a critique of
the architectural idea itself.
Brick Lane Ribbon is a very suggestive film that demonstrates a sure handling of
sound, visual composition, editing and pacing. Unfortunately, the architectural intervention it
related to suffered from a lack of progression and remained as ephemeral as the film suggests.
In that way Tims project was less than successful. However, the film was extremely useful
as a means of suggesting the material and formal potential the project contained and again
demonstrates the usefulness of the medium as a design impetus.

Urban Choreography

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The final film we will discuss is Justin Frances Urban Choreography. Justins site
exploration led him to film and analyse the interactions between a carpenter constructing a
shop counter on a pavement and the pedestrians who had to pass by as he wielded a circular
saw. Justin interpreted the episode as a piece of urban choreography both the carpenters
actions with the saw and the various ways in which people negotiated a path past him or
paused to watch.
The subsequent intervention and film focused on the social and aesthetic potential of
those flowing movements. The intervention developed as a stage for performance that
straddled the pavement and roadway accommodating but also slightly deflecting the
movement along each to create an eddy where people could appropriate the space for a range
of activities. Within the film these concerns with flow and path were communicated through
the use of the camera as subject moving through the street; most of the film used overlaid
loops of the footage with that of the model to suggest the placement of the intervention.
There was also an overlaying of 1:1 detail (a hand tracing the line of the timber cladding) with
the urban street scenes and a similar approach to the audio (field recordings mixed with music
from a hypothetical performance).
The most interesting element of Justins process was that layering of material to give a
sense of the interventions presence. It was never seamless but in fact that gap between the
layers became critically important as a way of reinforcing the negotiations required to
accommodate the project in the street echoing the negotiations he originally observed, those
of pedestrians past his camera and past the carpenter at work. The film and its techniques not
only communicated the interest he had in flows but also forced Justin to think through the
adjustments and modifications he needed to make architecturally in order to place his project
in the site.

Conclusion

The studio was a tentative, initial foray into what, to us, seemed a relatively unexplored area.
While the intersection of film and architecture is undeniably rich and well trod with respect to
analyses of their symbolic and aesthetic interaction we feel that there is an exciting, and under
explored, potential for filmic techniques to, perhaps ironically, enrich the physicality of the
design process. The studio was a first step in that process and, although it inevitably raised
more questions than it answered, it opened up exciting possibilities for recasting the
schematic architectural design process and modes of concept presentation.
The architectural design process results in the realisation of ideas as occupied spaces,
as buildings, as towns, as cities. Our experience as users of these places is multi-sensory and
filtered by our individual perceptions. The manipulation and representation of designs for
these spaces within architectural offices is abstracted by the media of architectural drawing
and the cleanliness of the computer generated image. Film has the potential of positively
contaminating this abstracted representation of place. By its inclusion in the architectural
design process, consideration of the experiential and ephemeral qualities of place is
reinforced. Although film does not capture the real experience of a place, working with
moving image brings the potential reality of the completed design in the real context under
closer and earlier scrutiny within the design process.
We feel that the work of the students over the year, of which a very small part has
been shown here, made clearer some of the benefits of that film/architecture/narrative
intersection. The studios outcomes suggested that the architectural design process could
open itself up to a more immediate examination of a wider range of experiential qualities
through the quick and dirty application of filmic technologies and ideas. The processes of
site exploration, analysis, design conception and presentation were enriched by folding these

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techniques and concepts into them, and a focus on the bodily experience of places was pushed
to the foreground.
In closing we would like to thank all the students whose work contributed to that
exploration and we hope that the ideas introduced in the studio will continue to contaminate
their work

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 Miho Nakagawa

The production of multi-layered space in Japanese anime:

Mamoru Oshiis Patlabor, Tokyo

Miho Nakagawa, Bartlett School of Architecture, UCL

Detective Matsui: Tokyo is such an odd place. In this investigation, I saw some of the
strangest old backwaters. But then the view would suddenly change. As
each building fell, a new one rose up. Look away for a second, and
everythings changed. Before you know it, the past is gone. No one in
Tokyo seems to care about our vanishing history.

Captain Goto: This spot right here was part of the bay a few years ago. In ten [sic-in
the Japanese, a couple of] years, the bay in front of us will be new city
land. A little after that, this will be old news, and no one will care. Its
all just a big joke. Maybe thats what Hoba [the prime suspect] wanted
to tell us.

(From the English subtitles of Patlabor 1: Mobile Police, 1989)

In Mamoru Oshiis film Patlabor 1, towards the end of the investigation into a computer
crime (in which a virus was planted in the operational program of construction robots),
Detective Matsui and Captain Goto are sitting side by side on a wharf, looking at the tranquil
surface of the sea and watching their off duty colleagues fishing from rafts. As they discuss
their case, both men confess their sympathy with the prime suspect in his attempt to put an
end to the incessant production of space (both buildings and reclaimed sites) in Tokyo Bay.
The misinterpretation in the English subtitles above (ten instead of a couple of
years) reveals that for the translator, the speed of change in the Japanese city is impossible.
This is probably because the translator did not imagine that a new city could be built in a
couple of years. Indeed, the message in this dialogue represents the voices of those Tokyo
residents who felt helpless in the face of continuous construction during the rapid economic
growth of the late 80s.
Although Oshiis films encompass wide-ranging and complex issues such as identity,
gender, robots, cyborgs, mythology, religion, politics, war and power this paper focuses on
one issue: his production of space. This paper offers two types of analysis of the production of
space: first, Oshiis own (re)production of space i.e. the way in which he illustrates cityscapes
in films, and second, his critique of the production of space in Tokyo illustrated in such works
as Patlabor 1: Mobile Police (1989), Patlabor 2: The Movie (1993) and Tokyo Vein1 (2003). I
will show firstly multiple perspectives starting from above Tokyo and gradually descending
through its layers. Secondly, I will examine the depictions of the city in Patlabor 1, in order
to challenge the view of Japanese architects that the continuous production of space is a
cultural mechanism. As a background to my presentation, various scenes of the urban fabric
in Tokyo and of construction and destruction will be projected onto this screen. This strategy,
let the backdrops address the theme(Oshii et al. 2003;Oshii 2004:73), is the one Oshii used

1
Tokyo Vein was directed by Makoto Noda and was supervised by Mamoru Oshii for the Roppongi Hills Opening
Exhibition, The Global City (2003).

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 Miho Nakagawa

in the Patlabor films. Before looking into Oshiis world, I will clarify the relationships
between the city, multi-layers and Japanese anime.

City, multi-layers and Japanese anime

As some Japanese architects and some Japanese Studies researchers admit (Bognar
1985;Matsuoka 1979), space in Japanese thought is conceived of not as a three dimensional
entity but as a combination of two dimensional planes [screens] with hollow layers or a space-
time axis. Some call it the concept of ma. Through this spatiality, all citiesnot just
Japanese are seen to be composed of multi-layers.
Japanese anime also has this spatiality and Mamoru Oshii is the director who most
consciously applies it in depictions of the city. He identifies three layered screens: foreground
(characters), mid-ground (surroundings) and background (landscapes)(Oshii et al. 2003: 162-
3;Oshii 2004: 89-92). These layered screens transform three-dimensional space into two-
dimensional sheets and are merged together. He is obsessed with creating realistic images
using this combination. For example in Patlabor 2, when Captain Goto gets into his car, the
mid-ground (the interior of the car) shakes but the background (the cityscape) also subtly
shakes because the supposed-camera viewpoint is at a position behind the drivers seat.
Through this visual image, viewers naturally sense his body weight almost as if they were in
the same car. One can almost smell the car seat. In short, this is not an absolute and binary
relationship between subject and object, but a relative and tripartite relationship between
subject-surroundings-nature. This tripartite relationship can be observed in the borrowed
landscape2 in traditional Japanese gardens.
Oshii also realises that imaginary spaces in anime tend to be poor and stereotyped
(Oshii 2004: 60), whereas real cities are rich, complex and full of information (p.78). For
instance, before Oshii buildings depicted in anime had often been mere signs for example a
box with black holes signified a building; if such a building was extended horizontally and a
clock added, it signified a school; with advertising balloons, it signified a department store
(p.60). In contrast to this convention, Oshii composes imaginary cityscapes extracted from or
enhanced by the real space which he finds through location scouting3. Another of Oshiis
findings is that viewers are used to the distorted images caused by the camera in live-action
films and so as an anime director he distorts some images to make them look more natural
and familiar (pp.199-200). He thinks that there is a difference between the precise
representation and the feeling of reality. For instance, when one produces an image in anime,
the precise representation of a photograph which captures a street corner cannot provide
viewers with an impression of reality. However, a slightly distorted picture of the street corner,
which extends towards the viewers and is projected onto the screen, lets the viewers feel as if
they were standing there (p.199). Thus, Oshiis anime re-presents the cameras perception
through the combination of two-dimensional layers. These two findings suggest that anime
screens are perfectly deliberate manipulations by the director, unlike live-action films which
can capture the movement or landscape without such efforts. The next section introduces
Oshiis depictions of the cityscapes, surroundings-nature among the tripartite relationship.

The city from below: Tokyos alternate landscapes in the background

2
The borrowed landscape is a Chinese and Japanese gardening technique. If there is a significant view, such as mountain in
the background, it is incorporated as an element of the foreground garden.
3
Location scouting is the search for a suitable place for the best shot outside the studio in the process of filming.

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 Miho Nakagawa

Time is the time of change not localized or particular change but the change of
transition and the transitory, of conflict of dialectics and of tragedy; the River is the
symbol in which reality and dream are one and which is without form.
(Lefebvre 1984:4)

The city in films is often depicted either from above or at the eye level of pedestrians.
Researchers in urban spatial studies now favour viewing the city from street level rather than
from the elevated perspective. However, as Henri Lefebvre insisted, these oppositional
perspectives between micro and macro are not sufficient (Soja 1996: 314) 4. In particular, to
understand a city like Tokyo various perspectives are needed since new layers are not only
superimposed but are also inserted into the existing urban fabric because of the shortage of
land and high land prices5.
Oshii illustrates Tokyo from various heights at different speeds, depending on his
choice of surroundings (the midground) such as cockpits, vehicles and buildings. For instance,
he uses a hovering helicopter or a floating airship to show a slow birds eye view over the city;
he chooses cars travelling and stuck in the traffic jams on the expressway, thus demonstrating
the intermediate height of cityscapes; he sets the supposed camera position in the cockpit of a
Labor robot to reveal the pilots view; he depicts detectives conducting an investigation in the
low city6, the Shitamachi area.
Moreover, Oshii explores an
alternative perspective, the city
from below, by using a camera on a
floating boat. This perspective
contrasts with Lefebvres
representations of space as made by
geographers, architects and planners
in their maps and models. Such
scaled-down representations, the
city from above, accustom us to a
simplified and reduced version of the Figure 1. Tokyo Vein (2003 GRANATEN/MORI
city. However, seeing the city from
below necessitates a view of the real city itself since unlike a building model, large city
models are generally seen from above and the human body cannot be scaled down. In addition,
the slow movement of the boat helps viewers to scrutinise the cityscapes. Through this view,
an unfamiliar and different Tokyo emerges. This heterotopic vista, filmed from a boat
travelling along channels during the location scouting, was painted as backdrops in Patlabor 1,
rearranged in Patlabor 2 and further developed in the short documentary Tokyo Vein (Figure
1).

4
Edward Soja points out that Lefebvres critique of this polarizations have firstly developed around micro vs. macrospatial
analysis specifically to the citybuilding professions, with the architect fixed primarily at the micro scale and the planner at the
macro (Soja 1996: 312). The micro viewpoint is connected to the preference for the view from below: everyday life is
exemplified in the voice of the flneur. Whereas the macro viewpoint is associated with a modernist and masculinist
hegemony of the visual , an authoritarian viewpoint which is exemplified by voyeurism (Soja 1996: 310-314).
5
For instance, economic priorities have promoted the combinations of unrelated functions in buildings or civil engineering
structures, which are called cross categorical hybrids (Tsukamoto et al. 2001: 12).
6
I have borrowed this term from Edward Seidensticker who translated the name of downtown Tokyo, Shitamachi, as the low
city (Seidensticker 1985).

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 Miho Nakagawa

In this documentary, Oshii uses a physiological analogy of the city as a body 7 ,

contrasting the veinsthe drainage channels which collect and expel the waste products of
the citywith the arteriesthe trains, expressways and communication networks. This
analogy also provokes viewers to imagine the social hierarchy or class system. In fact, Tokyo
Vein captures scenes such as workers collecting trash floating on the water surface, or an
overflowing garbage barge. Such activities would hardly be noticed by pedestrians and by
passengers or drivers, travelling in over- and underground trains, or in cars on the expressway.
The workers, pedestrians, passengers and drivers are all experiencing everyday life at a
different pace and speed. Oshiis perspective demonstrates how cameras on the boat
emphasise speed or time rather than space, giving the viewer an isolated feeling of being
away from the bustle of the city. Our next section will step further into Tokyo illustrated in
Oshiis film.

The implicit theme in the midground

As mentioned before, Oshii attempts to let the

backdrops address the theme in the Patlabor
films. In the foreground of the Patlabor 1, two
detectives penetrate the deep urban fabric of
Tokyo from the Kanda River through the low city
to the ruins. In the midground, Oshii depicts
realistic scenes of the low city while the detectives
follow the prime suspects tracks from one house
to the next. The screen shows several houses
deserted by the suspect, some of which are about
to be demolished. The chief detective recognises Figure 3. The low city (Patlabor 1: Mobile
that constantly moving house is the suspects best Police 1989 HEADGEAR /EMOTION / TFC)
way to delete all traces of his existence in Tokyo
since all of his landlords or neighbours were
dispersed. In the midground, the camera captures
the transition from living space to ruins,
addressing another theme: the destruction of
community. Here are two example of a living
community, in the first, the chief detective talks to
a tobacconist since such a person is generally
regarded as a helpful observer of the city.
Secondly, the film shows that residents can
display and take care of their plants in the street Figure 2: The ruin of a public bathhouse.
without fear of theft; the private stuff occupies (Patlabor 1: Mobile Police 1989 HEADGEAR
the public space (Figure 2). Both examples imply /EMOTION / TFC)
that their community is still thriving there.
However, as the two detectives penetrate further, they do not encounter any residents;
but they do see a cemetery and this section may imply the death of the city or community. In
one frame, the open space where two detectives are drinking cola seems from the decorative
floor tiles to have been a public bathhouse (Error! Reference source not found.). This

7
Le Corbusier also uses the analogy of the city as a human body. According to Philip Steadman, [W]e have to wait for Le
Corbusier to find biological comparisons of the physiology of breathing with the ventilation of buildings; of the nervous
system with the networks of electricity supply, communication and telephone services in a building or city, of the bowels
with sewer pipes and refuse systems; and, favourite analogy of all, the circulation of the blood with the circulation of people
or traffic (Steadman 1979:48). This analogy is also visualised in the animation part of the film Osmosis Jones (2001).

181
 Miho Nakagawa

reminds the viewers the community which existed before; public bathhouses were a kind of
community centre in the wooden residential areas where tenants did not have their own baths8.
Through the detectives pursuit of their quarry, viewers have become more sympathetic with
the prime suspect. Our next section will show Oshiis explicit critique of the production of
space.

Critique of the production of space in Tokyomidground versus background

City residents tend to be both fascinated and repelled by the city9. Oshii had been living in
Tokyo for nearly forty years and his mixed love-hate emotions for the city are explicitly
reflected in Patlabor 1. His favourite traditional wooden houses (the midground) are
superimposed on his loathed high-rises (the background). In the midground, Oshii placed
some topical retro-architecture which still existed in the 1980s. Three examples which I can
recognise are billboard architecture10 originally built during the 1920s or 30s, useless and
obsolete objects in the street, Tomasson11 (Figures 5), and one of the Doujunkai Apartments,
the well-known fireproof concrete buildings constructed after the 1923 Great Kanto
Earthquake. Oshii depicts scenes in which his beloved traditional wooden houses are
demolished by Labors, the large construction robots. Here, his critique of the production of
space in the bubble economy period underlies his official intention to record and create
memories of the real Tokyo of the late 80s. The following section will challenge the
prevailing view that the perpetual production of space is a cultural mechanism and will reveal
how this cultural focus hides the other aspects underpinning this phenomenon.

Figures 4. The remains of the nuclear bomb: the type 1 in Super-Art Thomasson(Akasegawa 1985: 24-
5) (left) and Oshiis citation (Patlabor 1: Mobile Police 1989 HEADGEAR /EMOTION / TFC) (right)

In the bubble era, Japanese architects took advantage of the economic boom and
referred to this cultural mechanism as their excuse. The twenty year rebuilding cycle
sustained at the Ise Shrine was frequently used to exemplify the ephemerality of Japanese
architecture. The article by the US architectural critic Botond Bognar (1997) well illustrates
8
Nowadays, independent en suite rooms have become more popular among young people. This destruction of community is
also associated with the transition to the residents atomization of life in gigantic cities.
9
For example, [Patrick] Keillers London probes the permanent fascination and repulsion of its urban textures (Barber
2002: p.97).
10
This phrase was coined by the architectural historian Terunobu Fujimori (Fujimori 1994). The billboard architecture is one
example of the pseudo-Western style street architecture of shops. Billboard does not mean an advertisement on the faade
but a flat faade decorated with tiles, mortar or carbon boards like a billboard (Akasegawa et al. 1993:pp.61-63).
11
Artist Genpei Akasegawa and his group observed and reported urban unconsciousness of the Surrealistic Architecture in
the street, calling it Thomasson. Thomasson is a lame duck US major leaguer who was playing in a Japanese professional
baseball team in the early 80s (Akasegawa 1985:14). Fujimoris and Akasegawas groups established the Urban Observation
Group in 1986. They were inspired by Found objects (objets trouvs) by Marcel Duchamp (Akasegawa et al. 1993:pp.38-42)
and also inspired by Wajiiro Kon, who established the study of modern social phenomena, Kogen-gaku (p.12) in 1927.

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 Miho Nakagawa

Japanese architects discourses of the ephemeral at that time. For example, in the 1980s-90s
architects argued that architecture embodies the essence of the impermanence influenced by
Buddhism and that this essence epitomises Japanese culture. Bognar says as follows:

Contemporary design in Japan is characterized by lightness, surface, fragmentation, and

dissolution, often with a ruinous quality, a sense of temporality, imageability, sensuousness,
and finally, a spectacular phenomenalism all attributes of the ephemeral.
(Bognar, 1997: 38)

Historically, Japanese cities have experienced destruction caused by catastrophic fires,

earthquakes, typhoons and wars, and as a result, perpetual reproduction is very familiar to the
residents. Patlabor 1s storyline depicts the process of a computer crime to sabotage The
Babylon Project which is a fictitious government-led development of a new city full of high-
rises on reclaimed islands in Tokyo Bay. The story is set in 1999, four years after an
imaginary earthquake has destroyed Tokyo; the debris left by the earthquake is being used for
landfill. This fantasy may have been inspired first by the well-known visual images of the
cities flattened by earthquake (1923) and by war (1945) and second by familiar scenes of
perpetual reconstruction as the city emerges from the debris so often12. In fact, the Great
Hanshin Earthquake of 1995 actually caused new destruction of the city and it was said that
the original story of the Patlabor series predicted the incidents.
In addition, traditional wooden structures have allowed easy transformations of
cityscapes. In the film, this transformation is represented as the decay and demolition of
wooden buildings in the low city. As already shown, two detectives step into the deep urban
fabric of Tokyo from the Kanda River through the low city to the ruins, in search of the tracks
of the prime suspect. In this process, the film clearly contrasts high-rises with vulnerable
wooden buildings. Oshii illustrates the traditional wooden buildings in the low city with
familiar, nostalgic and intimate touches in midground. In contrast, Oshii seems to hate the
high-rises which are painted always in the background against the low city, a contrast of
cityscapes that is familiar to Tokyo residents. These high-rises stand silently looking down on
the low city like tombstones without people working or living in them.
In the 1980s-90s, Japanese architects overlooked the limited durability of hitherto
existing buildings and the enhanced durability by new technologies. Buildings in Japan
depreciate year by year like cars because of the decay caused by small earthquakes and by
climate13. The legal durable years of any buildings are estimated at no longer than fifty years.
Buildings have their own limited life; buildings should be demolished after a certain number
of years for security reasons. From an economic perspective, old buildings over fifty years
have no value because no one can predict when they may collapse. Simultaneously, using
advanced technology, construction companies have been trying to build long-lasting, robust
and fireproof buildings, especially high-rises 14 . In retrospect, what is paradoxical is that
architects seldom refer to these two aspects of durability by focusing only on the traditional
and the cultural. More importantly, it should be noted that the Japanese must shoulder the
huge burden of this metabolic construction cycle.
During more than a decade of stagnation after the collapse of the bubble economy and
under the global pressure to encourage sustainable developments, the ephemeral aspect of
Japanese architecture has became less appealing. As described in Bognars article, the strong

12
Between 1603 and 1872 there were ninety-seven major conflagrations including catastrophic fires in 1657, 1682, 1720,
and 1872; there were major earthquakes in 1855 and 1923; the fire bombings of the Second World War razed the city
(Bognar, 1997:35)
13
Such as humidity, typhoons, rainy or snowy season as well as acid rain.
14
Such high-rises sometimes use flexible structure responsive to earthquakes.

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 Miho Nakagawa

economy15 in the late 1980s and the systems of fragmented or patchwork landownership16 and
of taxation such as estate and death duties17 supported the continuous production of space as
well as the Japanese cultural mechanism. In these systems, the natural outcome of Tokyos
developments would be the replacement of small wooden houses by fireproof, middle or high-
rise buildings owned by companies. This change is visually illustrated and these two types of
building are contrasted in Oshiis Patlabor 1.
Oshiis hatred of high-rises culminates in the finale. In the story, Captain Goto
proposes several ways to prevent the crime and one of these is the demolition of the highrises
in central Tokyo. Instead of demolishing the highrises, Oshii decides to make a symbolic
gesture, by toppling the remaining structure of the ocean base into the sea. This conclusion
suggests the ultimate victory of the prime suspects sabotage of, or lengthy delay to the
construction in Tokyo Bay. Seemingly, Oshiis desire to stop and to make viewers think about
the meaning of the construction is achieved. Ironically, however, this conclusion does not
provide a drastic solution to the problem, i.e. giving up the production of space, but merely
causes a disturbance to or delay in the project. In other words, there is no doubt that the
construction of the new city and destruction of the old city will still continue after this crime.
Construction and destruction are unstoppable; we cannot control nature or our environment or
the economic cycle. Maybe thats what Oshii wanted to tell us.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Mr. Makoto Noda, Mr. Genpei Akasegawa and Tohokushinsha Film
Corporation for their permission to use their works. I also thank to Professor Philip Steadman
and Dr. Vimalin Rujivacharakul for their helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper.

References

Academy International Forum 1994, 'Learning from Tokyo', Architectural Design Profile No
107 (Japanese Architecture III), vol. 64, no. 1-2/1994, pp. 8-19.
Akasegawa, G. 1985, Cho Geijutsu Thomasson (Super Art Thomasson) Byakuya Shobo,
Tokyo.
Akasegawa, G., Fujimori, T., & Minami, S. 1993, Roj Kansatsu-gaku Nymon (The
Introduction to Street Observation), Pbk edn, Chikuma, Tokyo.
Barber, S. 2002, Projected Cities: cinema and urban space Reaktion Books, London.
Bognar, B. 1985, Contemporary Japanese Architecture: Its Development and Challenge, Van
Nostrand Reinhold, New York.
Bognar, B. 1997, 'What Goes Up, Must Come Down: Recent Urban Architecture in Japan',
Harvard Design Magazine, vol. No.3 , no. Fall 1997, pp. 33-43.
Fujimori, T. 1994, Kanban Kenchiku (Billboard Architecture) Sanseido, Tokyo.
Lefebvre, H. 1984, Everyday life in the modern world Transaction Publishers, New Jersey.
Matsuoka, S. ed. 1979, Ma: space-time in Japan, English edition. New York, Cooper-Hewitt
Museum.

15
In the bubble era, land prices soared and more than 90 per cent of the budget will go towards the cost of the land property
and just ten per cent will go towards construction costs and architecture(Academy International Forum 1994: 12) especially
in central Tokyo. Consequently, designer buildings sometimes could last for only a few years like high fashion trends; such
buildings became commodities.
16
The plot division in Japanese cities is relatively small. Each landowner owns a building and the value of the building is
underestimated. As a result, when a new owner takes over a plot, it is usual for a new building to be constructed.
17
By using a biological analogy, owned plots are repeatedly subdivided like cell divisions generation by generation because
of inheritance tax which frequently is set at 50% of the estimated property value. It is difficult for landowners in central
Tokyo to pay this tax, and therefore the plot or part of the plot is sold. In central Tokyo, residents would be evicted and
companies would often take over their properties.

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 Miho Nakagawa

Oshii, M. 2004, Innocence Ssaku Note: Ningyou, Kenchiku, Shintai no Tabi + Taidan
(Innocence Creation Note: Travel between Doll, Architecture, Body + Talks) Studio
Ghibli, Tokyo.
Oshii, M., Taneda, Y., Igarashi, T., & Terada, M. 2003, "[Dialogue] Eiga to Toshi: Kak no
Sekai wo Tsukuru (Film and the city: Creating imaginary worlds)," in Architecture of
Tomorrow -2: From Different Fields, TOTO Shuppan, Tokyo.
Seidensticker, E. G. 1985, Low city, high city : Tokyo from Edo to the earthquake Penguin
Books, Harmondsworth.
Soja, E. W. 1996, Thirdspace: journeys to Los Angeles and other real-and-imagined places
Blackwell, Cambridge, Mass and Oxford.
Steadman, P. 1979, The evolution of designs: Biological analogy in architecture and the
applied arts Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
Tsukamoto, Y., Kaijima, M., & Kuroda, J. 2001, Made in Tokyo Kajima Publishing, Tokyo.

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 Afroditi Nikolaidou

Cinematic Uses of Athenian Monuments, or revisiting the

Athenian Glory
Afroditi Nikolaidou, Panteion University, Athens

Introduction

The aim of this essay is to present cinematic ways in which important monuments and sites of
memorythe most important among them the Parthenon and its wider area the Acropolis
are represented in contemporary Greek cinema.
Under a complex contemporary urban context (Immigrant influx, Olympic Games,
Gentrification etc), Athens, a city always related to its ancient past, has claimed a new image
and a huge urban discourse has been produced from art exhibition to academia and from
documentary to feature films. Contemporary Greek cinema responded in different ways, one
of them being the filming of the Athenian landscape marked by its historic sites. Behind this
statement, there lies a question: how is contemporary Greek cinema dealing with specific
monumental forms within a new urban context?
Referring not only to monuments but also to lieux de memoire, as defined by P. Nora
(1989) and relying on monumental time by M. Herzfeld (1991), I will focus on two films,
Polaroid (An. Frantzis, 1999) and Real Life (P. Coutras, 2004), apposite examples of a
contemporary tendency. Mentioning elements (and not an extensive analysis) of genre,
narration and style I will give an example of how these films treat the historic side of the city.

The monumental time of the Athenian landscape

A monument as a spatial form can be anything: contemporary buildings, city squares,

temples, public spaces, public art, and even empty spaces. In this essay, though, I shall be
referring not only to monuments in the narrow sense but also to sites of memory under the
meaning of Pierre Nora (1989). Noras definition lieux de memoire includes spatial forms
(museums, archives), characters (real or not) or other entities and artifacts (statues) where
memory crystallizes and secretes itself and where three aspects of lieuxmaterial, symbolic
and functionalare meeting. I will refer to lieux de memoire like the Acropolis, the Old
Parliament (nowadays a museum) and the Kolokotronis Statue, the Parliament (King Ottos
palace) and the Monument of the Unknown Soldier, sites where the play of memory and
history (Nora 19) is connected with the building of a national past and of a national identity,
but also connected with the image of Athens as a space of local claims and global fame (to
utilize the title of E. Yalouris book on the Acropolis).
I will focus on these sites of memory, firstly because other monuments (or sites of
memory) like monuments of WWII, or the Civil War for example, are missing from Greek
cinema (and this already states the presence of political dominant and dominated lieux de
memoire); secondly because if every city is already social and ideological, immersed in
narrative as argues McArthur (1997), then Athens is the paradigm of a city that is, at the
same time immersed in and has emerged from a narrative concerning its ancient past (i.e. the
neo-classicist face of the city constitutes part of this narrative) and stemming from the
besieging, deforming and transforming of memory by history, a procedure that enables lieux
de memoire to exist (Nora 1989: 12)

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 Afroditi Nikolaidou

This procedure consisted of, among others, a mise-en-scne that suggested the
imposition of a monumental time. Monumental time as defined by M. Herzfeld (1991), is a
reductive and generic time, that reduced social experience to collective predictability, that
focused on the past, and deprived these sites from their social time, their grist of everyday
experience. (Herzfeld 1991:10)
For instance, as Yalouri (1996, 2001) and Hurwitt (1999) under different theoretical
approaches, argue, that the different mise-en-scnes on the Acropolis, from the purification
process (where Ottomans traces were effaced), to the demarcation of its territory (where
access was controlled) and from the lighting when ever important foreigners were visiting the
city to the Sound and Light spectacle nullified its historicity and turned it from a lived space
into a landscape ascribed with qualities of uniqueness and sacredness. As a result, the
Parthenon and the Acropolis served different kinds of objectives and played multiple sorts of
roles: from legitimizing the nation-state to glorifying Athens for touristic purposes and from
empowering protesters claims against official ideologies to appropriating Acropolis above
qualities when for example Jane Mansfield, the sex symbol and cinema star of the 50s was
photographed in front of the monument (Yalouri 2001). Uses of the Acropolis and other sites
of memory by contemporary Greek cinema are inscribed in an already rich realm of
meaningful, moral or heretical, practices and representations.

Filming the monumental aspect of Athens

During the 50s, the monumental aspect of Athens was put on screen with the landscape
treated as a post-card, as spectacle, while in the 60s shots of sites of memory were associated
to the monumental modern buildings (like the Hilton). Spaces became more and more
symbols of the postwar touristic growth of the city (Poupou 2007) or, consequently indicators
of the tradition-modernity dichotomy (Kartalou 2004: 293). However, we can notice that,
after the studio era of the 60s, the so-called New Greek Cinema ascribing itself in a modernist
cinema style, did not elaborate the same relation to space and in particular, to sites of
memory, since memory became a theme on its own and the dedramatized1 spaces of Theo
Angelopoulos were the esteemed style paradigm for dealing with space.
During the 90s, the influx of immigrants, the Olympic Games preparations and works
that were undertaken such as the metro, not only changed the image of the city and everyday
life but also produced a discussion in different fields that seem to focus around the
multifaceted Athens expressed in various discourses: from the consideration of Athens as a
metropolis in art exhibitions like Athens, a Metropolis by accident (Bios Exhibition) to the
discursive re-evaluation of urban anarchy of Absolute Realism (Venice Biennale 2002) and of
new aesthetic criteria that ignores architectural principles (Scoffier 2000). However, part of
the new image of Athens, at least in the official works and discourse2 was among others to set
off the monuments accomplishing the Integration of the Archeological sites, the displaying of
the excavation findings during the Metro works, the appointing and lighting in a new way of
the sites by Pierre Bideau. Athens is under construction, literally but also theoretically.
The response of contemporary Greek cinema towards the above complex urban
context was immediate.
It is true that Greek cinema underwent a transition in the 90s where in parallel with the
generation of the so-called New Greek Cinema, a new generation of filmmakers appeared and
adopted new technology and style, undertook independent productions, TV co-productions,
opened itself to the international market, employed a know-how from its advertising
1
On the dedramatized spaces of Theo Angelopoulos, see D. Bordwell (2005).
2
For example, D. Avramopoulos, the Mayor of Athens, stated in the Hellenic Quarterly: The visitor requires a large historic center, free of
cars, which allow him to enjoy the archeological sites, the historic setting, which will allow him to digress from the everyday reality of the
contemporary city and transport himself mentally to the atmosphere of Ancient Greece (12).

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 Afroditi Nikolaidou

experience and explored themes from the everyday life. (Georgakas 2002, Horton 2000,
Scopeteas 2004)

Fig. 1. An example of a digital composite image with the Acropolis on fire. Real Life, 2004, Panos Coutras.

Greek films gazed upon the contemporary city by either completely avoiding
monuments and exploring stylistically the local residents contemporary decontextualized
urban experience (Thanouli 2003) or/and insisting and illustrating the sites of memory in
rather elaborated ways. Monuments stylistic elaboration and their function in the film system
are much more complex, than simply admitting the treasuring or trashing or just displaying of
the monumental side of the city. These films are using digital composite images (Woman is a
tough person, The Attack of the Gigantic Moussaka, Touch of Spice, Real Life-Fig.1),
extravagant mise-en-scne (Black Milk, Polaroid-Fig.2), canted framing or distorted
perspective (The Attack of a Gigantic Moussaka), props in the dcor (like the first shot of the
Acropolis poster in Hardcore), techniques and devices that cannot be unmotivated or
unnoticed. In the following section I shall refer to two films in an attempt to reveal their
relation with the Athenian lieux de memoire.
Polaroid came as a surprise for Greek Cinema standards in 1999 since it was
extremely low budget, shot on digital-video and then transferred to film, that seemed to have
been created by a group of good friends in their 30s, filming their summer derives in Athens
while they are attempting among other things to produce a theatrical piece of work.
The film borrows loosely from the comedy genre but more importantly, employs some
art-house conventions3. Namely, it uses episodic story with multiple events of equal
importance that are filmed on location in the streets of Athens. It constructs multiple
subjectivity and a highly self-conscious narration that manifests itself by the actual mixing of
diegetic and extra-diegetic world (amateurs and actors appearing as themselves, the director
of the film is playing himself writing a musical script), by foregrounding elements of the
aesthetics of home movies (at the same time masking and unmasking the construction of the

3
For a presentation on the art-house conventions see Bordwell, D (1985).

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 Afroditi Nikolaidou

profilmic event) and by the theme of art creation itself. But, more importantly, the film states
and stages an overt cinephilia to Greek cinema and Greek popular culture of the 60s.

Fig. 2. Post-card view shot of the Acropolis: extravagant clothes and dancing in front of the monument.
Polaroid, 1999, Angelos Frantzis.

Polaroid (1999, Angelos Frantzis)

In this multi-referential film, there are two ways in which lieux de memoire are used. Sites of
memory like the Parliament and the Monument of the Unknown Soldier, the Olympion and so
on, are part of the protagonists surroundings, but they are not marked as special landmarks of
Athenian landscape. The shots are rather medium close-up shots focusing on the protagonists.
Only parts of the monument are revealed and rarely can one see all of it. Additionally, these
surroundings are followed and mixed with other non-historic urban spaces like clubs, bars,
cafes, cinema theatres, hotels and gyms. For Polaroid, in the late 90s, every part of the city is
of equal importance as sites where the protagonists are rehearsing their theatre play or where
episodes take place.
L. Papadimitriou (2000) argued similarly for the Greek musical of the 60s. Cities are
marked by their monuments and by their modern constructions (hotels, roads), popular culture
seemed to have the same value as historical sites. Polaroid, though, differentiates itself from
this practice of monuments representations, because of the citation4 to the film Randevou
ston aera (1966 by Y. Dalianidis) during its final scene.
This final scene reproduces a musical feature transtextually motivated by the 60s
Greek musicals. The actors sing playback to the original song from Randevou Ston Aera,
dancing in front of important sites of memory: the Acropolis (Fig. 2), Zapio, Parliament and
Monument of Unknown Soldier, with shots that imitate the specific style (theatrical staging,
frontality as in tourist photos, long shots intercut by close-ups) of the 1960s musical.
However, a musical scene produced during the studio era meant a certain controlled staging
and mise-en-scne. Frantzis film moves in a completely different direction, capturing the
moment of the city (i.e. they dance in Syntagma Square and the Monument of the Unknown

4
I would say that it is more in a free indirect style.

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 Afroditi Nikolaidou

Soldier is hiding because of the Metro works) with its raw texture. Ultimately, this scene
surfaces as, among other things, a self-conscious commentary on two different modes of
production and representation. Frantzis associates these lieux de memoire with his low budget
production, the carnival-like clothes and the amateur-actors dancing, and foregrounds their
playfulness over the monuments as sacred sites but also as icons of popular culture. Frantzis
integrates into his urban geography monuments both as transient spaces of everyday life and
as already cited images, paying attention to the results of monumental time in popular culture
(i.e. musical genre, tourist photos).

Real Life (2004) by Panos Coutras

Real Life, is about the socially inappropriate love story between Aris, an extremely rich, but
troubled young man, and Alexandra, a young poor fashion-design student and follows a
completely different trajectory than that of Frantzis film. Adopting the conventions of
melodrama (communicative narrative, expressiveness, coincidence (Bordwell 1985)), it is
organized around dichotomies in every aspect of narration and style: extravagant mise-en-
scne that consists of a trashy dcor and costumes for Alexandras petit-bourgeois family, a
colorfully lighted and glass made set with grandiose costumes for Ms Kalliga, as well as the
extravagant use of the Acropolis in a climactic point of the story.
More specifically, the film depicts the Acropolis and the Olympionthat stands on
the Acropolis foothillin long shots, as a prop in the dcor and as CGI image: during the
opening credits, Acropolis is sunk in water and surrounded by bright colored 3-D fish, while,
as the plot unfolds, the Acropolis (Fig. 1) is burnt, restored (in one year diegetic time, in 30
min screening time) and virtually duplicated. These depictions are motivated by the genres
astonishment effect (Karakitsou-Doug 1995) but one needs to contextualize and stylistically
describe this effect to understand how Acropolis is used.
In Greece, melodrama was a dominant and rather popular genre throughout the entire
Greek studio era but gained little or no respect from intellectuals and film critics of the period
and later, who characterized it as fake and cheap. (Kartalou 2004, Karakitsou-Doug
1995). Coutras uses a rather disgraceful but popular genre for the Greek culture refreshing it
with cinephilia towards Douglas Sirk, a gay subplot, a slightly ironic performance from
Themis Bazaka (Mrs. Kalliga) and extravagant mise-en-scne, re-evaluating at the same time
as highlighting the unrealistic excessiveness of the genre.
Under the same lines and in terms of cinematic space construction, Real Life creates
its own geography. Ms Kalligas villa, is a luxurious construction that one can only find in the
suburbs of Athens since in the citys centre there is no space available anymore for such
luxury. However, the digitally inserted Acropolis post-card within such an unrealistic distance
from the villa and in a rather unconventional building-free landscape indicates the villas
proximity to Athens center. This is important because all of the exterior action is placed either
in unrecognized streets or in the villas garden. Therefore, the only feature that indicates the
viewer that, diegetically, the story should be taken place in Athens are the shots with the
digitally inserted Acropolis. Real Life introduces us to an artificial urban geography by using
exactly the most familiar and trivial landmark of the Athenian landscape, challenging the
Acropolis characteristic as a landmark and as a compass of the Athenian landscape.
Additionally, the precise way of creating synthetic images by the mixture of cheap
(in comparison with Acropolis status as sacred and unique) material like the aquarium
with the Acropolis and the digitally inserted post-card in the background of the villa as well as
its imperfect digital burning, questions its status as an image. Neither use implies, nor
provides a certain kind of perception or cinematic experience of a hyper-real Acropolis,
meaning that digital effects in Real Life do not provide a perfect image according to

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 Afroditi Nikolaidou

mainstream cinema5. The above uses point to the Acropolis artificiality as a landmark of the
Athenian landscape, as an image, as an object of popular culture (i.e. post-card, aquarium etc).
Obviously both films are very different in terms of narration, style, even in terms of
themes. Polaroid with genre citation and self-conscious narration points to two modes of
production and representation and treats monuments either as popular images or like any
other contemporary urban construction. Real Life, reevaluating and foregrounding genre
conventions and with a cinematic style that unmasks artificiality, points to Acropolis
construction as an off-context image.
What is important here is to note that a certain tendency of contemporary Greek
Cinema uses the monuments more as already mediated images, referring to the implications
monumental time had on the Athenians (of Greek origin) conceptualization of space.
If we borrow Hurwitts (1999) scheme on the multiple restorations on the Acropolis
we may understand a new memory schema that the films suggest for these sites of memory.
Hurwitt argued that if the Acropolis as the construction it is today is an artificial composition,
it is still an authentic cultural artifact in the sense that it can give us more information about a
place as an ideological tool in the re-creation and promotion of a new nation. To explain
further his statement, Hurwitt seems to suggest that the imposition of the monumental time is
part of the monuments cultural history.
Similarly, these films retrieve the multiple re-appropriations and abuses of the
monuments from post-cards to cinematic uses that for years were touristic objects and popular
spectacle, not negating but negotiating monumental time through its implications, negotiating
between official imposition and popular practices. These two examples point to the
monumental aspect of the city as something fictitious, yet part of Athens, revisiting the
monuments not as sites of memory but as images bearing their own history and memory in
popular culture.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Elena Christopoulou for her insightful and valuable suggestions while
writing this short essay. I would also like to thank Alkis Hatziandreou, Katerina
Polychroniadi and Ben Evans for their comments.

References

Avramopoulos, D. 2002. The return of the Olympic Games in Hellenic Quarterly 11.
Special Issue Athens and Its New Image, p.p. 11-13.
Bordwell, D. 1985, Narration in the fiction film, The University of Wisconsin Press, Madison.
Bordwell, D. 2005, Angelopoulos or Melancholy in Figures Traced in Light. On Cinematic
Staging, University of California Press, Berkeley, p.p.140-185.
Georgakas, D. 2002-2003, Greek Cinema For Beginners: A Thumbnail History in Film
Criticism, XXVII (2), p.p. 2-8.
Herzfeld, M. 1991, A Place in History: Social and Monumental Time in a Cretan Town,
Princeton University Press, Princeton.
Horton, A. 2000, Renos Haralambidis's No Budget Story: Cinema and Manhood as Radical
Carnival in Journal of Modern Greek Studies 18(1), p.p. 183-197.
Hurwitt, J.1999, The Athenian Acropolis. History, Mythology, and Archeology from the
Neolithic era to the present, Cambridge University Press.

5
To give an example, the CGI images of the Acropolis burning in Real Life stem from a different tradition and cinematic context than the
depiction of the White House in Independence Day. For hyper-real perception and digital effects see Manovich, L (2001).

191
 Afroditi Nikolaidou

Karakitsou-Doug, N. 1995, Le mlodrame grec : une esthtique de l'tonnement, in Le

cinma Grec, ed Michel Demopoulos, Centre Pompidou, Paris, p.p. 107-111.
Kartalou, A. 2005, To anekpliroto idos: I tenies kinonikis katagelias tis Finos Film. [The
Uncompleted Genre] Unpublished PhD Thesis. Panteion University, Athens.
McArthur, C. 1997, Chinese Boxes and Russian Dolls: Tracking the Elusive Cinematic
City, in The Cinematic City, ed. D. Clarke, Routledge, London & New York, p.p. 19-45.
Manovich, L. 2001, Synthetic Realism and its discontents in The Language of New Media,
The MIT Press, Cambridge, Massachusetts, p.p. 184-202.
Nora, P. 1989, Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Memoire, Representations 26,
p.p. 7-24.
Papadimitriou, L. 2000, Travelling on Screen: Tourism and the Greek Film Musical in
Journal of Modern Greek Studies 18(1), p.p. 95-104.
Poupou, A. 2007, Reprsenter la reconstruction: Le paysage urbain dans les films Grecs de
la priode 1950-1974, Unpublished PhD Thesis dir. Michel Marie, Universit 3-
Sorbonne Nouvelle, Paris.
Scoffier, R. 2000, La ville sans dehors, Futura, Athens.
Scopeteas, Y. 2004, Photographic Practice and Aesthetics in the Film Image. The Case of the
Greek Feature Films in the mid 1990s, PhD Thesis, British Library, University of
Westminster, London.
Thanouli, E. 2004, Hyperreal Space and Urban Experience in Contemporary Greek Cinema
in Cinema & Cie 5, pp.100-106.
Yalouri, E. 1996, I kinonikopolitiki simasia tou topiou. I periptosi tis Acropolis ton Athinon
[The sociopolitical importance of Landscape. The case of Acropolis], Proc
Arhitektoniki ke poleodomia apo tin arheotita eos simera. I periptosi tis Athinas,
Arsenidi, Athens, p.p. 163-170.
Yalouri, E. 2001, Acropolis. Global Fame, Local Claim, Berg, Oxford/ New York.

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 Irina Novikova

Baltics Images of City and Europeanness in Soviet Cinema

Irina Novikova, University of Latvia

In my paper I will discuss urban images of Riga, Tallin and Vilnius, as well as other Baltic
cities in the Soviet films of different genres. I will argue that the Soviet cinematic imaginary
was creating a complex urban imagery for the huge Soviet audience. In different narratives of
identity and stories of place filmic images of Baltic cities were utilized as real materials,
which retain their original quality(Nowell,-Smith 2001:103). But they took shape and
derived meaning in and through a system of differences by being represented as a certain
European/Western space, by serving spatial substitutes of a European city.
On the other hand, film-makers at the three so-called republican studios created
images of Riga, Tallinn and Vilnius, relating their internal audiences in Estonia, Lithuania,
Latvia, to their urban spaces as places of memories, historical controversies and existential
insecurities (Latvian film I Remember Everything, Richard, Estonian urban films, films by a
Lithuanian film-maker arnas Bartas), with spectatorial affects of peripheral locality, from
its everyday life to its carnivalesque qualities.
The use of Baltic cities and landscapes as sites of shooting West/Europe was
made already in the propaganda of the 1950s. As Eva Naripea points out:
The actual West (Sweden in this case) is in the 1950s only represented in the film
Uninvited Guests: the dark rain-wet asphalt streets are lit up by tens of bright and alluring
neon-tube advertisements, the bourgeois youth grooves to intoxicating jazz-beats, and the
headquarters of Swedish-Estonian spies are equipped with Bauhausian metal-tube furniture
and decorated with abstract paintings all this adds up to describe the ultimate depravity of
the West. (Naripea 2007)

Figure 1.

This minituarized and noirish-Ruttmannesque image of hostile and degenerate, spying

and corrupting West played by the Baltics (See Fig.1, Uninvited Guests) was proliferating
in the Soviet popular cinema of the later periods (Lost Souls, 1971, The Secret Agents
Blunder, 1968, The Secret Agents Destiny, 1970, The Secret Agents Return, 1982). A very
popular cult spy film in which Tallinn enacted an imaginary European place was Out of
Season (A. Mitta, 1968), about a search of a Nazi criminal by a Soviet intelligence agent
Ladeinikov in Europe. An anonymous European city of immersion and escape looms as the
space of existential alienation and overwhelming crowd, of criminal mimicries and hidden

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 Irina Novikova

identities, and at the same time, this image draws attention to the specifics of its setting.
Filming becomes a signature of the settings European authenticity, a re-assertion of the
ontological link between nominal setting and actual location.(Nowell-Smith 2001: 103).
Another group of spy films was about intelligence service battles during the Second
World War. Each day, after 11 August, 1973, Soviet militia reported that a number of street
crimes and apartment robberies radically decreased in the Soviet cities in the evening, when a
TV-series Seventeen Moments in Spring (T.Lioznova, 1973) was shown to the huge Soviet
TV-audience. One of the first home-made TV-series, the film became a national success
overnight. The filmic action takes place in Europe, mainly Germany, in March 1945. The
main character of the film is an SS standartenfuhrer Max Otto von Stirlitz, an operative in the
SD, the Nazi political intelligence agency, and in reality, a Soviet intelligence officer Maksim
Maksimovich Isaev. This spy film, a screen adaptation of Julian Semjonovs novel (1968),
drew people into their homes, leaving streets, shops and movie-theaters of the Soviet cities
literally empty.
In this film, authentization of the cinematic
space as European (specifically, German and Swiss)
was achieved by moving the film-making process to
the streets of Riga and Tallinn, transformed into the
streets of Berlin and Bern. This was not exception to
the rule as the Baltic capitals typically played non-
Soviet Europeanness in Soviet spy films. To be more
precise, the shooting of this TV-series took place in
different parts of the USSR (not only in Riga and
Tallinn), as well as in East Berlin. The Zoological
Museum in which Stirlitz meets with Borman was
shot in Leningrad. One of the characters, pastor Figure 2: Meissen as Bern
Schlag, crosses the Swiss border in the mountains of Georgia. A secret apartment of a Soviet
intelligence agent in Bern is failed in Riga, in the legendary Jauniela street.
In Figure 1 professor Pleishner (Fig.1) is in Bern,heading for a secret apartment,
already in the hand of gestapo. He starts walking in Meissen (Germany), then he enjoys
looking at bear-cubs in the Tbilisi Zoo, then he reaches Blumenstrasse and commits suicide in
Riga, in the already mnetioned street Jauniela in Old Riga.. Since then this street has become
a sightseeing attraction for the nostalgic tourists from former Soviet republics. This street
became a real star, and the title for this recent picture (below) taken by a tourist from Russia
emphasizes the intersection of reality and famous cinematic image of the street: Riga,
Jauniela, Baker-street, Blumenstrasse.
Another exceptionally famous Soviet spy-film
was a TV-series File Omega (Variant Omega,
Antonis-Janis Vajazos, 1975, screen adaptation of the
novel by N. Leonov and J. Kostrov). This film playing
heavily on authenticity, shows Tallinn, the capital of
Estonia, as an alienated city, under fascist occupation.
The main character, a Soviet intelligence officer
Skorin, is isolated in a villa after his arrest, under
observation of an Abwer officer Schlosser. Similarly
to Seventeen Moments of Spring the plot unfolds as an
intellectual duel between these intelligence officers.
The Tallinn cityscape, whose description is practically Figure 3: Jauniela, Baker Street,
absent in the literary original, emerges as the films Blumenstrasse
protagonist. As the space of the narrative setting, its manifests itself as a location of

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 Irina Novikova

underground reality, its secret signs and codes, ambushes and mysteries, double identities and
conspiracies. At the same time its historical (European/Hanseatic) essence projected
through the images of the Old Town streets, houses and spires, the private space of an old
aristocratic villa, valorizes it as a territory of intellectual collision of analysts and strategists,
for the films major effect demonstration of Skorins victory as a Russian brain-machine
over a German aristocrat Schosser, with enviable genealogy and education.
Another genre that projected a certain image of
Europeanness upon selected sites of the Baltic capitals
and cities, was a screen adaptation. The plein air
scenes of the film Ideal Husband (Georgiev, 1980),
made after Oscar Wildes comedy, were mostly
screened in the parks of Riga. A very popular TV-
series on the adventures of Sherlock Holmes was
made by Viktor Maslennikov (1980) as a screen
adaptation of Arthur Conan Doyles famous stories.
Most of Holmess adventures took place in London
Figure 4: Riga as London played by Riga, but for The Hound of Baskervilles,
a filming site for its peat marshes was found in
Estonia. The Baskerville Hall itself was played by several sites including the mansion of
the earl Orlov-Davidoff, very close to famous Kadriorg.
Aleksandr Dumas three musketeers enjoyed their adventures in the streets of Tallinn.
Friedrich Drrenmatts The Visit of the Old Lady as well as The Legend of Til after Charles
de Costers Til Eulenspiegel, took place also in Tallinn. Its roofs became the panorama of a
Soviet TV-version of Little Boy and Karlssons adventures by Astrid Lindgren. Some
musicals, e.g. Straw Hat, were shot in Tartu. The place in Tartu where Innokentii
Smoktunovskii pronounced To be or not to be in Grigorii Kozintsevs screen adaptation of
Shakespeares Hamlet is now called Hamlets Hill. A half-destroyed electric station not far
from Tallinn became the Zone in Tarkovskiis Stalker. Cinematic Europeanness of the Baltics
had, however, certain psychogeographical limits. Vilnius was not filmed for its European
qualities as much as Tallinn and Riga, most probably for the absence of the Hanseatic
skylines, Baltic German downtowns and Nordic proximity
The cities, with their architecture and historical scapes, pre-existed the act of filming,
due to their European history and belonging. However, it was the act of filming these cities
that crystallized certain fantasies of Europeanness. Historical and literary, contemporary and
nostalgic, distant and alienated, nocturnal and dystopic, they loomed large in the city images
played by the Baltic urban sites and inflected them with the connotations of existential and
exotic otherness, if not sublimated alterity. On the one hand,. the Europeanness historical
and political of the Baltic societies was a transgression in their otherwise successfully
peripherilized status in the USSR. On the other hand, visions of undifferentiated European
city underscored the tensions of the Baltic Sovietization, and filmic topographies of
foreignised Baltic urban scapes, inflected the meanings of the regional difference. They
came to embody Europe, and West which gradually became a measure of cultural primacy
in the perception of the region, a kind of a spectacle perspective upon the otherwise
subaltern social experiences of the Baltic societies. Furthermore, the films increasingly
fetishized Baltics and its capitals and cities as zones of European difference consumed by
Soviet tourist industry developing since the 1960s. Such tourist images of Riga and Tallinn
as heterotopic places (Foucault 1967) mainly exploited the architecturally and historically
frozen skylines of old towns in the proliferating genres of adventure and musical films at the
national studios, as for example, Estonian films Stone of Blood (1972), Old Toomas Was

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Stolen (1970), Latvian films The Devils Servants (1970), Devils Disciples on the Devils
Mill (1972).
The dramatic historisizing of the city, a former European capital and a contemporary
city, subjected to the Soviet political order, is an important narrative element in the Latvian
film I Remember Everything, Richard! (or Stone and Splinters, Rolands Kalni, 1965) about
Latvians who served in the German army during the World War 2. This film was banned
several times, many episodes were eliminated, and the title of film was changed three times.
The main character comes to Riga of the 1960s, modern and rebuilt, from abroad. His entry
into the city takes place out of the newly-constructed building of the Riga railway-station.
Richard is walking towards the stations main exit. A flashback episode about his pre-war
youth in Riga, then the capital of a European independent nation, is followed by his going out
of the station into the capitals new Soviet life whose image looming large behind the huge
paned glass wall. The paned glass wall is, however, an impairing image as it can also be
looked at as a barring grid upon the glass disrupting the harmonious cityscape behind it, a
metaphor of enclosure and imprisonment. It can also be read as a metaphor of a boundary
between lost past and divided present, between those who are here and those who are
there after 1944.
The next episodes show Richards nostalgic walking in the street of his youth,
mundanely washed by a yard keeper in the morning. No less important, he is visiting the Riga
Central Market and tasting milk brought by a local peasant woman, like in the older times,
and as a signature of his belonging and origins. Soviet and modernized Riga is pictured as
peaceful, quiet and living its own intensive working life. At the same time, Richards flaneur
walk represented in a documentary manner (he is a tourist in the city) brings in the mood
of nostalgia for the lost past and the desire to remember everything in his and his friends
life. The filming dramatizes the city by using its central landmark as the opening setting for
future dramatic events. First, the camera shows Richard at a distance, next to the concrete
wall. This shot, as a gradual close-up, is alternated with the shots upon the Monument of
Freedom, erected in the times of political (and European) independence.. We follow what
Richard looks at and what he hears in the alien urban environment.The next shot represents
the statue as alienated from the spectatorial (and Richards) gaze with trolley-bus wires and
trivialized by the passing trolley-bus, a symbol of Soviet modernization of the 1960s. The
Monument of Freedom is untouched in its sculptural wholeness, as a symbolic navel of the
national capital. However, montage technique masterfully demonstrates how mundanity of
everyday public traffic acts as a procedure of erasure in de-sacralizing the statues symbolic
value for the nation on a daily basis, in the eyes of the city dwellers and tourists. The motive
of barring and enclosure (paned window at the railway station, trolley-bus wires), divison and
alienation, persists in the private as well when the filming of his friends apartment from the
outside shows Richard with his Rigan friends sitting behind the gridded window.
The late 1960s-1970s the Baltic region faced a start of economic modernization,
industrialization and urbanization. Rapid social changes and the emergence of contemporary
city environments in the Baltic societies were reflected in the rise of the urban novel and its
screen adaptations, for example, in Estonia.Eva Naripea argues for the Estonian cultural
context:
A number of feature films were made, the problems of which were greatly concerned
with the alien parts of the town with the new residential districts and their (Estonian)
population. The modernist new town acquired the meaning of a negative influence on the
human psyche, symbolising alienation on the societal level as well as on the individual level,
or appearing as the background for deviated or broken family relationships. (Naripea 2003:
424)

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 Irina Novikova

Figures 4 and 5: I Am Not a Tourist. I Live Here.

Estonian urban cinema of the 1980s retreated into the motives of boredom, alienation
and distress, a deep anxiety about the loss of national and European identity in the dystopic
representations of modern and overpopulated residential districts, an easily recognisable
signature of Soviet urban modernity. (Fig. 4 & 5) In Peeter Urblas film I Am Not A Tourist, I
Live Here (1988), its characters oscillate between nomadic and sanctioned modes of
occupying urban space. The main character moves through the city as a objectifying panoptic
system to find a space of his own, let it be only a tiny spot at the crossroads, under a
roadsign signalling to turn West. (Fig.6 & 7)..

Figures 6 and 7: I Am Not a Tourist. I Live Here.

In the Lithuanian cinema of the late 1980s-1990s it was arnas Bartas who brought
out an image of Kaliningrad, as a Soviet deviant body in the European space, Vilnius,
transitional in moving from the Soviet territorial control and returning to Europe. Likewise
Tarkovskys specific optical perspective, Bartas shifts from storytelling toward minimalism,
plotlessness and speechlessness, closeups and statics, silence and associative technique. His
Euroasian cinematic space from Knigsberg (Kaliningrad, Karaliauius) to the Siberian Sayan
mountains has been loaded with borders and conquests, erasures and palimpsests, exclusions
and abjections. These are intriguing peripheral territories still emanating forgotten
feelings, as postcolonial/postsocialist spaces embracing European Kaliningrad-Knigsberg-
Karaliauius in Three Days (1991), a North African desert near the ocean in Freedom (2001),
extreme conditions of the Asian Sayans in Few of Us (1996) and the Crimea (the Kerchenskii
peninsula) in his Seven Invisible Men (2005).
One of his early films Three Days was made at the time of the USSR implosion. Two
young Lithuanian men travel away from their distant home in the countryside to Kaliningrad
for three days. In the beginning of the film, Kaliningrad as a European city, dysfunctional and
corroded in the Soviet urban modernity emerges as a territory of ontological difference to the

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 Irina Novikova

Lithuanian countryside represented as the peripherilized terrain of authenticity and origins. A

young woman, a Tarkovskean stalker, becomes a guide of the two young men, however, not
into the Dead Zone, but into the Dying Zone the urban catacombs of Kaliningrad of the
late Soviet period. A cinematic vision of Andrei Tarkovsky's wasteland becomes a real Zone
of Kaliningrad that spreads less across a wreckage of rusted industrial plants, collapsing
telephone lines, and buildings overtaken by dark forests, but more around a wreckage of
humans that does not emanate a mysterious and deadly force. Amid the human relics of
Soviet industrial decay, Bartass city emerges on the screen as a zone of overwhelming
exclusion. Unlike Tarkovsky's tattooed and scarred Stalker, Bartass silent and fragile fallen
woman is more of a Euridice, in the final embrace with the protagonist before he returns
home. He returns from the capital of the region that historically had been part of Lithuania
Minor (excluding Knigsberg itself). In the late 19th-early 20th century the Lithuanian
language was forbidden as a language of education and reading in Lithuania Major, part of the
Russian Empire at that time. In Lithuania Minor the books in the native language were printed
and smuggled over to Lithuania Major, thus, playing a significant role in the process of
cultural nation-building. Smuggling a book is re-inscribed by Bartas into his films
metatextual function of smuggling the emotions of loss and neglect, anger and hopelessness
- across invisible boundaries between authentic Us and alien/migrant/deviant Them - into the
still unchanging meanings of untouched and sacral home.
His another film, Corridor (1994), can be seen is an intense attempt to look into
interior spaces of Vilnius vis-a-vis the urban space of social changes and political transition.
He incorporates documentary footage of desolate urban space dotted with alienated people,
then a linear grieving march along a bridge, under the flag of Lithuania, and a funeral in a
huge hall.(Fig.8 & 9). In the private of a communal flat, on the contrary, different places
overlap and co-mingle in the nameless characters wordless movements and glances, in their
search for home and community, borderless and anyway, insecure, beyond the promises and
politics of borders and security.

Figures 8-9: Corridor

He creates a carnivalesque space of diasporic community in Vilnius (a communal

apartment with shifting boundaries of private/public becomes its trope), as the valued human
condition in Bartass return to Europe vis--vis monotonies of a national spasmatic project,
revising the corrupted Soviet sublime.

References

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Foucault, M.1967. Of Other Spaces, Heterotopias. Available at:

http://foucault.info/documents/heteroTopia/foucault.heteroTopia.en.html
Naripea, E. 2007, A View from Periphery. Spatial Discourse of the Soviet Estonian Feature
Film: the 1940s and 1950s. Paper for the conference proceedings VIA TRANSVERSA:
LOST CINEMA OF THE FORMER EASTERN BLOC, October, 5-7, Tallinn.
Naripea, E. 2003, Home and Away. Urban Representations in the 1980s Soviet Estonian
Cinema in KOHT ja PAIK/PLACE and LOCATION. Studies in Environmental
Aesthetics and Semiotics III, eds. Virve Sarapik, Kadri Tr Proceedings of the
Estonian Academy of Arts 14 Tallinn 2003. Accessed at:
http://www.eki.ee/km/place/pl03/Place3_Naripea.pdf
Nowell-Smith, G. 2001, Cities Real and Imagined in Cinema and the City, eds. M.Shiel &
T.Fitzmaurice

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 Arbil Otkunc

Non-Places at Cinema
Arbil OTKUNC, "Constructive Culture" Laboratory, School of Architecture of Grenoble

Introduction

Since the beginning of Modernity we have entered an era of socio-economic and cultural
transformations as a result of increase in the pace of everyday life. In the search of new
avenues in the architecture, the social sciences, and the art the way the space and the place are
designed, utilized, viewed and perceived have changed. All of these changes attached new
meanings to the place which caused changes in its quality and depicted itself as an
interdisciplinary concept.
The architecture has been totally transformed during the era of industrialization.
Especially during that era, the relationship with the cinema became explicit. The most
important arena where these new forms of spaces and concepts can be observed is the oeuvre
of cinema.
In order to have a better understanding of the place today, one should focus on the
relationships of the people who inhabit them. Since the change of place to non-place did
places become free of relationships or is it only the nature of relationships that have changed?
The cinema provides us a great medium where we can observe the relationship between
people and place while displaying beyond the built environment.
Research in the world of movies is like a maze in which it is easy to get lost. In this
paper the movies are analyzed through the places that they are filmed at rather then their
genre, actors, directors, cities etc. This research aims to establish an understanding of
relationships in non-places of super-modernity through three different movies and their
places: Paris-Texas, Terminal and Lost in Translation.

The Concept of Place

The technological advances of 19th century such as accessibility of mechanical transportation

tools and innovations in construction and communication technology had a direct influence
on the built environment. During this period, Europe and United States of America urbanized
at an increased pace. Also, the tools used in cinema industry have developed as fast as the
cities did by benefiting from the technical advances.
The 20th century imposed an occidental model of capitalist development to the whole
world. The Latin America, Japan, and the 3rd world countries urbanized with different
rhythms and morphologies. The cities shown in movies became dense, more cosmopolitan,
and limited to defined places (e.g. house, street, neighborhood, store) especially in
downtowns.
During 20th century, theoreticians of different disciplines explored the concept of place from
the perspective of the relationship between the architecture and the place. Christian Norberg-
Schulz (1981), who is well known with his books on this topic, tells that place cannot be
defined solely with the Cartesian approach. He aims to show the spirit of the place through
the use of phenomenological methods. Norberg-Schulz, inspired by Heideggers (1958) views
on architecture, defines three important values, namely meaning, identity, history, to
explain the Genius Loci.

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A distinction between the space and the place does not exist in traditional societies. Similarly,
the movies that show traditional societies portray a collection of unique aspects of places that
serve to represent memories. However, this traditional and anthropological meaning of place
has changed after the modernity. It no longer seems to include the social and public
interferences.
Baudelairean Modernity preserves anthropological aspects of a place and its history by
combining the old and the new. However, during late 20th and early 21st century the
urbanization is planetary, random, and derogatory. Architecture is more and more
standardized and globalized. The customs, routines, capacities of cities have changed. The
image of the city has been changing while revealing new organizations for living. Also, the
traditional cities are not portrayed in movies as much as they used to be. The expressions
Edge-city, gated-community, screen-city, reality shows, global city, megalopolis, etc are
heard more often with every passing day. We are in an era of post-city in which non-cities are
scattered on a vast territory. The actual cinema seems to have lost its interest in the concept of
place. Even the city, at least the image of it, is consumed once it is seen on the movie screens.

The Concept of Non-Place

The new places and the new ways of living raised the need of new concepts to help them
understood. The starting point has been with the rupture of the space and the place during 20th
century. Issues such as the identity transformations in cities and buildings as a result of
cultural globalization, the transformations in local, cultural, and architectural values, and the
sense of belonging to place are among the mentioned concepts.

- Why do the majority of new buildings look like each other despite of their location in
the world, their function and, their physical and socio-cultural environment?
- Do some places perpetuate a sense of anonymity? Do some alter our perception of
normal social conduct? Do we create this sense of anonymity or does the space create
it for us?

Both of these questions seem to be related to the concept of surmodernit according to Aug
(1997), or supermodernism according to Ibelings (2002). Supermodernity is a quality of
living in a state of superabundances, where the consumption of images and experiences is
excessive. In the search for answers to these questions we encounter a new concept: non-
place.
The underlying reasons for the formation and diffusion of anonymous non-places the
lack of relation between spaces and the place, the transit use of space, homogenization of
places and their lack of identity, and the rise of materialistic values as a result of the
consumption mentality. A direct impact of the transformation of the place is reflected on
human relationships and vice versa.
The following paragraphs summarize Augs (1997) work to provide basis for my
analysis on three chosen examples of the contemporary cinema. Augs most relevant work to
this topic is his study on anthropology of every day life: Non-lieux: Introduction une
Antropologie de Surmodernit". In this book, he defines non-places in the absence of
relational characteristics and in comparison to the traditional anthropological places:

- Consumption places: Hypermarkets, shopping malls, fast-food chains

- Tourism and fun places: Hotel chains, holiday villages, theme parks
- Transportation places: Airports, train terminals, service stations, car parks, highways
- Gated community housing

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The definition of conceptual and contextual dimension of space in Augs own words is
(Aug, 1995: 77-8): If a place can be defined as relational, historical and concerned with
identity, than a space which can not be defined as relational, or historical or concerned with
identity will be a non-place"
According to Parker (2002), urban sociologists like Weber, Jacobs, Cox, Relph used
the concept of non-place to describe the American sub-urban city and its shapeless, repetitive,
characterless, and impersonal setting. (see section below on Paris-Texas) (Martinotti (2003)
insists that Webber (1964) is the first to use this concept and marc Aug is the one who makes
it popular. But Aug does not refer to Webber in his work.)
Aug stresses that the concept of non-place attract our attention to the new spaces of
communication and transportation, and the consumption that spread all over the world.
According to Thierry and Paquot (2004), it has assumed an empirical value.
It is very possible to show that a non-place for someone can easily be a place for
someone else. For Aug, in an airport, you can have 50,000 people, but non of them need to
have a relationship between them. For example a mall placed at an equal distance to four
different villages can be a perfect example of a non-place but also can be a meeting point for
the young people living in these villages.

Analysis of Movies

In this paper, three movies that mostly take place in non-places are analyzed: Paris-Texas
on a highway, Lost in Translation in a hotel and Terminal in an airport. These movies are
not chosen arbitrarily. In fact they are selected because they demonstrate how the places that
are lived in define the life of their habitants and how the life of the people define the places
that they live in.
In these movies crisis in human relationships are observed. The individuals portrayed in
these movies look as if they are alone and anonymous even when they are in the midst of a
crowd. The commonality of the selected movies lies in the questions that they raise:

- Why do transit spaces that do not hold enough significance to be considered a "place"
often become the subject and/or the object of the contemporary cinema?
- Why some places are filmed more than others?
- Why, in the movies produced in the past, we often see houses, urban places, streets,
and train stations as opposed to movies recently produced we see facilities needed for
the rapid exchange of people, goods, information, and services (e.g. a highway, a taxi,
an airport, a plane, a hotel, an ATM, a movie theatre, a fast food restaurant, etc)?
- Did spaces which are transitional by nature have become spaces where people spend
most of their time?

Paris-Texas (Wim Wenders, 1982), Place: Highway

The movie starts with a man, Travis, wandering in the desert without knowing who he is.
(Figure 1) His walk leads himself to an almost abandoned gas station.

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Figure 1. Highway that cuts through the desert (Paris-Texas, Wenders)

Travis walks into a no-mans land, close to American-Mexican border. The highway that cuts
through the desert looks as if it is coming from nowhere and going nowhere. According to
Chauvin (2005), Wenders shows the surroundings of the city more than the city itself or the
urban core.
Travis is lost in the place and in himself. He makes a journey both internal and
physical. According to Petit et al. (1985:23), the universe of Wenders' movies is full of
perpetual motion; physical or mental, geographical or metaphorical, in space, time, or context.
The name of the movie hides a "word game" on the names of two different places. The
name does not come from the cities of Paris and Texas, but from a town called "Paris" in
desert. In In the movie we learn that Travis had acquired a piece of land in this desert. The
land is shown empty and without any inhabitants. In the movie, the crowds and everything
that makes up the everyday life in a metropolis is ignored.
After Travis' brother finds him, he helps Travis to remember the life he led before he
walked out on his wife and son four years ago. With the return of his memory, he starts to
meet with various people from his past in various non-places. He takes a journey to Houston
with his son to find his wife (but also to find his lost identity) .

Figure 1: to Houston (Paris-Texas, Wenders)

(Figure 2) Houston, an example of modern American urbanism, has got a usual skyline that
we encounter in many of the cities of the globalized world. The director shows some
panoramas which expresses how gigantic the city is. In one of the scenes Travis shares these
panoramas with his son while they are travelling in the car. (Figure 3) The scene starts on a
highway but it quickly embraces the whole urban landscape. The audience feels the imbalance

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in the size of the city in comparison to the size of the little human body. However, conflicting
with the definition of non-place, it is not scary, not dominant at all, just vast.

Figure 2: Travis and his son in front of the

urban landscape (Paris-Texas, Wenders)

The directors intention was to portray the loneliness of anonymity and also the pleasures one
can get from being anonymous on a motorway, at a man-made landscape, or a non-place. In
this movie, relationships at non-places are not completely missing however they are simply
different.

Lost in Translation (Sofia Cappola, 2002), Place: Hotel

Figure 3: Charlotte alone in the hotel room

(Lost in Translation, Cappola)

Lost in Translation is about two unrelated people who have nothing in common but the
mere fact that each one of them are in an absurd landscape of modern cosmopolitan Tokyo
away from their respective partners. An American women, the young wife of a visiting
photographer (Charlotte) and an actor (Bob Harris) who are on a journey are brought closer
through their feeling of abandonment while they are staying at a hotel (Fig.4) in Japan.
Auge's (1997) argument is that although we do not "reside" in these spaces and we
merely pass through them as if they are interchangeable; we, nevertheless, enjoy a contractual
relationship with the world and the others symbolized by our plane ticket, bank card and
hence anonymity and identity are oddly drawn close.
It starts as a comedy showing communication issues in the world which are becoming
more and more globalized. But according to Serroy (2006) it is an existential movie. Bob and
Charlotte experience both confusion and amusement due to the cultural and language

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differences between themselves and the Americanized Tokyo. Lost in a foreign country, they
are looking at themselves through their reflection on each others fugitive mirror.
The only moments that Charlotte feels "the spirit of the place" are at a prayer in a
temple and then at a traditional wedding. In the rest of the movie the main characters enjoy
their anonymity and search for human contact in non-places. And somehow, in those non-
places, they manage to share a very unusual and intense relationship without sexuality.

Terminal (Steven Spielberg 2004), Place: Airport

Viktor Navorski, an Eastern European visitor

becomes a resident of a New York airport terminal
when a war breaks out and erases his country from
the map, voiding his passport. He has to remain in
the airport, at an area which does not belong to any
country until his status is cleared. He is without
papers, therefore (from the definition of non-place)
without identity. (The story is inspired after a real
person who had to live at Charles de Gaulle Airport
because of political reasons. )
If you have seen an airport, you will feel
like you have seen them all. You can say that the
airport is a global cultural void. If you have been to
an airport it does not mean that you have seen the
country or the city where the airport is. Actually, it
is not a coincidence that Spielberg made a movie
that most of it takes place in a terminal. In fact, it is
as a result of increase in traveling, and also increase
in the attention that this subject has been taking.
The airport scene at the beginning of the Figure 5. Navorski alone in the airport
movie shown in Figure 5 is very significant as it terminal (Terminal, Spielberg)
displays the loneliness of the individual. There are
a lot of people in this scene but none of them are making eye contact or have a social
relationship to each other. They all have to spend limited amount of time at this place. The
situation is temporary. The airport is a place of transition; it does not need to describe a
history or posses a culture because no one comes to the airport to be at the airport. They come
to the airport in order to leave.
In the airports personal places do not exist. Because the structure of the airport does
not require individuality in order to function. Airports are identical and uniform and they
provide an efficient order in which peoples movements can be controlled smoothly.
However, Navorski somehow manages to adapt to the airport life and sets up his residence.
He personalizes this non-place (the waiting hall in construction) by making it "his place".
Navorski tries to be friend some of the people who work in the airport and also he is attracted
to a flight attendant.

Conclusion:

The effects of urbanization are often filmed in the past; the cinema is always the witness of all
the evolutions. However, the urbanization evolves in a way that we have never seen before.
The cinema does not give a name to this world like social sciences do; but it shows us beyond
the "named" world.

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Architecture and cinema are both exceptional concretizations of the state of the world
at a given period and also very useful tools for comprehension of this state of the world and
human relationships from a social and historical perspective.
In this paper non-places are evaluated through three different movies and yet they
have a uniform aspect. They all portray relationships that are lived in non-places, these
relationships are not traditional nevertheless they exist.
The collage of places presented through movies in this article aims to show that non-
places are becoming the new places of the contemporary world. The places which "are
removed of their meaning" produce new means of communication, therefore relations.
The cinema gives access to place and time simultaneously and within a condensed
form. This gives a chance to the contemporary life to unfold with characteristics that were
never known before. Therefore, the cinema provides for new ways of relations that are lived
in global, neutral, undefinable, generic, non-symbolic and above all common non-places that
we should be calling the new places.

References

Aug, Marc, 1997 (Orig. 1992), Non-lieux, Introduction une Anthropologie de la

Surmodernit, Editions du Seuil, Paris.
Aug, Marc, 1995, Non-places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity, Trans.
John Howe, Verso London.
Chauvin, Jean Sbastien; Thierry, Jousse et Thierry, Paquot (sous la direction de), 2005,
"Wim Wenders", La ville au cinma, Encyclopdie, Cahiers du Cinma, France, pp. 821
Heidegger, Martin, 1958 (Orig.1954), "Btir, Habiter, Penser", in Essaies et Confrences,
trad. from German by Andr Prau, Collection Tel Gallimard, Paris.
Ibelings, Hans, 2002, Supermodernisme, Architecture in the Age of Globalization, NAi
Publishers, Amsterdam.
Martin, Corinne; Thierry, Paquot, 2004, Linvit: Marc Aug, Revue Urbanisme, No: 337,
Juillet-Aout.
Martinotti, Guido, 2003, Space, Technologies and Populations in the New Metropolis,
Position paper for the International Workshop of the Project MoVe, Universita delgi
studi di Milano-Bicocca, 26-06.2002.
http://shiva.uniurb.it/EUREX/syllabus/lecture1/Martinotti-lecture-1.pdf, pp. 11 and 27.
Norberg-Schulz, Christian,1981 (orig. 1979), Genius Loci, Paysage, Ambiance, Architecture,
Trad. from italian by Odile Seyler, Mardaga, 3rd ed., Bruxelles.
Parker, Ken W., 2002, Making Connections: Travel, Technology, and Global Air Travel
Networks, Paper presented to the Social Change in the 21st Century Conference, Centre
for Social Change Research Queensland University of Technology.
Petit, Catherine; Dubois, Philippe; Delvaux Claudine, 1985, Les Voyages de Wim Wenders,
Editions Yellow Now, Bruxelles.
Serroy, Jean, 2006, Entre Deux Sicles, 20 ans de cinma contemporain, Editions de la
Martiniere, Paris, pp.227-228.
Webber, M. M., 1964, The Urban Place and the Non-place Urban Realm, M. Webber (ed.),
Explorations in Urban Structures, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia, pp. 79-
153.

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 Ashley Perry

Car City: a documentary film mapping the components,

modalities and malfunctions of Melbournes regime of
automobility
Ashley Perry, RMIT University

Cars are everywhere. They take us to work, shop and play. They monopolise our
streets and roadways and mould the landscape to their insistent demands They are
love objects and status symbols; also symbols of danger and sudden death. (Davison,
2004: ix)

The terrain I want to explore in this paper - an overview of my research project - is informed
by the concept of automobility. It follows on from the research undertaken over recent years
by sociologists John Urry and Mimi Sheller (see Urry, 2000, 2003 & 2004; Sheller and Urry,
2000 & 2006) who have explored issues relating to flows, movement, travel, mobility and
complexity within and across contemporary social life. Their work has helped to form an
emergent new mobilities paradigm, challenging the traditional a-mobile nature and extant
sedentarist outlook of the social sciences. This mobility turn has sought to capture the
multiplicities associated with one of the dominant forms of physical mobility, automobility.
Understood as a system of production, consumption, circulation, location and
sociality engendered by the motor car (Urry, 2000: 57), automobility, once a neglected
topic of research within sociology, continues to significantly constitute a diverse array of
economies, media, spaces, subjectivities, networks, environments and neighbourhoods. Urry
(2004) writes:

Automobility is a Frankenstein-created monster, extending the individual into realms

of freedom and flexibility whereby inhabiting the car can be positively viewed and
energetically campaigned and fought for, but also constraining car users to live their
lives in spatially stretched and time-compressed ways. The car is the literal iron cage
of modernity, motorized, moving and domestic. (28)

Melbourne is one of many cities that continues to provide, develop and foster a regime of
automobility. The sociologist Paul James (2008) highlights the problems associated with the
citys dominanting car culture:

sucking on an increasingly mechanised countryside Roads and cars, once

fetishised as a source of freedom, now increasingly imprison us all in tracks of
bitumen and layers of carbon fibres. Melbourne, for all that it avoids the horrors of the
mega-cities and their slums, is still part of the problem ...

Transportation researcher John Stone (The Age, 2007) is direct in his disdain for Melbournes
car-based reliance:

Melbournians have been given more freeways and worse public transport and they
make their choice We need to stop the massive freeway building which has seen
Melbourne build the greatest length of freeways of any city in Australia. If you make
driving easy, then well do it.

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The citys regime of automobility exists as a non-linear, coercive and flexible system of
linkages between cars, car-drivers and roads. It is expansive and remains constantly in
operation across the greater metropolitan region. Regardless of recent rises in public transport
usage across Melbourne - a direct result of increases in the price of fuel, stemming from high
world oil prices, and a lack of competition in the national petroleum industry - the city has
continued to dramatically shift away from sustainable travel modes. The Melbourne historian
Graeme Davison (2004) notes in Car Wars (a detailed account of cars and the city) that: By
the 1990s many Melbournians regularly travelled 30 or 40 kilometres a day from home to
work. Public transport became the transport mode of choice only for children, old people and
the poor (258-259). Additional factors, such as the deterioration of infrastructure, services
and safety on the privatised metropolitan train network, have only further aided the long-term
migration away from public transport patronage. The result of this decline is evident in the
high-levels of car dependence across Melbourne, particularily by residents living on the
citys outer fringes. Over a ten year period the State of Victorias roads swelled with 500,000
more private cars, of which 350,000 were bought by Melbourne residents, with two-thirds
bought in Melbournes outer-fringe municipalities (Lucas, 2008). Transportation researcher
Paul Mees (2005) writes:

Parallelling the decline in public transport, walking and cycling, has been a dramatic
increase in car travel. In 1951, 95,000 Melbournians travelled to work by car on a
typical day; by 2001 the figure was just over a million. Melbournes population had
more than doubled over this time, but the number driving to work increased by a
factor of 11.

My current research attempts to critically interrogate the socio-spatial configurations of

automobility across Melbourne, explore how its character of domination is being exerted and
convey the inherent problems of such a regime. It aims to produce a critique detailing the
possibilites for a refiguring of the regime. Employing an audio-visual driven qualitative
research method my project aims to map the existing components, modalities and
malfunctions of Melbournes regime of automobility within a multi-modal (expository,
observational and interactive) documentary film. Additionally, my documentary aims to
explore the ways in which contemporary spaces and landscapes of commuter travel and
mobility (often referred to in critical literature as placeless, abstract and ageographical) could
be considered as organic and historically infused places, meaningful and familiar to their road
travellers. This notion is centred on concepts of relationality central to complexity theory
(see Urry, 2003 & 2004), actor-network-theory (see Latour, 1993 & 2005) and other post-
structuralist formulations. The sociologist Peter Merriman (2006) suggests:

that while academics have tended to see the drivers inhabitation of their vehicle
and the spaces of the road as giving rise to detached experiences of placelessness
(see Relph, 1976) in ubiquitous non-places (see Aug, 1995), these are quite specific
feelings which arise from momentary associations and attachments that are integral to
the ongoing, performative constructions of places. (77)

The generic components informing Melbournes regime of automobility include: spatial

production (organisation, mobility and flows), materialities (cars, roads and related
technologies), trade (sites of economic exchange and new vehicle production) and
experiences (driving and vehicular spectacle). Modalities - less clealry defined at this point -
include the (embodied and sensuous) practice of driving, and/or passengering, arguably, as

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rich and convoluted as walking (Thrift, 2004: 45). Driving, as sociologist Jack Katz (1999)
suggests: requires and occassions a metaphysical merger, an intertwining of the identities of
the driver and the car that generates a distinctive ontology in the form a person-thing, a
humanized car or, alternatively, an automobilised person (33).
Other imporatant modalities centre on the cars ability to significantly reconfigure
civil society via distinct ways dwelling, travelling and socialising in, and through, an
automobilised time-space (Urry, 2000: 59). The malfunctions of Melbournes regime of
automobility include: an exploration of ecological/environmental damage (produced by rising
CO2 emissions from expansive car ownership/dependence), trauma (injury and death), traffic
congestion and (possibly) the phenomena of hoon driving. All practices linked to everyday
experience. Melbourne-based blogger Simon Sellers (2007) writes:

The Melbourne sprawl, with its endless ribbons of freeways and dual carriageways, is
among the worlds largest exurban conglomerates. Its designed for cars to move
quickly between long distances [where] cyclists flirt daily with death when ill-
thought-out and inadequate bike lanes suddenly vanish at intersections and high traffic
areas merging with drivers weilding their vehicles like weapons.

My documentary is centred on a specifc car territory (a self-fabricated zone) encompassing a

heterogeneous range of spaces and places across Melbournes Eastern and South-Eastern
suburbs. Of particular focus are the interlinked geographies of two (cross-city) roads - the
congested 30-kilometre arterial Springvale Road (noted for its mad and scrambled
commercial appearance (see Boyd, 1960)), and the partially completed 45-kilometre EastLink
Tollway (the citys second privately constructed road in ten years) - providing significant
socio-spatial, cultural, environmental and imaginary terrain for visual documentation and
analysis. Although similiar in length, geographical orientation and function, both roads create
distinct trajectories: performing and producing divergent types of space and place
(Merriman, 2004: 145), whilst reflecting significantly different urban histories, capacities and
designs. My intention is to capture and analyse the divergent experiences of driving and
passengering through the various geographies, sociologies and anthropologies
(Merriman, 2004: 146) located along these two roads. Finally, I hope to produce in-depth
understandings of the multiple panoptic and panoramic (car-centred and road-related) views -
derived from a collection of human and non-human actors/informants - across these
environments.
The basis upon which my documentary attempts to identify and describe
Melbournes regime of automobility is through a mapping motif, designed to provide an open
and flexible framework for heterogeneity in subject matter and observation, including themes
encompassing a historical dimension. This notion of utilising maps (literally or
metaphorically) can be characterised as rhizomatic: entirely orientated towards an
experimentation in contact with the real open and connectable in all of its dimensions
(Deleuze & Guattari, 1987: 12) across multiple geographies and narratives.
By emphasising the ability of a film to provide a rigorous and legitimate methodological
alternative for research production and the creation of new knowledge, my documentary -
influenced by filmmaker Patrick Keillers (2007) long-held notion that film is able to
imaginatively transform already-existing space (115) - will attempt to produce a
connection between the imagined environment (see Donald, 1999) of Melbourne, and the
actual practices and processes that delineate its regime of automobility. In a sense, my
documentary is attempting to investigate the everyday world in an inventive spirit similar to
that of essay filmmakers like Patrick Keiller with London (1994), Christopher Petit with
London Orbital (2002), a film co-directed by the author Iain Sinclair, and John Smith with

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Blight (1994-96). Collectively, these documentarians retain a consistent inventiveness and

aptitude for investigation, which according to film scholar Adrian Danks (2003) sees
within the minutiae of familiar surroundings a range of philosophical, aesthetic, technical and
quotidian challenges and revelations that extend far beyond the realm of much other
comparable cinema.
A combination of methodological approaches will be employed in the production
of my documentary, underpinned by an ethnographic audio-visual framework that aims to
deploy a highly flexible and open filming strategy enabling opportunities for socio-spatial
associations to be configured. Ideally, my documentary will produce multiple narratives
that explore the ethnographic and spatial complexity, richness and depth - present or
potentailly absent - along the autogeography of Springvale Road and the EastLink Tollway.
All located within a series of filmed encounters with human and non-human actors,
informants and agencies, across past, present, imagined and (potentially) virtual terrains.
Additionally, I intend undertaking critical reflection (electronic note-taking and the
construction of filmic vignettes) via a web blog. The idea of an ethnographic audio-visual
approach is to embrace Walter Benjamins (1936) belief in the enormous potential of the
camera as a tool of perception and inspection of contemporary social life. In this sense the
documentarian through photographic means is able to increase insight into the necessities
that govern our existence by emphasizing hidden details by investigating banal milieus
thus becom[ing] obvious that a different nature speaks to the camera from the one that
speaks to the eye(Snyder, 1989: 171).
Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles (BBC TV, 1972), London, Robinson In Space
(Dir. Patrick Keiller, 1997), London Orbital and Radiant City (Dir. Jim Brown & Gary Burns,
2006) are models of critical (narrative/semi-narrative) documentary filmic practice. These
films are vibrant, experimental and entertaining, and serve to indicate the ability of the
documentary film form to encompass an array of imaginative guises: interview, essay, fly-on-
the-wall, travelogue, diary and performance. Banhams film, for example, is an extension of
his seminal text Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies (1971), and allows him the
latitude to extend his study of the city in ways unachievable through written description.
Banham appears (on screen) successfully navigating the urban geography and built
environment of Los Angeles. The film both augments and extends his previously published
architectural thesis, and at the same time produces new knowledge through a combination of
thick description and playful visual dscription, open-ended interviews, the use of archival
photographs, and first-hand experiences/accounts of the city. The fragmented nature of the
film alludes to Banhams conscious desire to challenge, widen and extend the horizons and
boundaries (Vidler, 2000: xxiv) of scholarly architectural practice, thought and description.
By seeking to draw upon the spirit, sophistication and appropriateness of the visual
descriptions produced by Banham, my documentary aims to produce an equally thought
provoking and vivid representation of contemporary Melbournes regime of automobility
within the wider field of transportation, urban and cultural studies.
Graeme Davison writes:

Terrace-dwelling intellectuals occasionally sneer at the delight of suburban

Australians in their cars. Yet it does no service to the cause of environmentalism or
better cities to suggest that most people can give up their cars and take public
transport - even if good public transport were on offer - and experience no significant
loss in personal wellbeing. [Automobility] - the liberty promised by the car to travel
where, when and as often as we like - may be ultimately self-defeating and
unsustainable. It may have to be curbed in the interests of our children and the health
of the planet. But there is no point in trying to tell those who will suffer that limitation

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that it is really no loss at all. If we want to understand Australians attachment to their

cars, therefore, we must make an honest and open-minded appraisal of how cars have
both enriched and impoverished our lives. We must resist the instinct to draw up a
balance sheet until we have allowed all the interests that cluster around the car to
speak of their experience, and give voice to their aspirations and regrets, their pleasure
and pains.

My documentary film embraces Davisons ideal of an open and rigorous approach

towards understanding the full impact of the car on Melbourne. It is my belief that a
qualitative methodological approach will present many possibilities for in-depth
understandings of the citys regime of automobility, and produce a valuable contribution to
the growing body of inter-disciplinary reasearch exploring the present and future city of
Melbourne.

References

Aug, M. 1995, Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity, Trans. John

Howe, Verso, London.
Banham, R. 1971, Los Angeles: The Architecture of Four Ecologies, University of California
Press, Berkeley.
Benjamin, W. 1968, Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, Trans. H. Zohn, Schocken Books,
New York.
Boyd, R. 1960, The Australian Ugliness, Penquin Books, Melbourne.
Davison, G. 2004, Car Wars, Allen & Unwin, Sydney.
Deleuze, G. & Guattari, F. 1987, A Thousnad Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, The
University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis.
Donald, J. 1999, Imagining the Modern City, The Athlone Press, London.
James, P. 2008, Monstrous Melbourne, The Age, 13 January, viewed 13 January 2008,
<http://www.theage.com.au/news/opinion/paul-
james/2008/01/12/1199988639926.html?page=fullpage>.
Katz, J. 1999, How Emotions Work, University of Chicago Press, Chicago.
Keiller, P. 2007, Film as Spatial Critic, Critical Architecture, (eds.) J. Rendell, J. Hill, M.
Fraser & M. Dorrian, Routledge, London & New York, pp. 115-123.
Latour, B. 2005, Reassembling the social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory, Oxford
University Press, Oxford & New York.
Latour, B. 1993, We Have Never Been Modern, Harvester Wheatsheaf, Hemel Hempstead.
Lucas, C. 2008, Public transport makes inroads, but not beyond the fringe, The Age, 14
January, viewed 14 January 2008, <http://www.theage.com.au/news/national/public-
transport-makes-inroads-but-not-beyond-the-fringe/2008/01/13/1200159277533.html>.
Mees, P. 2005, Melbournes Future Transport Options, A reoprt to the Melbourne City
Council, The University of Melbourne, Melbourne.
Merriman, P. 2004, Driving Places: Marc Aug, Non-Places, and the Geographies of
Englands M1 Motorway, in Theory, Culture & Society, 21 (4/5), pp. 145-167.
Relph, E.C. 1976, Place and Placelessness, Routledge & Kegan Paul, London.
Robinson In Space, Dir. Patrick Keiller. United Kingdom, 1997.
Sellers, S. 2007, Melborea Moronica: New Depraved Species of Electric Flora,
Ballardian, viewed 20 October 2007, <http://www.ballardian.com/>.
Sheller, M. & Urry, J. 2006, The new mobilities paradigm, in Environment and Planning A,
38, pp. 207-226.

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 Ashley Perry

Sheller, M. & Urry, J. 2000, The City and the Car, in The International Journal of Urban
and Regional Research, 24 (4), pp. 737-757.
Snyder, J. 1989, Benjamin on reproducibility and aura: a reading of The Work of Art in the
Age of its Technical Reproducability, Benjamin: Philosophy, History, Aesthetics, (ed.)
G. Smith, Chicago University Press: Chicago, pp. 158-174.
The Age. 2007, Melbourne worst at public transport use, The Age, 10 December, viewed 10
December 2007, <http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2007/12/10/1197135339566.html>.
Thrift, N. 2004, Driving in the City, in Theory, Culture & Society, 21 (4/5), pp. 41-59.
Urry, J. 2006, Inhabiting the Car, Against Automobility, Blackwell, Malden, Oxford &
Melbourne, pp. 17-31.
Urry, J. 2004, The System of Automobility, in Theory, Culture & Society, 21 (4/5), pp. 25-
39.
Urry, J. 2003, Global Complexity, Polity, Cambridge.
Urry, J. 2000, Sociology Beyond Societies, Routledge, London & New York.
Vidler, S. 2000, Introduction. Los Angeles: City of the Immediate Future, Los Angeles: The
Architecture of Four Ecologies, R. Banham, Univeristy of Caliornia Press: Berkeley.

Filmography

Blight, Dir John Smith. United Kingdom, 1994-96.

London, Dir. Patrick Keiller. United Kingdom, 1994.
London Orbital, Dir. Christopher Petit & Iain Sinclair. United Kingdom, 2002.
Radiant City, Dir. Jim Brown & Gary Burns. Canada, 2006.
Reyner Banham Loves Los Angeles, BBC TV, United Kindom, 1972.

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 Les Roberts

Cinematic cartography:
movies, maps and the consumption of place
Les Roberts, University of Liverpool

Cinematographic tourism

The non-place is not only a space: it is virtually present in the gaze, which, too
accustomed as it is to images, cannot see reality any more. (Aug 1996: 179)

In his essay Paris and the Ethnography of the Contemporary World the anthropologist Marc
Aug describes, in quite withering terms, the bateaux-mouches, or fly-boats which operate
site-seeing cruises along the River Seine. In the evening trips or shows, the boats, which are
equipped with huge floodlights, illuminate key landmark buildings and riverside monuments:
irradiating them as Aug observes, with a somewhat obscene glare (1996: 179). Aug cites
this example to illustrate the ways in which urban landscapes are increasingly transformed
into images, shows, or life-sized stage sets for consumption by tourists and others, their gaze
directed towards illuminated emblems of, for example, a Metonymic Paris (ibid).
This very theatrical urban mise-en-scne the cityscape as a son et lumire backdrop
or screen is premised on a passive and disembodied mode of urban spatio-visual
engagement. Moreoever, with its attendant trope of projection, the spectacular space of
consumption which the tourists inhabit plays host to an essentially cinematic urban
topography: its landmarks pressed into service of an unfolding visual narrative. Mapping a
virtual geography of the city, the projected gaze of the site-seer, like that of the cinema
spectator, defines a landscape whose function, economically at least, is to be seen (Urry 2002;
Roberts forthcoming).
It is these imbricated geographies of mapping of virtual and material engagements
with urban landscapes that I am concerned with in this paper. Drawing on examples of post-
industrial consumerscapes in cities such as Liverpool, I consider some of the ways in which
filmic or cinematic renderings of space and place have become cartographically embedded in
discourses of consumption, heritage and urban place-making. The increasingly co-extensive
geographies of tourism and film, as illustrated, for example, by the production of movie
maps as marketing tools for urban and rural tourism, is indicative of a growing synergy
between the two industries. As I argue, this prompts critical reflection on the commodification
and consumption of post-industrial urban landscapes, prompting in turn a renewed focus on
the political economy of film location sites (Swann 2001), as well as a consideration of
alternative cartographies of film, place and memory, which I briefly outline by way of
conclusion.
One of the shibboleths of postmodern theory, whether in discussions of film or,
indeed, those of tourism, is that of the critical redundance of ideas of the authentic in an
increasingly mediated and image-saturated world (Harvey 1989). Despite, or perhaps because
of this putative postmodern condition, a (spatial) politics of authenticity, as evidenced, for
example, by groups reflecting a more psychogeographic sensitivity to urban space, has
continued to underpin many of the debates and practices surrounding the construction of
place, space and identity in the urban imaginary. In a recent article examing the parallels
between tourism and film, Mazierska and Walton note that the discussion of authenticity in
tourism has its counterpart in debates on realism in film studies (2006: 8). For the traveller in

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hyperreality that a landscape or destination might be merely the inauthentic product of its
own simulation is to miss the point: it is precisely the capacity of a place to match up to its
film or television persona(s) that affirms its authentic credentials. This represents a strikingly
different perspective from those advancing a more realist aesthetic or ontology of travel
(virtual or otherwise).
For a good illustration of this we need look no further than a recent marketing
campaign aimed at overseas visitors to the Unites States, a country where, for Baudrillard,
the materiality of things is, of course, their cinematography (1988: 85). The tagline of
Saatchis See America campaign, which featured iconic landscape scenery culled from
famous Hollywood films, was You've seen the film, now visit the set. Similarly, in Britain
the 2006 Beatrix Potter biopic Miss Potter has played a central role in the recent marketing
of the Lake District as an international tourist attraction. The campaign by Cumbria Tourism,
which includes a movie map of key locations in the film, invites tourists to Visit Miss
Potter: an imagined geography that fuses map, movie, and territory into a single,
undifferentiated entity (see www.visitmisspotter.com).
The growth in what has been dubbed film or movie-induced tourism has given rise to
a number of recent studies examining the economic impacts or potential of this form of
destination marketing (Tooke and Baker 1996; Riley, Baker and Doren 1998; Busby and Klug
2001; Kim and Richardson 2003; Beeton 2005; Hudson and Ritchie 2006a, 2006b). Alongside
these more industry-based perspectives there have been few if any critical or spatial
examinations of film-induced tourism or, more specifically, of movie mapping. Moreover,
studies have also tended to focus on rural rather than urban destinations. A notable exception
is Schofields (1996) discussion of alternative heritage tourism in Manchester (based on the
Hollywood of the North tour of the city). Embracing the potential of what he terms the
postmodern or post-tourist heritage market, Schofield argues that film and television images
of a city represent an intangible heritage of ideas or images, which, in contrast to a heritage
of objects (such as architecture), provides the foundation for a newly emerging niche market:
that of the cinematographic tourist (ibid: 336). For Schofield, [the Manchester
cinematographic history tour] epitomises a new product development in a new tourism
environmentand represent[s] the coming of age of urban heritage tourism as a postmodern
media image experience of place (ibid: 339). I will return to these arguments shortly when
considering the example of Liverpool, which, like Manchester, is a post-industrial city (and
rival Hollywood of the North) that has also sought to exploit its more intangible and
cinematographic urban heritage.

The (movie) map is not the territory

Although movie mapping is a relatively recent development in tourism, it is by no means

without precedent. In 1904 the Swedish Tourist Association produced a map of the city of
Hrnsand which featured nodal points indicating positions where site-seers could obtain
familiar (touristic) views of the city contained in postcards, guidebooks or film. The filmic
nodes consisted of arrows representing shooting positions in Bilder fran Hrnsand (Images
of Hrnsand), the earliest known moving images of the city (Snickars and Bjrkin 2002:
279). As Patrick Keiller has shown in his navigable installation City of the Future, much of
early film was essentially topographic in form (see also Rohdie 2001: 10). Arranged on a
series of screens and historical maps, Keillers exhibit is comprised of actuality footage of
urban landscapes, filmed between 1896 and 1909, showing street scenes and phantom ride
views shot from moving vehicles such as trams and trains. Insofar as these early actualities
exemplify a view aesthetic for Gunning (1997) one of the defining characteristics of early

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non-fiction film they map a space of representation homologous to that framed by the
tourist or site-seer.
While these nascent modes of cinematic cartography displayed a fascination with the
topographies, rhythms and materiality of the modern city, their postmodern variants map a
landscape whose topographic referents are the product of a markedly different tourist
geography.
In recent years film-induced tourism has developed into something of a global
phenomenon, prompting the publication not only of movie maps of cities and regions (often,
as I have noted, as tie-ins to major film releases), but also of a string of travel guides, most
notably Tony Reeves The Worldwide Guide to Movie Locations (first published in 2001),
the success of which, as with its London counterpart (Reeve 2003), has spawned many similar
publications.
The British Tourism Authoritys (BTA) Movie Map of Britain was the first national
campaign that sought to capitalise on the economic potential of film-induced tourism. First
published in 1990, the map became BTAs (now Visit Britain) most successful printed
product. Marketed largely at overseas visitors, the aim of the map, according to Visit Britains
campaign manager, was to achieve a seasonal spread of visitors to heritage locations, city
destinations and other areas of Britains countryside (Busby and Klug 2001: 324). The
organisation has since gone on to produce a series of movie-maps and is a global player in the
film tourism market. Working with film production and distribution companies, Visit Britain
now has dedicated film tourism offices in Los Angeles and Mumbai, and typically plan with
movie studios at least 12 months in advance of the date of a major film release (Visit Britain
Press Release, 24/10/07; Hudson and Brent Ritchie 2006a: 259).
As Beeton observes, the publication of movie maps, both in hard copy and on the
Internet, has become a significant marketing tool in the arsenal of many DMOs [destination
marketing organisations] (2005: 63). This is clearly demonstrable in the case of Britain, with
the success of the national model prompting many local and regional authorities to exploit the
marketing potential of movie mapping. In the capital, the organisations Film London and
Visit London have produced a number of tourist maps of films that have featured prominent
and iconic London landmarks, including Love Actually (Richard Curtis, 2003), Bridget Jones:
The Edge of Reason (Beeban Kidron, 2004), and Woody Allens Match Point (2005). Replete
with what Shonfield calls the tourist hardware of a cinematic London (in Brunsdon 2007:
33), the locations mapped in these films proclaim, in no uncertain terms: This is London;
serving both to anchor the diegesis within an immediately recognisable or legible (Lynch
1962) landscape, as well as branding the (extra-diegetic) site a space of touristic consumption.
Citing the work of Pierre Sorlin, Brunsdon notes that the use of typical landmark
iconography in films, such as views found in postcards, guidebooks and other tourist media,
establishes a visual citation of place that more often than not has the effect of blocking
viewers engagement with these landscapes, rather than inciting responses designed to draw
out the embedded narratives and histories attached to a given location (2007: 26-28).
Eschewing otherwise open, oblique or counter narratives of place (the defamiliarised image of
the Tower of London in Patrick Keillers film London (1994) provides a good example of
incitement), the London movie maps produced by Visit London/Film London are designed
less to incite a keenly felt sense of place than a form of urban heritage tourism in which the
citys landmarks and locations function primarily as product placements (for consumption of
both movie and set).
In their assessment of the effect of television film on visitor numbers at film locations,
Tooke and Baker conclude by recommending the introduction of a subsidy to encourage film
companies to choose locations which display attractive national landscapes or urban vistas
(1996: 94). Leaving aside the question as to what might constitute an attractive urban vista,

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this appeal to policy-makers on behalf of the tourism industry signals an emerging politics
and aesthetics of location that is underpinned by a neo-liberal model of economic
instrumentalism. As a tool for urban regeneration, the increasingly important role of film (or
rather film locations) in the economic revival of post-industrial cities such as Liverpool is the
result of a growing synergy between local film offices and screen agencies on the one hand,
and destination marketing organisations on the other. The production of tourist maps of film
locations represents a materialisation of this relationship. As I discuss in the next section, in a
critical spatial analysis of film, tourism and movie mapping it is the operational similarities
between the two industries that invite particular scrutiny: both are economically premised on
a semiotics of attraction; and both are key agents in the transformation of urban landscapes
into postmodern spaces of spectacular consumption.

Location, location, location: the case of Liverpool

I came looking for a beach and they sold me the whole city. International concert halls,
Moscow hotels, Parisian apartments, golden synagogues, civic buildings, sand dunes
and stately homes. (Andy Patterson, producer of Hilary and Jackie, quoted in
Boomtown! Liverpool Movie and Television Map, 2002)

In the case of the London films cited above, the city that is mapped (both cartographically
and figuratively) is one in which London, for the most part, plays itself (or at least a version
of itself); that is, the landmarks and locations depicted in the films draw on an imaginary of
place that is in some way expressive of the actual city. In instances where the production costs
of shooting in the capital demand the search for more affordable stand-in locations, it is
increasingly likely to be Liverpool that producers turn to: a city whose landscape and
architecture offer a ready-to-hand simulacrum of London as well as many other cities, past
and present. After London, Liverpool is the most filmed city in the UK, yet in the case of the
vast majority of film and television productions based in the city Liverpool all too rarely plays
itself. Less the star than body double (Brown 1995: 10), Liverpool has served as a stand-in
for, amongst others, Cannes, Vienna, Moscow, St Petersburg, Dublin, Amsterdam, Rome,
New York, Chicago, Paris, war-time Germany, as well as London (ibid: 9; Liverpool Movie
and Television Map 2002).
Published in 2002 by Liverpool City Councils tourism unit and the Liverpool Film
Office, the Movie and Television Map was part of wider marketing campaign aimed at
promoting the citys locations as a desirable destination for both tourists and filmmakers
alike. Indeed, the above quote from the producer of the Jacqueline du Pr biopic Hilary and
Jackie (Anand Tucker, 1998) would not look out of place in a tour operator brochure. As a
site of consumption Liverpools cinematic geographies reflect a heterotopic configuration of
urban space in which markers of place denote a fragmentary and increasingly de-localised
topography defined by style and genre rather than local urban specificity. Promising a world
in one city (which would later become the tag-line for Liverpools European Capital of
Culture 2008 bid campaign) these post-industrial consumerscapes were in part forged from
initiatives begun in the late 1980s which sought to build on the citys new found role as a film
set:

When the Victorian and Edwardian merchant princes laid the cornerstones of
Liverpools imperialistic heyday, little did they know that they were building some of
the best film sets of the late twentieth century. Focus a camera on the architecture,
landscape or seascape of this city, and you can still be anywhere from pre-

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revolutionary France to post-revolutionary Romania. (Hollywood on the Mersey,

Liverpool Echo, 1990?)

Buoyed by the unexpected success of Letter to Brezhnev (Chris Bernard, 1985), in

1989 the city council set up the Liverpool Film Office (LFO), which was the UKs first city
film commission. The overall remit of the LFO was (and is) to provide a film liaison service
to the film and television industry and to stimulate demand for local production skills (Hallam
2000: 264), thereby attracting much needed investment to the region. As well as its capacity
to look like somewhere else, the desirability of Liverpool as a film location was based on its
cheapness and accessibility (Brown 1995: 10), not to mention, in comparison to cities such as
London, its relatively traffic- and crowd-free streets. A consequence of years of depopulation
and economic decline, this somewhat down-at-heel urban situation (which the LFO initiatives
were designed to address) was, ironically, one of the key selling points for attracting
prospective filmmakers to the city.
In addition to the obvious economic benefits, it was also felt that Liverpools
increased screen presence would have a positive psychological impact on the city. As Paul
Mingard, the LROs first film liaison officer suggests, Imagine you see your city, this
derided place, up there on the screen, again and again, and it tells you that Liverpool is
specialIt tells you that faith in this city is justified (Gilbey 1995; Brown 1995: 7).
However, how much of itself Liverpool does in fact see up there on the screen is a moot point.
While in Letter to Brezhnev Liverpool was uncharacteristically (and unflinchingly) playing
itself the industry it helped spawn is one in which, typically, locations count only insofar as
they are able to enhance another citys screen presence, or to sustain the production of
generic spaces serving mostly grafted-on (or dis-located) narratives.
There is, as Paul Swann has observed, a postmodern inexorability in valuing cities as
images rather than as sites of production (2001: 96). Following the example of North
American cities such as Philadelphia, Liverpools transition from industrial to image-based
economy from workshop to backlot as Swann puts it (ibid) has been aided by the
establishment of organisations such as Liverpools Moving Image Development Agency
(MIDA), formed in 1992 to develop and promote the regions moving image industries
(Brown 1995: 44). In 2002 MIDA was absorbed into North West Vision (NWV), the strategic
film development agency for the North West of England which, through a network of local
film offices, promotes the regions locations and production facilities. As is now standard
practice amongst film offices and screen agencies, the NWVs website hosts a location
database and image gallery where filmmakers can sift through a broad array of location and
spatial categories and images, many without any geographical contextualisation. Much like
that of an estate or travel agent, the role of the screen agent is to market the attributes of a
given location or destination and thus to match image (sought-after cinematic topography)
with image (locations still):

We guarantee youll be impressed with our stunning mix of eclectic, contemporary

buildings and beautifully preserved industrial architecture. Then there are tranquil
lakes, quaint stone villages, rolling mountains and miles of spectacular coastline.
(from North West Visions Locations Database see www.northwestvision.co.uk,
emphasis added)

If the particularities of this form of destination/location marketing here lifted from NWVs
Locations Database website appear little different from those of tourist marketing, then
reports of location scouts by-passing the screen agencies altogether and enquiring direct with

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tourism information offices (as studies based on the use of Dorset as a film location have
shown) are not altogether that surprising (see www.south-central-media.co.uk/report).
As these examples suggest, the increasingly synergistic relationship between the film
and tourism industries has refined a very particular semiotics of place. While geographically
embedded in actual landscapes, the visual commodification of the location site does little to
put the real city on the map (so to speak). In the case of Liverpool, the movie map signals
the emergence of what Schofield describes as postmodern urban heritage tourism: a new,
differentiated heritage [product] (1996: 339) which is economically sustained by the
production and consumption of urban-architectural simulacra. As Brown observes,

the pic n mix selection offered by Liverpool makes it a form of ultimate post-modern
cityIt is full of visual spectacle but increasingly unable to articulate its own identity.
A significant tension in the fictionalisation of Liverpool comes from this
schizophrenic self-image. It is hardly a mirror of itself on screen, more a hall of
mirrors. (1995: 11-12)

As a strategic tool for destination marketing, the movie map epitomises a niche form of urban
heritage tourism which, while stimulating more oblique ways of engaging with the city (for
example, introducing visitors to areas they might otherwise miss as part of a conventional
tourist itinerary), at the same time raises questions as to the ways in which filmic images of
cities might sustain a more socially and culturally embedded geography of place, and how
these in turn might shape alternative cartographies of urban memory.

Cinematic cartography: a tale of two cities

Commenting on the city locations portrayed in Italian neorealist cinema, Nowell-Smith notes
that [t]hey are there before they signify, and they signify because they are there; they are not
there merely in order to be bearers of signification (2001: 107 emphasis added). Similarly,
as Iain Sinclair observes in relation to London, [u]sing the city as a set diminishes it,
reducing its urban landscapes to an approximate and convenient backdrop (2002: 34). For
Sinclair, Landscape is the story, memory and meaning. You begin there (ibid, emphasis
added).
As we have seen, while Liverpools more prominent cinematic geographies can often
be seen to function as little more than semiotic shorthand, conjuring, in an instant, another
place and time (whether Edwardian London or 1980s Moscow, for example), there exists a
rich and far more extensive corpus of Liverpool films which, by contrast, articulate an
altogether more local and historically-grounded geography of film. Consisting of, amongst
other genres, actualities, newsreel footage, local amateur films, documentaries, travelogues,
and municipal films, the films compiled as part of the City in Film research constitute a
comprehensive survey of a city on film from 1897 to the 1980s. Accessible in database form,
this mapping of Liverpools filmic spaces of memory provides a spatial reading of
landscapes and locations depicted in each film. Crucially, what these represent are not only
the shifting topographical and architectural specificities of the city over time (and across
filmic genres), but also the different forms of social engagement with the citys spaces (the
rhythms and mobilities of everyday life; geographies of work, industry and leisure, etc.).
By situating filmic representations within the social and material geographies of
Liverpool, this palimpsestic model of an archive city (Roberts and Koeck 2007) provides
the potential for an alternative form of movie mapping, in which the relationship between a
citys cinematic geographies and its historical urban landscapes is brought into critical focus.

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As the City in Film research has demonstrated, the compilation of spatial data drawn
from an extensive archival trawl of images of the city lends itself to explicitly cartographic
modes of analysis and representation, utilising Geographic Information System (GIS)
technology to geo-reference historical films of the city within a digital mapping platform.
When completed this resource will be publically accessible as part of a permanent, interactive
display at the new Museum of Liverpool, enabling users to navigate through a series of
historical maps and digitised film of the city, each spatially anchored in their contemporary
landscapes.
Reflecting a more general spatial turn in recent social and cultural theory, theoretical
studies in film have begun to explore the critical conjunction of filmic and cartographic
modes of represention (Bruno 2002; Conley 2007). However, despite these trends, the
relationship between film, mapping and everyday social landscapes has yet to come under
close critical scrutiny. This paper moves forward debates in this area by considering the role
of movie mapping in a wider context of consumption, heritage tourism and urban place-
making. The example of Liverpool has shown that, while the commodification and
consumption of its cinematic geographies brings in much needed investment to the city, the
downside is that this can further promote the loss of a sense of itself as a city in film. By
contrast, place-based initiatives aimed at tapping into a broader and more locally-defined
geography of film can place an otherwise neglected filmic, social and urban-architectual
heritage back on the map of official city narratives.

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Harvey, D (1989) The Condition of Postmodernity: An Enquiry into the Origins of Cultural
Change. Oxford: Blackwell.
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Empirical Identification of Supporting Marketing Initiatives, in Journal of Travel
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Kim, H and S Richardson (2003) Motion Picture Impacts on Destination Images, in Annals
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Lynch, K (1960) The Image of the City, Cambridge, Massachusetts: The MIT Press.
Mazierska, E and J K Walton (2006) Tourism and the Moving Image, in Tourist Studies 6
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Cinema and the City: Film and Urban Societies in a Global Context, Oxford: Basil
Blackwell.
Reeve, T (2001) The Worldwide Guide To Movie Locations, London: Titan Books.
Reeve, T (2003) The Worldwide Guide to Movie Locations Presents London, London: Titan
Books.
Riley, R, D Baker and CSV Doren (1998) Movie Induced Tourism, in Annals of Tourism
Research 25 (4): 919-935.
Roberts, L (Forthcoming) Dis/embedded Geographies of Film: Virtual Panoramas and the
Touristic Construction of Liverpool Waterfront in Space and Culture (in review).
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Manchester in Tourism Management 17 (5): 333-340.
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Framing the Scene: A Cinematic Approach to a Redevelopment at

the Halifax Waterfront
Eva Russell

Cinematic techniques have the ability to evoke personal memories and establish narratives
through devices such as framing and slow pans that create the sense of a passage of time.
These techniques have the potential of being applied to a work of architecture in order to
evoke cinematic conditions through the space and representation of the surrounding condition.
This paper will investigate the changing condition of memory and history in the
redevelopment of an industrial site in the City of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada (figure 1), and
the future implications of writing an industrial area into the storyline of the urban fabric.
Through the use of cinematic techniques and the camera, a mode for intervention and
investigation will be applied in order to explore the potential of the industrial port as a place
for layered narratives. Three architectural proposals will accompany this paper, with the
intention of relating the proposed theory with a built representation.
The three architectural proposals
related to this investigation are situated on
the vast industrial waterfront in Halifax,
Nova Scotia and have the potential of
evoking not only memory and personal
narratives but provide a framework for
future development of the surrounding
waterfront area. The port of Halifax is
unique in its geography, as it is an ice free
port, allowing for commercial trade to
occur all year round. In addition, the
waterfront consists of a historical port area
which caters to the citys tourism industry, Figure 1. Ariel shot of the Halifax Waterfront.
and which is anchored on each side by
active shipping and cargo facilities and a large naval base.
Narrative was used as a foundation for the various investigations for program and site
throughout the process of research. Narrative and memory can be described as subjective
processes that depend mainly on an individuals memory and experience of a place and time.
Through various processes of investigation, a fiction has been established for the way in
which the proposed architecture will address and respond to the evoked memories and
narratives associated with the site. It is the intention through this process of investigation to
propose a way of integrating a subtle and humble architecture, which will not act
independently of the site but rather enhance it as an important area for the city of Halifax.
Narrative of the site the resident, the tourist and the passenger

The Halifax waterfront, as the site for investigation, is steeped in history and thus serves as a
datum for the (re)creation of the stories, narrative and myths. The physical qualities of the
landscape of the Halifax waterfront describe a change in the condition of memory of the site
and the potential for the recreation of layered fictions. Through the process of regaining land
for industry by filling in a portion of the harbour, a disruption was caused at the original
shoreline which had previously been the interface between land and water. The portion of the
site addressed by this project exists from a different period than the original site of Halifax

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(figure 2). It acts as an artifact in itself, a place for the integration of other artifacts to find a
home and communicate a past to the residents of the city. Therefore, a memory exists on the
fundamental level of the physical qualities of the site, in the landscape which has the
possibility of revealing its numerous transformations.
The result is a site which is embedded with layers of history, physically and through
stories and narrative. It is the path of this embedded history which formed the guideline for
the location of the architectural interventions.
Through the identification of
individual characters which would interact
through movement across the site, the role of
the master planner for future development of
the site also took on the role of the narrative
writer. Three characters which were
identified as users of the site were the
resident, the tourist, and the passenger. These
characters were explored through the
conditions of memory, narrative and duration,
with an architectural response with cinematic
qualities that followed the principles of
framing, montage and the pan.
Figure 2. Memory of the shoreline: layered
Memory (Framing) Resident

Memories of the past are made present through recollection. The extent to which a society
identifies with its history is through the cultural memory of the landscape where the public
eye searches and finds reminders of its past existence. This fabric of memory is only
noticeable when it is torn; when familiar buildings are taken down, or when the common
elements of a city street vanish suddenly. Therefore our own perception and sense of history
affects the way in which we receive spaces of the city, and allow for the creation and
overlapping of personal narratives and the narrative of cultural artifacts through identifying
places of memory within the city. In the realm of architecture and urban planning, the reality
of memory becomes significant at the moment when architects become aware of the
possibility of applying the concept of memory through the method of cutting and shaping the
fabric of the city with the sequences and places that were apparent in their own memories.
Experiences of the present largely depend upon knowledge of the past, as images can
begin to inform and create a connection to a past condition. Cinema has a similar ability to
capture fragmented images to inform a collective memory of a place or event. Unlike
literature, cinema uses text as well as images to describe a condition, and conveys ideas and
emotions to an audience. The cinematic image is essentially the observation of a phenomenon
passing through time. Compared to other art forms, cinema distinguishes itself as giving time
a visible, real form. Once recorded on film, the phenomenon is there as a given, even when
time is subjective.
In the work of Andrei Tarkovsky, time is a factor in conveying collective memories
and the changing conditions of characters in a place. In his film Nostalgia, Tarkovsky uses
techniques such as slow pans, the sound of water running, and imagery of ruins and
monuments to challenge the audience to conceive of the memories and passing of time which
has occurred for the characters in the film. Through his provocative imagery, the site of the
film is made accessible, as the audience is made aware of the scale of space and time. His
work is based on the layering of the physical and emotional conditions of time in order to
evoke a sense of narrative and memories. As Tarkovsky (1986) commented on the passing of

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time; Time cannot vanish without a trace, for it is a subjective, spiritual category; and the
time we have lived settles in our soul as an experience places within time. It is time that
plays an important role for Tarkovsky into the translation of fragmented memories and
histories onto film and the influences onto a collective memory of a place.
As a fundamental technique for cinematic representations, framing serves as a
viewpoint for moving images. Framing, in cinematic terms, refers to a closed system in
which everything which is present in the image, such as sets, characters and props are framed
(Deleuze, 1986: 2). The frame therefore forms a set which has a great number of parts, and
elements which in themselves form subsets. This view of framing, as a cinematic device in
order to bring together parts of different realms, begins to inform the design strategy for the
architectural proposition which will address the notion of framing multiple viewpoints of the
site as well as their differing events and programs. The frame isolates events that take place,
and allows for a focusing on the specific details of a whole scene, while the surrounding
context is masked out.
As the waterfront edge condition is one in which views have been blocked and cut off,
aspects of strategic framing become important in the overall site development as a method for
the reconnection of the viewer to the water and conversely to the surrounding city. The
camera responds in the same manner as an architectural element which frames, as the lens
frames the view which is projected onto the photographic paper. As the waterfront edge
condition is one in which views have been blocked and cut off, aspects of strategic framing
become important in the overall site development as a method for the reconnection of the
viewer to the water and conversely to the surrounding city. The potential of the architecture
to address this potential for multiple points of framing, both in the direction of the water and
back to the surrounding site was explored through the idea of an elevated walkway. This
created a meeting point for all three characters because the site has such an overwhelming
scale, which cannot be completely understood as a network or in its entirety.

Proposal 1: The Elevated Pier

Piers and docks are a constructed

layer that surrounds a natural coast
to facilitate shipping and receiving
by ships. For an observer, the pier
also functions as a point of
connection between land and sea;
an intermediate point before
reaching the water. The Pier
becomes a meeting point, a
destination for visitors to the
water, a man-made construction
which blurs the boundary of the
shoreline and allows for an
extension onto the surrounding
water. The proposed Elevated Pier Figure 31 The Elevated Pier View along elevated walkways.
will therefore address these issues of framing and surrounding sets which can be framed
into the view. The Elevated Pier reflects the surrounding structures such as the elevated
towers and low sheds, through its industrial palette of materials and elements such as the tall
stacked sleeping berths (figure 3). The proposed structure acts as a bridge in which the 3
characters (defined in the site development) can interact through the overlapping of their

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narratives. The elevated pier serves as a point from which to observe the framing of the water
through the architectural intervention.

Narrative (Montage) Tourist

The role of narrative in the context of this paper was explored for its potential relationship
with architecture and urban design to gain a better understanding of human events and the
spaces that are constructed for such events. Narrative was examined as a potential instrument
for structuring the experience of the site, as it was vast in its size and needed to be addressed
through an intimate scale of the story and the character. Narrative can be defined as a
structured sequence of events centered on a plot, which are told as stories. Narratives are
fiction; and have the effect of leaving the reader in a state of suspended disbelief, questioning
what is real and what is fabricated.
In reference to the site as theatrical backdrop, the proposed interventions serve as
theatre sets amongst an existing architecture of the site and perform the role as the set for the
narratives of the three characters to interact. Architecture can be considered as a system and
structure that supports and informs the narrative and therefore plays an important role in the
development of the story. When applied to a site condition, existing narratives, which are
created through storytelling and memory, can be used as tools and a way to reconsider the
design and development of a site in which historical traces may be hidden and need to be
revealed or re-aligned to the site experience.
The waterfront site on the Halifax Harbour demonstrates a series of misused and left
over spaces that have the potential for redevelopment and integration into the surrounding
condition. Through the existing infrastructure, permanent landmarks are established such as
the Pier 21 museum and other various structures that suggest a past and lend easily to an
association to narratives. However, lying between these places are areas which present
themselves as misused spaces or scrap sites, such as a series of gravel filled spaces which
serve no function to the overall network of the waterfront. It is these scrap sites that will
serve as locations for future interventions on the site, and will serve to begin to integrate the
various site conditions.

Proposal 2: Antithesis Museum

The proposed program for the architecture

which corresponds to the character of the
tourist of the waterfront is centred on the
idea of the Antithesis Museum. This
presents itself to the city as a place which
does not house discreet artifacts, but the
artifact in its construction. The space is
created using existing objects from the site
which are not contained but revealed in
order to engage visitors to the site. The
antithesis museum would consist of
various abandoned railcars which are
rearranged to create spaces for exhibits of Figure 4: Antithesis Museum with assembled rail cars.
artifacts that would reflect the history of the
site and the city of Halifax. A permanent structure spanning a large open space with a large
overhanging roof is constructed on the site to allow for more permanent exhibits or as a large
space for functions. Through using the railway cars as exhibit space, the overall structure of

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the museum will change according to the movement of the cars and therefore reinforce the
changing nature of the site and the industrial uses which constantly change and reconfigure
the landscape.

Duration (The Pan) Passenger

Movement Within vs. The Pan

The cinema can reveal to an audience multiple levels of interpretations of lifes events and
evoke personal memories and stories of a specific place or time. Cinema captures something
that can not be expressed in any other art form: the passing of time and duration expressed by
moving images. As expressed by Deleuze (1986): The cinema even more directly than
painting conveys relief in time, a perspective in time: it expresses time itself as a perspective
or relief. For architecture, cinema does not need to focus on acceptable notions of spatial
successions, but rather has the ability to reveal a set of new spatial relationships which are
random and unusual experiences. It is through this representation of architectural space that
memory and narrative are evoked, and the role of cinema can be identified as a key
component in the investigation and representation of a narrative of non-sequential spaces.
Through changes in viewing distance, in the shape and size of the field of view, in the
movement of a camera through space and the duration of the scene, cinema constructs
alternative worlds to an audience. This in turn heightens ones perception of ones own space.
Film can be an important tool in uncovering and evoking personal and collective memories of
a place depicted on film, through the use of cinematic techniques and the composure of the
narrative. Within the movement of the frame, a scene can be masked in order to focus on its
details. Two camera movements, the pan with the camera and movement within a fixed
camera reveal to the audience different scales of time within the frame. When the camera is
fixed, movement within the shot relies on the movement of elements and characters in the
frame. When the camera pans across a site, the vastness of the landscape is exaggerated by
the duration and the speed that the camera is moving. Therefore, duration of the site is
emphasized through the slow pan of the camera across the horizon. The shot exists as the
unity of movement, and as Deleuze (1986) suggests, is caught between two demands: of the
whole whose change it expresses throughout the film, of parts whose displacements within
each set and from one set to another it determines. The sequence and duration of the shot is
the main instrument in expressing detailed fragments of the whole, and can alter the duration
and perception of the scene through the cameras movements. This approach to observation
of the whole and its parts framed by the means of architecture and identified through memory
and narrative was a key component in the investigation of the subject site. The motion of the
frame of the camera was utilized for its potential in developing frames across the site which
would serve to outline and exaggerate specific moments of the characters interactions on the
vast site.

Proposal 3: Duration Film Galleries

Duration allows for a development of a suspended action or emotion of disbelief. Further,
duration creates an extension of time, in which one is aware of the passing of time, with the
exaggeration of the moment. As one walks through the container pier, the experience of a
surreal extended duration of time is experienced, as two opposing sides reflect two contrasting
spaces of time. On one side of the road, lie various industrial buildings which remain
permanent in the landscape. On the opposite side is a changing pier that is constantly being
reconfigured with the movement of cargo and shipping containers. The third instillation on
the site addresses this condition of changing space and time through a series of video

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galleries, editing studios, and a drive-in cinema (figure 5) which will allow for the viewing of
works in either an intimate or collective setting. As the intervention addresses issues of
duration and integration, the building is represented in the landscape as a thin structure that is
positioned between the existing rail yard on a long and narrow residual parcel of land, which
is currently not used by the sites industrial functions.
The program of video galleries was chosen as a method of addressing the role of
cinema in the recreation of certain narratives. Through choosing the cinematic condition of
duration, the site was chosen as a point on the overall waterfront, which strongly represented
a sense of panning and elapsed time, similar to a slow Tarkovsky pan, which slowly revealed
the overall parts of the site and the city beyond.

Conclusion: Architecture as Backdrop for Narrative

Along with the three cinematic techniques, framing, duration (the pan) and montage, all of
which can be applied to the expression of a narrative within an artifact or a site (micro or
macro), programs were created which would address three specific conditions for three
characters thereby creating a space for multiple narratives to occur. Vernacular forms of the
site were explored through old suitcases, worn railroad ties, and cigar boxes as a means to
engage the textured site condition. As this process has been centred on the concepts of
narrative and film, as a sequence of events across a site, the final step in the process was
explored through the making of a graphic storyboard.
Constructing a film narrative
involves the making of a diagram of the
different places which structure its
development and the paths the characters
follow within and between these places.
Through the following narrative, the
architect undertakes the role as the
narrative writer, the proposed characters
reveal themselves through the various
spaces which have been integrated in each
proposal to allow for interaction. The
proposed architecture of the site is not
intended to be grand, but rather a series of Figure 5: Waterfront Drive-in Cinema & Galleries.
discreet events which are held together by cinema and narrative. The path therefore is a
starting point for the investigations, and once removed, each intervention is able to stand
alone in the site as proposals which enable the reanimation of misused space. The proposal is
not intended to be a final scheme, but rather an addition to the existing condition which would
facilitate future development and usage across the site.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my family for all of their love and guidance through this journey from
start to finish. I would also like to thank my advisor, Professor Yvan-Pier Cazabon, Carleton
University, for his weekly visits and constant motivation throughout this process.

References

Boyer, Christine, 1994, The City of Collective Memory, MIT Press, Cambridge.
Deleuze, Gilles 1986, Cinema 1: The Movement Image, The Athlone Press, London.

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Perez-Gomez, Alberto 2000, Architectural Representation and the Perspective Hinge,

Press, Cambridge.
Rossi, Aldo 1982, The Architecture of the City, MIT Press, Cambridge.
Tarkovsky, Andrey 1986, Sculpting in Time: Reflections on the Cinema, The Bodley
Head Ltd, London.

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 Megan Saltzman

Gentrification and Spatial Tactics in Jos Luis Guerns En

construccin
Megan Saltzman, University of Michigan and Grinnell College

Representations of public everyday space contain historical narratives, and finding the
underrepresented ones gives us a more inclusive socio-historical understanding of a citys
environment. The conditions of the postmodern city complicate the legibility of these
narratives. For example, gentrification, ubiquitous stimuli, manufactured images, and
consumer attractions rapidly and simultaneously transform, add noise, and project totalizing
cultural ideologies within the urban space. In addition, as Henri Lefebvre describes in The
Production of Space, in a time of heightened capitalism, space is a dissimulated, fluid, and
superimposed social product. To this claim, Jean Baudrillard adds that postmodern space
blurs the lines between what we believe to be true and false, real and imaginary
(Baudrillard 2001: 171). In other words, many ever-changing and interconnected semiotic
layers intertwine between our initial impression of public space and a more inclusive
understanding of the citys environment. How can we discern the latter? This paper explores
everyday resistances that confront the factors blurring social reality. I call these spatial
tactics.
One of the main ideas of Michel de Certeaus The Practice of Everyday Life is that
urban dwellers will always find clever ways of slipping around spatial regulations. He calls
these maneuvers tactics and they form part of a larger category of everyday practices within
the temporal and spatial framework of modern urban space. The creators of spatial tactics
temporarily appropriate a space and give it a different function, not to make a political
statement, but to make ends meet. De Certeau argues that everyday practices are replete with
subtle, and often undermined, forms of resistance. Similar to Walter Benjamins interest in
the discarded commodities of nineteenth century Paris, de Certeau wants to uncover a similar
byproduct of consumer society, one that is fleeting yet residual, a remainder or a smudge,
with trace[s] or mark[s] that eat into the borders (2002: 61, 155, 155).
My discovery of spatial tactics in downtown Barcelona led me to supplement de
Certeaus idea. But before expanding the concept, discussing where we can find spatial
tactics, and how they reveal socio-historical transparency, as illustrated in the film En
construccin by Jos Luis Guern (2001), I will provide a brief historical background on what
has been going on in public space in Barcelona over the last three decades.
Three months after Francisco Francos dictatorship (1939-1975) ended in Spain,
protestors staged the largest demonstration seen in Barcelona in four decades. They took their
long-suppressed discontent to the streets to demand not only freedom and regional autonomy,
but also urban reform (McNeill 1999: 120-122). In the following decade, urban reform
played a fundamental role in the transition to democracy (Balibrea 2001, Borja 1997, Capel
2005, McNeill 1999). Governor Pasqual Maragall summed up its importance in the early 80s
with the motto La mejora del espacio pblico es relevante para la resolucin de los
problemas econmicos y sociales (Capel 2005: 30).1 Although the country was suffering an
economic crisis at the time, local urban planners and architects, using public funds, worked
closely together with the grassroots neighbourhood organizations and were able to modestly
renovate old public spaces and create new ones. However, 1986 saw the end of this

1
Translation: Improving public space is relevant to resolving social and economic problems.

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 Megan Saltzman

communal effort. That year Spain became a member of the European Union and Barcelona
was nominated to host the 1992 Olympics. Business boomed and unemployment began to
drastically drop (Borja 1997).2 At the same time, many political activists left the
neighbourhood associations, either because they had gained trust in the new regional
government or because they wanted to cash in on the opportunities that the Games would
bring (McNeill 1999: 34). As construction enveloped the entire city, urban policy took a
drastic turn towards large-scale projects incorporating private and foreign investments,
architects, and urban planners.
As a major part of this local to global shift in urban policy, the Ajuntament (or city
council) has created a marketable city image to attract tourists and investors. This image,
also referred to as the urban plan called the Barcelona Model (or for some dissidents the
Barcelona brand), has packaged Barcelona as Southern Europes culture and business
capitalmodern, socially democratic, unified, culturally-rich, and peacefully
multicultural.3 This image is secured in many waysby its mass reproduction in
international media, the installation of surveillance cameras, and the increase of police forces
in the historic quarter. Another component of the ideological construction of this image was
the destruction of areas that did not fit the image, particularly those in the downtown areas
most frequented by tourists. During the last two decades, the historic quarter, especially the
Raval and La Ribera neighbourhoods, which date back to the Roman period, have become the
main targets of gentrification and urban renewal projects.
These renewal projects have had their advantagesthe historic quarter is now cleaner,
safer, and smells better. The number of homeless people and drug addicts has decreased and
the citys cuisine is now more ethnically diverse (Villar 1996, Balibrea 2005). But these
advantages have been carried out at the expense of rapidly uprooting and dispersing century-
old communities against their will; skyrocketing the cost of living; causing economic and
ethnic segregation; polarizing cultural capital; and destroying historically rich spaces.
Ironically, with an internationally praised urban planning model and over seven million
tourists in 2007 alone, this eidetic formula to urban politics has proven successful (El Pas
2008).
Such is the environment in which spatial tactics can arise. In my reading of the
concept, there are four conditions that prompt the creation of a spatial tactic: the non-
fulfillment of a basic need, creativity, a bit of transgressive will (to do what one is not
supposed to do), and an urban space that is regulated while still containing a certain degree of
autonomy. The material regulations may be fences, no-signs, video cameras, or a policemans
glare. Sometimes these regulations are official, sometimes unofficial, but usually theyre
somewhere in-between, and arbitrarily enforced.
Because these tactical practices exist at the border between the legal and the illegal,
they are necessarily temporary, vulnerable, mobile, and elusive. In Barcelonas historic
quarter, for example, we can think of the subjects and spaces where prostitutes advertise their
services, where recent immigrants sell their goods out on a sheet, or where trileros play their
fraudulent betting games with the nave.
This brings us to the central problem with approaching a vision of the urban space
that accounts for the underrepresented and their spatial tactics. It is in the nature of spatial
2
According to the book La ciutat de la gent, from 1986 to 1992 unemployment lowered from 21.4% to 14%
(Borja 1997: 282 and 284).
3
The Ajuntaments website <www.bcn.es> describes Barcelona as acollidora, progresista, sostenible, solidaria,
intima, inquieta, innovadora, histrica, estimada, dinamica, verda, mediterranea, moderna, moderna, moderna,
dialogant, cosmopolita, diversa, calida, blava. (Translation: welcoming, progressive, sustainable, unified,
intimate, bustling, innovative, historical, loved, dynamic, green, Mediterranean, modern, modern, modern,
dialoging, cosmopolitan, diverse, warm, blue.) For more information on Barcelonas postmodern image, see
Balibrea Enriquez (2001), McNeill (1999), and Capel (2005).

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 Megan Saltzman

tactics not to be visible, not to call much attention. Spatial tactics may occur in places the
state is trying to crack down on for example, hide-outs, brothels, or illegally occupied
buildings. While hidden spatial tactics interfere little with the citys image, those that are
visible can function as an unintentional and harmless urban antagonist, defying the citys
image. In the postmodern city, we can find spatial tactics where there are more niches and
nooks, such as in the historic neighbourhoods and construction sites, and also where there is
less vigilance, such as in abandoned areas or the periphery of the city. We can also find them
during states of exception, in which individuals are driven to use their creativity and everyday
space in a new way. Some examples of spatial tactics that I have seen in the historic quarter
includehomeless people using the heated 24-hour ATM rooms as bedrooms, storefront
hearths used as beds, plant pots used as benches, facade corners and trash dumps are used as
urinals, and balconies used to hang clothes.
The accompanying photograph (Fig. 1) illustrates another example of a visible and
ephemeral spatial tactic: a volleyball game in the Raval neighbourhood. Immigrants were
playing inside an abandoned lot where a building had been razed. The lot was fenced in, and
the bottom couple of feet were cemented off. On one side, a hole in the lower part of the fence
(approximately half a meter by half a meter) had provided the players with room to crawl in
individually and slip the poles and the net through. I took this picture from inside of that hole.
Figure 1: Playing volleyball in a
fenced-off lot. (Megan Saltzman,
March 2005)

Someone concerned with social

and historical justice can interpret
spatial tactics as a manifestation
of a social problem, a sign that
basic needs are unfulfilled. Once
located, these practices can make
a problem visible; they possess a
unique potential for bringing
oppositional discourse to the
forefront where political action is
possible. In this light, the examples of tactics mentioned thus far reveal that Barcelona lacks
public sport facilities, employment, benches, public restrooms, affordable homes, and a free
market at the grassroots level.
Also, because spatial tactics derive from the natural human instincts of creativity and
survival, they are common to all human beings and so exist across time and space. Thus, if
we find similar spatial tactics across time and space, we can recover missing narratives and
connections buried under all those semiotic layers.
In the context of Spain, for example, spatial tactics work to illuminate narratives that
the official discourse has actively tried to erase. To secure a peaceful transition to democracy,
a cultural and political consensus known as the pacto de olvido, was instated in order to erase
from the collective consciousness the years of the Civil War and the Franco regime.4 It may
have been easy for the government to bury a half a century of history in popular culture and
history textbooks, but since spatial tactics are small, elusive and overlooked, they
unintentionally sneak up from out of the dirt, showing themselves on the surface and creating

4
For more information regarding the erasure of historical memory during the transition to democracy in Spain
see: A. Fernndez (1996), Cardus i Ros (2000: 19), M. Menor (2002), Richards (2000: 44), and Vilars Soler
(1996).

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a juxtaposition, or a dialectical image, to contrast with the present and to make us reconsider
connections and exclusions.
Two examples of this phenomenon are the construction of barracas and the
development of a black market. There is a correlation between waves of immigration and the
tactical practice of constructing barracas.5 In spite of the common disassociation or outright
rejection of the similarities, the current immigration issues in Barcelona bear a resemblance to
those of the wave of migration from other parts of Spain in the 50s (mainly from the south to
Barcelona and Bilbao). However, new immigrant barracas have appeared on the rooftops in
the Historic Quarter, recalling the barracas that proliferated along the beach during the 50s up
until the 80s, when they were torn down in preparation for the Olympics (Capel 2005). The
black market provides the same kind of historical echo. In the historic Quarter immigrants
sell pirated CDs and DVDs. In the same area, the estraperlo market existed during the Franco
regime.
Hence, in spite of the modern myths of progress, and a cookie-cutter version of
history, spatial tactics have the potential to confront the present with its own repressed past.
However, this potential is politically weak and obscure; it doesnt have a voice. Since the
creators of spatial tactics often find themselves in precarious conditions, their practices need
observant mediators to locate, translate, and make public the social injustices from which they
derive. Whereas nationally important figures, events, and spaces have traditionally had a
historian to document them, spatial tactics havent. As de Certeau says, the tactic marks
itself (by smudges, lapses, etc.) but it does not write itself. It alters a place (it disturbs), but it
does not establish a place (2002: 155). While we are bombarded with daily information, if
spatial tactics reach our eyes or ears at all, they do so usually through government-funded
sources that present them as examples of moral degeneracy. For example, these sources show
okupas (squatters) being evicted, immigrants being arrested for illegal sales, and tourists
being warned about trileros.6
However, some artists who have dealt with the everyday life in an urban milieu have
provided a critical platform for spatial tactics. Because spatial tactics exist for only a brief
time, this more-permanent and critical platform allows them to be put on pause and analyzed.
For example, the documentary En construccin by Jos Luis Guern focuses on a case of
gentrification in the Raval neighbourhood in 1999 and captures several spatial tactics on film.
A nineteenth-century flat building is being demolished and a new one is being constructed. In
the old building lower-income families were paid the equivalent of about 3,600 euros to move
elsewhere, while the new 70 square meter apartments sold for about 110,000 euros each
(Winkels 2002).7
In this film, one doesnt see the manufactured image of Barcelona. Theres no Gaud
architecture, shopping, or fun-n-sun. The film focuses on the small construction site, where
an intimate community, a way of life, and 2000 years of history all become victims of the
bulldozer. With wide-angle shots and long takes, Guerns camera, like the creators of spatial
tactics, pries into the semi-private realm, passes through the fences and keep-out signs,
through the alluring consumer opportunities, and past the media and pretentious facades. His
camera allows the viewer a relatively objective glance into a raw and ephemeral space and

5
Barracas are cheap unregulated housing that sprang up around the coast and outskirts of Barcelona during the
economic boom on the 1950s.
6
The first two examples were represented on television programs. As for trileros, during the summer of 2006 I
saw large posters hanging from lampposts along Las Ramblas (Barcelonas main tourist strip) depicting the
trilero game and reading This is a trick! in English and Catalan.
7
Accordingly to Abdel Aziz el Mountassir, the Morrocan philosopher and local construction worker who
appears in the film, tenants were paid 600,000 pesetas to abandon apartments that later sold for 20 million
pesetas (Winkels 2002).

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 Megan Saltzman

shows several examples of locals re-appropriating their transformed space. For example,
children use beams laid against a wall as slides, and two men use planks of wood as benches.
On the white floors and walls of the new unfinished apartments, a young couple has made a
bedroom with a mattress; children make a playhouse with left out construction materials; and
a homeless man has converted the terrace into a kitchen. Amid the debris, we even see stray
cats making themselves at home.
Perhaps the most startling spatial tactic in the film is one reclaimed not by the living,
but by the dead. During the demolition of the old building, workers discover a Roman
cemetery. Fences are immediately erected around the remains, and while construction work is
postponed, Guerns camera continues filming, recording the disparate comments and facial
expressions of the people who huddle around to speculate about whats been found. While
the discovery of the archaeological remains reveals the historical and functional depth of the
space, onlookers irrational hypotheses reveal that they are unaware of the depth and tend to
take space at surface value. As one observant onlooker states, vives encima de los muertos y
ni te enteras.8 Four months after the discovery of the remains, they are removed from their
location, and construction continues.
At the beginning of the film we see a series of eyes painted on a wall. Towards the
end, the camera zooms in on the eyes and a bulldozer tears the wall down. Besides
denouncing gentrification, Guern is asking us to look more closely at the paradoxical
significance of space at a time when visibility is being literally and symbolically torn apart.
On one hand, we observe the dense socio-historical network that space provides and retains,
but on the other hand, we observe its superfluity and irrelevance. We see walls going up and
being torn down, floors being installed and ripped apart, doors being knocked down and put
up againconstant movement on a variety of planes, transition, replacement, demolition,
construction: all these spatial transformations on fast forward. In the end, it is as if all the
material barriers cancel each other out or disappear. We see how silly they are or, how silly
we are to give such importance to putting up a bathroom door, or a wall between my
apartment and my neighbours, when soon theyll be torn down again. One woman shrugs
while gazing down at the Roman skeletons and comments todo el mundo en el mismo
agujero, tanto los ricos como los pobres.9
So, to conclude. Change and destruction are obviously inevitable. A city where all
spaces of all ages were preserved would be not a city at all, but a museum. But actually, as
Barcelona, like other emerging global cities, becomes more privatized, the division between
the centre and outskirts becomes more prominent, and historic buildings are replaced by
souvenir shops, hotels, national chains, and surveillance camerasthe historic quarter is
becoming a museum. But at the same time, the only spaces being preserved are the few that
the local government considers official patrimonio cultural (cultural heritage). As
autonomy and spontaneity disappear from the city, so do spatial tactics, degenerating the
living conditions and histories not only for those creative or forgotten subjects that make use
of the cracksthe lonely, the displaced, the cats, the kids, the deadbut for all of us living
in an urbanized setting (de Certeau 2002: 37).

Acknowledgements

A megatropolis-size thank you to my friends, family, and advisers.

8
Translation: We live over dead bodies and dont even know it.
9
Translation: Everyone ends up in the same hole, the rich the same as the poor.

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 Megan Saltzman

References

Ajuntament de Barcelona, <www.bcn.es>.

Alguilar Fernndez, P. 1996, Memoria y olvido de la guerra civil espaola, Alianza
Editorial, S.A., Madrid.
Balibrea Enriquez, M.P. 2005, Barcelona: Del Modelo a la Marca. Carrillo, Jess and
Ignacio Estella Noriega (eds) Desacuerdos 3. Sobre Arte, Polticas y Esfera Pblica en el
Estado Espaol. Arteleku-MACBA-Universidad Internacional de Andaluca, Barcelona,
pp.263-67.
Balibrea Enriquez, M.P. 2001, Urbanism, Culture and the post-industrial City: Challenging
the Barcelona Model. Journal of Spanish Cultural Studies, Vol. 2, No. 2: pp. 187-210.
Baudrillard, J. 2001, Simulacra and Simulations Selected Writings. Second Edition.
Stanford University Press, Stanford, California, pp. 169-187.
Borja Villel, M.J. 1997, La ciutat de la gent, Fundaci Antoni Tpies, Barcelona.
Capel, H. 2005, El modelo Barcelona: un examen crtico, Ediciones del Serbal, Barcelona.
Cardus i Ros, S. 2000, Politics and the Invention of Memory, For a Sociology of the
Transition to Democracy in Spain Joan Ramn Resina (ed) Disremembering the
Dictatorship: the Politics of Memory in the Spanish Transition to Democracy, Edicions
Rodopi, msterdam.
de Certeau, M. 2002, The Practice of Everyday Life, University of California Press, Berkeley.
Barcelona tuvo en 2007 siete millones de turistas (newspaper), El Pas,
<http://www.elpais.com/articulo/cataluna/Barcelona/tuvo/2007/millones/turistas/elpepies
pcat/20080123elpcat_6/Tes>, January 23, 2008, Spain.
Guern, J.L. 2001, En construccin (film), Ovdeo TV S.A, Spain.
Lefebvre, H. 1992, The Production of Space, Wiley-Blackwell, Cambridge, Massachusetts.
McNeill, D. 1999, Urban change and the European Left: Tales from the new Barcelona,
Routledge, NY, New York.
Moreiras Menor, C. 2002, Cultura herida, Literatura y cine en la Espaa democrtica,
Ediciones Libertarias/Prodhufi, S.A., Madrid.
Richards, M. 2000, Collective memory, the nation-state and post-Franco society, Barry
Jordan and Rikki Morgan-Tamosunas. (eds), Contemporary Spanish Cultural Studies,
Arnold, London, pp.38-47.
Vilars Soler, T.M. 1998, El mono del desencanto: Una crtica cultural de la transicin
espaola (1975-1993), Siglo XXI, Madrid.
Villar, P. 1996, Historia y leyenda del Barrio Chino, 1900-1992: Crnica y documentos de
los bajos fondos de Barcelona, Edicions La Campana, Barcelona.
Winkels, E. 2002, Las huellas de En construccin (newspaper), El Peridico. January 13,
2002, Spain.

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 Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska

Empty Spaces? The Images of Berlin

Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska, University of Lodz

Filmmakers have been present in Berlin ever since the beginning of cinema. The Berlin Film
Museum allows visitors to experience motion images recorded in the German capital at the
end of the 19th century by the Lumire Brothers as well as by the Skladanowski Brothers, who
invented the bioscope (Filmmuseum Berlin 2000). Berlin had thus frequently attracted not
only home artists but also international directors. Among them were Roberto Rossellini
[Germany Year Zero 1947], Billy Wilder [A Foreign Affair 1948], Carol Reed [The Man
Between 1953], Bob Fosse [Cabaret 1972] and many others. The presence of Western
directors in West Berlin is quite understandable as this area was under the political and
economic influence of Britain, France and the United States. However, one should also note
the recent interest in the city [The Bourne Supremacy, dir. P. Greengrass (2004), or The Good
German, dir. S. Soderbergh (2006)]. In my opinion this interest is a result of Berlins history
in the 20th century, which may also be considered as the history of Europe in a nutshell. Based
on this place, one can portray European modernism, totalitarian ideals, the Cold War, the fall
of communism and the development of a unified Europe.
The paper focuses on films set in Berlin from the Weimar Republic period onwards.
The purpose of the work is to present a concise specification of the citys space portrayed in
those films and its connection with the history of the German capital. Many of the motion
pictures were shot on location. This allows the analyst to treat the urban space as relevant.

The golden age of German cinema

The multiple urban images in the Weimar Republic cinema are connected with the ongoing
modernist development at that time, especially with the process of urbanization. City-images
of that period emphasize the urban environment, hustling vitality, industrial areas or means of
transport. When Berlin was joined with the surrounding towns in 1920, the population rose to
nearly two million (Zimmermann 2003). The complexity of the metropolis and the resulting
social interaction became an important inspiration for filmmakers. The Weimar city-film
reached its climax with Fritz Langs Metropolis [1927]. Such pictures as Blade Runner
[1982], The Fifth Element [1997] or Star Wars: Episode II Attack of the Clones [2002]
prove the immense impact of Langs picture on future urban iconography. It is said that Lang
was inspired by New Yorks skyscrapers. However, evidence shows that the concept of the
film was ready long before the directors visit to the United States (Kys 2006: 247-249). A
close analysis of Metropolis proves that contemporary Berlin had an enormous influence on
the final visual concept. In Langs film one may find many objects resembling architectural
projects of the late Weimar-Berlin. As an artist focused on architecture (he even studied
architecture in Vienna for one year), the director was sensitive to the citys transformation in
the 1920s. Still, one cannot neglect Ernst Kettelhuts work as a production designer. Kettelhut
also worked on two other important Berlin films including the famous Walter Ruttmanns
Berlin: the Symphony of a Great City [Berlin. Die Symphonie der Grostadt 1927] and Joe
Mays Asphalt [1929].
Both, Ruttmanns and Mays, pictures derive from modernist motifs, showing Berlin
as a city of fast change, growing industry; grand and multiple, yet at the same time ravaged by
such problems as crimes, loneliness and anonymity. This is especially seen in Berlin: the
Symphony of a Great City one of the first pictures ever using on-location shots to such a

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 Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska

degree. The film itself could well constitute an illustration to Georg Simmels classic essay
The Metropolis and Mental Life (1903), describing the city as an area dominated by monetary
economy, where social relations are based on the distribution of labor and time is marked by
the rhythm of industry (Simmel 1998). Pointing at the relations between film and modernism
is nothing new. Nevertheless I would like to stress that the case of Berlin and its cinema is
recognized as a model, as it was Europes largest industrial metropolis at the turn of the 19th
and 20th century.
The problems typical for Berlin in the first three decades of the 20th century are also
recognizable in the adaptation of Alfred Dblins novel Berlin Alexanderplatz, although in
this case the focus is put on social aspects. Published in 1929, the book belongs to a set of
works, which established literary conventions in portraying large cities. The film under the
same title, directed by Piel Jutzi in 1931, shows its metropolitan potential. Not on the visual
side (Jelavich 2003: 66-69), however, but on the basis of the presented themes. Jutzis
adaptation shows many social phenomena from that period: the high crime rate, extreme
social attitudes, unemployment. It shows a Berlin of simple people living in rental barracks
called Mietskasernen. This particular motif is also present in Reiner Werner Fassbinders 13
episode television series (1980). Fassbinder was inspired by Dblins novel, too. Both
adaptations are studio-shot, which undoubtedly determined the final images of the city. As a
result one can see a city of dark, gloomy and closed spaces, whereas the bustling and living
character of the metropolis had been put aside. Fassbinder referred to his method of creating
the city-image as internal urbanization (Vogt 2001: 631), stating that he wanted to present
the influence of a large metropolis on his characters psyche. This area of interest is also close
to the thesis presented by Simmel.
The Weimar cinema neglects a very important aspect of that period as it focuses on the
consequences of modern development of the city and fails to refer to the Prussian and national
tradition or places of political meaning. Similar trends can be observed in post-war cinema,
where Berlin was frequently treated as a metaphor of global and socio-cultural change while it
was hardly a basis for national themes. From the point of view of a Polish researcher this
tendency is very clear as cinematic portraits of Warsaw often referred to Polish issues. The
capital in such films as Andrzej Wajdas Kanal [Kana 1957] or the comedies by Stanisaw
Bareja symbolized the dilemmas of the entire country.

The time of division

For obvious reasons the era of the Third Reich did not belong to a period when city-images
were highly exposed. Filmmakers of these years preferred rural landscapes (Stucke 2006:
174) and most motion pictures were dominated by propaganda pieces. Many directors who
referred to modernization processes before both positive and negative were either forced
to emigrate (Fritz Lang), or had to change their views radically (Piel Jutzi joined the NSDAP
in 1933 [Jacobsen]). During the Second World War Berlin appeared only in a couple of films
(e.g. Grostadtmelodie [1943, dir. W. Liebeneiner], although it is set in pre-war Germany), as
well as in few chronicles made at the end of the War, which presented the image of a totally
destroyed city (Barber 2002: 54). Large-scale images of Berlin re-appeared in feature films
only after 1945. A new way of portraying the city arose at that time. Berlins radical historical
experience made filmmakers approach the matter from an entirely different perspective. The
categories of modern development, the dynamic lifestyle and the fast urbanization turned out
inadequate to new realities. At the same time destructions in the landscape and an
unprecedented political situation allowed Berlin to become an attractive place for film plots
again. It is for no other reason that Roberto Rossellini shot in Berlin his Germany Year Zero
[1947], a couple months later Billy Wilder came here to work on A Foreign Affair with

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 Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska

Marlena Dietrich, and five years later Carol Reed set here the plot of the third part of his
trilogy on divided cities. These pictures, although made by foreign directors, could find a
place in the realm of Trmmerfilme (Rubble Films), which deal with the hardships of life in a
demolished country.
Referring to other non-German films about Berlin, Ewa Mazierska mentions The Spy
Who Came in from the Cold [1965] by Martin Ritt, Funeral in Berlin [1966] by Guy
Hamilton and Alfred Hitchcocks Torn Courtain [1966]. Mazierska notes that the narratives
of these films are built around people trying () to flee from East to West Berlin and
unscrupulous double agents who pray on their desire for freedom and a better life
(Mazierska, Rascaroli 2003: 118). Thus the post-war Berlin films were modeled from a
Western point of view, represented by either a West German perspective or from the point of
view of other capitalist countries. East German directors rarely discussed present-day Berlin
(Mazierska, Rascaroli 2003: 118). This obviously resulted from the ideological limitations of
the GDR, whereas Western cultures would discuss political and historical matters much more
freely.
The problem of recent historical events do not merely appear in the plot of the films. It
is rather the image of the city that embodies historical meanings. In the period directly after
the war, filmmakers developed a strategy that makes use of urban emptiness. It was first
Hitlers architect, Albert Speer, who had prepared a renovation scheme for Berlin, which was
preceded by a demolition of large areas. Beginning with 1943, the capital was constantly
being destroyed by air raids and in 1961 further destruction was needed for the erection of the
Wall. The resulting empty spaces are one of the themes most frequently taken up by
analysts considering the urban space of Berlin. These are mentioned by, among others, Wim
Wenders (2001) and Richard Shusterman (1997), whereas Andreas Huyssen calls them
voids (Huyssen 2003).
In Hubertus Siegerts documentary Berlin Babylon [2001], the architect Axel Schultes
calls these empty spaces Un-Orte (literally: non-places). However, one should not treat
these non-places as it was presented by Marc Aug, who wrote: If a place can be defined as
relational, historical and concerned with identity, then a space which cannot be defined as
relational, or historical, or concerned with identity will be a non-place (Aug 1995: 77-78).
In such an interpretation non-places are means of transport, waiting rooms, parking lots etc.
Many contemporary films about the German capital make use of such locations. Mazierska
says: Apart from the building sites, the most common architectural features () are
underground passages, railway stations and metro trains (Mazierska, Rascaroli 2003: 124).
Unlike such places, Un-Orte, according to Schultes, refer to history, as the empty spaces in
Berlin remained after the War and the division of the city. Even though they are present in
many films, their unsightly nature rarely makes us pay attention to them.
The fact that one may find Un-Orte in Germany Year Zero, A Foreign Affair, The
Man Between and the remaining Trmmerfilme is obvious, but this motif returns in
contemporary pictures. It is most exceptionally identified in Wings of Desire [Der Himmel
ber Berlin 1987] by Wim Wenders and also in a 10 year younger film, Wolfgang Beckers
Life is a Building Site [Das Leben ist eine Baustelle 1997]. Wenders had confessed many
times to being aware of the uniqueness of these open areas and was constantly in search of
them during principle photography (Wenders 2001). One of the best known scenes in his film
takes place at the empty Potsdamer Platz. The old narrator, Homer, brings back memories of a
time when this location was the heart of the city. In this way the director points to the
dramatic reality of a destroyed space and the visible scars in urban architecture. Homer says:

I cannot find the Potsdamer Platz. Here? This can't be it. Potsdamer Platz, that's
where Caf Josty used to be. (...) It was a lively place. Tramways, horse-drawn

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 Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska

carriages... and two cars (...). The Wertheim store was here, too. And then suddenly,
the flags appeared. Here... The whole Platz was covered with them. And the people
weren't friendly anymore ... and the police wasn't either. I will not give up... as long as
I haven't found the Potsdamer Platz.

Figure 1. Frame from Wings of Desire

In Life is a Buildings Site a film made after reunification history is expressed

similar to that of Wenders film. However, the director had not achieved the powerful visual
influence Wings of Desire had. Beckers Berlin is marked by empty spaces, gray and empty
asphalt squares with tin plate barracks which in no way resemble that of a living, breathing
contemporary metropolis.

Figure 2. Frame from Life is a Building Site

Covering up the traces

After 1989 German cinema turned out to be more varied than anywhere else in Europe. Yet,
contrary to earlier years, many post-unification pictures portray Berlins everyday life.
Mazierska claims that they turned away from history and global politics. They do not
suggest a nostalgic retreat into the past or the resurrection of some German identity as a way
of overcoming the present problems (Mazierska, Rascaroli 2003: 136). Although this remark
can easily be treated as a reference to the plot of post-1989 features, the situation looks

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 Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska

different when referring to the urban space in Berlin films. Mazierska notes that when the
historic centre of Berlin () is shown, it looks like a grim area of dark streets of old
tenements with crumbling walls (Mazierska, Rascaroli 2003: 136). Indeed, in contemporary
pictures Berlin appears to be presented as an unfriendly environment. This is particularly
visible in the before mentioned Life is a Building Site, but also in Night Shapes
[Nachtgestalten 1998] directed by Andreas Dresen, Quiet as a Mouse [Muxmuschenstil
2004] by Marcus Mittermeier or the sequel of Wenders Wings of Desire directed in 1993
under the title Faraway, So Close! [In weiter Ferne, so nah!]. Contemporary Berlin films thus
show a split. On the one hand the characters are determined by the problems of the present; on
the other, they live and act in a city which is determined by a historical process. Berlins
urban space is marked by official and unofficial places of remembrance and many new
objects constantly involve ideological debates. In my opinion, Berlin is nowadays hardly
portrayed as a modern and dynamic metropolis, because it is a city haunted by its past the
Third Reich, Second World War and the Cold War.
Two filmmakers have decided to show the process of Berlins post-unification change.
Interestingly, it has been done through a quasi-documentary style. The first of these two is the
before mentioned Hubertus Siegert, who documented the rebuilding of Berlin in Berlin
Babylon. As the filmmaker stated, what struck him most in the early years after the
reunification was the feeling of emptiness and destruction. He thus decided to make a film
that would show how this is eliminated. The creator of Berlin Babylon balances between
empty spaces, construction sites and modern architecture. The remake of Ruttmanns Berlin:
the Symphony of a Great City made in 2002 by Thomas Schadt has a similar structure. The
filmmaker also moves around the city and shows its many faces those with the ballast of the
past and those totally new. Schadts work is a return to the golden age of the German capital
as it is a direct reference to one of the most famous pieces of work of Berlin modernism. It
also shows that the citys wounds caused by the 20th century are finally healing.

Conclusion

It is quite obvious that films about Berlin reflect the socio-historical processes that occurred in
the German capital. It is interesting, however, how it takes place. Some filmmakers point to
the complicated history of the city, making their protagonists face political or historical
situations. Still, one cannot omit the characters environment. Berlin is a city where the traces
of the past play a vital role. Even when the plot concerns the present, the urban space often
gives reference to the citys past and its historical implications. One of the most expressive
signs of history are the empty spaces and their evidences of destruction. They do not only
define Berlins space on both sides of the Wall. They are also an important visual leitmotif.
Furthermore, the urban space does not denote national issues but rather global themes
connected with the political situation, or with the history of the city itself.

References

Aug, M. 1995, Non-places. Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity, trans. J.

Howe, Verso, London & New York
Barber, S. 2002, Projected Cities. Cinema and Urban Space, Reaktion Books, London.
Dblin, A. 1961 (first published in 1929), Berlin Alexanderplatz. Die Geschichte vom Franz
Biberkopf, Walter Verlag, Olten.
Filmmuseum Berlin. Die Austellung 2000, eds. R. Aurich & W. Jacobsen & A. Meiners & A.
Vogler, Nicolai, Berlin.

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 Magdalena Saryusz-Wolska

Huyssen, A. 2003, The Voids of Berlin in A. Huyssen, Present Pasts. Urban Palimpsests
and the Politics of Memory, Stanford University Press, Stanford California.
Jacobsen, W., Phil / Piel Jutzi Kameramann, Regiseur, in Cinegraph Lexikon zum
deutschsprachigen Film, http://www.cinegraph.de/lexikon/Jutzi_Phil/biografie.html
(2008-01-16).
Jelavich, P. 2003, The City Vanishes: Piel Jutzis Berlin Alexanderplatz, in Screening the
City, eds M. Shiel & T. Fitzmaurice, Verso, London & New York, pp. 58-79.
Kys, T. 2006, Dekada doktora Mabuse. Nieme kino Fritza Langa, Wydawnictwo
Uniwersytetu dzkiego, d.
Mazierska, E. & Rascaroli, L. 2003, From Moscow to Madrit. Postmodern Cities, European
Cinema, I. B. Tauris, London & New York.
Shusterman, R. 1997, The Urban Aesthetics of Absence: Pragmatist Reflections in Berlin,
New Literary History, 28, pp. 739-755.
Simmel, G. 1998 (first published in 1903), Die Grostdte und das Geisterleben, in G.
Simmel, Soziologische sthetik, Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, Darmstadt, pp.
119-134.
Stucke, F. 2006, Bewegte Bilder einer bewegten Zeit. Aufstieg und Fall der Metropole Berlin
im Film, in Weltfabrik Berlin. Eine Metropole als Sujet der Literatur, Knigshausen &
Neumann, Wrzburg, pp. 165-180.
Vogt, G. 2001, Die Stadt im Film. Der deutsche Spielfilm 1900-2000, Schren Verlag,
Marburg.
Wenders, W. 2001, The Urban Landscape from the Point of View of Images (first published
in 1992), in W. Wenders, On Film. Essays and Conversations, trans. M. Hofman, Faber
and Faber, London, pp. 375-383.
Zimmermann, A. 2003, Images de Berlin, Revue Urbanisme, 1-2, pp. 70-72.

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 Merrill Schleier

Harold Lloyds Safety Last (1923): Gendered Celebration of

Los Angeless Modernity
Merrill Schleier, University of the Pacific

In accord with cinemas European urban symphonies by Ruttmann and Vertov, Harold
Lloyds comedy Safety Last (1923) pays homage to the Los Angeles metropolis its
skyscrapers, careening automobiles, pleasure- seeking crowds, jam-packed electric railways,
department stores, and advertising signage. By drawing on views of modernity (e.g.
Baudelaire, Kracauer, Bhabha), I argue that Lloyd harnesses the spectacularized city as a
staging ground for the realization of his characters gender identity. He uses specifically the
International Bank Building on Spring Street, or the Wall Street of the West, where The
Boy must prove himself a man (Fig. 1). At first, Harold is destabilized by modernitys

Fig. 1 Harold Climbing the Skyscraper

rapid pace and the department stores aggressive customers in the "lowly feminized spatial
environs where he works. However, his ascension begins when he is juxtaposed with other
men who serve as paradigms of masculinity -- an effete floorwalker, an African American
porter, a Jewish store owner, and a drunkard, thus valorizing Lloyds white middle-class
manhood. Salesman Harold further increases his stature by hatching a publicity scheme to
have his construction worker friend climb the stores skyscraper as a human fly before a
crowd. However, due to a mishap, the bespectacled and suited character (the actors
trademarks) makes the ascent himself, becoming a dual cipher of modernity, a human
billboard and an analogue to the tall buildings he is poised to surmount, while absorbing the
laborers courage and superseding the citys others. In one scene, the slightly unsettled
Harold hangs from the hands of a huge skyscraper clock, thereby temporarily subverting
bureaucratic time, before arriving at the top where he meets his prospective wife in full
wedding regalia, a consummation of his heterosexual identity. Los Angeless modernity is
implicated in the narrative, especially its towering architectural monuments, which are
employed as obstacles that Harold must overcome, thereby performing both physically and
metaphorically the capitalist success ethos of upward mobility and individual initiative. As
John Kasson (2001) has recently noted, performing ones masculinity in a physical manner

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 Merrill Schleier

was often a necessary component of a new male subjectivity in an era of increased

dependence on the mass media.
Harolds confrontation with, and reaction to modernity is an amalgamation of the
ideas of Parisian Charles Baudelaire and Berliner Siegfried Kracauer. Baudelaire who
employed the term modernity in the 1860s, viewed city life served as an intoxicant;
immersion in the urban crowd provided the flaneur with novel creative stimuli, at once
electrifying and replete with energy. For his part, Kracauer claimed in the 1920s that
modernity had a direct effect on the nervous system, arguing that its shocks prompted a need
for heightened stimulation, which explained the development of sensationalism. Baudelaires
notion of modernitys vigorous effects, melded with Kracauers belief that city dwellers
required intensified experiences and, by implication, strategies, because of over stimulation
inform the depiction of Harold in the metropolis. These include the heros continual
confrontation with the machine, his invention of a hair-raising stunt to promote consumerism,
and his companys promotional article in a tabloid newspaper to hype the skyscraper climbing
escapade. In addition, Homi Bhabha (1991) identified a time lag in western depictions of
modernity between so-called paragons of progress and timeless, antiquated others, a split
that describes Harold and several of the films male characters. The hero is subjected to urban
trials and tribulations in the cinematic narrative; while he is juxtaposed with primitive
visions of ethnicity and race which serve to underscore his speed, initiative, and drive.
Even before he sets off from Great Bend, Indiana for metropolitan Los Angeles,
Harold must negotiate the vagaries of transportation, mistakenly jumping on a milk wagon
instead of his train, which is pulling away from the station. Once he arrives at his destination,
Los Angeles is depicted as both a trap and an obstacle course that he must outsmart in order to
remain a viable competitor and not lose his job; yet it also provides the requisite impetus for
him to compete and ultimately prevail. Although he arrives to work before the department
stores doors open, he is unwittingly locked up in a laundry car which drives to the opposite
side of town. When he is finally released and with less than ten minutes to make it back, he
tries to jump on a trolley that is crowded with commuters hanging precariously off its sides,
who push him off in the dog-eat-dog world of limited space and opportunity. This depiction
of Los Angeles was consonant with developments in both population growth and
transportation. As Robert Fogelson (1967) pointed out in his book The Fragmented
Metropolis, between 1919 and 1923, electric railway revenue passengers increased almost
twofold; for example Los Angeles Railway service saw a steep jump from 145.4 to 248.6
million dollars while its rival Pacific Electric Railway enjoyed an increase from 68.3 to 100.1
million (Fogelson 1967: 172). After finally securing a place on the moving vehicle; however,
Harold changes his mind and decides instead to hitch hike a ride with a motorist, reinforcing
the competition between trolley and automobile traffic which had just commenced. When that
gambit fails, he hijacks
an ambulance by feigning illness, employing it as a taxi to bring him to his destination,
underscoring that his success is dependent on his wits and drastic measures. A mobile camera
is placed in the racing, screaming vehicle as it takes the viewer on a hair-raising journey
through Los Angeless downtown, escaping accidents with trolleys and automobiles, while
avoiding pedestrians, creating a vicarious sense of modernitys rapid pace and heightened
sensations noted by Baudelaire and Kracauer.
Before long, we discover that in spite of his letters home bragging to the contrary, he
is employed in the lowly environs of the De Vore department stores fabric department where
he is shoved into submission by crowds of acquisitive and often bellicose female customers
who, in one scene, literally rip the clothes off his back, a metaphor for the eras frenetic
consumerism. Indeed the manner that he finally triumphs over one of modernitys initial
challenges is by dressing up as a female mannequin, and turning back an electronic punch

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clock, before being carried in by an unsuspecting black porter. Hence, he begins his job as a
putative feminine presence in an environment which demands rigid conformity and
punctuality from which he seeks release. In order to escape this stultifying realm of upper
class feminine consumption to one of manly production, he employs both his brains and
brawn.
In addition to the depiction of femininity, the film stages various types of masculinity
as tropes of antimodernity for both comedic and ideological purposes. Harold is contrasted to
masculinities in deficit, including a Jew and an African American, both pictured as either Old
World types or timeless depictions of superstition and antiquated customs. For example, the
porter who unwittingly carries the cross-dressed Harold into the department store, thinking
that he is a mannequin, is meant to convey that the African American is also a dummy.
After Harold sneezes accidentally, the porter is so rattled that his eyes crisscross as he affects
a frantic escape. Several scenes later, he is still shuddering high atop a ladder, and refuses to
be coaxed down by more reasonable white employees (Fig. 2). In spite of the porters position
as a store employee and Harolds coworker, he is depicted as a synthesis of a coon and a
savage, both an object of amusement and superstition in order to reinforce his subjugated
status, thereby promoting an ideology of economic and spatial segregation (Bogle 1973: 3-9).
However, the porters putative naivet and hasty ascent in Safety Last are not simply used for

Fig. 2 African American Porter Shuddering Atop Ladder

laughs; they are meant as a premonition of, and a spatial contrast to Harolds more purposeful
skyscraper ascent later in the film.
Harolds whiteness and regular features are also contrasted with a Jewish store
owners bulbous nose, uneven teeth, and darkened and hairy complexion. Historian Sander
Gilman has shown that Jewish physiognomy and skin was linked to pathology in anti-Semitic
discourse, believed to be caused by inbreeding, which resulted in congenital nervousness and
sexual ailments. According to Gilman (1989), Jews had disease written on their skin, the
silent stigma of the black skin or the syphilitic rupia. By the mid nineteenth century,
being black, being Jewish, being diseased, and being ugly were inextricably linked
(Gilman 1989: 99, 173). Harold is lured into Silversteins curtained and clandestine
establishment by a suspect one-day sale, underscored by the Semites obsessive hand-
rubbing designed to signify his greed. Moreover, the Jew also deprives Harold of the
opportunity to eat lunch or nourish his body, which is symbolized by montage-like
atmospheric inserts of Harolds food fantasy, which picture the disappearance of each course
of a meal. With Shylockian disregard, Silverstein counts the money coin by coin, thereby
symbolically exacting his pound of flesh. It is worth noting that these depictions of African

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 Merrill Schleier

Americans and Jews echoed actual racist and anti-Semitic economic and legal practices in Los
Angeles; hence the films representations of various marginalized masculinities may be
seen as both descriptive of the actual conditions of minorities, while serving, perhaps
unconsciously, as a prescriptive strategy for the status quo (Connell).
The Boys big break occurs at a moment of cowardice, when he is forced to fetch Mildreds
purse from the boss office. Listening stealthily at the door, he overhears the manager say,
Id give a thousand dollars to anyone with a new idea that will attract thousands of people to
the store. Harold jumps at the chance with a scheme to have his construction worker buddy,
Limpy Bill scale the skyscraper as a human fly, offering him half the proceeds. On the day of
the event, a policeman, on whom the roommates had previously played a practical joke,
pursues Bill like a Keystone Cop. Bill asks Harold to begin the climb instead, and assures him
that he will take over on the second floor. When real human fly is unable to lose the officer,
Harold is compelled to complete the publicity stunt himself. The event is publicized by a bold
newspaper headline -- MYSTERY MAN IN DEATH DEFYING THRILL -- TO CLIMB
WALL OF TOWERING SKYSCRAPER -- in the tabloid press (Fig. 3). The sturdy physique
of an anonymous daredevil appears beneath the announcement with his face obliterated, to
increase the suspense and the feats promotional appeal. This scene serves multiple functions;
it demonstrates the inextricable link between dual tropes of modernity - tabloid sensationalism
and skyscrapers - and the manner in which they are implicated in the realization of his
temporarily destabilized masculinity.

Fig. 3 Tabloid Headline Advertising Skyscraper Stunt.

As the well-dressed, suited Harold climbs higher and higher, he is subjected to every
side splitting obstacle, including pigeons landing on his head, a mouse crawling up his
trousers, and getting caught in the mechanical innards of a clock, before dangling from the
hands of the huge skyscraper timepiece. As in his former encounter with the punch clock
which highlights modern business dependence on Scientific Office Management, he is able
to temporarily stop time or create his own time lag by recourse to ribald antics, thereby
thwarting modernitys exacting regime. This is humorously underscored by his formal dress
attire; that is, Harold acts as a company advertisement while intervening in the labor process
for the enjoyment of office workers who view his escapades from their windows (Fig. 1).
These skyscraper scenes were shot on location on several streets and tall buildings in
downtown Los Angeles. The long shots of Harolds climb (performed by Strothers) occurred
on the exterior of the International Bank Building on Temple and Spring Streets. According to
producer Hal Roach, at least four Los Angeles skyscrapers were employed for publicity stills,

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 Merrill Schleier

including the Los Angeles Investment Company, the Western Costume Building, the
Merchants National Bank Building, and the whopping 13-story Washington
Building (qtd. in D'Agostino Lloyd 1991: 306-14). Several of these office buildings were
located on Spring Street, which was known as the Wall Street of the west (Kaplan 1987:
75). A tourist postcard of 1914 with the title A Few of Our New Skyscrapers announces that
the city was proud to show off its burgeoning new heights. The painted skyscraper billboards
seen in the film, another hallmark of modernity declare prominently Blackstones
Californias finest, Largest in THE WEST and Los Angeles Stock Exchange (Fig. 4).
Safety Last may thus be viewed as one of the first full-length urban films in the United States
to advertise Los Angeles, not New York, as a site of commerce and modernity.

Fig. 4 Harold Swinging Through the Air Near Painted Los

Angeles Stock Exchange Sign.

In addition to exploring towering skyscrapers, Safety Last plumbed the meaning of the
crowd as a trope of modernity, particularly the individuals relationship to a consuming mass
audience. Harold is dialectically related to the crowd; he is an Everyman yet he must also
supersede the group in order to distinguish himself. This is highlighted by the manner in
which the camera crosscuts from Harolds various climbing escapades to the delighted urban
audience who view the spectacle (Fig. 5). Seen from above, they applaud and urge the young
aspirant to perform more entertaining and dangerous feats in accord with Gustave Le Bons
(1895) notions concerning the often primitive, collective nature of crowd psychology.

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 Merrill Schleier

Fig. 5 The Crowd Viewing the Skyscraper Stunt

Harolds dependence on the urban crowd as a necessary component for his stunt also reflects
the metamorphosis of Los Angeles into a major metropolis, with most of the population
density concentrated in the citys downtown region. Beginning in the 1870s, a series of land
booms, which were orchestrated by the major railroad companies who acted as the citys first
boosters, promoted Los Angeles as a healthful, subtropical paradise. By the 1920s, due to the
increase in employment occasioned by green and black gold, and the motion picture
industry, the city experienced the most dramatic growth in its history (Soja 1989: 191). Over
two million people moved into the state, while Los Angeles alone gained 272,037 denizens,
prompting urban historian Carey McWilliams (1973) to characterize this period as the largest
internal migration in the history of the American people(McWilliams 1973: 141). In an era
of shrinking personal autonomy due to the rise of corporate capitalism, and the concomitant
pressure to succeed by recourse to ones own initiative, it was necessary to gain singular
recognition.
Hence, Lloyds Safety Last may be viewed as heir to the nineteenth-century capitalist-
inspired belief that success was attainable by ones individual efforts and creative agency,
which could be realized if only one tried hard enough. Los Angeless skyscrapers were seen
as the material incarnation of inventiveness and aspiration, the analogues of inventors,
builders, and the entrepreneurs who inhabited them. The citys large department stores, office
building, crowds, and numerous advertisements or modernity itself -- are also staged as
impediments over which the character must triumph. Climbing skyscrapers for fun and profit
as a human fly echoed the eras desire for greater entertainment spectacles as tabloid
journalism and the mass media created a more public masculine subjectivity. Even though
Lloyd employed irony to temporarily undermine the work-a-day world seen in his various
ruses to subvert time, he seemed to ultimately subscribe to corporate ideology. In order to be a
fully integrated, middle-class man, he had to battle the eras monument to modernity, the
skyscraper, and win. Working- class human fly, Limpy Bill provided Harold with the
requisite manhood to escape from the clutches of feminine acquisitiveness and emotionalism,
Semitic greed, and primitive superstition, to a redeemed masculinity that is both cerebral and
physical. Yet it is only when Harold arrives at the tall buildings pinnacle, can he claim the
prizes -- money, fame, and the girl.

References

Baudelaire, C. 1964, The Painter of Modern Life, trans. Jonathan Mayne, Phaidon, London.
Bhabha, H. 1991 (1997), Race, Time and the Revision of Modernity, in Postcolonial
Criticism, Longman, London.
Bogle, D. 1973, Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies and Bucks, Viking Press, New York.
Charney, L. & and Schwartz, V. eds. 1995, Cinema and the Invention of Modern Life.
University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles.
Connell, R. W. 1995, Masculinities, University of California Press, Berkeley and Los
Angeles.
Dyer, R. 1997, White, Routledge, London.
Fogelson, R. W. 1967, The Fragmented Metropolis: Los Angeles: 1850-1930, Harvard
University Press, Cambridge, Mass.
Harold Lloyd in Safety Last (synopsis of the film), n.d., Harold Lloyd Papers, Margaret
Herrick Library of Cinematography, Beverly Hills California.
Garb, T. 1995, Introduction: Modernity, Identity, Textuality, in Nochlin, L. and Garb, T.,
The Jew in the Text: Modernity and the Construction of Identity, Thames and Hudson,
London.

245
 Merrill Schleier

Gilman, G. 1991, The Jews Body, Routledge, London and New York.
Kaplan, S. H. 1987, LA: Lost & Found: An Architectural History of Los Angeles, Crown
Publishers, New York.
Kasson, J. 2001, Houdini, Tarzan, and The Perfect Man, Hill and Wang, New York.
Kracauer, S. to Bloch, E. 27 May 1926, in Bloch, E. Briefe, 1903-1975. ed. Bloch, K. et.
al., 1985, Suhkamp, Frankfurt.
Kimmel, M. 1996, Manhood in America: A Cultural History, The Free Press, New York.
Le Bon, G. 1895 (1960) The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind, introduction by Merton, R.
Viking Press, New York.
Jackson Lears, T. J. & and Fox, W. eds. 1983, The Culture of Consumption: Critical Essays in
American History, 1880-1980, Pantheon Books, New York.
Lloyd, A.D. 1994, Harold Lloyd: A Bio-Bibliography, Greenwood Press, WestPoint,
Connecticut.
___________. 2004, Safety Last! in The Harold Lloyd Encyclopedia, McFarland & Co.,
Jefferson, North Carolina and London.
Lloyd, H. 1928 (1971) An American Comedy, written in collaboration with Stout, W. W.
Longmans, Green & Co, New York; reprint ed., Dover Publications, New York.
McWilliams, C. 1973, Southern California: An Island on the Land. Peregrine Smith Inc.,
Santa Barbara and Salt Lake City.
Safety Last 1923, directors, Fred Newmeyer and Sam Taylor; story line, Hal Roach, Sam
Taylor, and Tim Whelan, Hal Roach Studios; distributed by Pathe Studios.
Schwartz, V. 1998, Spectacular Realities: Early Mass Culture in Fin de Siecle Paris.
University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles.
Singer, B. 2001, Modernity and Melodrama: Early Sensational Cinema and its Contexts,
Columbia University Press, New York.
Soja, E. 1989, Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory,
Verso, London and New York.
Stewart, J. N. 2005, Migrating to the Movies: Cinema and Black Urban Modernity,
University of California Press, Berkeley and Los Angeles.

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 Lily Shirvanee

Mapping Narrativity in Public Space:

The Space of Locative Media in the City
Lily Shirvanee, University of Cambridge

When the moving image came to prominence at the beginning of the 20th century, the
understanding of architectural and urban space and our connection to it was transformed
by films capacity to trace the spatial dimension and shifting points of view. Filmic
structure, such as the filmic montage effect, brought about a relationship between the
pace of movement and the rhythm of the space it defined [Vidler 2000, p.121], and the
camera became a vehicle to explore the world and the city street through anothers
experience. The zeitgeist of the early 20th century aspired to record and reveal the
narratives of everyday life life that is undefined and inexplicable, yet an important part
of our collective unconscious. The street came to be seen as not only the arena of
fleeting impressions and chance encounters, but a place where the flow of life is bound to
assert itself [Kracauer 1960, p.72]. Architect and film theorist, Siegfried Kracauer, goes
on to describe films revelation of so called life on the street as one that intoxicates,
where each [person] has a story and an incessant flow of possibilities and near-
intangible meanings appears[Kracauer 1960, p.72]. Because everyday life had not been
chronicled or depicted on such a direct visual scale, artists, newly equipped with a
moving image, were interested in the city as a place to document and express the chance
encounters and social observation that were a part of their lives.
The enthusiasm for novel techniques that engage narratives and the sharing of
hitherto unknown stories and patterns of everyday lives continues to resonate with
contemporary artists, and is of particular interest to locative artists and locative media
producers. There is a heady optimism within the realm of current locative media projects,
endeavoring to create an awareness amongst people, which can be interpreted as an
approach for resolving a sense of disorientation and distractedness found in contemporary
urbanity. Contemporary locative artists, producers and theorists, by mapping and
critiquing the social space of the city, share in the early modernist desire to understand
the patterns of life on the street that express shifting perspectives and bring to light the
relationship of spatial construction to identity [Vidler 2000, p.13]. They strive to create
the mappings of the unconscious that Walter Benjamin describes when he relates the act
of filming as a medium that explore[s] commonplace milieus and enables an
unconsciously penetrated space [to be] substituted for a space consciously explored by
man [Benjamin 1935, p. 114]. Contemporary locative narratives become place-makers,
creating a spatial dimension, where a virtual overlay of paths and stories can be found by
the fortuitous who, like those from a century earlier, may lose [themselves] in the
incidental configurations of their environment and in the streets and passageways of a
place [Vidler 2000, p.113].
The flaneur of the early 20th century was conceived as an individual who
identified with life on the street, and who moved to capture the flow of fleeting
impressions characterized by Georg Simmel as snapshots of reality [Vidler 2000,
p.114]. The spirit of the flaneur is echoed in the work of a number of present-day locative

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 Lily Shirvanee

artists, whose compositions seek to engage the physicality of the world by exploring a
space of consciousness existing in the anonymous crowds of the city streets and in the
quiet of the wilderness. The emerging work of locative artists range from the
representational abstract; where otherwise inexplicable patterns of movement and motion
are revealed through an imagery of geographical data, to the experiential; where
narratives are sited within the experience of the city street. Artists such as Morgan
OHara and Brett Stalbaum find their canvas in a geography that traces their explorations
over space and time. Whereas Psychogeographers, such as Wilifried Hou Ye Bek, Iain
Mott, and Jim Sosnin look to the geo-locational landscape as an opportunity for a shift in
consciousness through collaborative performance. Experiential works include locative
gaming projects where the physical landscape becomes an annotated playground in works
such as those by the Blast Theory group. The novel approaches that these contemporary
artists bring to the spatial mapping of narratives, including the autonomous creation of
mappings that are publicly accessible, contribute to the modernist ideal of the individual,
and the individuals impact on dynamisation of space that creates the spectacle of
everyday life.

Figure 1 (left): Morgan OHara 2003, TEKENKETEN PROJECT Movement of people streaming to
memorial service for Johann Stekelenberg, Mayor of Tilburg.
Figure 2 (right): Morgan OHara 1997, LIVE TRANSMISSION Movement of the hands of members of
the ELYSIUM QUARTET during rehearsal of "Minimax" by Paul Hindemith.

The representational technique of tracing and rendering movements through time

over geographical territories is a common thread in the artistic practice of locative artists
such as Morgan OHara and Brett Stalbaum. Morgan OHaras work, dating from
the1970s, includes graphs, charts and drawings that are based on her premise that
societal suffering stems from individuals inability to find pattern and significance in
their experience of the world [Hewitt 1983, p. 265]. Her early personal portraits make
visible the passages of space and time and, in recording memory traces, they aim for an
awareness and a live tracking of time over periods of years [Hewitt 1983, p. 265].
OHaras more recent work, Live Transmission: Attention and Drawing as Time Based
Performance [figs. 1-2], tracks peoples movements and gestures in the spaces that they
inhabit. She describes the series as unremarkable or normally unnoticed movement
patterns [that] are rendered visible throughdrawings done in real time in real life
[morganohara.com/drawings.html]. Brett Stalbaums work also uses GPS data modeling
in order to render representations of sequential activities that would otherwise not be seen

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 Lily Shirvanee

as a whole. His drawings model the relationships that emerge where data, and the real it
derives from, interact generatively [Stalbaum 2006, p. 1]. One of the pieces from his
collaborative group, Painters Flat, titled Remote Location, 1:100,000 [fig. 3], exhibits a
geographic recursion of thirty-six geo-referenced drawings of thirty-six points of desert
landscapes and invites visual comparison of three representations of the landscape,
revealing connections between the data about the landscape as data [Stalbaum 2006].
As in OHaras work, Stalbaum aspires to reveal experiences over a landscape where
data and information [are] an increasingly intimate part of the real [Stalbaum 2006]. In
both of these artists works, there is a consciousness of patterns and activities and a desire
to express these societal patterns through visual representations of time and space
composite movement images.

Figure 3a: Painters Flat 2003, REMOTE LOCATION, 1:100,000. Paintings of 36 points of a 6
kilometer topographic grid.
Figure 3b: Painters Flat 2003, REMOTE LOCATION, 1:100,000. Output from Landscape Database
representing a 6 kilometer topographic grid.

Another subset of locative artists, who also refer to themselves as Psychogeographers, see
the landscape as a performative mechanism for art that is immediately contextual.
Psychogeographer Wilifried Hou Ye Beks collaborative performance, titled .walk [fig.
4], creates GPS-enabled algorithmic strolls where participants embark on so-called
generative walks along city streets by following paths that shift courses depending on
the collaborative exchange of data and the directional movement of participants. The
performance concludes once all of the streets of a city area have been traversed through
the collective efforts of participants. Hou Ye Beks work at once draws attention to
choices made and how a small shift in paths can bring about a greater change in the
outcome; where people engage in walking for the sake of shifting their perspectives. Iain
Mott and Jim Sosnins early piece, titled Soundmapping [fig. 5], also focuses in on the
performative potential of locative media where groups of people might affect a larger
whole through their actions. In the case of Soundmapping, it is aural media rather than
visual media that engages the participants whose strolls bring about public performances
based on relative locations within the smaller limits of a city square. Music is created by
an ensemble that rolls along suitcases equipped with sensors measuring location, tilt, and

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 Lily Shirvanee

wheel rotation. Movements of participants, along with their relative distances to each
other and their landscape, create a musical composition that is transmitted via radio into
their immediate environment. The artists describe Soundmapping as a piece that aim[s]
to assert a sense pf place, physicality and engagement to reaffirm the relationship
between art and the everyday [http://www.reverberant.com/].
Figure 4 (left): Wilifried Hou ye Bek 2006, .WALK. Algorithmic Stroll in Enschede

Figure 5 (right): Iain Mott and Jim Sosnin 1998, SOUNDMAPPING

.
Locative artworks that are experiential in nature have a commonality with
psychogeographic works in that they also have a causal relationship, with participants
engaging their streets and finding direct outcomes through their individual and collective
actions. Artists such as the Blast Theory group have created several pieces that crossover
between performative art and location-based game play. Their more recent game, titled
Rider Spoke [fig. 6], engages participants in bicycle rides through London city streets,
where they find and record voice messages in allocated hiding places annotating the
city with words and thoughts for others to find. An earlier project, titled I Like Frank [fig.
7], was a locative game through the city of Adelaide, where participants walked through
the city in search of Frank and shared information with each other to find locative
annotations, Franks footsteps, left around the city. Again, in both of these projects by
Blast Theory, there is a longing to engage the city and to convey traces of existence as
well as to find other perspectives and relationships to inhabited space.

Figure 6 (left): Blast Theory 2007, RIDER SPOKE

Figure 7 (right): Blast Theory 2004, I LIKE FRANK

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 Lily Shirvanee

Filmic movement through cities has had a significant impact on our sense of how
cities can be visualized, explored and documented through the power of the camera and
the filmmaker. Just as Benjamin declares the revelation of the moving image as
something that has: burst this prison world asunder by the dynamite of the tenth of a
second...an unconsciously penetrated space is substituted for a space consciously
explored by man where the camera introduces us to unconscious optics as does
psychoanalysis to unconscious impulses [Benjamin 1935, p. 114], so too have locative
media artists and the narratives that are sited by locative media. These narratives and so-
called snapshots of reality that are directly associated with places have the power to
bring the dialogue of the street to view and, as they become more prevalent with the onset
of burgeoning social networking and self-authoring tools, have the potential to
significantly impact how we understand the social dynamics that make up our cities.

References

Adams, M. et al, I Like Frank (2004), [online]

http://www.blasttheory.co.uk/work_ilikefrank.html, accessed January 2008.
Adams, M. et al, Rider Spoke (2007), [online]
http://www.blasttheory.co.uk/work_rider_spoke.html, accessed January 2008.
Benjamin, W. (1940) The Arcades Project (Das Passagen-Werk) (2002) Harvard
University Press, Cambridge.
Benjamin, W. (1935) The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, in
Illuminations (1968) Schocken Books, New York.
Hewitt, S. (1983) Formal Records of the Use of Time and Movement through Space: A
Conceptual and Visual Series of Artworks, in Leonardo, Vol. 16, No. 4, pp. 265-
272, MIT Press, Cambridge.
Hou Ye Bek, W., .walk (2003), [online] http://socialfiction.org/, accessed January 2008.
Kracauer, S. (1960) Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality, Oxford
University Press, New York.
OHara, M., Live Transmission: Attention and Drawing as Time Based Performance
(1997-2005), [online] http://www.morganohara.com/, accessed January 2008.
Mott, I. and Sosnin, J., Soundmapping (1998), [online], http://www.reverberant.com/,
accessed January 2008.
Stalbaum, B. (2006) Paradigmatic Performance: Data Flow and Practice in the Wild, in
Leonardo Electronic Almanac, Vol. 14, No. 8, MIT Press, Cambridge.
Vidler, A. (2000) Warped Space, MIT Press, Cambridge.

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 Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

One Week By Buster Keaton:

Envisioning Prefab Architecture in Motion
Cristian Suau,Welsh School of Architecture.
Moira Lascelles

Figure 1: Keaton versus Sears Modern Home: While Sears factory was manufacturing and shipping
catalogue houses like Modern Home 102 (right image); Keaton was building his customized version of a
similar mail-order Modern Home in the film One Week (left image). Sources:
http://www.archive.org/details/OneWeek and Sears Archives, http://www.searsarchives.com/homes

Keatons Houses: Living Systems in Motion

"Nearly every American house I've lived in has long ago been demolished to make room for some other building.
There is a delicious (though painful) paradox here: Americans long for stability, but all they get is stationary
impermanence. No wonder then many of us long to become permanent nomads, snails with houses on our backs,
Touareg tribesmen, and Gypsies. Poet Andrei Codrescu 1

The limits of architecture flow between what is stationary and what is in motion. What
happens to architecture when the foundation is removed? To investigate this question, we
should search on the origin of prefabricated houses. Manufactured parts of buildings have
been made in factories for at least two centuries in America and Europe. Whole buildings
houses, hospitals, schools etc. were made in kit form and shipped to remote contexts all over
the world. Beside what the architectural scene has written about the failure of prefab systems,
the fact is that these constructions have succeeded. Luckily architecture is not yet art but
commodity.
Nowadays proceeding on the assumption that social change and a change of residence
are closely correlated, post-modern sociologists aim to gain an understanding of societal
trends such as pluralization and flexibility, and thus to draw recommendations about future
housing requirements. Living in motion indicates that modes of housing are becoming visibly
pluralized, moving away from canonical models towards a new type of content-design
mobility. As classic models of nuclear families erodes, new housing forms are emerging that
offer new flexible ways of living.
Keaton was a visionary architect. As an organiser he was obsessed with the idea of
capturing the Modernity of domestic life mainly by the house as a kinetic lab. In order to
illustrate this let us consider some examples. The Rough House was Keaton's first film as a

1
Siegal, J. Mobile: The Art of Portable Architecture, Foreword by Andrei Codrescu. 2002, Princeton Architectural Press, New York, p. 10

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director, a 1917 short-comedy film. Nevertheless one of his main films is One Week, a 1920
short-comedy film also written, directed and performed by him. The runtime is 19 minutes.
Many special effects, such as the house spinning around during a storm and the train collision,
were filmed as they occurred and were not model work. The story involves a couple, Keaton
and Seely, who receive a build-it-yourself house as a wedding gift.
The house can supposedly be built in one week. An enemy secretly re-numbers the
packing boxes containing the house parts. The movie recounts Keaton's struggle to assemble
the house according to this new random arrangement. As if this weren't enough, Keaton finds
he has built his house on the wrong site and has to move it. Wheels replace the original
foundations and the house is moved like a caravan by car. The movie reaches its climax when
the house, now a mobile system, becomes stuck on railroad tracks on which a train is coming.
The house won't budge and the train hits it producing a shower of debris. Keaton stares at the
scene, places a 'For Sale' sign with the heap and walks off with Seely.
At the same time Le Corbusier was carried out preliminary sketches for the Maison
Citrohan; a mass-produced house 2. The shape is basically a non-ornamental cube.
Nevertheless, the reinforced concrete frame is constructed on-site and bearing walls are filled
with local materials. We can deduce that this standardized prototype was a romantic idea of
treating industrial fabrication. This purist object was not an invention but a traditional
reproduction.
Figure 2: Maison Citrohan by Le Corbusier. Plaster
model, 1920-1922. Le Corbusiers initial vision of
adopting mass-production techniques never developed
to what he had hoped for. Unfortunately off-site housing
fabrication is still associated with the idea of automated
shoe boxes, allocated in trailer parks or the like. Source:
http://www.usc.edu/dept/architecture

Figure 3: PHS (Pallet Housing System) design patented by Dr.

Suau. It shows new possibilities for flexible housing by
recycling pallets shipping boards. It can be assembled or
disassembled anywhere. It is a manifesto of new Nomadism. It
is eco-design, which provides alternatives for those who have
disposable income but not enough capital to enter the standard
housing market. It has expandable and contractible spaces
within simple frameworks, according to standard climatic
contexts. Sources: Cristian Suaus private collection &
http://www.flexiblehouse.org

Nonetheless, how can we define the house

we are confronted with in Buston Keatons One
Week? By investigating several of Keatons silent films and comparing them with the housing
production in US in this time, we are able to obtain some remarkable answers.
Firstly, the house of One Week is similar in shape and sizing to the Sears Modern
Home, prototype 102, which was published in the 1920s Catalogue called Honor Bilt,
Modern Home. The films script is structured according to the Catalog Modern Houses

2
The French term Maisons en Sries use by Le Corbusier does not imply the Anglo-Saxon notion of factory or off-site production. It is an
even definition of industrial fabrication, which can tolerate on-site fabrication and components.

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framework: mailing, shipping, delivering and rapid-building. Secondly, the film critic
Malcolm H. Oettinger, in his essay called Low Comedy as a High Art (1923) 3 explained One
Weeks house, saying that() Buster has ordered a Sears-Roebuck 4 bungalow for his bride-
to-be. The wicked rival mixes the numerals on the various parts, and the comedy ensues when
Buster attempts to assemble the jazzed sections.
The One Week housing model as collapsible design is classified according to their
uses or capabilities: Transporting; adaptation; combination; assembling and disassembling
process; folding/unfolding; and carrying. Therefore, the One Weeks house is a complete
organism. Its initial generic housing pattern is modified, by altering the sequence of packing
boxes containing the house parts. The One Weeks house is a sort of customised variation of
the so-called Catalog Modern House, a prefab dwelling manufactured and shipped by Sears,
Roebuck and Co.

Figure 4: Serial of One Week (1920) by B. Keaton. Source: http://www.archive.org/details/OneWeek

Modern Conveniences and Appliances: Towards Customised Prefab

If One Week was an investigation of the Sears Modern Home as a collapsible and mobile
hardware, The Haunted House (1921) and The Electric House5 (1922) were focused on
mechanical appliances, simply innovative domestic devices, providing a great deal of comic
business for Keaton. The Electric House represents a visionary conceptualisation of the house

3
Oettinger, M. Low Comedy as a High Art (1923) Picture-Play Magazine. Source: accessed in 02/02/2008
http://www.geocities.com/~oldbrit/bkppint2.htm
4 Sears Catalogue Homes. People had learned to trust Sears for other products bought mail-order, and thus, sight unseen. This laid important
groundwork for supplying a home, possibly the largest single purchase a typical family would ever make. In 1908, the company began
offering entire houses as kits, marketed as Sears Modern Homes, and by the time the program ended in 1940, over 100,000 had been sold.
Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sears,_Roebuck_and_Company#Sears_catalog_homes
5
The Electric House (1922). Director: Buster Keaton. Cast: Buster Keaton; Joe Roberts; Virginia Fox; Joe Keaton; Myra Keaton; and
Louise Keaton. Originally this film started shooting in 1921, but an accident on the set forced all the previously shot footage to be abandoned
and the film entirely reshot on a newly designed set in 1922. The Electric House starts with Buster's graduation ceremony as the first of his
comic misfortunes, including a mix-up of diplomas so Buster receives a diploma in electrical engineering. This leads to a job opportunity:
electrifying the family house of the girl he's sweet on. A great chance, so Buster studies hard and soon installs a useful and impressive set of
electric appliances.

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 Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

as a plug-in system, which performs as a sort of software. The idea of electrical innovation
was naturally in the forefront of peoples minds in the early years of the 20th century. The
film goal was to keep the existing house framework and only electrify everything in the
professor's house, both furniture and devices. They consisted of an escalator type stairway,
which could be reversed; one idea that later became practical in department stores in the form
of the escalator. Here Keaton brings this device into domestic life.
In addition, the pool table, which racks its own balls, has become available to us.
Conveyer belts are in evidence along with electric trains for bringing food and dishes to the
dining table. Buster Keaton, of course, adds the enthusiasm to this Scandinavian smorgasbord
of comedy delights. The set comprises of a house interior in which everything had been
mechanized, including the stairs. Keaton used his own house, the 'Italian Villa' for the
exterior scenes of the deans house. The family is ready packed for their vacation, and they
leave Buster alone to work on the house. Buster sits on the front steps reading the book:
'Electricity Made Easy'.
What is surprising in this film is to observe how inventive new devices can rejuvenate
a traditional house. The appliances are the following:

1. Mechanical escalator.

2. Book selector. An open faced, book sized box, travels along behind the books, selects the
required one and then delivers it to you on a long pole.

3. Foldable bed, mechanical doors and mobile bath. Foldable walls have already been used
in One Week and the bathroom is also in the upper floor. The bath travels out of the en suite
bathroom along a track and stops next to the bed. The bed folds up into the wall at the touch
of a push button; the doors too open and shut when a button is pressed.

4. Swimming pool fast-empty mechanism.

Buster is showing the control system to the dean. Suddenly the escalator speeds up with
Buster and the dean on it, sending the dean across the landing, out the window at the top and
out into the swimming pool, Keaton jumped clear just in time. He is concerned for the dean,
and tries running down the ascending escalator, he gives up and slides down the banisters
instead. After he helps the dean out, he demonstrates the pool's rapid emptying and filling
abilities controlled with, what appears to be, a railway signal lever.

5. The automatic pool table and drinks cabinet

After returning to the library, Keaton demonstrates the automatic pool table. The balls
go along the floor, up the wall and into a storage rack. When ready for a game, press
a button and the triangle is lowered and the balls run down into it. The dean
asks Buster if he would like a game. Buster, obviously has no idea how to play, but
says yes anyway. They get thirsty, so Buster presses yet another button and the drink cabinet
rises from the floor. The next stage is the dining room.

6. Dining table as railway track

The dining table has a circular railway track in the middle, in the centre of that is a small
revolving tray with the condiments on it. A drawer bridge lowers from the wall, revealing the
kitchen behind, along the track come a toy train pulling low wagons loaded with soup bowls.
When the soup is finished the bowls are replaced on the train and returned to the kitchen.

7. Dish conveyor belt

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 Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

They are put on a conveyor belt towards the kitchen; they travel along to a dishwasher, are
washed and return along another conveyor belt to the cupboards ready for putting away.

Figure 5: Serial of The Electric House (1922) by B. Keaton. Source: http://www.archive.org/

details/TheElectricHouse

Such as Keaton shows in The Electric House, Sears introduced the latest technology
available to modern US dwellers in the early part of the twentieth century. Central heating6,
indoor plumbing, and electricity were all new developments in home design that Modern
Homes incorporated, although not all of the homes were designed with these conveniences.
Indoor plumbing and homes wired for electricity were the first steps to modern kitchens and
bathrooms. Sears Modern Homes program stayed abreast of any technology that could ease
the lives of its homebuyers and gave them the option to design their homes with modern
convenience in mind.
In The Electric House, all new appliances fail. Nevertheless, in Keatons comedy, the
accident is the generator of inventions and each thoroughly envisions new needs in the
Modern domestic life. Technology is also comedy.

6
Central heating not only improved the livability of homes with little insulation but it also improved fire safety, always a worry in an era
where open flames threatened houses and whole cities, in the case of the Chicago Fire. Source: accessed in 04.02.2008,
http://www.searsarchives.com/homes

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 Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

Figure 6: Comparative images: Learning from a Railway. Above right, the electric table (Le Chemin de Fer de Table)
by Gaston Menier, 1887. Above left, Dining table as railway track in The Electrical House by Keaton (1922). Below,
Railtown, Europan 8, Norway. Runner-up prize, 2006. Authors: Suau, Markuerkiaga and Zappulla. The Railway
Dwellings are an elastic self-ruling entity in motion. It is organized as a cluster and performs as a sponge or hearth,
and its porosity and sizes vary according to the breathings rhythm. Car park areas are set up along the internal road
and through the clusters ramifications. Source: Cristian Suaus private collection

Sears Mail-order Homes: Standardization and the Do-It-Yourself

Purchasing a house from a mail-order catalogue seems like a fantastic story made for comedy
value but in fact it was a pioneered practice in the US in the 20s. The entire process consisted
of the following sequence: catalog or pattern book design; mailing order; pre-cut timber
fabrication (balloon frame); and shipping and delivery by rail, typically in two boxcars each.
The Sears prefab house has been chosen as a drive for discussion to a certain extent because
it is a current topic of critique but also due to it the fact that it challenges the reductive notion
of what architecture should be. According to Sears archives, from 19081940, Sears,
Roebuck and Co. sold about 70,000 - 75,000 homes through their mail-order Modern Homes
program. Over that time Sears designed 447 different housing styles7. To buy a house in kit
form saved about 40% of labour cost; quality custom design and favourable financing; and
provided accuracy and efficiency of the machine-cutting timber. Apart from this, customers
could choose a house to suit their individual tastes and budgets. Modern Homes customers
had the choice to build their own dwellings. All these features are exaggerated but still remain
in One Week, creating a random pattern based on the mixed-up sequence of parts.
Sears was not an innovative home designer. According to Colin Davies, Sears
Roebuck never claimed to make any contribution to the progress of Modern Architecture 8.
The company was instead a follower of non-architect home designs, generic rather than
7
Nevertheless, no official tally exists of the number of Sears mail-order houses that still survive today. It is reported that more than 100,000
houses were sold between 1908 and 1940 through Searss Modern Homes program. The keen interest evoked in current homebuyers,
architectural historians, and enthusiasts of American culture indicate that thousands of these houses survive in varying degrees of condition
and original appearance. Source: accessed in 04.02.2008, http://www.searsarchives.com/homes
8
Davies, C. The Prefabricated Home, 2005, London, Reaktion Book Ltd., p.53

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 Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

monumental; but with the ingenious advantage of modifying and adaptable houses, both
hardware and software, according to buyers way of living 9.

Patching Balloon Frames

Sears was rather than a frame-maker a patch-maker. Instead of introduced a new physical
framework or an innovator in home design or construction techniques; he was producing a
conceptual system where the patches10 can be fabricated in any order and assembled
together in any number of permutations. In the manufacturing sector, the components are the
patches. However, Sears designs did offer distinct advantages over other construction
methods.
The ability to mass-produce the materials used in Sears homes narrowed
manufacturing costs, which lowered purchase costs for customers. Not only did precut and
fitted materials shrink construction time up to 40% but Searss use of balloon framing,
plasterboard, and shingles greatly eased fabrication for home-buyers:
A. Chassis. Essentially a balloon frame11 is a wall and flooring modular system.
Foundations and roofs vary in sizes. This system uses precut standard timber for framing. The
walls are formed by vertical studs (50mm times 100mm) in cross section, spaced at 400mm in
apart and nailed to horizontal plates top and bottom. In a two-storey house, the studs extend
over the entire height, with a ribbon let into them on the inside, to bear the joists or beams of
the upper floor. When the framing is completed, it is covered with siding, traditionally of
overlapping timber clapboards nailed to the studs. The Balloon Frame systems did not require
skilled carpenters, as previous constructive methods. Sears balloon frames were built faster
and generally only required one carpenter. Precut timber, fitted pieces, including the nails,
and shipped by railroad directly to the customer made popular this frame-kit.
B. Plasterboard. Before drywall (US term for plasterboard), the most common wall-
building techniques were plaster and lathe. Sears housing fabrication took advantage of the
new material called drywall by shipping large quantities of this inexpensively manufactured
product with the rest of the housing components. Drywall offered advantages of low price,
ease of installation, and was added fire-safety protection.
C. Shingles. According to the Sears archives: It was during the Modern Homes
program that large quantities of asphalt shingles became available. The alternative roofing
materials available included, among others, tin and wood. Tin was noisy during storms,
looked unattractive, and required a skilled roofer, while wood was highly flammable. Asphalt
shingles, however, were cheap to manufacture and ship, as well as easy and inexpensive to
install. Asphalt is also a fireproof material.

9
Individuals could even design their own homes and submit the blueprints to Sears, which would then ship off the appropriate precut and
fitted materials, putting the home owner in full creative control. Source: accessed in 04.02.2008, http://www.searsarchives.com/homes
10
Framing is a system where several parts are aggregated into a whole. Patching it is a non-linear system. It consists of elements that are
made in different locations and then assembled to form the whole. It is based on less segregation and ore integration.
11
Balloon frame was invented in 1833 in Chicago, US.

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 Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

Figure 7. The Sears Modern Home: Catalogue, Type and Framing. Sears Archives,
http://www.searsarchives.com/homes

Finale: Fabrication Out of Control

Process sets the stage for the outcome 12.

Beyond this synopsis, what are the Keaton houses? They are simple mistakes, ungovernable
places. Nevertheless, Keatons housing design introduces three features: flexible plan,
advances in construction technology and the role of the individual in the design process. His
houses capture the random daily activities in domestic scales and mostly ruled by fortuitous
circumstances. In terms of forms, they are extreme dwellings, treated in a radical and on-the-
edge way. Through Keaton houses, modular fabrication is not longer a result of mass
production, repetition, and uniformity.

Figure 8: Fabrication of the Keatons House: 1. House as a game; 2. House as organism; 3. House as
movable system; and 4. House an easy-to-make kit. Source: Cristian Suaus private collection

12
Kieran, S. & Timberlake, J. Refabricating Architecture, 2004, New York, RR Donnelley. p. 107

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 Cristian Suau and Moira Lascelles

The Keatons films envision the idea of mass customization as a hybrid system. They
conceived new process to build using manufacturing/automated production but with the
ability to differentiate and personalised spaces and appliances for those that are generically
fabricated.
In opposition to traditional aesthetic of the Modern Avant-garde, the Keatons houses
are always machines for failure. In a classical sense, only the accident generates the
invention.

References

Einsenstein, S. Film Form, 1949. New York, Harcourt Brace Publisher

Deleuze, G. Cinema 1: The Movement-Image; Cinema 2: The Time-Image (2 volumes), 1989,
London, Athlone Press.
Wender, W. The Logic of Images, 1991. London, Faber & Faber
Leupen, B. Frame and Generic Space, 2006. Rotterdam, 010 Publishers
Robb, B. Silent Cinema, 2007. UK, Kamera Books
Davies, C. The Prefabricated Home, 2005, London, Reaktion Book Ltd.
Kieran, S. & Timberlake, J. Refabricating Architecture, 2004, New York, RR Donnelley.
Gorostiza, G. Paradigmas (Paradigms), Projecciones y Utopias de la Vanguadia, 2007. La
Fabrica, Madrid
Siegal, J. Mobile: The Art of Portable Architecture, Foreword by Andrei Codrescu. 2002,
Princeton Architectural Press, New York
Schwartz-Clauss, M. Living in Motion - Design and Architecture for Flexible Dwelling, 2002.
Vitra Design Museum; Switzerland
The International Buster Keaton Society at http://www.busterkeaton.com
http://silent-stars.com/Slapstick/PKeaton.html
http://www.archive.org/details/OneWeek
http://www.archive.org/details/TheElectricHouse
http://www.sensesofcinema.com/contents/directors/02/keaton.html
http://www.searsarchives.com/homes

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Films of Towns
Luis Urbano, Porto University

Before the invention of cinema a large number of devices established a cultural tradition of urban
depiction spanning from engravings and maps to paintings and photography. With
cinematography a new vision emerged for it allowed a space-time manipulation of the city that
was absent in previous representations of urbanism and architecture. Editing, slow motion and
aerial views introduced us to a non-linear spatiality and temporality that reinvented our
perception and our mental system of representation of the urban landscape. Cinema reflects the
urban condition through a multiplicity of observation points, building a powerful and identifiable
visual language. It provides an analytical look on the spatiality of the city thus becoming an
instrument of knowledge of the urban tissue.

Travelling around the world

From the 16th century on the atlases or books of towns were common throughout Europe. Those
were collections of city engravings like Braun and Hogenberg's Civitates Orbis Terrarum, one of
the most important editions from the early days of modern cartography and topographical
illustration. Georg Braun, the editor, and Frans Hogenberg, the engraver, worked for over twenty
years to produce the first systematic depiction of city views. The engravings relied mainly on
existing maps but also on drawings made by the Antwerp artist Joris Hoefnagel (1542-1601),
who had travelled through most of Western Europe. This impressive production, issued in six
volumes from 1572 to 1617, was designed to complement Abraham Ortelius' Theatrum Orbis
Terrarum, the first modern atlas. These two atlases were a response to a new interest in the
nature of the world by the Western European population. This emerging interest was spurred
both by the existence of a growing middle class and the relatively new general availability of
printed books. The idea of joining in same volume different images of cities also implied a
hegemonic vision of the world that can be linked to the discoveries and the expansion that
followed it, justifying the dominant position of Europe in the frontispieces of those editions.

Figure 1. Civitates Orbis Terrarum, Braun & Hogenberg, Cologne, 1572.

Figure 2. Lisbon, Civitates Orbis Terrarum, Braun & Hogenberg, Vol.I, Cologne, 1572

In books of towns cities were as concrete as they were abstract for their representations
were frequently the result of copies or done by descriptions. With their sense of totality these
collections of urban images became visual systems that generated a new idea of city, creating the

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desire for visiting popular places like capitals or great monuments. But in those times travelling
was the privilege of a wealthy elite willing to learn from wandering through the main cities of
Europe. With this cultural background it comes as no surprise that the contents of most of the
devices that led to the invention of the cinematograph had urban motifs as one of the main
themes. Before its invention people knew about places by personally visiting them or by visual
representations and story telling. They had partial visions of those places through painting,
engraving and later photography. But unless they had seen the place with their own eyes it was
imagination that provided most of the images. Everyone was eager to see the mythical places of
collective imagination the Venice Canals, Egipts Pyramids, all the big cities that could not be
known by those who could not travel.

From camera oscura to panoramas

In 1955 Henri Langlois, the mythic director of the French Cinemathque, organized an
exhibition entitled 300 years of cinematography 60 years of cinema. This was not just a line
to cause the perplexity of visitors. As he himself explained the Grand Caf projections by the
Lumire Brothers on the 28th of December 1895 only marked the beginning of the commercial
use of an invention that could be dated from much earlier. According to Langlois (1955) ()
from the dawn of times men played with shadows, with animated drawings, waiting for the
cinematographic image. The term pre-cinema was casted by Pierre Francastel when he
questioned whether there wasnt already in a very far past a pre-filmic attitude. With people
using totally different material forms of expression that didnt allow ancient men to express
themselves in the way cinema allows us today, wasnt there a certain kind of desire to organize
the images that pass through our eyes in a way resembling film? (Francastel 1955) In the quest
for the origins of cinema we can go as far back as the Chinese shadows or the Cave Allegory. To
be considered as being in the origins of cinematography an object must necessarily have a
quality that still exists in cinema. These objects can be perspective and optic treatises, shadows
and silhouettes devices, mirrors and optical views, camera oscura and magic lanterns, dioramas
and panoramas.
The camera oscura is a compartment or a box, where light breaks through a lens. Artists
used it as a drawing auxiliary becoming a useful and efficient means of projecting reality in
scientific practice as well as in pictorial research and artistic representation. Its principle was
known from Euclides but by the 15th century its extraordinary power to reproduce our
surroundings was enhanced. Leonardo referred to it in a famous quotation that paralleled the
camera oscura to the eye, describing spezie delli obbieti alluminati that make way per alcuno
spiraculo rotondo in abitazione forte escura. In 1447 Alberti made a discovery to represent
landscapes and diminish or enhance figures by means of a useful instrument to art that might
well have been a camera oscura. But to get to the cinematograph some intermediate stages were
necessary which denoted not just the desire for movement but also a different notion of display.
For some it was an image included in the second edition of Ars Magna Lucis et Umbrae
by Athanasius Kircher in 1671 that became the starting point of cinematography. The device
depicted was actually a simple machine, the magic lantern, a small box fitted with artificial
light, a concave mirror and a system of lens that allowed the projection of amplified images of
painted glasses into a white surface. The success of this new entertainment device derived from
its real effect as nave and simplistic it might be. (Campagnoni 1996: 88)The magic lantern was
one of the most popular shows until the end of the 18th century. By that time the fashion of
Chinese Shadows emerged in Europe brought by explorers from its origins where one can find
references to this kind of show as early as in the 11th century.
The optical views created in the first decades of the 18th century used engravings seen in
a specific optical device that the French called loptique. This apparatus, which in its simpler

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version comprised a fixed lens and a mirror, was used to enhance the images perspectic effect
and to bring the viewer inside. Editors from London, Paris, Augsburg and Bassano produced
entire series of views to be seen exclusively through the optical device. Large circulation along
with the recycling of images from different origins made these engravings very popular. In order
to reach a vaster audience language was simple and immediate the deformation of perspective
was exaggerated, some less important details were suppressed and strong contrasting colouring
was used. Hundreds of views of the most important European capitals were produced by this
time.

Figure 3. La lanterna magica, Bartolomeo Pinelli, Roma, 1815.

While optical views depicted reality with some objectivity, even if sometimes with
exaggerated vigour or fantasy, the theatrical diorama interpreted and reinvented reality itself.
Although preserving the mirror/lens binomial the structure of optical boxes for the theatrical
dioramas required the presence of a sequence of engravings inserted in different plans. These
engravings were illuminated through a sliding door covered in fabric or paper. A single
impresser monopolized the theatrical dioramas market Martin Engelbrecht from Augsburg,
active between 1717 and 1756. Themes varied from urban and war scenes, military camps,
earthquakes, the four seasons agricultural activities, Carnival ballrooms, hunting, etc. (Milano
1996: 96)
In 1789 Mr. Barkers interesting and novel view of the city and castle of Edinburgh, a
panorama in 360 view that could be enjoyed by a viewer in the center of a cylinder with huge
walled canvas, premired in London. Although it cannot be regarded as a revolutionary date in
the history of vision and representation this event marked the beginning of a new form of
exhibition that influenced collective screening habits. This new form of entertainment enjoyed a
remarkable success throughout the 19th century. In 1793 Barker launched the Panoramas
Rotunda in Leicester Square in London, the first of several distinctive buildings located in
gardens, theme parks and Exposition sites. In Panoramas city views prevailed but natural
landscapes and battle fields were also depicted. Panorama reached its maximum splendour
between 1800 and 1830 and enjoyed a revival period in the last quarter of the century to finally
be replaced by the cinematographic show in its multiple initial versions.
Under the same principle Moving Panoramas appeared. The illusion of travel was
suggested by unfolding a long canvas in front of windows. One of the most popular shows was a
train trip through the Siberian veldt, but main streets like Regent Street in London, Unter der
Linden in Berlin, the Boulevards in Paris, or the Nevski Perspective in San Petersburg, all saw
their length compressed in these limited cylinder spaces. One of the most popular shows was the

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360 city views as seen from the top of famous buildings. Seaoramas, on the other hand,
generated the illusion of being inside a boat, its waving movement outlining coast views and
river landscapes.
In 1882 the French painter Louis Daguerre created a different kind of dioramas where
the illusion of reality and the establishment of a particular ambience were more important than
the exactness of the scenes they depicted. In order to make the picture complete sound effects,
motion and three-dimensional objects were added. These dioramas involved a theatrical
production that was implicit in the chosen sequence of the different scenes, a narrative value that
clearly brings them closer to cinema.
As seen cinematography had all its theoretical principles well established at least since
the 16th century and in that perspective Lumires cinematograph invention in 1895 was just a
technical development. In fact we can lose track trying to trace the origin of animated shadows,
the magic of the moving image.

The Lumire City

With its universal language cinema was able to capture the different urban elements. Born from
urban and industrial technique the Lumires cinematograph turned deliberately to the street
filming its diversity and showing the viewer his habitat - the city. At the beginning of its history
cinema configured itself as an instrument of documentation and a witness of reality. French or
foreign, metropolis or simple agglomerates, cities never ceased to show their diversity and
simultaneously their omnipresence. People and cars moving in an orderly and haussmanian
architecture was the main theme of the first movies depicting the stage of development of
western society. The first viewers particularly enjoyed street scenes, fascinated by the realness of
urban vibrancy in which they recognized themselves. In a train, a boat or a gondola the camera
captured long travellings depicting urban landscapes. Paradoxically it was not architecture itself
that interested the earliest filmmakers. (Gardies 1995: 13) Apart some unavoidable monuments
buildings were not the object of particular attention for they are not particularly kinetic and in
those early years focus was all on movement. By wandering through the busy streets of city
centres and promenades like flaneurs these filmmakers incidentally and selectively reproduced
various views of different subjects and urban motifs. In a civilization dominated by urban space
movement was above all evident in crowds workers leaving a factory, people gathered and
passing by Les Champs-Elyses, trains arriving at stations. From the moment of its birth, cinema
showed city crowds, street attractions and urban traffic. The first film shows were primarily "big
city" affairs and were experienced under the spirit of wonder and awe. By watching a simple
image of a train speeding into the camera people were scared enough to close their eyes and turn
their heads sideways.
Living pictures is the most appropriate expression for these 1 to 2 minutes length films.
They simply add movement to photography in a quest for reality that we can find in thousands of
analogous works by Edison, Paul, Skaladanowski, Friese-Greene and Notari. This documentary
style developed steadily and was firmly established by pioneering cinematographers by the
1900s, which produced both a relatively correct, accurate record of the current architecture and
urban development. Certainly one of the major reasons why pioneering filmmakers were so
fascinated by metropolitan motifs, motion and development was the fact that cinematography
could depict urban reality scientifically as visual evidence. Early examples of film were received,
like photography, as true-to-life documents and therefore as scientific proof of something that
most people could only imagine. They showed without much attempt at rhetoric or aesthetics
that the incorruptible camera-eye was a reliable tool that made the magical appear in the
seemingly bland and banal of everyday places and situations. (Weihsmann 1997: 9)

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 Luis Urbano

The same use of urban space has appeared in early Portuguese films. Essential reference
in the history of Portuguese cinema is the date of 18th June 1896. That was the night in which the
first cinema projection in Portugal took place, at the Royal Coliseum of Lisbon. On the 17th July
1896, a month after the capitals first show, and only six months after the worlds premiere in
Paris, the new invention arrived to Oportos Royal Prince Theatre. To that seminal session
attended Aurlio da Paz dos Reis (1862-1931) who went to Paris the following month to bring
the patent of the quinetograph - probably a Bedts device as the Lumire Brothers refused to sell
him their invent. On the 8th of September he recorded on film Fireman Manoeuvres the oldest
know movie made by a Portuguese. Paz dos Reiss main occupation was floriculture and he own
a store in the citys main square. No one knows for sure when or why he became interested in
photography and then cinematography but the fact remains that there are thirty three films of his
authorship inventoried by the Portuguese Cinemathque. (Costa 1991: 8) Workers Leaving
Confiana Factory, Cattle Fair in Corujeira and The Garden are some titles of his films that
premiered in a famous session in November 1896 in Oporto.

Figure 4. Aurlio da Paz dos Reis

Figure 5 - A Sada do Pessoal Operrio da Fbrica Confiana, Aurlio da Paz dos Reis, 1896

But before Aurlio da Paz dos Reis other animated images were produced in Portugal.
The oldest preserved were captured by Robert William Pauls cameraman Harry Short, who
joined Edwin Rousby in Lisbon. Rousby was the man behind the first cinematograph session in
June 1896 at the Royal Coliseum. The press identified Rousby as an Hungarian electrician but he
was probably neither. The name is certainly not Hungarian and electrician was the common
designation for those who handled lights and shadows the live photography machines. It is
noteworthy that in 1896 Lisbons public lighting was provided by gas (electricity only arrived in
1904) fact that gave a special aura to the handlers of such a marvellous invention. Rousby started
by showing some Edisons movies and probably some of Lumires as they made some printouts
that fitted Pauls teatrograph (Costa 1991: 9). Animated by the colossal success of his 1896
summer shows all over the country Rousby was determined to include some Portuguese pictures
in his set. That was the reason of Harry Shorts coming to Lisbon. On the 28th September the
movies Boca do Inferno, Algs Beach Bathing, Fish Market in Ribeira Nova, The Town Hall
Square, Bullfight in Campo Pequeno were exhibited. The presence of the Kings brother Infante
D. Afonso attested to the prestige that these projections attained in the Portugal of the turn of the
century. Portuguese movies travelled around the world and were staged for the first time outside
of Portugal on the 22nd October, 1896 at the Londons Alhambra in a fourteen films set entitled
Tour in Spain and Portugal.

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 Luis Urbano

Figure 6. Feira de Gado na Corujeira, Aurlio da Paz dos Reis, 1896

Conclusion

The city in early films was a symbol of human genius, the mark of the homo faber and his
inventive capacity, the mark of the western civilizations power and evolution. The city was
ideal to depict that evolution through monuments, different architectural styles, well
proportioned and animated squares, vast avenues crowded with people and cars. The western city
was the symbol of modernity, the result of industrial revolution and colonial expansion. More
than anything else urban architecture had a civilizational value for those who believed in
technological progress. From a semi-deserted periphery filmed in a block near Lumires factory
to the heart of the city in Potsdamer Platz in Berlin or Piccadilly Circus in London, passing by
some inevitable travelling spots like the Place de la Concorde or the Broadway, the multiple
faces of the city were explored in early movies. In fact from the beginning of its history cinema
was a way of travelling around the world. Cinema, stemming from visual, theatrical and literary
roots, logically continued this tradition of 'story telling' through spatial walks on the built
environment and on the public spaces of cities. Like urban archaeologists, the first filmmakers
came closest to the 'reality' of urban chroniclers, engravers and photographers, by depicting the
hidden yet omnipresent and commonplace character of everyday existence in public places as the
images of those places became an indelible part of our memory.

Acknowlegements

The author would like to thank Fundao para a Cincia e Tecnologia, Portugal.

References

Campagnoni, D. P. 1996, Histria da Lanterna Magalogrfica vulgarmente dita Lanterna

Mgica in A Magia da Imagem, Centro Cultural de Belm; Lisboa, pp. 5889.
Costa, J. B. 1991, Histrias do Cinema, Imprensa Nacional Casa da Moeda, Lisboa.
Fihman, G. 1996 As Origens do Cinema in A Magia da Imagem, Centro Cultural de Belm;
Lisboa, pp. 4756.
Francastel, P. 1955, Revue International de Filmologie, n 20-24, Paris.

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 Luis Urbano

Gardies, A, 1995, La Cit Lumire in Architecture, dcor et cinema; CinmAction n 75,

Corlet Tlram; Paris, pp. 1216.
Langlois, H. 1955, 300 annes de cinematographie 60 ans de cinema; Muse dArt Moderne
de la Ville de Paris, Cinmatque Franaise, Paris.
Milano, A. 1996, A Viagem da Viso Das Caixas pticas aos Panoramas in A Magia da
Imagem, Centro Cultural de Belm; Lisboa, pp. 90105.
Weihsmann, H. 1997, The City in Twilight: Charting the Genre of the City Film, 1900-1930
in Cinema & Architecture, eds F. Penz & M. Thomas, British Film Institute Publishing,
London, pp. 829.

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 Ricarda Vidal

A Journey for Body and Mind? The Urban Dreams of

Modernism in Matthias Mllers shortfilm Vacancy and in 21st-
Century Car Commercials
Ricarda Vidal, University of London

Imaginary cities

The city is built of white concrete and glass, its bridges are cast in gleaming steel and its
multi-lane highways are covered in smooth grey tarmac. It is a city of dreams, of light and air
and clear blue water. A city that can only exist in the fantastic world of Calvinos imaginary
cities until a single car moves noiselessly through its spacious streets and places it firmly
within the realm of the car commercial. As the car drives past buildings and bridges the citys
shapes and patterns are reflected in its sculpted bodywork a high-tech harmony where
driving is a journey for body and mind as we are told by a seductive female voice (Toyota,
2004). The city of this type of car commercial is always a virtual city. Even when the
commercial is shot in an actual location, the city appears as artificial as an architectural
model. It promotes a dream of high-tech living in a city without inhabitants, where every
angle breathes perfection and every building is in total harmony with its surroundings,
pristine and undisturbed by human presence. Often the only figure of identification is the car,
in which we can imagine ourselves and through which we may become part of the
dreamscape of the perfect city.
Change of film. We are in another city, a real city. This city, too, is built of white
concrete and glass, with bridges cast in gleaming steel and multi-lane highways clad in
smooth grey tarmac. It, too, is a city of dreams, of light and air and clear blue water. The city
is Braslia in the early 1960s. However, the city that appears in these bright clean scenes is as
unreal as Toyotas dream-city and soon it is replaced by bleaker scenes from the late 1990s.
Both visions of the city form part of Matthias Mllers film Vacancy (1998), which merges
amateur footage and feature films shot in Braslia in the early sixties with the artists personal
exploration of the legacy of Modernism in the citys largely abandoned centre1 in the late
1990s. Vacancy examines the discrepancies between ideology and reality by juxtaposing the
perfect images of the new city with scenes shot forty years later. Rather than a documentary
the film is a sentimental journey where the blithe optimism of the space-age has turned into
nostalgia and a strangely lyrical sense of desolation. Seen through Mllers camera, the
Braslia of 1998 appears no more real than the Braslia of 1960. Like the city of the car
commercial, it is wholly imaginary a utopia, a non-place.
Katherine Shonfield (2000) suggests that architecture exists tangibly in the perception
of the beholder rather than as a pristine impervious whole. She argues that hence cities can be
accessed and explored as much through fiction as through architectural history. In the case of
Braslia, Richard Williams claims that architectural historians are as prone to fictionalise as
novelists or poets. (2007: 321) I, too, will approach Braslia through fiction the fiction of
Mllers Vacancy and the virtuality of Lexus-city, but also the fiction of Lcio Costas
1
Though the pilot plan of Braslia had been conceived for a population of 500,000 only 198,422 people lived
there at the time of the latest census in 2000 with more and more people moving to the satellite towns around the
capital, which are constantly growing. The largest of these, Ceilndia, already has 150,000 inhabitants more than
Braslia and Taguatinga, which tops the capitol by some 50,000 inhabitants is already referred to as real centre
of the Federal District. (Williams, 339)

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 Ricarda Vidal

pilot plan, which, I will argue, is based on an urban layout that does not only facilitate but
almost demand a cinematic and hence quasi-fictional perception of the city.

A city built for the age of the motor-car

Costas pilot plan was heavily influenced by Le Corbusier and the Congrs Internationaux
dArchitecture Moderne (CIAM). James Holston argues that Braslia is the most complete
example ever constructed of the architectural and planning tenets put forward in CIAM
manifestos. (1989: 31) The parallels between Le Corbusiers Contemporary City for Three
Million Inhabitants (1922) and the Pilot Plan are undeniable (Fig.1 & 2). Though Costa
refrained from Corbusiers monumental skyscrapers in favour of low-rises of an average
height of five to six stories, Braslia, like the Contemporary City, has a varied skyline of
higher and lower buildings, which are each surrounded by ample space and parkland. Further,
the citys layout with its different sections for entertainment, living, working, shopping etc.
conforms to CIAMs Athens Charter from 1933.

Fig.1 Le Corbusier, perspective of A Contemporary Fig. 2 Braslia: the Monumental Axis leading
City for Three Million Inhabitants, 1922 towards the National Congress (2007)

The most striking parallel between the Contemporary City and Braslia is undoubtedly the
prominence of the urban highway, which answers Le Corbusiers demand for a radical shift in
urban planning which would meet the needs and standards of the age of the motorcar. He
denied the traditional street as a vital site of social interaction for urban life and saw the
narrow alleyways of the naturally grown city as the source of slovenliness, inefficiency, vice
and disease. The new city with its wide straight avenues and large open spaces would not only
enable its future inhabitants to live in harmony with each other and with nature but it would
also transform them into healthy, honest, proud and efficient citizens. (Le Corbusier 1998:
242f.) The city built for (the age of) the motor-car would by dynamic, progressive and
democratic.
Before we look at Braslias infrastructure and Mllers vision of the city, let us enjoy
the pure celebration of the flow of traffic and the aesthetics of form and function in Toyotas
dream-city. This, too, is a version of the Contemporary City, albeit not for three million
inhabitants but rather for one car and its driver. The camera following the car fuses images of
seemingly opposing quality into an overall sensation of clear and radiant harmony (Le
Corbusier, 1998: 242) as though it wanted to illustrate Le Corbusiers dictum that
architecture is able to [] harmonize simple elements with complex ones and small with
great, to blend the forcible with the graceful. (237) Buildings blend into each other, the shape
of a traffic light is mirrored by the windows of an office block, the grid pattern of a
skyscraper is reflected in the railings of a bridge. Constructed according to the Modernist
ideal of the straight line and the purity of form, the city is opposed to the organic fluidity of
the water that surrounds it and reflects Corbusiers recognition that nature is essential to
humanise the rigidity of the Modernist urban environment. (237) In a clever twist, the car

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 Ricarda Vidal

appears as arbitrator between nature and city. As it drives past its buildings, the city becomes
liquid and the water no longer reflects its skyline but instead trees and woodland (Fig. 3).
But of course this city is built exclusively
for cars. The only human is the driver, whose
happy features we glimpse briefly. In fact, the
perfect harmony can only be experienced through
the windscreen of the Lexus. Lexus-city reflects
Le Corbusiers concepts but reduces the
Contemporary City to a wholly aesthetic
experience. It can do so because it was never
meant to be perceived as more than a dream. After
all, it was created for the sole enjoyment of the
Lexus-driver (and the audience in front of their Figure 3: Still from French commercial for
TVs) who can only participate in this city from Toyota Lexus GS (2004)
behind the windscreen (TV screen).
Braslias spacious infrastructure and its horizontal spread caused Hannah Baldock to
suggest a similar problematic for the Brazilian capital when she says that the city was made
for a race of hyper-intelligent Volkswagens (2003 n.p.). In Vacancy, the bright scenes of
inauguration day are juxtaposed with Mllers pensive voiceover, which calls the city a place
not for now but for the future, a model city for a man anticipated and to be born. Later,
scenes from 1998 are cut in between the perfect shots of 1960, accompanied by the narrators
voice:

That night I dreamed the city was emptied of people again, abandoned before it was
inhabited. [] Streets join in a kiss. Seeking others of their own kind, they lead
nowhere. (Mller)

Whereas the scenes from the 1960s show a

thriving city full of cars and people, the 1990s
material is dominated by an overpowering
emptiness. Progress seems to have reversed. There
are no cars on the streets, only a solitary man on a
fully packed horse cart leaving the city. Filmed in
close-up so that the red dust on their surface is
magnified, empty streets blend into each other,
overlap and disappear. In a wide-angle pan we see
a few people, small and lost like ants futilely
trying to clean a dust-covered wall along an
Figure 4: Still from Mller, Vacancy (1998), abandoned highway (Fig 4).
courtesy of the artist
Even in the 1960s footage people are often dwarfed by the monumental buildings.
Like the Lexus-driver they seem only able to become a harmonic part of the city when they
are behind the wheel of a car. Particularly one scene from the 1960s resembles Toyotas
journey for body and mind: it begins with the camera filming through the windscreen of a
white Chevrolet driving along the Monumental Axis. When the car approaches the Alvorada
Palace the camera position switches to a point behind the car so that the viewer can appreciate
the doubling of the white arches of the Palace in the tailfins of the car.
A look at the pilot plan suggests that people are not imagined as pedestrians but as
motorised citizens. Braslias arteries and access roads, its ring road, avenues and surrounding

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 Ricarda Vidal

highway system have been carefully planned to allow sweeping vistas of the cityscape and
monumental views of its iconic buildings. Here is Costas description of the bus station:

One-way traffic forces the buses to make a detour on leaving []; this gives the
travellers their last view of the monumental radial artery before the bus enters the
residential radial artery, and is a psychologically satisfactory way of saying farewell to
the national Capital. (400)

Framed in the bus window the city becomes a postcard, a souvenir for the traveller to take on
their journey. Indeed, it appears as though the city was built to be experienced exclusively
through the windscreen of a car.

Having run the length of the citys monumental axis, it can be seen that the fluency
and unity of the layout from the Government Plaza at one end to the Municipal Plaza
at the other does not preclude variety, and that each sector forms what we might call
an autonomous plastic unit within the whole. This autonomy creates spaciousness on a
noble scale, and permits the appreciation of each units individual qualities without
adversely affecting their harmonious integration in the urban whole. (400)

The urban whole however, can never be experienced from the perspective of the pedestrian
who would be lost on the vast expanses between Government Plaza and Municipal Plaza. Car
ownership is understood as the norm and driving as prerequisite for the urban dweller of the
Modernist city, whether this is Corbusiers Contemporary City or Costas pilot plan. And if
we are to believe James Holstons cinematic description from 1989, then seeing Braslia
through the windscreen of the car is indeed spectacular:

As one travels across the desolate plateau toward the city, the landscape abruptly
changes about 40 kilometres from the capital. The highway widens. Billboards
announce lots for sale [] A gigantic, modern sculpture appears out of nowhere to
suggest that something is about to happen. Still without visible signs of settlement,
one is suddenly swept into a coverleaf intersection of superspeedway proportions. At
one carefully choreographed moment, Braslia begins: a 14-lane speedway roars into
view and catapults the traveller into what is hailed as the New Age of Brazil. (3)

The windscreen of the car mimics the lens of the cinematic camera and allows us to
experience the city like a film projected onto the air over the dusty earth. And here it might
occur to us that the model man anticipated by Modernism can be no other than the driver of
the Lexus GS.

A city built into air

In prose and poetry and often also in architectural histories Braslia is represented as unreal,
built into air; it is praised by writers and poets for its mystic, utopian and artistic spirit. While
the pilot plan aimed to attract the cultural elite with the lyric and poetic qualities of its
architecture (Costa 1957: 399), Williams describes that it is now marketed on the basis of its
myth, an adventure zone, a literally extra-ordinary place (2007: 322).
Costa has planned the citys roads like guidelines in a carefully choreographed dance
which affords the spectator/citizen the best possible views of the city, which is no longer a
stage but the leading character in this parade of architecture. Mller picks up on this and has
the city emerge as a protagonist in its own right. While the voiceover at first appears to

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present the artists own view (though it must be understood as exemplary for the figure of the
traveller in general), in the middle of the film the perspective shifts and the city begins to
speak for itself:

I might as well have told a different story.

Ive become empty. I am a stranger to others and to myself and I refuse to pretend that
I am familiar or that I have history attached to my heels. I am a carbon copy of my
form. Ive been dropped into all this from another world and I cant speak your
language any longer. I am a stranger and I am moving. (Mller)

The words are jumbled, bump into each other and overlap. The city appears to be speaking in
several voices, no longer able to define itself, to mark out its place between utopia, myth and
concrete existence. Its status appears as tenuous as the liquid dreamscape of Lexus-city.
Mllers Braslia is heavily mythologised. The fusion of archival and new footage
removes it from time and space and shows it at once under construction and already decaying.
We see the city through the camera, but we also perceive it through the contemplative
monologue that accompanies the images and which is made up of texts by Italo Calvino,
Samuel Beckett, David Wojnarowicz and Mller himself. Most of it is spoken by a pensive
North American voice, but sometimes this is joined by snippets in Portuguese and longer
passages in German. Sometimes the three voices overlap, sometimes they translate each other,
sometimes they dont. The three voices mirror the roads of the dream image, running parallel
to each other, sometimes following one another or crossing each other randomly. They also
mirror the shift between narrative perspectives from traveller to city and back. Languages
become mixed just as past, future and present, narrator and narrated, old and new footage
become confused.
Mllers wide-angle shots of emptiness, his still images of abandoned buildings,
streets without people, dusty plazas and an over-towering monumental architecture make the
city appear as unreal as the virtual city of the car commercial. Mller in fact suggests that
there is no city in the first place, that it is indeed entirely virtual, a dreamed city, dependent on
the stories that are told about it. Behind the veils of mysticism there is nothing: Emptiness is
hidden beneath the thick coating of signs. The city repeats its signs so that it can begin to
exist. Mller consciously avoids showing Braslias most impressive sign, the airplane-
shaped urban layout which is only visible from above. Instead he shows a rusty arrow2, a
platform number at the bus station, a hotel sign, traffic signs. There are no street names,
nothing personal, just a repetition of signs that could be anywhere in the world. These
commonplace signs appear as the only official part of Braslia that link it with the traditional
conception of a city.
If I say official here then I mean to differentiate these street signs from the unofficial
marks that human society has left on the canvas of the city and which tie it to the tangible
reality of lived experience: the unofficial paths that have been walked into its green spaces
beside the roads (Fig. 5), the rare bit of graffiti.

Ultimately it seems the dream image of the city that was abandoned before it was inhabited is
refuted: Nights falls, windows come alight is the final sentence in English. We might leave

2
As a matter of fact the rusty arrow points to the memorial for Juscelino Kubischek, the citys founder, and is
thus another indication of absence and death. However, this can only be understood by those who have been to
Brasilia ad know the real meaning of the arrow.

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 Ricarda Vidal

the film here and think that the desolate abandoned utopia was but a bad dream. But the
German voice carries on:

At night, when you lie flat on the ground, your ear in the palm of your hand,
sometimes you can hear a door falling shut. (my translation3)

The German voice, which had also started the

film with the death of the old cities and the
birth of Braslia, ends with the death of the
utopian dream. However, the end of the dream
can also mean the beginning of waking life. It
suggests that behind the myth of the failed
utopia which is spun on by the film, there is a
real place, a real living city, which has nothing
to do with the projected city of the film, or, for
that matter, with the city envisioned by
Costas pilot plan. There might be a different
Braslia growing somewhere outside the rigid
system of the pilot plan and behind the myth Figure 5: Still from Mller, Vacancy (1998), courtesy
of the abandoned utopia but this would be of the artist.
subject of a new film and a new investigation.

Conclusion

We have started with the assumption that Braslia reflects the concepts of urban planning set
out by CIAM and specifically Le Corbusiers Contemporary City and his demand for a car-
friendly layout. I had called it A Contemporary City; contemporary because tomorrow
belongs to nobody, Le Corbusier wrote (1998: xxv). Braslia, too, was built for today, so
much so that Costa even determined the make and colour of the citys taxis and the bus
drivers uniforms, which placed the city firmly within the late 1950s.
Vacancy, however, suggests that the city was built for a tomorrow that belongs to
nobody. Built for a future that was only possible in the late 1950s but never happened, it has
become a museum, self-sufficient, independent of and indifferent towards its inhabitants, who
are unable to interact with its architecture. The unity of the urban design which was to delight
Costas imaginary driver in his description of the Monumental Axis, can only be enjoyed by
the traveller who passes through the city, not by those who live there.
Braslia is often regarded as the most complete failure of Modernist urban design.
Mllers film, too, suggests that it has indeed failed as a viable metropolis of the 20th or 21st
century. On screen, however, the Contemporary City comes into its own. If we look at the
bright scenes of Braslia in the 1960s and Mllers lyrical camera-drive through the city forty
years later, and if we accept the virtual reality of the Lexus commercial as a 21st-century
version of the Contemporary City we can claim that on screen Modernist urban planning
reaches perfection creating a wholly aesthetic experience a journey for the mind, even if not
for the body.

References

3
The German original reads: Nachts, wenn du dich flach auf die Erde legst, dein Ohr in der Hhlung deiner
Hand, dann hrst du bisweilen eine Tr, die zuschlgt.

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 Ricarda Vidal

Baldock, H. 2003, Braslia was built for cars, not people in Icon, 4, July-August.
Braga e Vaz da Costa, M. H. 2000, Cities in Motion: Towards an Understanding of the
Cinematic City, unpublished doctoral thesis, University of Sussex.
Commercial for Toyota Lexus GS, Toyota France, 2004, colour, sound, 30 sec.
Corbusier, Le 1924, The City of Tomorrow and its Planning, Trans. F. Etchells, in Le
Corbusier 1998, Essential Le Corbusier: LEsprit Nouveau Articles, London:
Architectural Press.
Costa, L. 1957, Report for a Pilot Plan for Braslia, in Architectural Review, 122, pp. 399-
402.
Holford, W. 1957, Brasilia, Architectural Review, 122, pp. 395-402.
Holston, J. 1989, The Modernist City: An Anthropological Critique of Braslia, Chicago,
London: Chicago University Press.
Shonfield, K. 2000, Walls Have Feelings: Architecture, Film and the City, London, New
York: Routledge.
Vacancy, dir. Matthias Mller, Brasil/Germany 1998, 16mm, colour, sound, 13:52 min.
Williams, R. J. 2007, Braslia after Braslia, in Progress in Planning, 67, pp. 301-366.

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 Kate H. Wells et al.

Projecting and Performing the Contested Landscape of Toronto

Through Archives and Images

Kate H. Wells, York University; Eva Nesselroth-Woyzbun, Ryerson University;

Julie Nagam, York University

How can the complex and contested history of a post colonial landscape be presented to the
current residents of that space, if so much of its human history is invisible today? This is the
problem that my colleagues and I face as we attempt to piece together a grand-scale projection
that will speak to the varied, rich and contradictory histories of our city. The Humber River
runs though the west end of the city of Toronto. The river ends where it joins Lake Ontario,
and this convergence of waterways is rich with Aboriginal, French, and Anglo histories as this
particular location, which is now a multipurpose urban space, was the site of multiple
habitations and has always been a key intersection for transport and human activity. It is often
said that Canada, unlike other European settler colonies, was created by trade routes and
communication technologies. The Humber River, which runs from north to south, transported
the first French traders and cartographers from the French colonial outposts in northern
Ontario. The French trader Etienne Brl has the ominous and somewhat inflated reputation
as being the first white man to set eyes on Lake Ontario, as he travelled southward on the
Humber River while seeking a short cut to Detroit in 1613. Naturally, Brl was not the first
human to travel this river, as it had been used as a key trade route by the Indigenous peoples
for millennia. Today, the mouth of the Humber, and the site of our proposed projection
project, is rather thoughtlessly named, tienne Brl park as homage to the first white
person to discover this spot.
History texts that recount the presence of the French in this area claim that when Brl
arrived by here canoe, he encountered a flourishing Huron settlement. To the Huron, this area
was known as Teiaiagon (Finley 2005; Gonda 2006; Jones 1986). In the late 17th century,
other French colonizers including Samuel de Champlain also stopped to camp, trade, and
establish missions at the mouth of the Humber River. According to these sources, the Huron
were rightly suspicious of the French explorers and the Jesuits who followed closely on their
heels, as they came to expect that plague, drunken debauchery, and general havoc followed
the arrival of Europeans.
In the 18th century, as the French
and English quarrelled over control of
the area, the Indigenous peoples made
allegiances with either side. The Huron,
who sided with the French, were driven
away from the mouth of the Humber and
were replaced by their rivals, the
Iroquois who established alliance with
the British. Over the next century and
half, the Iroquois and Huron fought over
this land and in Huron legend, the
forests there are said to be soaked in the
blood of their peoples. Ultimately, the
British won control over the area and in Figure 1: Map of French Forts, 18th century (site circled in
1820, a large tract of land on the east pink). From Robinson, 1933.

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 Kate H. Wells et al.

bank of the Humber River was granted to James Baby, a member of the political elite. Baby
Point is now the name of the upscale neighbourhood that lies adjacent to tienne Brl park.
If you were to take a stroll along the banks of the Humber River to its mouth at Lake
Ontario, you would see that it is a mix of urban parkland nestled into mixed urban spaces. At
this spot, you can still see how important this site is for transport. A 19th century mill rests on
the west bank of the river where it once harnessed the power of its waters, a tribute to early
industrialization of the area. Footpaths now carve out walkways for park-goers, and the space
above the area is latticed with commuter subway rails, road bridges, and transport railways. It
is a hub for human movement, as it has always been. What is absent, however, is narrative.
The current topography of the landscape says nothing of its contested past or of the waves of
human activity that took place here. There is no evidence of the Aboriginal presence, no signs
of the massacres and conflict between the French and Huron, or between the Huron and the
Iroquois. There is no story provided to explain the conditions under which the Aboriginal
settlement there was purged or how it was parlayed into a land parcel grant for James Baby.
We do know that in 1925, this lush precipice was levelled and divided to make room for
modern, upscale, single family homes. Urban space may be rich with activity, but its
embedded history is silent.

Figure 2: The site as it appears today. The Baby

Point residences are in the background, tienne
Brl Park and the Humber River are in the
foreground. Tennis courts occupy the former
Huron and Iroquois settlement.

Last year, we embarked on a project to

uncover the history of this part of the city.
Unfortunately, the city archives offered
little. The archive, with its double
etymology from the Greek root arkhe,
signifies both the domicile and the
forward command of the superior
magistrate who resides in the arkeheion.
The colonial bias inherent in this epistemological metaphor implies that the archive wields a
power of a problematic sort: of stone, steel, paper and law, which preserve a hegemonic
narrative of progress in the name of western civilization. Accordingly, the archives contained
only land surveys created for the purpose of urban development and records of land
ownership transfers. The few early photographs of the area were taken for this purpose, and a
handful of other photos were taken while World War I corps were conducting training
exercises in the area (Fig. 3). In other
words, the archives offered only one kind
of history a linear history of power and
ownership through European eyes.
These images show that the land
was considered open, wild, and free for
the taking and that cultivation or
development signify the lands
usefulness. Only events deemed
noteworthy by city or government
officials were recorded and archived,
leaving the rich human history
Figure 3: Archival photo of WWI Cycle Corps training undocumented. We encountered a similar
at the Humber River, 1914.

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 Kate H. Wells et al.

problem with historical records in the books published about the area. Traditional history texts
offered biased and romantic tales of the settlement of this land by Europeans (e.g., Lizars
1913; Robinson 1933). These resources tell the story of the land through Anglo or French
eyes, selectively choosing sides and generally dismissing the aboriginal presence on the land.
We were left with fractured, contradictory, and subjective histories that could not co-exist
textually.
Archival methodology theoretically stresses the organization of information rather
than its interpretation, and fails to mediate the myriad perspectives offered by a diverse
community. This contrasts to our actual experience with the Toronto Archives. However, the
land, viewed as an archival, monumental, or architectural formation, embodies difference and
holds multiple discourses. The collective narratives embedded in this part of Toronto have a
particular version of the truth which supports worldviews and systems of collecting and
preserving the dominant narrative. In Archaeology of Knowledge (2002), Michel Foucault
illustrates the archive as it breaks the thread of transcendental teleologies; and where
anthropological thought once questioned [human] being or subjectivity, it now bursts open the
other, and the outsideIt established that we are difference, that our reason is the difference
of discourses, our history the difference of times, our selves the difference of masks (2002:
131). Foucaults work, unfortunately, is entrenched in the text, and our research seeks to align
the archival theory of difference with visual methodologies. With the creative indexical
discourse that visual media provide, we find the opportunity to enter into history, confront it
and use it, exposing the darker corners in order to examine latent power dynamics and to
contrast the multiple forms of meaning that are absent in the grand narratives of Progress.
To present a complication
of traditional epistemologies and
entrenched worldviews, we must
confront common conceptions of
the archive and its problematic
privileging of text. It is clear that
the concept of ownership in the
European settler society is
sanctioned through state
institutions, such as monuments,
archives and knowledge
production. Traditional
conceptions of the archive
further perpetuate the
Eurocentric dichotomy between Figure 4: Archival postcard of the site, 1940s. The caption reads,
oral and written history. The Americas collective memory is rooted in the privileging of
written history over other ways of preserving knowledge. Writing and photography are the
predominate forms of archival preservation, dismissing other forms of knowledge
preservation such as embodied knowledge or oral histories. Embodied expression is part of
the transmission of social knowledge involving non-verbal practices such as dance, cookery
and ritual. These actions allow for a preservation of communal identity and memory and yet
by institutional standards are not considered to be proper archival forms of knowledge. The
City of Toronto Archives lack any form of preserved knowledge that does not fit within the
Wests exclusive concern for linearity and textuality. Diane Taylor argues, Histories were
burned and rewritten to suit the memorializing needs of those in power. The space of written
culture then, as now, seemed easier to control than embodied culture. But writing was far
more dependent on embodied culture for transmission than the other way around (2003: 17).
Conquest, or coloniality/modernity, imposed writing and linear or textual ways of knowing

277
 Kate H. Wells et al.

onto their colonial subjects and this remains evident today in modern archives. Taylor
contends that the departure from embodied knowledge is not based on the tension between the
written and the spoken word, but between the archive (texts, documents, building, bones) and
the repertoire of embodied practice/knowledge (spoken language, dance, sports, ritual).
Hence, archives contain reams of land transfer record, land surveys, and civic records, but one
is hard pressed to find in them evidence of embodied knowledge.
The archives, then, provide a breadcrumb trail of power relations between state and
citizen, but only at the points of transfer or transaction. Researchers may also find archives
that document natural or human disasters as these provide a spectacle of violence, but not of
the mundane quotidian. For example, Hurricane Hazel swept through this area in 1954 and
caused significant damage, flooding, and loss of life. These events were extensively
photographed and documented. Conversely, the purging of the Iroquois from this area at the
turn of the 19th century was perhaps too mundane to warrant documentation, as the story of
these peoples departure was not preserved in the archives. Decades of Indigenous occupation
of the area are left as a void in the archives, with no historical evidence to vouch for their
presence or contribution to the city.
Taylor writes that the repertoire of daily living allows for individual agency and it
requires a presence in the situation. To participate in the production and reproduction of
knowledge, the producer is part of the transmission. The actions which form the parts of the
repertoire are in a state of flux and transformation. Taylor writes, The repertoire allows for
an alternative perspective on historical processes of transnational contact and invites a
remapping of the Americas, this time by following the traditions of embodied practices
(2003: 20). Individual performances disappear in the repertoire but less so in the archive. As
Taylor argues, a performance that is recorded is not really a performance and a live
performance can never be archived. This does not mean the performance is fleeting or
disappears; rather, performances continue to live in the form of communal memories,
histories and values for future generations. The modes of storing and transmitting knowledge
are many and mixed and embodied performances have often contributed to the maintenance
of social orders. Through our own work, we hope to engage the audience and to invite them to
become part of an embodied experience that creates new repertoire one that layers multiple
narratives of the past and present.
Taylor and Foucaults rather different theories of the archive expose a critical gap at
the intersection where the interpretation of text and the presence of the image meet. The
archive cannot be understood as a unified narrative or as a key to truth: it is that which
differentiates discourses in their multiple existence and specifies them in their duration
(Foucault 2002: 129). In traditional historical research, documents become monuments, and
stand for the cultural and intellectual significance that Foucault is attempting to unpack and
critique. As we have found, the firm structures associated with History with a capital H cannot
adequately describe the monuments of culture, which have become the contemporary
equivalent of the document, or the traditional stalwarts of historical research.
In contrast, the archive may stand as a monument of multiple meanings, a presence
that is full of possibility. The archaeological metaphor of excavating the archive provides
Foucault with a method to gain knowledge that is not concerned with interpretation (2002).
Archaeology does not require that the individual and the social be reconciled in any type of
narrative, and it does not attempt to restore, recapture or return to an origin in order to provide
explanation. Rather than drawing out stable answers, irreducible rules of specific discourse
are revealed. In other words, a differential analysis overrides the establishment of a
continuum. There is more to the schema of ordered calculability that traditional interpretations
provide; one gets the sense of a larger, diverse and disordered multiplicity of discourses that

278
 Kate H. Wells et al.

are potentially dangerous to the power exerted by those controlling the thin surface meaning
that has crystallized like a thin veneer of ice.
When viewed through a presence-oriented performative or visual lens, the archive and
the slippage it provides between subjectivities becomes a site of resistance as well as
preservation. Andr Bazin (2004) writes that the screen must not be thought of as an escape
hatch, but rather it should be considered for its potential as a device to prepare us for what is
to come. As we begin to examine the archive critically through methodologies that challenge
its textual privileging of the record, an analysis of visual culture and perspective of
projection will help us dismantle the architectural archive and its monumental status. Through
the mechanics of the camera obscura, projection is tied to an architectural model of visuality
and the production of virtual images. Embodied knowledge, linked to visual sense and the
eye, opposes the disembodied Cartesian single point perspective. The subjectivity inherent in
vision confronts the disembodied perspective of a centred and stable, autonomous and
thinking, standing outside the world objectivity coinciding with enlightenment and the
colonial command and conquer spirit (Friedberg 2006: 46). Anne Friedberg (2006) assigns
perspective an unfixed and variable capacity to capture multiple meanings. The screen can
offer a montage of spatial and temporal views, allowing for both continuity and multiplicity.
Further, a large scale projection has the power to aggrandize themes and motifs, allowing the
viewer to identify exaggerations and diminutions, thus revealing the ideological codes within
the narratives.
The image can be used to break through the oral/written, archive/repertoire and the
colonizer/colonized dichotomies by juxtaposing multiple narratives. The power lies in the
images agency to become part of the object and the affect, allowing for a different kind of
relationship to take place. As Gillian Rose agues, images themselves do something, and an
image is a site of potential resistance (2001: 10). Therefore, there can be power and agency in
the creation and the dissemination of a still or moving image. This space allows play and
talking back to the linear versions of the narrative to become a site where social difference
is visible, bringing the invisible histories to collide with the dominant discourse. Rose (2001)
warns that an image can take on a particular appearance, but the focus or punctum, as Roland
Barthes (1981) would say, impacts how the image may be perceived. An individuals
subjective gaze affects the images creation of meaning, and an image may be a site of
resistance to only a specific audience (Rose 2001). An images communicative power is
complicated when viewed collectively by a community and the roles of the
image/spectator/object are obfuscated.
Contradictory and incompatible history is the theme of our project. We are seeking to
explore ways in which we can present the histories of this area to its current residents and
simultaneously include them in the creation of new visual narratives of the space. How can
we confront the problematic power of narrative and history in cultural conceptions of space,
land and legacy through visual methodologies? We are proposing that a large scale,
community-based projection can showcase the non-linear, atextual, and layered visual
narratives that are embedded in the human history of this area. Images can perhaps
demonstrate the three interpretations of the space (Indigenous, British, and French)
simultaneously and subjectively in a way that confronts the dominant linear, textual, colonial
history. We plan to blend archival images, taken out of their colonial contexts, and new
images drawn from the areas communities and we will project these on a grand scale onto a
large surface in the area. During the exhibit, we hope to engage the audience, record their
reactions and interactions, and help them to feel like they too are a part of the lands rich
history.
We have taken much of our inspiration from Krzysztof Wodiczko, a video-projection
artist who has created large scale interactive projections in Japan, Mexico, and the United

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 Kate H. Wells et al.

States. Wodiczkos projections blend architectural space, personal narratives, and shared
historical experiences that blur the lines between subject, object, and space. In 2001, he used
Tijuana, Mexico as a site for a large projection work in which viewers faces were projected,
in real time, onto the faade of the Tijuana Cultural Center (www.pbs.org). His aim in that
project was to integrate images, narratives, the human body, and architectural surfaces in
Tijuana a site whose human history is also contested and contradictory. Despite the
conflicting histories of the Humber River site, our own projections will capture the memory
embedded in the land, allowing this conflict to be voiced, for difference to settle, and for
multiple discourses to commingle. The contested histories of the Humber River can be
layered visually in a way that texts cannot provide. A projection of illuminated images creates
an immaterial architecture of light and a virtual space that plays with spatial, temporal, and
technological dimensions. Jacques Rancire (2007) posits that todays image seeks to
increase a new sensitivity to the signs and traces that testify to a common history and a
common world (67); however, our own project calls upon the potential of the image to stress
a common drive for subjectivity, the privileging of that which is disparate and heterogeneous
in both presentation and in any type of resolution rather than a communal and coterminous
denial of difference.

References

Barthes, R. 1981, Camera Lucida, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, New York.
Bazin, A. 2004, What is Cinema, University of California Press, Berkeley, CA.
Gonda, G. 2006, Beneath our feet theres a new world to discover. Toronto Star. Mar. 11,
B1.
Finley, H. 2005, The villages beneath the city. The Globe and Mail. Aug. 20, M5.
Foucault, M. 2002, Archaeology of Knowledge, Routledge, New York.
Friedberg, A. 2006, The Virtual Window: From Alberti to Microsoft, MIT Press, Boston, MA.
Jones, D. 1986, How Taronto evolved from the Iroquois legacy legends of an Iroquois
Legend on the Humber River. Toronto Star, Nov. 15, M3.
Lizars, K.M. 1913. The Valley of the Humber. William Briggs, Toronto.
Public Broadcasting Station online. 2008, Krzysztof Wodiczko,
http://www.pbs.org/art21/artists/wodiczko/index.html#.
Rancire, J. 2007, The Future of Images, Verso, New York.
Robinson, P. 1933. Toronto During the French Regime 1615-1793. University of Toronto
Press, Toronto.
Rose, G. 2001, Visual Methodologies, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA.
Taylor, D. 2003. The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the
Americas. Duke University Press, Raleigh, NC.

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