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Argentine Cinema and National Identity covers the development of Argentine cinema since the late 1950s to the mid-1970s, a period that has been understudied. Marked by tumultuous political events, these decades witnessed debates about Argentina’s modernity and tradition that affected film production and consumption. Two film genres, the historical film and the gauchesque— a genre based on outlaw gauchos was crucial for nation-building in the nineteenth century—generated great local interest and high expectations among film producers and distributors. The notion of national identity guides the analysis of certain emblematic films that were well-received by domestic audiences and engaged with the issue of Argentine identity. This manuscript investigates the way Argentine cinema positioned itself when facing the competition of glossy American films by representing the past and the heroic founding figures so as to bridge the stark divisions between the Argentine left and right in the late 1960s.

Over the last decade Spain and Mexico have both produced an extraordinary wealth of television drama and are among the leaders in their respective continents. The new dramas have high production values (easily the equal of cinema), intricately plotted narratives, and compellingly ambivalent characters. They are thus clearly worthy of the close textual analysis they have not yet received. Drawing on both national practices of production and reception (based on archival research in Madrid and Mexico City) and international theories of textual analysis, this book offers the first study of contemporary quality TV drama in two countries where, unlike elsewhere, it is not yet recognized that television has displaced cinema as the creative medium that shapes the national narrative. As dramatized societies, Spain and Mexico are thus at once reflected and refracted by the new series on the small screen. Social issues treated include historical memory, youth, drugs, race, and gender.

Well-known in popular culture for tomb-raiding and mummy-wrangling, the archaeologist is also a rich though often unacknowledged figure for constructing ‘strange new worlds’ from ‘strange old worlds’ in science fiction. But more than a well-spring for scenarios, SF’s archaeological imaginary is also a hermeneutic tool for excavating the ideological motivations of digging up the past buried in the future. A cultural study of an array of popular though critically neglected North American SF film and television texts–spanning the gamut of telefilms, pseudo-documentaries, teen serial drama and Hollywood blockbusters–Excavating the Future treats archaeology as a trope for exploring the popular archaeological imagination and the uses to which it is being put by the U.S. state and its adversaries. By treating SF texts as documents of archaeological experience circulating within and between scientific and popular culture communities and media, Excavating the Future develops critical strategies for analyzing SF film and television’s critical and adaptive responses to contemporary geopolitical concerns about the war on terror, homeland security, the invasion and reconstruction of Iraq, and the ongoing fight against ISIS.

The Liverpool Companion to World Science Fiction Film offers critical insights into science fiction far beyond the more common Anglo-American narratives. The collection contains fourteen chapters written by specialists from around the world. Contributors take either a national or transnational approach, and stretch the geographic and conceptual boundaries of science fiction cinema. Recurrent themes include genre discussions, engagement with Hollywood, and the international subgenre of science fiction parody. Chapters contain a variety of perspectives and styles: from gender and race studies, to the eco-critical, and the post-colonial; from the avant-garde, to socialist realism, and the Hammer film. Each chapter also provides a short overview of the history of science fiction cinema in the country of focus. Film traditions represented include Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Cameroon, China, the Czech Republic, France, Germany, India, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Kenya, Poland, the United Kingdom, and the United States plus a chapter on audiences and digital shorts. From the dinosaur myth that became Godzilla to Brazilian science fiction comedy, from China’s Death Ray to Kenya’s Pumzi, this book will broaden the horizons of scholars and students of science fiction. The book also includes a guide for further viewing at the back.

Critical discussion of cult cinema has often noted its tendency to straddle or ignore boundaries, to pull together different sets of conventions, narrative formulas, or character types for the almost surreal pleasure to be found in their sudden juxtapositions or narrative combination. With its own boundary-blurring nature — as both science and fiction, reality and fantasy — science fiction (sf) has played a key role in such cinematic cult formation. This volume examines that largely unexplored relationship, looking at how the sf film's own double nature neatly matches up with a persistent double vision common to the cult film. It does so by addressing key questions about the intersections of sf and cult cinema: how different genre elements, directors, and stars contribute to cult formation; what role fan activities, including ‘con’ participation, play in cult development; and how the occulted or ‘bad’ sf cult film works. The volume pursues these questions by addressing a variety of such sf cult works, including Robot Monster (1953), Zardoz (1974), A Boy and His Dog (1975), Tetsuo: The Iron Man (1989), Space Truckers (1996), Ghost in the Shell 2 (2004), and Iron Sky (2012). What these chapters afford is a revealing vision of both the sf aspects of much cult film activity and the cultish aspects of the whole sf genre.

From the fleetingly captured street scenes of the city symphony, to the meticulously reconstructed studio city of musical comedies; from the propagandistic Popular Front documentaries about construction workers, to poetic realism’s bittersweet portraits of populist neighborhoods: Social Architecture explores the construction, representation and experience of spaces and places in documentary and realist films of the French 1930s. In this book, Margaret C. Flinn tracks the relation between the emergent techniques of French sound cinema and its thematic, social and political preoccupations through analysis of discourse in contemporary press, theoretical texts and through readings of films themselves. New light is shed on works of canonical directors such as Jean Renoir, René Clair, Jean Vigo and Julien Duvivier by their consideration in relationship to little known documentary films of the era. Flinn argues that film has a readable architecture—a configuration of narrative and representations that informs, explains, and creates social identities, while reflecting upon the position of individuals within their societies.

Vivre Ici analyzes a selection of films from the vast viewing landscape of contemporary French documentary film, a genre that has experienced a renaissance in the past twenty years. The films are connected not just by a general interest in engaging the “real,” but by a particular attention to French space and place. From farms and wild places to roads, schools, and urban edgelands, these films explore the spaces of the everyday and the human and non-human experiences that unfold within them. Through a critical approach that integrates phenomenology, film theory, eco-criticism and cultural history, Levine investigates the notion of documentary as experience. She asks how and why, in the contemporary media landscape, these films seek to avoid argumentation and instead, give the viewer a feeling of “being there.” As a diverse collection of filmmakers, both well-known and less so, explore the limits and possibilities of these places, a collage-like, incomplete, and fragmented vision of France as seen and felt through documentary cameras comes into view. Venturing beyond film analysis to examine the production climate for these films and their circulation in contemporary France, Levine explores the social and political consequences of these “films that matter” for the viewers who come into contact with them.