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Contemporary Hollywood, Transmedia Culture, and Spider-Man


DOI: https://doi.org/10.33008/IJCMR.2019.11 | Issue 2 | September 2019

Bethany Wakefield

Bath Spa University


Abstract

Across this portfolio I will be analysing the generational reboot strategies of Spider-Man, using Toby Maguire’s, Andrew Garfield’s and Tom Holland’s cinematic portrayals. Using an essay film to demonstrate the industrial reboot timeline of the character, I will explore the marketing of each Spider-Man instalment to pinpoint specific reboot strategies over time. Supported with audience research, I will be conducting one-to-one interviews and social media analysis to highlight the values of Spider-Man consumers, curating and designing posters to re-market the films to their opinions. My conclusions will draw attention to the fact that the character of Peter Parker is actually not the unique selling point of any of the three franchises. Labelled as ‘fidelity reboot’, ‘reactive reboot’ and ‘stan culture reboot’, these strategies highlight the generational way in which Spider-Man is constructed and consumed.


This work is the 2019 winner of our Centre for Media Research Student Award, a special prize awarded each year to one truly exceptional Film or Media undergraduate student at Bath Spa University. The winner exemplifies our core graduate attributes of being an exceptional creative thinker and maker, with outstanding skills in research, digital literacy, global and ethical awareness, and creative collaboration.


Introduction

‘Reboot, remake, revisit? In the end, is there a difference?’ (Kepler, 2015) The concept of a reboot is very much a grey-area within the film industry, one that has produced a plethora of profitable formulas amongst franchise media over the past few decades. Showcasing the modern timeline of industry techniques, reboot strategies have shaped how media is proliferated around the world, highlighting exactly how corporate film studios are now constructing their blockbuster instalments. For example, for the last ten years alone, Disney’s Marvel Cinematic Universe has curated its own super-hero formula, producing over twenty reboot films that have gone on to become some of the world’s most successful film releases, earning over eighteen billion dollars at the box-office in total (Williams, 2018). However, whilst there is extensive amounts of research and material surrounding industry reboot methods, there is little to justify why reboot strategies have the ability to cater to all generations of audiences, and indeed how they engage different generations of audiences.


A prolific example of this generational ability is Marvel’s Spider-Man. After the release of three different Spider-Man portrayals, it is unclear why this protagonist in particular has remained a constant figure in the history of reboots. First appearing in 1962, Spider-Man has dominated comic-book culture and shot to contemporary media fame, becoming one of the world’s most iconic fictional characters. Subsequently, this character has been rebooted to audiences on numerous occasions and has explored almost every platform of media, ranging from film to video-games. My work will analyse the marketing, promotion and unique selling point of Spider-Man, aiming to uncover why audiences have remained devoted and interested in almost every version of the web-swinging protagonist despite his countless regenerations.


Beyond this, and by drawing on research in transmediality, fan studies, and reboots, I will highlight the distinct reboot strategies of each Spider-Man instalment, bridging the divide between audience- and industry-based research to uncover the intentions behind each of the franchises over time. In order to support this investigation, I will be aiding my research visually and via a number of creative media-based research tools, utilising posters designs and essay film conventions in order to highlight the importance of both audience reaction and industrial strategies in the context of changing Hollywood reboot strategies. Following a theoretical context section that outlines the scholarly backdrop for the study, my methodology section will justify my practice-based choices and highlight the effectiveness of my research techniques, whilst my ensuing commentary section will unpack the aforementioned audience reaction to and industrial strategies for the reboot strategies of Spider-Man across three distinct generations of the character. Altogether, my research showcases the way in which different reboot strategies or categories can be linked to specific generational eras, and the way that wider developments in the likes of social media, fan cultures and convergence culture have shaped the face of reboots over the years.


Theoretical Context


Transmedia

In a world of digital expansion, transmedia storytelling remains a central formula within modern-day media landscapes. A term coined by Henry Jenkins in 2003, ‘to label the spread of entertainment across multiple media’ (Freeman, 2016: 11), transmedia storytelling is defined as ‘a process where integral elements of a fiction get dispersed systematically across multiple [media] channels for the purpose of creating a unified and coordinated entertainment experience. Ideally, each medium making its own unique contribution to the unfolding of the story’ (Jenkins, 2011). In order for this kind of storytelling to be successful, ‘transmedia tale[s] [must contain a] continuous dialogue between the involved publishing platforms and consider [the] creative and consumer spaces that belong to each of them’ (Giovagnoli, 2011: 19). Allowing audiences to be ‘a part of [the] authorship’ (Giovagnoli, 2011: 17) and bestowing them the opportunity to collaborate in ‘creating a participatory and synergistic story’ (ibid.).


This categorisation has resulted in the formation of two different aspects of transmediality, branded east and west-coast. West-coast transmedia follows the ‘logic of technological convergence, and is made up principally of digital platforms such as email, social media and blogs’ (Phillips cited in Freeman, 2011:14), whilst east-coast produces ‘mass-media pieces of story (via films, television series, video-games) which are orchestrated across major US studios and corporations’ (Freeman, 2011: 13). Meanwhile, east-coast transmedia is a vital part of transmedia storytelling; labelled as the ‘Hollywood or Franchise’ model (Phillips cited in Freeman, 2011: 13), this model describes a version of transmediality that connects creative and mass media with ‘big-business commercial storytelling’ (ibid.). As a consequence, the pattern of industrial conglomeration has become essential to the development and continued augmentation of transmedia storyworlds.

An example of this kind of world-building is one of the world’s most affluent conglomerates, Disney. Formed in 1923, The Walt Disney Company is ‘a highly diversified, multinational mass media and entertainment conglomerate’ (Haas and Trapedo, 2018), with an estimated net worth of $150 billion (Forbes, 2015). Owning subsidiary companies such as LucasFilm, Marvel Studios and ABC Network, ‘Disney is responsible for Western culture’s basic perception [of transmedia]’ (Haas and Trapedo, 2018). Representing itself as a ‘dominant player in the entertainment business’ (Wasko, 2013), it frequently ‘takes advantage of globalisation in order to expand abroad and diversify’ (Freeman and Gambarato, 2018: 2). This level of synergy across platforms has resulted in numerous transmedia storyworlds becoming some of the film industry’s most loved franchises, such as the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Whether it is ‘print, film, television, internet, music, radio, retail stores or theme parks’ (Haas and Trapedo, 2018), Disney has successfully constructed their own commercial and dedicated audience ‘that provide a fertile environment for the development of transmedia cultural products’ (Lessa cited in Freeman and Gambarato, 2018: 45).


Given this level of global industrial conglomeration, transmedia branding has emerged as a defining trend. Jenkins notes that not only has ‘Hollywood and the games industry begun to develop more sophisticated tools for modelling and rendering synthetic worlds’ (Jenkins, 2014), but smaller companies have started to necessitate art directors and production designers, who are now frequently participating in the advertisement of screen stories (ibid.). The unmistakable demand for increased development and the involvement of transmedia strategies in and across the media industries has motivated countless companies to request additional creative assistance, and suggests that transmedia marketing/storytelling is becoming an essential element for engaging with audiences across multiple platforms.


An integral feature of this transmedia marketing/storytelling phenomena is what Jenkins describes as continuity versus multiplicity models. Defined as ‘the coherence of a story world in different applications’ (Oktan, 2018: 181), continuity point outs franchise media’s ability to ‘build a strong sense of [progression] with features that complement other narratives within the fictional world’ (ibid.). A prominent example of this is arguably Marvel’s Spider-Man, a character that, at least in some media, like comics, has kept ‘vigilant uniformity between all of [his] titles’ (Yockey, 2017: 335) and requires ‘rationality, cohesion and consistency’ (ibid.) between each platform in order to profitably mediate a beloved and iconic character. On the other hand, multiplicity is ‘the presentation of alternative story experiences for active or passive participants’, referring occasionally to ‘mash-ups and user generated content’ (Freeman and Gambarato, 2018). Jenkins refers to the multiplicity model of transmediality as a ‘way for us to think about participatory expression as part of the same transmedia logic’ (Jenkins, 2010) and reinforces the importance of audience’s alternate endings, all of which contribute and enrich almost all transmedia storyworlds.


However, whilst transmedia storyworlds are an integral part of contemporary media growth, transmedia promotion and marketing techniques are vital to the successful engagement of global audiences. In this context, ‘the relationship that has traditionally existed between a brand and its consumer’s emotional repertoire is transformed by developing the brand into a whole made of more narrative storyworlds’ (Giovagnoli, 2018: 251), implying that expansive transmedia promotion can be designed to draw additional and more sustained consumer loyalty. In the modern day, the ‘interactive fruition of stories and brands is leading to the strengthening of the power of the story’ (ibid.), and much like transmedia worlds, the main features of transmedia brands can be turned into narrative matters for participative authors. These consumers can ‘manipulate [chosen] content in order to make it personal, or create new narratives that are independent from the original material’ (ibid.), and in doing so, highlight the importance that branding plays within the proliferation of transmedia texts.


Fan Culture

The existence and success of transmedia is highly dependent on the involvement of audience members, one that I believe has not been explored to its full potential. Most broadly, fan culture, or fandom, ‘is a term which describes communities built around a shared enjoyment of an aspect of popular culture’ (Grinnell College, 2018), and involves audiences ‘learning the communities preferred reading practices’ (Jenkins, 1992: 278) and guidelines in order to contribute legitimately to their chosen fandom. This particular level of involvement and input is known as participatory culture, which entails ‘fans acting not only as consumers but also as producers and creators of some form of creative media’ (Grinnell College, 2018).


Above any other kind of fan culture, ‘media fandom, in particular, encourages creative expression and artistic production by its participants’ (ibid.). This fandom is one where ‘members believe their contributions matter, and feel some degree of social connection with one another’ (Jenkins, 2009: 3). In this case, ‘participatory culture shifts the focus of literacy from one of individual expression to community involvement’ (Jenkins, 2009: 7), and disregards the former limits of audience interactivity. Henry Jenkins further defines this culture as one that constructs relatively low barriers of creative expression, and works to form communities that offer strong support for creators and the creations of others and a populace that provides mentoring for fandom novices with lesser knowledge than those with more experience (Jenkins, 2009: 7). In a given fan culture, these creations and relationships ‘take the form of fan fiction, fan art, fan videos, cosplay, folk songs, and other interactions with a person, group, or fictional universe’ (Grinnell College, 2018), allowing fans to express themselves, and their adoration for popular culture, in an artistic manner. However, it has been established that ‘the nature of fan creation[s] challenges the media industry’s claims to hold copyrights on popular narratives’ (Jenkins, 1992: 279). Subsequently, ‘once […] characters enter into broader circulation [and] pervade the fabric of our society, they belong to [the] audience and not the artist who originated them’ (ibid.).


Matt Hills continues this debate from a fan perspective, affirming ‘that fans [of popular culture] expect adherence to established tenets, characterisations, and narrative backstories’ (Hills, 2002: 4), suggesting that the ‘expressed hostility within cult fandoms’ (Hill, 2002: 4) demands producers and media companies to ‘revise [content] at their [own] peril’ (ibid.) or suffer commercial backlash from the fandom for deviating too far from what is expected. In the past, fandoms have been known to be ‘highly suspicious of the corporations […] and [thoroughly] contemptuous of products that that appear to be solely for profit’ (Brookey, 2010: 69), disregarding narratives and actively attacking the media industries about developments that they do not see fit, such as boycotting Ghost in the Shell (2017) as a result of what was deemed by many to be culturally insensitive casting (The Guardian, 2017). In turn, this behaviour has constructed very confrontational environments amongst fandom ‘utopias’ (Jenkins, 1992: 283), with fans becoming more active and biased (Pustz cited in Brookey, 2010: 69).


An example of this kind of fan behaviour is linked to the formation of the Marvel universe. After director Sami Raimi successfully presented the world with an accurate rendition of comic-book icon Spider-Man in his blockbuster film trilogy (2002, 2004 and 2007), audiences everywhere, lifelong fan or not, were largely satisfied by the commercial growth of the character, with each of the films hitting box-office triumphs respectively (The Numbers, 2018). However, as a result of industry growth and copyright, the role of Peter Parker was restored once again, creating uproar amongst the character’s comic-book fandom when Tobey Maguire was recast with British actor Andrew Garfield, in Marc Webb’s subsequent reboot. The following two films, The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) and its sequel The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (2014), despite their relative success (ibid.), did not progress the narrative of Spider-Man, largely repeating what had already been explored in Raimi’s trilogy. Consequently, fans struggled to remain a solid, unified fandom, forcing the Garfield versus Maguire comparison to become a debate topic for many years to come (CinemaBlend, 2012), and which divided the Marvel fan-base in a generational manner. This particular generational approach to understanding audiences and their engagement with media fandoms is not one that is explored in Hill’s work, and hence I plan to investigate the divide in opinions between audiences and their favoured renditions of popular character’s – namely Spider-Man.


Reboots

Before doing so, however, first we need to understand the context of the reboot itself. In the modern day, the spread of popular film and television – particular their characters – across multiple platforms has resurrected in many beloved stories from ‘the cinematic graveyard’ (Proctor, 2012: 1), and has marked a ‘groundswell of franchise activity that spawned a set of texts increasingly referred to as the ‘reboot’ cycle of films’ (ibid.). The term ‘rebooting’ suggests ‘that franchises have died’ (Scahill, 2016: 317) and seeks out to make ‘a familiar modern narrative within a more contemporary cinematic style’ (ibid.). This procedure, if you will, has prompted large Hollywood conglomerate companies into ‘resuscitating, recycling, and regenerating age-old but dilapidated franchise[s] by returning to a recognisable and iconic product range rather than original, untested material’ (Day cited in Proctor, 2012: 1).


Economically, the use of popular franchise characters ‘protects investment by reducing [likability] risks’ (Balio, cited in Neale, 2000: 237) and minimises audience disinterest by presenting consumers with identifiable content that will ensure ‘eager and loyal fans’ (ibid.) who will form the core audience. This method ‘has become a popular way to promote films and other media forms’, allowing producers, writers and directors to ‘revisit familiar narratives with an altered origin story, narrative approach or artistic aesthetic’ (Scahill, 2016: 317) without consequence of repetition. However, utilising high-concept narratives and characters does not underpin the creativity and longevity of franchise storyworlds, instead only conveying their basic algorithms and profitable techniques to the public eye.

A style of film that continuously presents consumers with reboot narratives is the superhero genre. Over the past ten years, Disney and its subsidiary Marvel Studios have ‘transposed the comic book model of continuity to the cinematic arena […] becom[ing] the largest serial construction in film history, operating within a matrix of interconnectivity’ (Proctor, 2013) and subsequently forming one of the world’s largest fan-bases. Having accumulated over twelve billion dollars in worldwide gross since its beginnings in 2008 (Cain, 2017), the franchise has rebooted numerous narratives from the past few decades, taking inspiration from the likes of Captain America (1990), Spider-Man (2002) and Hulk (2003). All of which have become global reboot phenomena in the hands of Disney and has contributed to the rise in new generations of fans becoming invested in emerging transmedia products around these characters, such as the Captain America trilogy (2011 to 2016, which grossed a total of two billion worldwide and has one of the biggest followings in film history.


However, despite Marvel demonstrating the concept of continuity and constructing several extremely successful and coherent narratives that span multiple media, there are several limitations to these works, particularly concerning copyright laws and associated legalities. Unbeknownst to audiences, the portrayal and construction of superhero films are in fact an intense amalgamation of legal bindings and studio copyrights, presenting several obstacles that have subsequently limited the extension/promotion of reboot strategies massively. A recent example is Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), which was financed and distributed by Sony Pictures, but with Marvel Studios operating as the ‘creative lead’ (Chitwood, 2017). I plan to tackle this grey-area of Hollywood filmmaking in my research; specifically, I will investigate the differing marketing techniques of superhero films, making reference to the studio decisions that have affected the continuity of popular franchises and their characters.


The character that I will use as a case study to demonstrate this research, and one that has been at the forefront of the Marvel franchise since its first publication in 1962, is Spider-Man. After being recast a total of three times since his first appearance on screen in the twenty-first century, the web-swinging protagonist has been developed, sold and rebooted across multiple platforms for almost two decades. Each instalment, whether it is a part of a multi-billion-dollar universe (i.e. Spider-Man: Homecoming) or the fastest selling video game of the year (i.e. Spider-Man, PS4 (2018)), has escalated the inspiring narrative of the character immensely, demonstrating the seemingly endless transmedial scope of Peter Parker, all the while drawing attention to ‘Marvel’s commitment to continuity and ontological order’ (Yockey, 2017: 342). In addition, and crucially, over time the cinematic tales of Spider-Man have worked to categorise its fans into three eras: the Maguire era, the Garfield era, and the Holland era, with Marvel utilising different marketing techniques to effectively target the specific age group behind each film at the time of their release. In broad terms, Holland’s most active audience is primarily millennial whilst Maguire’s is almost entirely generation X. To be rebooted and altered so frequently within the space of just sixteen years, then, the case of Spider-Man underlines Marvel’s successful continuity methods, even if each generation represents a multiplicity to the character, identifying different values, as will be seen shortly.


Methodology

In order to successfully discuss and investigate the vast transmedia storyworld of the character, specifically looking at reboot strategies, branding and social media, I will need to research both industrial and audience perspectives to draw together an accurate conclusion. My social media research, comprising an online ethnography of fan responses and creative practices, will be divided up using the different actors who have recently portrayed Peter Parker in twenty-first century film: Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield, and Tom Holland. By doing so, my online research will identify patterns and opinions of several different audiences, highlighting the divide between generations of viewers.


To gather more personal and intimate opinions, however, I will be conducting several one-to-one interviews that will question a range of different age groups about their opinions on each generation of Spider-Man and what they value from each rendition. The next aspect of my research will involve looking at examples of film marketing, paying attention to the campaigns surrounding each movie from the three generations studied, exploring their level of success. These materials will allow me to understand why certain transmedia products of Spider-Man did not successfully engage with their audiences to the same degree as others. Finally, and in order to identify the approaches underpinning each reboot, I have categorised each of these generational reboots, starting with the ‘fidelity reboot’ (Maguire), followed by the ‘reactive reboot’ (Garfield), and finally the ‘stan culture reboot’ (Holland). These three sets of terms will be outlined in the ensuing section as well as in the later essay film, but to suffice to say that these terms work to identify and conceptualise the industrial reboot strategies of Spider-Man’s transmedia journey over the last twenty years.


To present both my marketing timeline and audience research, I have produced an essay film that works to communicate my findings using both visual and audio aids. The structure of the essay film will be generational, i.e. using my aforementioned actors as a kind of time-line. My choice in this method is inspired by previous essay films and documentaries that I have witnessed and learnt from. Defined as ‘the expression of critical, analytical, and theoretical work using the resources of images and sound in montage’ (Álvarez, López and Martin, 2014), essay films demonstrate both ‘audiovisual creativity and reflective research’ (ibid.), attributes that are vital to the demonstration of what I call the Spider-Man reboot timeline. I believe that this approach to communicating research is the most effective way to highlight the generational characteristics of Spider-Man’s audience using visual aids. This visual approach has yet to be fully explored by academics, and I know that my research will shed a vastly different light on the purpose of reboot strategies and transmedia storyworlds.

Furthermore, I will use my audience research as a basis for re-constructing and re-styling each of the three Spider-Man film posters from each era. Specifically, analysing social media and conducting my one-to-one interviews will allow me to bring to light what audiences really valued within these different eras of superhero films and what they felt is an integral part of the film itself. Using this information, I will re-market the previous posters to target actual audience values and what each film is prioritising marketing wise, further solidifying the results of my essay film and the generational patterns of Spider-Man’s consumers.



Essay Film – characterising the reboot strategies of each Spider-Man reboot



Posters – visualising how audiences articulate value for each Spider-Man reboot


Commentary

In this commentary section of the portfolio I aim to theorise and unpack my three categories of generational reboot strategies in conceptual terms. Specifically, I will tease out what research related to notions of fidelity, reactivity, and stan culture can contribute to definitions and understandings of Hollywood reboots. This means not only talking through ideas raised in my above essay film and posters in relation to my Spider-Man case study, but also complementing these ideas with additional scholarship from the fields of adaptation studies, media studies, and fan studies respectively to demonstrate how my three generational reboot categories work in conceptual terms.


Fidelity Reboots

Defined as ‘source material being faithfully translated onto a new medium’ (MacCabe, 2011: 5), film adaptation has become a fundamental element of successful contemporary media. Drawing from literary origins, large conglomerate studios ‘choose to transform pre-existing cultural texts into filmic texts’ (Scholz, 2013: 10) to construct and promote a world of recognisable storytelling, where the ‘source-texts are a part of the appeal and the attraction toward the film’ (MacCabe, 2015: 5). Through this lens, in order for a style of film to be deemed successful, the spirit of a work or an artist has to be captured or evoked throughout the adaptation (Cutchins, 2010: 79), essentially translating the original storyworld onto a cinematic screen by re-contextualising its source texts across media (Leitch, 2017: 49).


Indeed, when conglomerate studios draw from canonized pieces, works that are firmly represented within popular culture, their ‘prime concern is the faithfulness to the original’ (Somigli cited in Brooker, 2012: 48), ensuring that their content keeps informed consumers ‘tolerant of the small, inevitable differences between original and adaptation (Jeffries, 2017: 10). This notion of strict adherence stems from the conceptual importance of fidelity within adaptation studies. By ‘reproducing a literary original’ (Scholz, 2013: 2), filmic adaptations that demonstrate accuracy are implying a greater respect for source over feature, whereas unfaithful adaptations, that are departing from an influence that would generate consumer interest, are doing so at their own peril (Leitch, 2009).

However, adaptation theorist Robert Stam argues that the choice to depart from the original material and the paraphrasing tropes of film adaptation produce ‘losses and gains typical of any translation’ (Stam, 2000: 62), denoting that source-accurate fidelity on a cinematic scale is a near impossible task, one that should not be endorsed as an ‘exclusive methodological principle’ (ibid.). Therefore, this debate raises the question as to whether or not adapted narratives can truly be recreated and produced on another medium successfully.


So, how do the theories of adaptation differ from the concept of a reboot? Described by William Proctor as ‘wiping the slate clean and beginning the story from a point of origin’ (Proctor, 2012: 4), cinematic rebooting does not, it would seem, to attempt to provoke feelings of fidelity, instead it ‘restart[s] a serial entertainment universe that has already been previously established, and […] disregard[s] the original writer’s previously established history’ (Willits, 2009). Accordingly, the notion of source-text fidelity and authenticity within reboots becomes a kind of contradiction in terms. Indeed, after researching, evaluating and assessing industry approaches and audience values within the cinematic timeline of Toby Maguire’s Spider-Man, I have underlined the contradictory reboot strategy of Sam Raimi’s iconic superhero trilogy.


Allow me to explain. Under the guidance of Sony and Columbia Pictures, Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man series became ‘a grand tribute’ (Speelman, 2017) to the classic character, demonstrating a wealth of comic-book influences and ‘achieving unprecedented amounts of popularity’ (Burke, 2015) during its five year run. However, whilst this trilogy was constructed as an homage to the comics, becoming the first mainstream portrayal of a cinematic Spider-Man, it remains unclear whether Raimi’s works were perceived as adaptations or reboots. To answer this debate, it was vital of me to consider both audience and industry perspectives, taking into consideration what elements consumers valued from this trilogy and how Sony marketed the immense transmedia storyworld of Spider-Man.


Following its initial release, Toby Maguire’s Spider-Man represented the golden age of superheroes, ‘replaying the popular comic-book trope of the origin story’ (Flanagan, 2010: 139) and mediating the character ‘with nostalgia in order to enact [the] timelessness [of his source texts] (Walderzak, 2016: 153). With a marketing campaign that never stemmed further than narrative themes, highlighting the Spider-Man brand at every turn, it was clear that Sony sought to promote Peter Parker’s story over anything else, leading audiences to believe that what they are being presented with was nothing but a faithful adaptation. Nevertheless, through my audience and industry research I have coined Raimi’s trilogy a fidelity reboot.


A fidelity reboot, at least in the case of Spider-Man, works on the basis that throughout the course of the series, the source text of Spider-Man is reiterated on numerous occasions, repeatedly referencing the styles that made this character an icon and generating a loyal, youthful response from its audience. However, it can be argued that the strategies of these particular Spider-Man films, and other high concept franchise instalments of the period, such as X-Men (2000) and Blade (1998), have been updated and even Americanised to conform to the standards of mainstream Hollywood in the early twenty-first century, straying from their source material in the process. Consequently, this ‘nostalgic adaptation’ must be defined as a reboot, a story that has restarted and refreshed its narrative to include traces of comic-book adherence, all whilst presenting audiences with the illusion of an adaptation, one that simultaneously contradicts and promotes source-text fidelity.


Reactive Reboots

In 2012, convergence and participatory culture became a defining contextual influence behind Marc Webb’s The Amazing Spider-Man series (2012 to 2014), challenging the concept of a reboot that is influenced by its surrounding competitors. Describing the ‘flow of content across multiple media platforms’ (Jenkins, 2006: 2) and the shift of focus from literacy to individual expression, to community involvement (Jenkins, 2009: 13), convergence and participatory cultures have established the trend of media products innately beginning to influence one another. Representing ‘a cultural shift [where] consumers are encouraged to seek out new information and make connections among dispersed media content’ (Jenkins, 2006: 3), convergence trends have highlighted the ‘blurring [of the] lines between media’ (ibid.), the intersection of styles that are no longer challenging, but mirroring their predecessors to proliferate recognisable content.


During the era of Andrew Garfield’s portrayal as Spider-Man, Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight trilogy (2005 to 2012) and Disney’s Marvel Cinematic Universe (2008 to present) were at the height of their success, demonstrating distinct authorship and contemporary styles that would later alter the position of franchise media in cinematic landscapes for the foreseeable future. With Nolan and Disney constructing extensive campaigning, audience interactivity and content convergence of their own, Sony sought to replicate this strategy within their Spider-Man universe, focussing on the concept of an ‘active audience’ and how consumers can now more naturally interplay with media conglomerates (Jenkins, 2006: 2). Consequently, The Amazing Spider-Man and its sequel began to replicate these contrasting methods, establishing themselves as a combination of unoriginal, pre-existing styles that included Disney’s comedic influence and Nolan’s resolute realism. As such, Garfield’s Spider-Man portrayal represented the height of repetitive media convergence, ‘an old concept taking on new meanings’ (Jenkins, 2008: 6) that cannot be named an original reboot. Instead of building its own styles and themes, Webb’s filmic presence in the timeline of Spider-Man responded and constructed itself around the franchise techniques that encircled it, failing to recreate a unique impact that would stand the test of any precursor or foreseeable reboot.

Constructing its own website, www.thedailybugle.com, and releasing the ‘Property of Peter Parker… Lost’ scavenger hunt, The Amazing Spider-Man attempted to incorporate and demonstrate ‘a strong support for creating and sharing creations with others’ (Jenkins, 2009: 5) across a broad range of platforms, highlighting ‘the complex interactions between fans and producers’ (Jenkins, 2013: 22). However, whilst Sony generated a creative and stimulating narrative-based campaigns, the studio also embarked on bridging the divide between non-fiction and fiction, drawing attention away from the iconic storyworld of Spider-Man. Between 2012 and 2014, co-stars Andrew Garfield (Peter Parker) and Emma Stone (Gwen Stacey) were involved in a highly reported tabloid relationship, one that resembled and complimented their on-screen chemistry, an element of the films that ended up carrying the otherwise flawed Amazing Spider-Man series to commercial and critical success.


Described as ‘audiovisual media designed to position individual and collective skills within professional worlds’ (Grainge and Johnson, 2015: 36), promotional surrounding content is often ‘designed to circulate and be circulated, to be repurposed across multiple sites and platforms, and to be interacted with or even co-created by audiences’ (ibid.). The intense tabloid coverage of Garfield and Stone’s relationship became a prevalent example of this kind of behaviour. Providing audiences with ‘a service or function that supports an aspect of contemporary media’ (ibid.), this relationship drew immense amounts of attention to the role of the Amazing Spider-Man films within the public-relations sector, constructing a real-life narrative that coincided with the events of Sony’s industrial choices. Accordingly, the co-stars’ relationship became an integral part of Sony’s marketing approach, paying close attention to what consumers were actually talking about in relation to the films, and utilising this public conversation around the tabloid narrative to help target audiences who may not have been initially inclined to interact with the storyworld of Spider-Man.


For that reason, it can be argued that The Amazing Spider-Man films do not represent the originality of conventional reboot strategies and have affected the legitimacy of future high-profile reboots, such as Man of Steel (2013) and Suicide Squad (2016). Instead, the Garfield series represents the participatory influence of its audiences and surrounding franchises of its period, which have shaped Webb’s storyworld and its style. Thus, The Amazing Spider-Man and its sequel can be identified as examples of reactive reboots – that is, reiterations of popular narratives that are highly controlled by its audience values and other forms of surrounding media. By choosing to highlight both reality and fiction within its marketing, this reboot strategy demonstrates the importance of consumer engagement and the difficulties of building entirely unique storyworlds in an industry that thrives off the success of others.


Stan Culture Reboots

In the modern day, social media and the Internet more broadly are ‘tool[s] for bringing together the small contributions of millions of people’ (Grossman cited in Han, 2012), constructing a ‘global intellectual economy’ (ibid.) that has formed a wider awareness of online consumer landscapes, such as Web 2.0. Becoming a vital element of participatory culture, the concept of Web 2.0 is ‘characterised by [the] interactive applications that allow users to participate in contributing, organising, and creating their own content’ (Shelley and Frydenberg, 2010:1), encouraging innovative behaviours amongst its consumers. As such, Web 2.0 content has begun to push the boundaries of audience landscapes.


For the past few decades, for instance, participatory behaviours and new trends have upheld the foundations consumer culture and have branded themselves as fundamental elements of proliferating franchise media. However, after conducting extensive social media research, and investigating prevalent marketing strategies within Disney’s Marvel Cinematic Universe, I have observed what can be seen as an updated and extended form of audience participation.

A combination of the terms ‘stalker’ and ‘fan’, this updated and extended form has been coined ‘stan culture’, and which represents the ever-closing divide between celebrities and their online audiences. Formed of Millennial and Generation Z consumers, this expression describes fandoms evolving into a culture of intense media following, idolisation and even protectionism; this category of audience is one of extreme dedication that can destroy or amplify the careers of celebrity idols. Built upon the foundations of consumers creating and circulating their own content (Burgess, 2013), stan culture refers to the unexpected outcome of celebrities interacting and engaging with their audiences on a regular basis, constructing artificial, interpersonal relationships across multiple platforms with millions of online users.


Accordingly, this profound level of devotion has been presented to large conglomerate studios, forcing their marketing departments to update their strategies and to pay closer attention as to how these particular consumers are drawn so heavily towards celebrities and their fictional character counterparts. A notorious example of this kind of overt industry reaction is the casting of British actor, Tom Holland, as Disney’s latest iteration of Spider-Man. Cast at the age of eighteen, Holland represented a new and refreshed era for the iconic character, appealing to the demographic of stan culture and the types of celebrities it supports. As a result, within a month of his first cameo in Captain America: Civil War (2016), the actor became perhaps the most successful rendition of the protagonist to date.


Using Holland’s physical appearance and approachable personality to their advantage, Disney constructed an example of perfect-fit casting, erasing the thin-line between the celebrity and the fictional protagonist they portray by ensuring that the character’s traits match that of the stars (Dyer cited in Gates, 2012: 71). Much like the Chris Evans and Robert Downey Jr., actors that have also accumulated stan culture success within the MCU, audiences responded positively to Holland’s rendition. Naming him the living embodiment of Peter Parker (Wilding, 2015), the favourable audience reception pushed the actor’s modest social following of 50,000 to well over 14 million in the space of three years.

However, due to the previous success of the character and the rising fame of Holland, Disney saw it fit to place the storyworld of Spider-Man in the proverbial backseat of the recent campaigns, contrasting massively against Raimi’s original trilogy where aforementioned fidelity were the driving forces of the franchise and its celebrities.

Minus the inclusion of the MCU iteration’s formulaic trailers and posters, Spider-Man himself remained a largely non-existent entity amongst the 2017 film’s marketing campaigns; instead, Disney constructed Holland as the defining face of the movie and all that it encompassed. Signing the actor to take part in NBA sponsorships, Lip Sync Battles with co-star Zendaya and Buzzfeed content, it was apparent that Marvel was no longer focusing on the traits of Spider-Man as a brand. By placing the actor himself in entertaining settings, Holland began to draw in audiences, personifying a relatable and attractive celebrity figure in contemporary (online) media that audiences will want to idolise, especially those involved within stan culture dynamics. As such, Tom Holland has become a prevalent example of a micro-celebrity within transmedia franchises. Defined as ‘creating an easily consumable persona, responding directly to readers and sharing personal information to enhance emotional ties with fans’ (Marshall and Redmond, 2015: 341), the British actor is the perfect formula for today’s contemporary stan culture to consume and cater to.


As a result, Tom Holland has become the brand of Spider-Man in the MCU era. Engaging audiences with a relatable personality that matches the styles of Peter Parker, Holland’s superhero highlights how the monumental impact of social media and stan culture has begun to alter what audiences value the most from their franchise and reboot content. Instead of prioritising its fictional sources, Holland’s Spider-Man reboot has focussed all of its attention onto its stars and made no attempt to draw audiences in via the intricacies of its fictional storyworld. Ironically, this comes at a moment when rich interconnected universes have never been more popular. Therefore, and in contrast to the earlier work of Webb and Raimi, Spider-Man has since evolved into a less fictionalised commodity, by which I mean one that is now driven within the industry by its actors and their online audience impacts. Consequently, Disney’s updated reboot strategy, one I call a stan culture reboot, has become a crowning example of what consumers prioritise in an era that is dominated by social media. Carrying the actor and his films to commercial success, Holland’s Spider-Man portrayal is indeed a shining example of a stan culture reboot, a reboot that is not driven by an original, source-text narrative, but the devotion of stan culture and conventionally-attractive casting.


Conclusion

In conclusion, the results of my investigations and research have highlighted the changing trends of Hollywood reboot strategies, bringing to light what kinds of transmedia brands the media industries are mediating to global audiences. Using marketing research, social media ethnography and one-to-one interviews, I have discovered that each generation of cinema’s Spider-Man in the twenty-first century is not necessarily conveying or selling the character. Instead, each portrayal over the past twenty years has been carefully catered to appropriate trends and the values of the generation that coincides with each cinematic release.

Specifically, and as was communicated via my earlier sets of posters, whilst Maguire’s era in the early 2000s was a representation of the villains that made the character such a success with its audiences, Garfield’s two films in the early 2010s underlined his off-screen tabloid relationship with co-star Emma Stone. Holland, on the other hand, became the brand of Spider-Man himself in the late 2010s, combing the relatable traits of the protagonist and the actor himself to sell a cohesive marketing strategy to his dedicated consumers. It is this latter example that underlines not only wider technological transformations of social media and its impact on fan and celebrity culture, but altogether indicates an interest hypothesis: are we now, after all these years, seeing a return to the prominence of the star within in Hollywood?

Regardless, what my research demonstrates is that contemporary Hollywood reboot strategies are veering further and further away from the fiction of intellectual properties, such as comic-book source texts, and instead leaning heavily on the real-life behaviours and impacts of its stars and a character’s more extra-textual materials. Thus, it can be argued that Spider-Man is not actually the selling point of any of the three eras studies throughout this portfolio, at least in brand terms, and instead operates as a kind of branded marketing facade to appeal to what audiences are initially drawn to. And if this is the case, then is it worth asking if reboot strategies are as simple or at predictable as we might have believed them to be? Is it true that global consumers have been targeted with an unknowable brand in a mask, as it were? Or are we actually being sold exactly what we value the most about the actors and storyworlds without even realising? As a result of my research, I can now answer these questions and understand exactly what carefully calculated reboot strategies are actually presenting us.


Reflecting back on my central aim and research question, I believe that this topic would benefit from being explored across more than just one media platform. For example, investigating Spider-Man’s flourishing timeline of video games may produce similar results or simply disband the extensive techniques used within the film industry, bringing to light an entirely new strategy to understand the proliferation of Spider-Man content and wider reboot techniques. However, with the recent reboot of Hellboy (2019) and what might be described as a fidelity-driven story, one ‘that remained faithful to the comics’ (Sandwell, 2019), we can begin to question whether or not industry patterns are returning to Maguire’s fidelity-driven beginnings and if there is a certain amount of longevity to each of my reboot strategies.

Nevertheless, I believe that my conclusions have shed an entirely different light on reboots and their generations of audiences, underlining how consumer values are often widely different to what franchise producers intended to foreground, and that neither producer nor audience-led values centralise the character of Spider-Man specifically. Instead, they reflect the wider trends stemming from the affordances of new digital platforms and emerging trends within fan cultures.


Attribution

All clips in this project’s essay film are taken from the following works: Spider-Man (2002), Spider-Man 2 (2004), Spider-Man 3 (2007), The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (2014), Captain America: Civil War (2016) and Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017). All of these works are produced/owned by Sony Pictures/Marvel Enterprises.


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DOI: https://doi.org/10.33008/IJCMR.2019.12 | Issue 2 | September 2019

Katherine Chediak Putnam

Griffith University, Queensland


Abstract

‘I am back, you bastards’, declares Tilly (Kate Winslet). She smokes a cigarette and wears an evocative white cartwheel hat in the dead of night. This is the opening line of the film The Dressmaker (2015) written and directed by the Australian filmmaker Jocelyn Moorhouse, based on the 2000 novel of the same name by Rosalie Ham. With a mixture of spaghetti western, noir, comedy and drama genre elements, this film recreates the archetype of the femme fatale with a depth rarely seen in such characters. What also makes Tilly ground-breaking is the fact that she is the protagonist of the story, and instead of luring men, she lures the town’s demure women through the beauty of haute couture to uncover the truth about her past and get revenge on those who wronged her. The Dressmaker thus contributes to a female-centric approach to the femme fatale archetype in the film noir genre.


Using The Dressmaker as a case study, this article will draw a parallel between Tilly’s character and the development of the protagonist in my own creative-practice screenplay, Indecent, an erotic thriller driven by a femme fatale detective. Employing narrative theory developed over several screenwriting texts as well as analysing popular discourses around the femme fatale archetype and their intertextual aspects, the objective is to explore through personal reflections how the film The Dressmaker can inform the development of my screenplay’s protagonist towards creating an authentic feminist portrayal of the femme fatale archetype, whilst preserving some classic femme fatale traits in order to pursue a multifaceted and subversive representation of these characters on screen.


Introduction

This article will examine and explore the development of femme fatale characters when writing a screenplay. First, I investigate the popular discourses around the femme fatale archetype and its intertextual traits across multiple artistic expressions and psychoanalytical studies. The objective is to understand how the notion of sexually dangerous women is perpetuated in popular culture through widely constructed, generic, formulaic approaches, particularly in cinema and literature. Then, I put theory into practice by exploring my screenwriting process and development of a femme fatale protagonist, drawing on the principles common to screenwriting theories expounded by authors of both genders, including John Truby (2007), Helen Jacey (2017), Linda Seger (1990), Michael Tierno (2002), Aristotle, and Craig Batty (2015). Specifically, I focus on character arc and theme; moral choices; and the deconstruction of gender stereotypes when representing women on screen, as well as personal reflections on my writing process as a screenwriter.

Using Jocelyn Moorhouse’s latest film The Dressmaker (2015) as case study, my aim is to explore how the protagonist of the film – Myrtle ‘Tilly’ Dunnage, played by Kate Winslet – can inform the development of the protagonist of my own creative-practice screenplay Indecent, an erotic-thriller following the journey of a voyeur female detective who goes too far to fulfil her subversive sexual desires. Employing narrative theory developed over several screenwriting texts as well as analysing popular discourses around the femme fatale archetype and their intertextual aspects, the objective of the article is to explore through personal reflections how the film The Dressmaker can inform the development of my screenplay’s protagonist towards creating a more authentic feminist portrayal of the femme fatale archetype, one that preserves some classic femme fatale traits in order to pursue a multifaceted and subversive representation of these characters on screen.


The Femme Fatale Across Generations

Especially well known as one of the central archetypes of noir and neo-noir cinema, the depiction of femme fatales has changed and developed over centuries in western popular culture. Historically, controversial biblical figures such as Salome, Eve, Judith and Jezebel, and Greek tragedies such as Euripide’s Medea and Seneca’s Phaedra explored a tragic and destructive portrayal of womanhood. History repeated itself with the advent of cinema. The femme fatale is transported from the pictorial and literary to the cinematic, creating its own set of generic conventions, but not losing the core of its popular and recognizable cultural discourse – the deceitful women responsible for the hero’s downfall. As Robert Stam notes, ‘Film … is a form of writing that borrows from other forms of writing’ (2005: 1). Memorable femme fatales such as Phyllis Dietrichson (Double Indemnity, 1944), Gilda Mundson Farrell (Gilda, 1946), and Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct, 1992) permeated several generations of noir and neo-noir films, and are understood through intertextual representation; that is, they only exist through and make sense in relation to their previous depictions in various forms of artistic expressions. According to Stam, ‘The intertextuality theory of Kristeva (rooted in and literally translating Bakhtin’s “dialogism”) and the “transtextuality” theory of Genette, similarly, stressed the endless permutation of textualities’ (2005: 8). Although Genette’s Palimpsestes (1982) does not offer a film analysis, Stam incorporates his ‘transtextuality’ theory into studies of filmic adaptation. The first one relevant for this article is ‘intertextuality’ – or the ‘effective co-presence of two texts’ – in the form of quotation, plagiarism, and allusion. The latest, an ‘allusion and reference in film and novel’ (2005: 27), plays a great role in the use of character archetypes.

A closer analysis of film history – particularly noir and neo-noir genres – shows the use and reuse of the femme fatale. One of the best examples is Matty Walker in Body Heat (1982), which alludes to the iconic Phyllis Dietrichson of Double Indemnity, which is based on James M. Cain’s novel of the same name. Another is the recent Amy Dunne (Gone Girl, 2014) who kills her victim Desi Collings in a similar way to Catherine Tramell’s act in the opening scene of Basic Instinct, during sex and using a sharp object hidden on the bed as the crime weapon. Thus, this context suggests the perpetuation of this archetype is only possible through the repetition of formulaic generic qualities that are easily identifiable and consequently marketable from the screenwriting and industry perspective due to familiarly. As Linda Williams notes, there is an interplay between generic conventions and the audience that functions as a ‘social currency’ (2005: 18). The film ‘knows’ what the audience wants: familiarity and innovation. American film theorist Vivian C. Sobchack claims that, ‘There is a pattern these movies follow, and the pleasure we get from them is the pleasure of re-experiencing the familiar’ (1974: 59). Yet, innovation maintains its relevance and entertaining quality. For example, at the end of Body Heat, instead of dying like Phyllis, Matty survives and runs away with the money, and like Catherine Tramell, Amy Dunne gets away with murder and instead returns home as the victim. Some of the generic qualities of the femme fatale that fascinated me as a writer simultaneously made me aware of the impact this archetype has in popular culture in perpetuating certain gender stereotypes about female sexuality. Still, from a young age these characters attracted me like no others, in a way that has inspired me in my journey as a screenwriter to create my own version of the fatal woman.

My deep passion and fascination with femme fatale characters’ surfaces amongst memories of my childhood when I watched Fatal Attraction (1987) for the first-time, rented by my mother, who claimed it as one of her favourite films. The plot follows the journey of Dan Gallagher (Michael Douglas), a happily married lawyer who engages in a casual fling with the accomplished Alex Forrest (Glenn Close), an editor for a publishing company. After being jilted by Dan, Alex’s unstable behaviour escalates from stalking to obsession, putting his family’s life in danger. In the end, Alex is shot dead, not by Dan but by his loyal wife, Betty (Anne Archer). If the main focus of criticism of the film is related to the male gaze – that is, the idea that female characters exist primarily as an object of the male desire (see Mulvey, 1975; Sherwin, 2008) – my interest is in the emotional impact Alex Forrest had on me after watching the film. At the time, I was a 12-year-old girl in the midst of puberty, watching all of my girlfriends making out with boys while I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I was not as attractive nor as desirable as them. Meanwhile, at home, my relationship with my devoted Catholic and single mother was problematic. Sex was a forbidden word and became a subject of profound fascination and guilt. The transgressive and monstrous Alex Forrest – independent, sexually awakened but dangerous – was a reflection of my psyche as a girl who craved to be a woman that freely desired and was desired and yet, who should be punished for turning my back on God’s will of virtue and purity. Trapped in this still unresolved predicament, Indecent, my creative-practice screenplay, is a cathartic expression of my subjective reality in being a woman torn between desire and shame, and the birth of my own version of a femme fatale archetype.

Deconstructing the Femme Fatale

According to the film theorist Mary Ann Doane in her 1991 canonical text Femme Fatales: Feminism, Film Theory, Psychoanalysis, the femme fatale is ‘not the subject of feminism, but a symptom of male fears about feminism’ (1-2). Femme fatales are never what they seem to be; they are threatening and unpredictable characters who carry a secret that ‘must be aggressively revealed, unmasked, discovered’ (Doane, 1991: 1). Frida Beckman (2012: 1) notes that, ‘The unmasking of the “truth” of the narrative is also the unmasking, and the disarming, of the (sexual) power of the woman’. The feminist social critic Camille Paglia (2017: 19-20) has argued that the inhospitality of tragedy to woman is related to the inhospitality of nature to man:

Demonic archetypes of woman, filling world mythology, represent the uncontrollable nearness of nature … the primary image is the femme fatale, the woman fatal to man. The more nature is beaten back in the West, the more the femme fatale reappears, as a return of the repressed.

The repressed can be understood through the castration anxiety found in Freud’s essay Medusa’s Head. The terror of Medusa is the terror of castration that is linked to the sight of something (Freud, 1922: 273). Freud notes that the castration occurs when a boy sees the female genitals surrounded by hair, ‘essentially those of his mother’ (ibid., 273). The absence of the penis is the cause of horror, which the boy believes has been cut off. Yet Paul Gordon (2014: 119) argues that Freud’s theory is a ‘false completion that covers up the real story, which is the denial of the female/mother’s vagina as the original object of desire’. The ambivalence toward the mother figure, not only as a goddess of life and fertility and death, but also the object of desire and the forbidden (see Gordon, 2014: 117-118) can be understood by the ambivalent depiction of the femme fatale, sexually empowered but inherently dangerous. The sexual empowerment, then, is perceived as a threat to societal norms to be discouraged by any means. Consequently, the femme fatale is often punished toward the end of the film, either through her death, such as Phyllis Dietrichson (Double Indemnity, 1944), Alex Forrest (Fatal Attraction, 1984); her condemnation, such as Kathryn Merteuil (Cruel Intentions, 1999), Cersei Lannister (Game of Thrones, 2011-2019); her moral ‘rescue’ by man, such as Lynn Bracken (L.A. Confidential, 1997), Gilda Mundson Farrell (Gilda, 1946), and so on. The perpetuation of an ambivalent attitude to female sexuality is not necessarily malign from a storytelling viewpoint, yet its cultural impact reinforces hegemonic perceptions of women’s desire, constraining the complexity of female subjectivity.


The Symbiosis Between the Character Arc and the Theme

According to John Truby in his 2007 book The Anatomy of Story: 22 Steps to Becoming a Master Storyteller, theme is the author’s moral vision, ‘whenever you present a character using means to reach an end, you are presenting a moral predicament, exploring the question of right action, and making moral argument about how best to live’ (108). As Braga (2017: 68) notes, ‘the theme of a story is intimately connected to the protagonist’s change in relation to the values at stake … theme is the root of a central, specific moral emotion’. Theme is perceived as the core of the screenplay, the ‘brain of the story body’ (Truby, 2007: 109), and the protagonist’s action and their emotional journey during the course of the narrative are ultimately to serve the theme of the screenplay (Batty, 2015: 116-117). According to Craig Batty (2015: 116), ‘How an audience emotionally connects with and feels for a story results in degrees of thematic resonance.’ When watching a film, the audience expects to feel, to experience the emotional journey of the protagonist (ibid., 117).

According to Andrew Dickos (2002: 162), similarly, ‘the femme fatale is motivated by a lust for exciting sex, a desire for wealth and the power it brings, and a need to control everything and everyone around her.’ Usually framed in relation to the male protagonist of the film (Lindop, 2016: 135), the femme fatale archetypes most commonly relate to themes of female desire. Yet, the desire is often portrayed as destructive and responsible for the hero’s downfall. Thus, when presenting a theme, the writer is making a moral argument which informs the journey of the character, and the recurrent negative representation of female desire ultimately impacts on how the audience feel and perceive women on and off screen.


As a screenwriter, establishing the central theme of the story I wanted to tell has always been my primary concern. When initially developing my theme and protagonist, the preoccupation toward creating a feminist version of a femme fatale was non-existent, since my creative process is mostly intuitive, driven by personal feelings and experiences. As the screenwriter Paul Schrader notes, ‘To be a writer you should first examine and confront your most pressing personal problems. We are in the dirty laundry business. The arts are about the forbidden, the unspoken and often the unspeakable’ (see McGrath and Felim, 2003: 13). Exploring the ambivalent attitude toward women’s desire from a female perspective was more a self-reflective practice than a sociocultural concern. Truby (2007) argues that the theme should be condensed in early stages of the writing process in one line. As he notes, the line is ‘your view about right and wrong actions and what those actions do to a person’s life’ (2007: 110). Even though it is impossible to summarise your character’s moral vision and nuances in few words, this process helps the writer to focus on one central moral idea that will drive your character’s actions throughout the screenplay. Using Truby’s advice, I developed a specific summary of the theme for the Indecent screenplay: When fate unmasks your subversive desires, you must choose between preserving the values you have or embracing the dark side that inhabits your soul.


After summarising my theme, I needed a protagonist that could go through an emotional journey in service of the theme of the screenplay. Drawing from my own experience as a young adult and my passion to crime thrillers, I created an early thirties female homicide detective named Robin Freeman. She is not a femme fatale at the outset of the story, but rather becomes one. Her arc as a character develops through the moral dilemma between justice and transgression. Slowly, her dark side grows, overpowering the values she once held dearly and putting at stake the thing she loves most – her job.

When the theme and the character arc of Indecent were clear, I began to reflect on cinema and literature for inspiration and references to further develop my screenplay. As already noted, intertextuality is a major device for connecting the audience to a literary work, but is also employed in cinema. Yet, the more I watched films, the more I realised how important it was to take into consideration gender stereotypes when portraying women’s desire on screen. At the end of this process, my main concern was to explore the femme fatale archetype from a different perspective than the usual trope. That was when I came across the film The Dressmaker, which became a starting point to further develop my own protagonist.

Myrtle “Tilly” Dunnage: A XXI Century Femme Fatale

Described by Jocelyn Moorhouse as ‘Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven with a sewing machine’ (Naglazas, 2015), the protagonist of The Dressmaker, Myrtle ‘Tilly’ Dunnage, played by Kate Winslet, is a strong example of how a femme fatale can translate the plurality of being a woman. When Tilly was a child, she was branded as the murderer of a schoolboy and exiled from the town by the boy’s father and town councillor, Evan Pettyman (Shane Bourne). After spending years in Paris where she became a haute couture designer, Tilly comes back to the town to unveil the truth about her past and get revenge on those who wronged her.


Instead of desire, revenge is the underlying theme of the story, and it drives Tilly’s character arc and journey. The couture, which have many layers of significance, communicate Tilly’s achievement and status, her exotic outsider femininity, her power, and the threat of her presence. But above all, couture is her weapon to achieve her main goal in the story, discovering the truth about her past. In exchange for information, Tilly sews beautiful dresses for the town’s women, putting together the missing pieces of the boy’s death and unmasking the truth about the real criminals in the story.

The relation between the characters and the truth can be argued as Tilly’s central moral problem. Everyone in the story is searching or hiding the truth about themselves: the local police sergeant Horatio Farrat (Hugo Weaving) is secretly a cross-dresser; Tilly’s mother Molly (Judy Davis) is mentally ill and secretly holds the truth about Tilly’s father; the schoolteacher who accused Tilly of murder lied in her statement to the police, and so on. Tilly comes to the town to reveal the hidden truths of its residents while searching for her own.


However, there are two pivotal characters who are inherently honest in the film: the first is her love interest Teddy McSwiney (Liam Hemsworth) and the second, his disabled brother Barney (Gyton Grantley). Both play a major role in the story. Teddy believes in Tilly’s innocence and loves her unconditionally. With him, she learns that she is worthy of love and she can be herself without being judged. He is the exception and arouses her hopes of settling down and building a life she never imagined she was capable of. With him, she is not a femme fatale, she is just a woman in love. Barney, the disabled man who nobody trusts, is the one person who knows the truth about her past, revealing it toward the end of the film.

Writing a Femme Fatale While Breaking Gender Stereotypes

When exploring the female perspective and the specificity of their experience, such as a woman using her sexuality as a weapon, arguably the writer should be aware of the cultural and social significance that this may have to the audience. As Linda Seger (1990: 196) notes, ‘As a writer creating dimensional characters, understanding stereotyping and breaking stereotypes is essential’. Helen Jacey (2017: 4) goes further: ‘Every dramatic and creative step you take in developing your character will be shaped by your attitudes, values, and beliefs about her gender.’ Stereotypical characters are one-dimensional, and often reactive, rather than active. They serve other characters in the story without moving the action, or their values are limited to a dualistic – good or bad; light or dark – portrayal of humanity. Consequently, the writer misses a unique opportunity to explore the complexity of the human psyche, and the social reality that revolves around each individual. ‘Breaking a stereotype means humanizing the person to show the depth and breadth of the character’ (Seger, 1990: 204).


Tilly has classical traits of the femme fatale archetype from the noir era: she is an unreliable narrator, unable to remember her own past; she uses her sexuality, expressed by couture, to lure the people in town to achieve her main goal; and she is ultimately seeking revenge against those who have wronged her. Furthermore, it is impossible to ignore her physical traits and idiosyncrasies: protuberant curves shaped by sensual dresses, strong red lipstick, cigarettes, and a mysterious countenance. Yet, she is a multifaceted depiction of this archetype.


Firstly, Tilly is the protagonist of the story, therefore it is through her perspective that we follow the narrative. According to Linda Williams (2005), in contemporary cinema, femme fatales are reactive rather than active and determined by the male point of view that usually frames the film (100). Yet, in the film The Dressmaker, Tilly is fully active and every decision and action she takes moves the story forward.


Secondly, at the outset of the film, her introductory line – ‘I am back, you bastards’ –confronts the audience with several texts and subtexts of who she is and her goal in the narrative: Tilly is probably an outcast in the town, yet we can assume that she has personal reasons to be back that do not make her happy, and the anger that she expresses when delivering the line translates a sense of honesty in the way she deals with the situation (a lack of honesty is a common trope in femme fatale characters). Tilly, throughout the film, searches for the truth about her past and we are constantly confronted by the deceptions of the people around her. The hypocrisy of the town’s people contrasts with Tilly’s character and therefore, when she commits a hideous revenge in the end, burning down the town, her action is understandable. John Truby (2007) argues that the hero does not need to be likable for the audience to empathise with them and their choices. Instead, to empathise with someone means to care about and understand them. That is why the trick to keeping the audience’s interest in a character, even when the character is not likable or is taking immoral actions, is to show the audience the hero’s motive (Truby, 2007: 77)


Furthermore, Tilly’s plurality as a character develops throughout the narrative. In one of the most memorable scenes, Tilly’s love-interest, Teddy McSwiney (Liam Hemsworth), takes off his clothes so she can measure his size to prepare an haute couture suit for a wedding. In the scene, we experience Tilly’s and her mother’s gaze toward his half-naked body, and the sexual desire they feel when looking at it. The dialogue between the mother and Tilly underpin the idea of female desire. Molly is explicit and calls herself a ‘hag’ for doing so, while Tilly is self-conscious for objectifying Teddy’s body. The self-reflexive dialogue between the two women explores the ambivalence of the female gaze, and their awareness of inverting the usual objectification – the male gaze. Therefore, Tilly is very identifiably a character designed to appeal to a female audience. The producer of the film, Sue Maslin, a fierce advocate for the representation of women in cinema, stated in an interview that The Dressmaker is ‘unashamedly target towards a female audience’ (Lindorff, 2017: 4), which from a market perspective is very relevant, since women over the age of fifty are a key audience for feature films at the cinema, especially in Australia (Screen Australia, 2015: 3).

Tilly is what I call ‘The 21st Century Femme Fatale’: she is not afraid to use her femininity and sensuality to achieve her goals, and she understands that socially her body and beauty is a weapon to be used. Yet, unlike her forerunners, Tilly has full agency over her actions. She is desirable but also desires, her gaze exists, and it is explored on-screen. Tilly is not the other; she is the centre of the narrative, and the driving force of the plot.


Developing the Femme Fatale for my Creative-Practice Screenplay

Before drawing parallels and contrasts between Tilly and the protagonist of Indecent, it is important to clarify the development stage I am at, and the plot of the screenplay. After writing three drafts of the outline and two treatments, I completed the first draft of the script, which currently sits at 150 pages. The story follows the journey of Robin Freeman, an uptight homicide detective in her early 30s struggling to be taken seriously in the male-dominated police force. While investigating a sexual trafficking ring, she discovers her politician husband is having an extra-marital affair. Instead of breaking up, Robin embarks on a destructive and dangerous path of erotic, voyeuristic experiences as she begins watching her husband’s sexual encounters and choosing his partners. Consequently, a growing sense of empowerment reflects positively on her career with an unexpected promotion at work. However, what initially seemed positive for Robin and her husband slowly devolves into a psychological battle between them, involving violence, sex and a murder scandal that could put Robin behind bars and end her husband’s political career.

It is a trope in screenwriting that the protagonist gradually reveals a positive moral change – inner maturation – reflected by their actions over the course of the narrative (Braga, 2017: 68). As John Truby (2007: 114) notes, ‘In the hero’s moral development, the endpoints are your hero’s moral need at the beginning of the story and his moral self-revelation, followed by his moral decision, at the end.’ This concept, called the character arc, reflects the inner transformation of the protagonist as the story unfolds. Usually, in the beginning of a film, the character lacks specific skills or values which are necessary for them to achieve their goal. Yet, after encountering a series of obstacles and learning from them, the protagonist changes and completes their arc toward the end of the film, usually transforming into a more self-aware and fulfilled person.

According to Helen Jacey (2017: 7), when writing a female character ‘as her creator, her identity and worldview, and ultimately, what she learns and how she changes, will be pretty strong indicators of your own values.’ Yet in Aristotle’s Poetics, the philosopher suggests one of the biggest flaws a writer could commit is letting their own agenda seep into the story: ‘Orestes himself says what the poet wants, not what the plot needs’ (1996: 89). This suggests that the writer should only write what the story demands, and that should not necessarily mean the writer’s own values. Following Aristotle, author and screenwriter Micheal Tierno (2002: 1) argues that ‘good writers serve their story; bad writers serve their own agenda’.

The question of morality is especially problematic when writing a character like Robin. In contrast to Tilly, who is inherently honest throughout the film, Robin chooses the path of immorality. She is an antihero – someone displaying traits of both heroes and villains, a morally ambiguous figure acting primarily out of self-interest (see Shafe and Raney, 2012: 1029) – rather than a hero. Robin starts her journey as a homicide detective searching for justice and as a devoted wife of a politician. Yet, after the inciting incident – which is ‘the first cause of action’ (Tierno, 2002: 11) – her story takes a big turn. The discovery of her husband’s infidelity awakens her sexual perversion. Consequently, she blackmails him, as he cannot afford a marital scandal during an election campaign, to fulfil her sexual voyeuristic desires. If Robin embodies a masochistic spirit at the outset of the narrative, she shifts into the sadistic in her relationship with her husband by the story’s end. Therefore, her journey is from morality to immorality. Yet, like Tilly in The Dressmaker, her action is understandable and helps the audience to empathise with her as a character. Being betrayed by the person you love is a relatable feeling and a common experience. As Truby (2007: 77) notes, ‘If you show the audience why the character chooses to do what he does, they understand the cause of the action (empathy) without necessarily approving the action itself (sympathy).’


Tilly begins the film as a fully active character – she goes back to the town she hates to discover the truth about her past. In contrast, Robin’s journey, especially in the first act of the story, is the opposite. I chose her to be deliberately reactive as part of her arc – the crime she investigates was assigned to her; she is manipulated by her husband to play the ‘good wife’ in front of the cameras for his political agenda, and more importantly she is cheated on. This choice is informed by Aristotle’s methodology in his seminal book Poetics, in which the philosopher examines the fundamentals of dramatic story structure. According to Aristotle, there are four kinds of tragedy, ‘complex tragedy, depending entirely on reversal and recognition; tragedy of suffering … tragedy of character … simple tragedy’ (1996: 29). I am employing in my screenplay the complex tragedy.


The complex tragedy contains a reversal of fortune/discovery, which is when the hero’s fortune goes from extremely good to extremely bad or the opposite, based on discovery or recognition. Robin begins as a virtuous character but feels ostracized in her work place and extremely lonely in her relationship with her husband. Yet, when she discovers the truth about his affair, she uses it to her advantage, and this reversal of fortune changes her from a reactive to an active character through the story. She slowly embodies femme fatale traits, empowering her to achieve her goals, solving the crime she is investigating, and achieving sexual fulfilment. In contrast, in The Dressmaker the reversal of fortune occurs toward the end of the story when Tilly, after finding out the truth about her past, embraces her love relationship with Teddy, and the film seems to be leading toward a happy ending. Yet, the everything changes when he accidentally dies, and Tilly has to face another unexpected obstacle in her character’s journey.


The underlying theme of desire follows Robin’s journey and it is explored mostly through the voyeuristic female gaze. However, unlike Tilly who gazes and desires Teddy, Robin has a unique and arguably homosexual relationship with the gaze. She desires the women she watches and at the same time, she wants to be them. The desire through the look explores more the realm of fetish and fantasy than action. Robin does not have sexual intercourse with the women, she just watches and imagines how it would be if she was one of them, or if she was her husband, the one with the empowered phallus.


Therefore, Robin is empowered by the look and by the power of desiring, and this is enough to take her to places she never imagined she would. She is not subdued at the end of the story. Robin achieves her goal and finds success in her career. This was a deliberate choice. Since the theme revolves around sexual desire I wanted to portray a positive ending for the protagonist, therefore breaking the trope of punishment for femme fatales who desire and are sexually empowered.


Conclusion

Central to this article has been the development of a multifaceted and complex femme fatale archetype in my screenplay Indecent, without losing the traits that make this trope still relevant and popular in cinema. Femme fatales are presented for their intertextual merits, their existence only makes sense on a referential level, through various forms of text and films that are easily identifiable due to their generic, formulaic qualities, and marketable from a screenwriting and industry perspective due to familiarity. However, some of these qualities are problematic and perpetuate certain stereotypes of women’s desire. To address this issue in my screenplay, I utilised Tilly from The Dressmaker as a case study, alongside lessons from screenwriting theorists such as Linda Seger and Helen Jacey. I have argued that breaking gender stereotypes for this archetype is possible and necessary, and has become a central concern during the development of my script. Typical femme fatales are subjects of the male-hero viewpoint, in which she seduces mostly for power, money and/or sexual fulfilment. However, as presented above, there are several screenwriting techniques that can be employed in the writing process that disrupts this stereotype, such as making femme fatales the protagonist of the story as well as developing a character arc that aligns with the theme of the screenplay. Furthermore, creating active rather than reactive characters, building empathy to justify their hideous crimes, and exploring desire without punishment are simple and effective methods to construct a humanised and dimensional version of the femme fatale that will not only do justice to the representation of female antiheroes, but will also contribute to exploring the plurality of being a woman on screen.

Acknowledgement

This article was first presented at the 2018 Australian Screen Production, Education & Research Association (ASPERA) conference, Melbourne, 27-29 June.

  

References

  • Aristotle (1996) Poetics. Translated by Malcolm Heath. London: Penguin Group (c. 335 BC).

  • Batty, C (2015) A Screenwriter’s Journey Into Theme, and How Creative Writing Research Might Help Us To Define Screen Production Research. Studies in Australasian Cinema 9(2): 110-121.

  • Beckman, F (2012) From Irony to Narrative Crisis: Reconsidering the Femme Fatale in the Films of David Lynch. Cinema Journal 52(1): 25-44.

  • Braga, P (2017) Dramatic tone as the emotional core of a screenplay: The case of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007). Journal of Screenwriting 8(1): 67-81.

  • Bronfen, E (2004) Femme Fatale: Negotiations of Tragic Desire. New Literary History 35(1): 103-116.

  • Creed, B (1993) The Monstrous Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis. London and New York: Routledge.

  • Dickos, A (2002) Street with No Name: A History of the Classic American Film Noir. Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky.

  • Doane, MA (1991) Femme Fatales: Feminism, Film Theory, Psychoanalysis. London and New York: Routledge, 1991.

  • Freud, S (1922) Medusa’s Head. London: Hogarth Press.

  • Genette, G (1982) Palimpsestes. Paris: Seuil.

  • Gordon, P (2014) Medusa Recapit(ul)ated: Freud, Female Genitalia and the “Cunt-roversy” at CU. Psychoanalysis, Culture & Society 19(2): 113-126.

  • Horsley, L (2001) The Noir Thriller. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan.

  • Jacey, H (2017) The Women in the Story: Writing Memorable Female Characters. Michael Wise Productions.

  • Lindop, S (2016) Female Subjectivity, Sexuality, and the Femme Fatale in Born to Kill, Quarterly Review of Film and Video 33(4): 322-331.

  • Lindorff, A (2017) The Dressmaker and the Filmmaker. Blank Gold Coast (30 March) http://blankgc.com.au/the-dressmaker-and-the-filmmaker/.

  • McGrath, D and Felim, M (2003) Paul Schrader. Screencraft: Screenwriting. Rotovision.

  • Naglazas, M (2015) All dressed up and nowhere to go. The West Australian (30 October) https://thewest.com.au/news/wa/all-dressed-up-and-nowhere-to-go-ng-ya-131603.

  • Paglia, C (2017) Free Women, Free Men: Sex, Gender, Feminism. London: Pantheon.

  • Gender Matters: Women in the Australian Screen Industry (2015) Screen Australia. https://www.screenaustralia.gov.au/getmedia/f20beab8-81cc-4499-92e9-02afba18c438/Gender-Matters-Women-in-the-Australian-Screen-Industry.pdf?ext=.pdf.

  • Seger, L (1990) Creating Unforgettable Characters. Henry Holt and Company, LLC.

  • Sobchack, V (1974) Tradition and Cinematic Allusion. Literature/Film Quarterly 2(1): 59-65.

  • Shafer, M and Raney, A (2012) Exploring How We Enjoy Antihero Narratives. Journal of Communications 62(6): 1028-1046.

  • Sherwin, M (2008) Deconstructing the Male Gaze: Masochism, Female Spectatorship, and the Femme Fatale in Fatal Attraction, Body of Evidence, and Basic Instinct. Journal of Popular Film and Television 35(4): 174-182.

  • Stam, R and Raengo, A (2005) Literature and Film: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Film Adaptation. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.

  • The Bible: The New Oxford Annotated Version (2001). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

  • Tierno, M (2002) Aristotle’s Poetics for Screenwriters. London: Hachette.

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  • Williams, LR (2005) The Erotic Thriller in Contemporary Cinema. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.


DOI: https://doi.org/10.33008/IJCMR.2019.13 | Issue 2 | September 2019

Michael John Goodman

Cardiff University


Abstract

The Victorian Illustrated Shakespeare Archive is an online open access resource which contains over three thousand illustrations taken from the four major editions of Shakespeare’s Works in the Victorian period. With these illustrations often neglected by academic scholarship, the resource aims to allow images that have been separated by both time and space to be brought together to generate new meanings and new interpretations. While this aim is significant from a Shakespearean and visual culture perspective, the archive was also created as a space to investigate and make an intervention into wider debates concerning digital ‘authenticity’ and how we can utilise the critical practice of remediation to help us to better understand (and, perhaps, to make arguments with) digital archives. By emphasising the visuality of the illustrations, then, the archive serves to make a comment on the historical importance of these images and how book illustration as an art form has been critically neglected.



https://shakespeareillustration.org/

Research Statement

The Victorian Illustrated Shakespeare Archive (VISA) is an online open access resource which contains over three thousand illustrations taken from the four major editions of Shakespeare’s Works in the Victorian period. The Victorian era was the ‘Golden Age’ for Shakespeare illustration. Between 1837 and the end of the century, thousands of illustrations were produced within many different editions of Shakespeare’s Complete Works. What is so fascinating about these illustrations is that they have, historically, been widely neglected by academic scholarship. These editions, which were hugely popular in the Victorian era, are a significant part of our cultural heritage and, indeed, our construction of Shakespeare’s plays as we understand them today. Underpinning the project has been my strong belief that an online academic resource can be both rigorously scholarly and user-friendly, formed much imagination and creativity. But how can we take an ‘off-the-shelf’ digital platform, like WordPress ­– the platform VISA uses ­­– and make a digital resource that is innovative, thought-provoking and original? Moreover, part of the aim with the project has been to inspire students and researchers to have the confidence to make similar archives themselves and to recognise that with curiosity and resourcefulness we can make digital scholarship not only exciting and interesting, but also available to all with no, or a very small, budget.


VISA makes available online over 3000 illustrations to allow researchers and members of the public to explore a rich image archive and to ask new questions about this material. For example, how did the Victorians depict certain characters and plays pictorially? How does this portrayal differ throughout the Victorian era? What are the most pertinent implications in these representations regarding issues of gender and identity? In short, the resource aims to allow images that have been separated by both time and space to be brought together to generate new meanings and new interpretations. While these questions are significant from a Shakespearean and visual culture perspective, the archive was also created as a space to investigate and make an intervention into wider debates concerning digital ‘authenticity’ and how we can utilise the critical practice of remediation to help us to better understand (and, perhaps, to make arguments with) digital archives.


In Remediation: Understanding New Media (2000), Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin discuss the process through which new media, in an attempt to gain cultural significance and credibility, can refashion older forms of media. They argue that when this refashioning takes place it does so through two modes – either ‘transparent immediacy’ or ‘hypermediacy’. Transparent immediacy describes a strategy whereby objects of representation are presented to the viewer as if they are unmediated and as if the viewer is in the presence of those objects themselves. Media that exemplify this strategy include perspective painting, photography, and mainstream film. What these media all have in common is their claim to represent the ‘real’ and thus to offer the viewer a more ‘authentic’ unmediated experience. Hypermediacy, by contrast, ‘acknowledges multiple acts of representation and makes them visible’ (Bolter and Grusin, 2000: 33). This approach privileges ‘images, sound, text, animation and video, which can be brought together in any combination. It is a medium that offers “random access”; it has no physical beginning, middle, or end’ (ibid., 2000: 31). Perhaps the most obvious example of the hypermediated style is, of course, the World Wide Web, and this is a style, or ‘strategy’, that VISA very much embraces.


For example, each image in the archive has been scanned in by hand to a relatively high resolution (300dpi), and is then ‘cleaned up’ in Photoshop. The archive presents each illustration in three different ‘versions’ – there is one of the ‘clean’ Photoshop version, another Photoshopped version of the illustration that has had the text removed, and finally the version of the image as it originally appeared when it was first scanned in (the ‘original’). It is an attempt to argue pictorially through the elements that make up the archive – through their various juxtapositions, and by the foregrounding of the illustrations themselves – that digital archives are never transparent windows onto the past. Rather, they are always highly mediated interpretations of a past that is no longer available for us to experience. At the same time, it allows us to think through ideas of originality and ‘the aura’ raised by Walter Benjamin in his famous essay ‘The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction’ (see Arendt, 1999).


The presentation of these ideas has implications how audiences engage with them, and indeed who that audience is. As impressive as The William Blake Archive and The Rossetti Archive are, for example, they are very much academic resources aimed at a specialist audience. They make us, in the words of art historian Svetlana Alpers, feel ‘intimidated about looking’ (1991: 31). It has always struck me as rather incongruous that when we visit either site (both of which are, obviously, about images), we are greeted by a large quantity of textual information. It is as if the curators and designers of the archives are saying to the user, ‘we do not trust you to look’. As such, navigating both sites can be very difficult, especially to non-specialists. VISA, however, was designed and curated as a response to such a way of creating a digital academic resource. It actively encourages the user to be ‘free’ to look, to be playful, to remix, and to recognise the mediation that has taken place in bringing the illustrations from page to screen. It celebrates, to quote Walter Benjamin, ‘that the work of art reproduced becomes the work of art designed for reproducibility’ (Arendt, 1999: 218), and this is further indicated by the fact that the archive has a Creative Commons license to encourage such reproducibility.


Of course, the danger with the digital archive as a medium is that it tricks users into believing that the digital images and documents it contains are the ‘real thing’ – the real material artefacts that exist on the page, when, of course, they are highly mediated digital objects. As Bolter and Grusin (2000) put it, they are often presented as being ‘transparent’ (The William Blake Archive being a pertinent example). One of the most significant aspects of VISA is that it emphasises this mediation: it announces proudly to its users through the juxtaposition of images that these objects are the result of a digital process and that they exist in a hypermedia environment. The archive also has my name on the home page. This to state that the archive is not neutral, but has been authored. In these ways, I hope the archive make users more critically engaged with what it is they are encountering when they use such archives.


In a methodological sense, indeed, what we leave out of our digital projects is just as important as we what we put in. With VISA, I deliberately did not include a search bar for two reasons. First, because I wanted users to have serendipitous surprises (like what happens in a ‘physical’ archive) and, second, because this was a visual archive I did not want to highlight the logocentric nature of the humanities further. By emphasising the visuality of the illustrations, then, the archive serves to make a comment on the historical importance of these images and how book illustration as an art form has been critically neglected. In short, it is an attempt, to a certain degree, to engage with non-discursive pictorial argumentation and commentary practices. As Johanna Drucker makes clear, ‘the bias against visual forms of knowledge production is longstanding in our culture. Logocentric and numero-centric attitudes prevail’ (2014: 16). It is to this extent that VISA is essentially digital archive as critical argument.


Since its launch, I have been delighted with the response that VISA has received. I have worked with the BBC to create a short video about the project; Digital Arts magazine have named the site as being one of the twelve best websites for free historical images; and many online literary websites have also written about it, including Lit Hub and Open Culture. The site has also been added to many University resources lists, including Cambridge and the Bodleian. The Folger Shakespeare Library have added it to their list of important websites for Shakespeare scholars, and it has also been added to the World Shakespeare Bibliography. Finally, the archive is now being used in secondary schools at Key Stage 4 to teach Romeo and Juliet to GCSE students as well as being used to teach students at university level.


As kind and generous as these many reactions to the archive have been, what I take most from them is that there is a real desire amongst the public to engage with both historical images and academic research when they have access to it. The archive demonstrates that when we understand remediation as a critical practice and as the digital object not as a simulacrum of its ‘physical’ counterpart, but instead as a unique artefact, it allows us to use the affordances of the digital to create highly rewarding and engaging resources and work.

The Victorian Illustrated Shakespeare Archive can be viewed at shakespeareillustration.org.


References

  • Bolter, J D and Grusin, R (2000) Remediation: Understanding New Media. Massachusetts: MIT Press.

  • Alpers, S (1991) A Way of Seeing. In Exhibiting Cultures: The Poetics and Politics of Museum Display, edited by Ivan Karp and Steven D. Lavine, 25-32. Washington and London: Smithsonian Institution Press.

  • Benjamin, W (1991) The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. In Illuminations, edited by Hannah Arendt, trans. Harry Zorn, 211-244. London: Pimlico.

  • Drucker, J (2014) Graphesis: Visual Forms of Knowledge Production. Massachusetts: Harvard University Press.

An interdisciplinary, peer-reviewed and open access academic journal devoted to pushing forward the approaches to and possibilities for publishing creative media-based research. 

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