Suchergebnisse

The formerly dissident status of the essay film has, in recent years, been exchanged for a great deal of favorable attention both inside and outside academia. In the more overly moralistic commentary on the form, the contemporary essay film is submitted as a tactical response to a surfeit of audiovisual media, to an era in which most of us have become both consumers and producers of a digital deluge. The work of Adam Curtis is notably absent from these ongoing debates. Yet Curtis is far from an underground figure—he has been making essayistic films for the BBC for more than twenty years and was the first to produce work directly for the iPlayer platform. Using archival images to examine the present, his films produce counterintuitive connections and abrupt collisions that supplant the authority of narrative causality for a precarious network of associations and linkages. This article treats Curtis's recent body of work diagnostically. It argues that, quite apart from any promise of escape or deliverance, the aesthetic form of his work actively inhabits the rhythms and vectors of contemporary media. For Curtis, the media-technological conditions of the twenty-first century provoke a crisis that is both political and epistemological, one in which sensemaking can no longer claim to take place at a distance from the infrastructure that mediates such processes but is instead thoroughly and inescapably immanent to it, a situation that prevents contact with the outside. His films are about what he calls "destabilized perception," but importantly they are also a function of this condition, one that in turn demands a shift in how we conceive the essay film in the twenty-first century.

The formerly dissident status of the essay film has, in recent years, been exchanged for a great deal of favorable attention both inside and outside of academia. In the more overly moralistic commentary on the form, the contemporary essay film is submitted as a tactical response to a surfeit of audiovisual media, to an era in which most of us have become both consumers and producers of a digital deluge. The work of Adam Curtis is notably absent from these ongoing debates. Yet Curtis is far from an underground figure—he has been making essayistic films for the BBC for more than twenty years and was the first to produce work directly for the iPlayer platform. Using archival images to examine the present, his films produce counterintuitive connections and abrupt collisions that supplant the authority of narrative causality for a precarious network of associations and linkages. This article treats Curtis's recent body of work diagnostically. It argues that, quite apart from any promise of escape or deliverance, the aesthetic form of his work actively inhabits the rhythms and vectors of contemporary media. For Curtis, the media-technological conditions of the twenty-first century provoke a crisis that is both political and epistemological, one in which sensemaking can no longer claim to take place at a distance from the infrastructure that mediates such processes but is instead thoroughly and inescapably immanent to them, a situation that prevents contact with the outside. His films are about what he calls "destabilized perception", but importantly they are also a function of this condition, one that in turn demands a shift in how we conceive the essay film in the twenty-first century.

On the face of it, there is something uniquely contemporary about the practices and procedures of listing. The present era might be variously characterized according to the 'kill lists' of drone warfare, the instructional lists of computational algorithms, the cultural rankings of the 'best of' list, or the ubiquitous clickbait 'listicle' that vies for our attention. Indeed it would seem that the politics and aesthetics of digital culture can be traced in the ever more visible proliferation of lists. Yet in List Cultures: Knowledge and Poetics from Mesopotamia to Buzzfeed, the first book by Canadian scholar Liam Cole Young, listing is shown to have been 'a part of every new media ecology and its corresponding "flood" of information' (14). Young, currently a lecturer in the School of Journalism and Communication at Carleton University, Ottawa, argues that the cultural technique of listing is ancient, and provides the foundation of administrative and organizational power from which both state and corporate institutions have emerged. Moreover, quite apart from any apparent visibility, he explains how lists are fundamentally recessive, and why they should be understood as operational forms that provide the infrastructural background to human society, mediating our knowledge of the world. For Young, 'quotidian forms like the list are heuristics for understanding such "civilizational" questions of order, knowledge, and being' (49).

It's easy to forget there's a war on when the front line is everywhere encrypted in plain sight. Gathered in this book's several chapters are dispatches on the role of photography in a War Universe, a space and time in which photographers such as Hilla Becher, Don McCullin and Eadweard Muybridge exist only insofar as they are a mark of possession, in the sway of larger forces. These photographers are conceptual personae that collectively fabulate a different kind of photography, a paraphotography in which the camera produces negative abyssal flashes or 'endarkenment.' In his Vietnam War memoir, Dispatches, Michael Herr imagines a 'dropped camera' receiving 'jumping and falling' images, images which capture the weird indivisibility of medium and mediated in a time of war. The movies and the war, the photographs and the torn bodies, fused and exchanged. Reporting from the chaos at the middle of things, Herr invokes a kind of writing attuned to this experience. Photography in the Middle, eschewing a high theoretical mode, seeks to exploit the bag of tricks that is the dispatch. The dispatch makes no grand statement about the progress of the war. Cultivating the most perverse implications of its sources, it tries to express what the daily briefing never can. Ports of entry in the script we're given, odd and hasty little glyphs, unhelpful rips in the cover story, dispatches are futile, dark intuitions, an expeditious inefficacy. They are bleak but necessary responses to an indifferent world in which any action whatever has little noticeable effect.

The 'Cloud', hailed as a new digital commons, a utopia of collaborative expression and constant connection, actually constitutes a strategy of vitalist post-hegemonic power, which moves to dominate immanently and intensively, organizing our affective political involvemen