Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts

Monday, March 24, 2014

Hollow Documentary as New Media and Procedural Rhetoric


Elaine McMillian’s Interactive Documentary experience, “Hollow Documentary”[1] is an interesting piece of transmedia storytelling.  With a large amount of give-and-take between visible traditional mediums (photographs and videos) and the invisible technological platforms that support and showcase them.  Together, and along with more interactive mediums like data-collection charts and graphs, they create an overall user-experience that shares some elements with the procedural rhetoric described by Ian Bogost.[2] 

The project certainly utilizes the new media logic described by Manovich[3], that it “privileges the existence of potentially numerous copies, infinitely large number of different states of the same work, author-user symbiosis (the user can change the work through interactivity), the collective, collaborative authorship, and network distribution (which bypasses the art system distribution channels.)”  Though it appears that by bypassing those very distribution channels the creator has found herself with an economic conundrum.  The site costs upwards of $700 each month to maintain, and too few people are willing to pay to access or support something that is, by nature of its platform, “free.”  This is a first sense in which McMillian’s project shares characteristics with Bogost’s examples of procedural rhetoric.  As the singular “author” of this piece, she fits his “concept of authorship incorporate[ing] another feature of art more broadly: the pursuit of a particular truth irrespective of the demands of reception or sales.”



Ultimately McMillian’s project is a intermediary example of new media, because so much of the content has been produced in traditional, more linear-fashion, and certainly with a near-minimum of technological involvement.  This is an example of Manovich’s description of “Human-computer interface com[ing] to act as a new form through which all older forms of cultural production are being mediated.”   Manovich seemed to lament that “Software is used in some areas of film production but not in others.  While some visuals may be created using computer animation, cinema [still] centers around the system of human stars whose salaries amount to a large percent of a film budget… the computer is kept out of the key “creative” decisions, and is delegated to the position of a technician.”  While the “stars” of this piece were not of the “large-percent of a film budget” variety, the footage filmed of and by them was still created using a minimum of technology and software.  This, along with the linear, unidirectional movement of the web-navigation of the Interactive Documentary both combine to limit the ways in which this project applies to a variety of definitions of new media.  However, Manovich allowed that “Both then and now, the filmmakers used new filmmaking technology to revolt against the existing cinema conventions that were perceived as being too artificial.  Both then and now, the key word of this revolt was the same: “immediacy.””  And “immediacy” is something this project capitalizes on profoundly.


This project cannot be perfectly applied to Bogost’s definitions of proceduralist rhetoric either, because while Bogost claims that “A proceduralist rhetoric makes a claim about how something works by modeling its processes in the process-native environment of the computer rather than using description (writing) or depiction (images),“  This project and its platform attempts to create a claim about how something works by creating an immersive experience that certainly requires the user’s navigation of the experience, but also relies heavily upon words, images, and an often-didactic style to set clearly defined parameters for the user’s interpretation of their experience.

Still, the project does succeed at a level of emulation of other of Bogost’s criteria, such as that “A proceduralist rhetoric does not argue a position but rather characterizes an idea.  These games say something about how an experience of the world works, how it feels to experience or to be subjected to some sort of situation.”  By creating a rather cultural-studies-centric platform giving voice to the under-represented communities of a “dying county,” this project attempted to make an “experience of the world” available for the exploration of its audience.  And it is certainly left up to a viewer to put all the pieces the documentary makes available together into a picture of a whole experience or reality, or social message.


In this sense the documentary succeeds at two more of Bogost’s criteria for Proceduralist rhetoric, that the “goal of the proceduralist designer is to cause the player to reflect on one or more themes during or after play, without a concern for resolution or effect,” and that “These games pose questions about life and simulate specific experiences in response, but those experiences rarely point players toward definitive answers.”  McMillian’s documentary hints at constructive efforts being made to vitalize these communities, but doesn’t pose any answers for the heavy overarching questions and problems she presents.  The impossibilities of unemployment and drug use are left for the viewer to wrestle with, and make sense of. Because there is not a single narrative, and no definitive “end” to the documentary project (they continue to collect photos, videos, tweets, and statistics on ancillary websites)[4], the platform itself renders an answer or resolution or “ending” impossible.

While it might have been more applicable had the platform allowed for more difference in individual user experience with this text, this is certainly an artifact that engages with its audience in a manner Bogost would attribute to Art, and ultimately to Proceduralist Games.  Despite the fact that scrolling through this documentary provides essentially the same experience for every viewer (with only the option to click or not click on the hyperlinks that pass through in a set order), it is a text that requires engagement and invites change in its audience.  “Art has done many things in human history, but in the last century especially, it has primarily tried to bother and provoke us.  To force us to see things differently.  Art changes.  Its very purpose, we might say, is to change, and to change us along with it.”

[2] Bogost, Ian. How to Do Things with Videogames. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota, 2011. Print.
[3] Manovich, Lev. "New Media from Borges to HTML." The New Media Reader. Comp. Noah Wardrip-Fruin and Nick Montfort. Cambridge, MA: MIT, 2003. N. pag. Print.

Monday, March 3, 2014

Community: The hyperreal of intertextuality

from Abed's chard in "American Poulty" and full of referents to other texts and previous episodes of Community.

One of the cruxes for the comedy in Community (or at least in the episodes we viewed in class: (Contemporary American Poultry and Epidemiology) is the use of intertextuality (awareness of other texts) and self-reflexivity (awareness of its own text-ness), both of which combine to create a “reality” inside of the show, that is thousands of steps removed from lived reality. 

When I re-viewed parts of the “Epidemiology Episode,” I noticed a comment from a viewer claiming that the characters’ brushing off their zombie wounds after their memories of the zombie-like incident had been “erased” was “unrealistic.” Which is interesting, because while there is a long-standing IMR-ish rule that action doesn’t have to be realistic to the real-world’s standards to be believable, but that there does have to be some established scope of reality, with limits, for a viewer to find characters well-motivated and “believable.”  To this viewer, then, the zombie incident upon which this episode was based was within that diegesis, but the characters’ complicit response to the government cover-up was not. 

The construction of such a world as that of Community, is a multi-faceted illustration of Baudrillard’s “Similacrum.”  The diegetic world of Community is a farcical copy of the diegetic world of the texts it references (In the case of the Poultry episode it was Goodfellas and mobster films, where the Epidemiology episode was framed around every sort of Zombie movie.)  These films being referenced are themselves several steps removed from any semblance of reality as well.  And so the obvious non-reality of Community serves to make it almost seem as though the diegesis of a movie like Goodfellas is somehow more “real” when that film is arguably equally distanced from reality, just less self-reflexive about it’s distance.

The interesting thing about the plethora of intertextual cues in these episodes, is that the writing is structured so that the viewer can proceed with the story whether or not they fully “understood” the context of the “joke.”  The characters are constantly quoting or mirroring dialogue from other texts, and almost no viewer is going to catch every reference in a single viewing, no matter how well-informed.  In this way the texts being referenced become like the first order language signifier in Barthes’ Myth/Language analogy.  In order to arrive at “the” or “a” meaning of the second order Mythical sign of what is meant by a given sequence, the actual context of the original signifier being referenced is far from necessary.  It might be helpful for a viewer to have a vague idea of the language sign that might be constructed by the combination of the language signifier and it’s signified, but Barthes insists that the signs of language are ultimately arbitrary, whereas the signs of myth are “always motivated, and unavoidably contain some analogy.” 

So, in the Epidemiology episode, when Troy insists that he “doesn’t need to know which Dracula [he] is to be a Dracula.”  The meaning of this gag is only vaguely enhanced by a viewer having ever engaged with any actual text of Dracula.  The only information that is relevant is the knowledge that Dracula is the name of a particular vampire, and that Troy has conflated the term “Vampire” with “Dracula” in his mind.  The fact that prior to Bram Stoker’s novel the word “Dracula” was simply a referent to the surname of the house of Drăculești is so far removed from the myth at hand as to be irrelevant.  As Barthes pointed out, “A more attentive reading of the myth will in no way increase its power or its ineffectiveness: a myth is at the same time imperfectible and unquestionable; time or knowledge will not make it better or worse.”

 


Thus in the repeated references to other texts, or to Community itself as a text, function as both a simulacrum and as a turnstile of myth.  A viewer’s ability to notice and derive a mythological sign or meaning from each of them, allows the viewer to engage with the text on varying levels at each encounter.  So, for example in the , Poultry episode, when Abed sends everyone a message, it is still funny and still works for a viewer who is not familiar with Goodfellas, but a viewer familiar with the referenced text may catch the “Layla” theme from that film playing and have their observation confirmed, which, for the purposes of the myth at hand, reduces the entirety of the Goodfellas text to a single “signified language” sign functioning as a signifier in Community’s Mythical sign.


Ultimately, the degree of self-reflexivity in the show allows it great leeway with its diegetic world, as the plot of the Epidemiology episode illustrates.  But that tremendous space for lateral play also serves to make other constructed “realities”, especially those that are being overtly and implicitly referenced seem far more “real” than they actually are, when all fictional worlds are completely constructed.


References:

Baudrillard, Jean. The Precession of Simulacra. 1981. Trans. Paul Foss and Paul Patton.The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. New York: Norton, 2001. 1556-566. Print.

Barthes, Roland, and Annette Lavers. "Myth Today." Mythologies. New York: Hill and Wang, 1972. 1-11. Print.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Theory Into Practice Reading Response #4 - Pop Culture in Literacy Pedagogy and Family Home Media

           Nothing that we've read thus far has evoked so much note-taking from me as Beach and O’Brien’s chapter on Teaching Popular Culture Texts[1].  It was so full of specific examples of application, and precisely defined proscriptions that there were a lot of concrete ideas that could be gleaned and immediately transferred into practice.  I felt this entire article interplayed interestingly with last week’s interview with Robert McKee[2] about the power of making and creativity.  Nearly every suggestion in this Pop-Culture-Text article focused on empowering students as creators of their own texts and as makers of meaning.  I appreciated the idea of bringing the process of learning how to read a text critically to the texts that students are already engaging in with earnestness and delight.  I do, however, see the potential for resistance.  For many people, and especially for vulnerable teens and adolescents, private media habits are intensely personal.  Reflecting upon them critically and publicly requires a willingness for vulnerability that I would anticipate most insecure teens to resist.  (Not unlike Drew’s reticence in About Home Movies.[3])
            I had read Dean Duncan’s article, Family Home Media[4] before.  It came up in context when I took a Children’s Media class from him, long before the rubber hit the road for application in my own family life.  Reading it again from my current perspective was interesting.  I still agree with the concepts in it, but for myself I have a much clearer idea of the work and resistance involved in putting those concepts into practice.  I don’t think the resistance was addressed in either article.
            My 7-year-old son, my oldest, has had a peculiar relationship with media from the beginning.  He has a tenuous, anxious relationship with videos and film, and he refused on pain of panic attack to watch anything with a plot until he was 4 and a half years old.  We still have to introduce new texts to him very carefully and often with bribes. He’s also revealed an unusual propensity for fixation, even for children at ages naturally prone to fixation.  This severely complicated my idealized vision of my own “family home media,” and I’ve never actually managed to steer it back to where I’d originally hoped it to be.  But I have learned to work with what I have.    I was interested to see how my willingness to work with my son and the media he was willing to engage with often paralleled the pop-culture-texts teaching described by Beach and O’Brien.
            Along with a host of other long-suffering parents, I have become well-versed in children’s media characters and constructed realities that my younger self would have scoffed at.  I have learned to engage with my son in creative play and discussion revolving around Jake and the Neverland Pirates and Lego Star Wars.   Certainly a part of me resists this because I perceive it as “low” art.  And certainly I’m still trying to compensate with more “high art” in areas he’s less resistant to, like bedtime reading.  But as much as I’d perhaps prefer his creative play to not revolve around licensed characters, that doesn’t mean that there is no creative value or potential for critical analysis in that play. 
            I felt that both Duncan and Beach/O’Brien addressed the need to help adults, parents, and children reflect upon their own relationship with media and how it could be refined and enriched.  They both encouraged adult/teacher figures to model critical thinking with casually encountered texts for the children in their care.  I think they even both encouraged blurring the distinction between the teacher and the learner in these conversations.  The biggest difference I felt between these two conversations was that the end goal of one was literacy skills while the end goal of the other seemed to reach further – to the becoming enlightened and improved by the sort of critical encounters with texts that literacy can facilitate.  Certainly Beach and O’Brien were less discriminatory about what texts are deserving of our deepest focus.
            My biggest question coming away from Beach and O’Brien’s article was whether allowing for more focus on pop-culture literacy will ultimately leave some students unacquainted with “high culture” texts that might have otherwise stretched them.  I can easily see the value in helping kids engage more thoughtfully with the texts they are already immersing themselves in.  But I think I’d personally resist doing that at the expense of exposing them to perhaps more meritorious material.  Or rather, while I’m willing to find ways to work with Lightning McQueen and the Wonderpets, I’m still looking forward to the possibility of sharing some delight in meaty polysemic cinema with my son.




[1] Beach R. and D. O’Brien. (2008). Teaching popular-culture texts in the classroom in Handbook of research on new literacies. Eds Coiro, J., M. Knoble, C Lankshear, and D. Leu. Lawrence Earlbaum. NY.
[2] http://henryjenkins.org/2011/08/studying_creativity_in_the_age.html#sthash.ipn5vuoZ.dpuff
[3] Best example, see: http://abouthomemovies.org/2012/10/30/love/
[4] http://magazine.byu.edu/?act=view&a=47