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Roberta Pearson, Anthony N. Smith Eds. Storytelling in The Media Convergence Age Exploring Screen Narratives
Roberta Pearson, Anthony N. Smith Eds. Storytelling in The Media Convergence Age Exploring Screen Narratives
Convergence Age
Exploring Screen Narratives
Edited by
Roberta Pearson
Anthony N. Smith
Storytelling in the Media Convergence Age
Also by Roberta Pearson
John Hartley and Roberta Pearson, editors, American Cultural Studies: A Reader
(2000).
Edward Buscombe and Roberta Pearson, editors, Back in the Saddle Again: New
Writings on the Western (1998).
Claire Dupre la Tour, Andre Gaudreault and Roberta Pearson, editors, Cinema
Autour de Siecle/Cinema at the turn-of-the-century (1999).
Roberta Pearson and Philip Simpson, editors, Critical Dictionary of Film and
Television Theory (2001).
Sara Gwenllian-Jones and Roberta Pearson, editors, Cult Television (2004).
Roberta Pearson, Eloquent Gestures: The Transformation of Performance Style in the
Griffith Biograph Films (1992).
Roberta Pearson and William Uricchio, editors, The Many Lives of the Batman:
Critical Approaches to a Superhero and His Media (1991).
David L. Paletz, Roberta Pearson and Donald Willis, The Politics of Public Service
Advertising on Television (1977).
Roberta Pearson, editor, Reading Lost: Perspectives on a Hit Television Show (2009).
William Uricchio and Roberta Pearson, Reframing Culture: The Case of the
Vitagraph Quality Films (1993).
Roberta Pearson and Maire Messenger Davies, Star Trek and American Television
(2014).
Storytelling in the Media
Convergence Age
Exploring Screen Narratives
Edited by
Roberta Pearson
University of Nottingham, UK
Anthony N. Smith
University of Salford, UK
Introduction, selection and editorial matter © Roberta Pearson and
Anthony N. Smith 2015
Individual chapters © Respective authors 2015
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2015 ISBN 978–1–137–38814–8
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this
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permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency,
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Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The authors have asserted their rights to be identified as the authors of this
work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published 2015 by
PALGRAVE MACMILLAN
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registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke,
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Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC,
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ISBN 978-1-349-48192-7 ISBN 978-1-137-38815-5 (eBook)
DOI 10.1057/9781137388155
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managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Storytelling in the media convergence age : exploring screen narratives /
[editors] Roberta Pearson, University of Nottingham, UK ;
Anthony N. Smith, University of Nottingham, UK.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references.
Acknowledgements viii
Notes on Contributors ix
Part I Production
1 Super Mario Seriality: Nintendo’s Narratives and Audience
Targeting within the Video Game Console Industry 21
Anthony N. Smith
Index 238
Figures and Tables
Figures
Tables
vii
Acknowledgements
The editors would like to thank the many people who, in one way or
another, helped bring this project to fruition. This book emerges from
an international conference hosted by the Department of Culture, Film
and Media at the University of Nottingham in 2012. We are grateful
to the University of Nottingham Graduate School and School of Cul-
tures, Languages and Area Studies for providing funding for this event.
We would also like to thank the conference committee members, Aaron
Calbreath-Frasieur, Matthew Freeman, Leora Hadas and Sam Ward as
well as those who provided additional help during the event, Linda
Marchant and Sylwia Szostak. Several people kindly chaired panels and
identified promising papers that might be turned into chapters: Mark
Gallagher, Paul Grainge, Paul McDonald, Elizabeth Evans, Debra Ramsay
and Máire Messenger Davies. We are also indebted to William Uricchio
for helpful comments on the book proposal.
viii
Contributors
ix
x Notes on Contributors
Jason Mittell is Professor of Film & Media Culture and American Studies
at Middlebury College, USA. He is the author of Genre & Television: From
Cop Shows to Cartoons in American Culture (2004), Television & American
Culture (2009) and Complex Television: The Poetics of Contemporary Televi-
sion Storytelling (forthcoming) and co-editor of How to Watch Television
(2013), as well as numerous essays about media studies. He runs the blog
Just TV.
1
2 Introduction
Medium specificity
National specificity
Institutional specificity
Technological specificity
vary across media but also within a medium. Television programmes can
be circulated via linear scheduling, digital streaming services and repack-
aged as DVD box sets, and can also be consumed via a range of different
screen technologies. Video games, too, are circulated via both digital
download and physical discs, while the need for video game hardware
manufacturers to distinguish their products ensures the differentiation
of hardware affordances such as graphical processing capacities (which
render storyworld activity) and user interface technologies (such as
touch screens, motion controls and virtual reality headsets).
These variations in modes of circulation and platforms of consump-
tion have the potential to structure screen narratives, as producers
ensure that their content complements the specificities of their tech-
nologies. For example, as part of their respective analyses of 24: Con-
spiracy (2005), a transmedia extension of the television drama series 24
(2001–2010) intended for mobile devices, Max Dawson and Elizabeth
Evans each note the ways in which the webisodes’ style was configured
for a small display; the composition is comprised of a shallow depth
of field and a high rate of extreme close-ups, while the trademark split-
screen sequences of the television series are omitted.19 By addressing, for
example, contrasts in consumer hardware, chapters in this book further
examine the connections between contemporary screen narratives and
their specific technological contexts.
Through its linking of screen narratives to their national, institutional
and technological contexts of production, circulation and consump-
tion, this book takes what David Bordwell terms a ‘historical poetics’
approach to storytelling in the media convergence age.20 Related schol-
arship concerning contemporary screen narratives that adheres to this
approach includes Mittell’s work on US television practices, Evans and
M.J. Clarke’s respective books on transmedia television, Glen Creeber’s
study of ‘small screen aesthetics’ in the digital era and Idrek Ibrus
and Carlos A. Scolari’s collection concerning ‘crossmedia innovations’.21
We hope this collection will make another valuable contribution to this
field of historical poetics.
Book structure
Dagnino first details how the Italian government has sought to encour-
age private investment in the film industry through a combination of
tax credit and product placement incentives. She then moves on to her
case study, the 2012 comedy, The Commander and the Stork, written and
directed by Silvio Soldini, who has a reputation as a cinema ‘auteur’.
Contrasting The Commander and the Stork with Soldini’s earlier films,
Dagnino argues that the product placement deal with the company
ILLVA Saronno, the makers of Disaronno liqueur, significantly impacted
upon the film’s narrative through the insertion of a scene that had the
sole purpose of promoting the alcoholic beverage. Dagnino’s chapter,
the first to address product placement in the context of Italian media
production, provides a telling example of the effect of institutional
regulatory strategies upon film narratives in specific national contexts.
Like Mittell and Dagnino, Iain R. Smith and Roberta Pearson speak
to national and institutional specificities, but unlike them, do so in a
comparative context, Smith by exploring the adaptation of an American
independent film into a Bollywood one and Pearson by contrasting the
current UK and US television adaptations of Sherlock Holmes. Smith’s
chapter, ‘Memento in Mumbai: “A Few More Songs and a Lot More Ass
Kicking” ’, uses an historical poetics approach to account for the differ-
ences in narrational modes between Memento (2000) and Ghajini (2008),
the latter an adaptation of the former. Drawing on Tejaswani Ganti’s
analysis of the ways in which Indian producers modify American films
to meet the expectations of Indian audiences, Smith shows that the
Bollywood film made three significant alterations to its source text,
expanding the narrative, intensifying emotions and adding songs.22
This was achieved with the addition of a lengthy flashback sequence
detailing the relationship of the hero to his murdered fiancée. This
‘parallel track’ strategy permits the film to retain Memento’s core story
(albeit reworked into chronological order) in its primary narrative ‘track’
while simultaneously conforming to the conventions of Bollywood cin-
ema in its secondary narrative ‘track’. Smith’s case study concerns the
transnational dynamics in operation in the remaking of texts across dif-
ferent national and regional contexts. He argues that Ghajini and similar
Bollywood remakes result not from an essentialist ‘Indianisation’ but
from a transnational cultural exchange in which a globally circulating
media form interacts with local narrative traditions and a local industry.
Pearson’s chapter, ‘A Case of Identity: Sherlock, Elementary and Their
National Broadcasting Systems’, uses the current UK and US television
adaptations of Sherlock Holmes to argue for the continued persis-
tence of national differences even in the age of globalisation. Pearson
Anthony N. Smith and Roberta Pearson 13
Notes
1. Henry Jenkins, Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Col-
lide (New York: New York University Press, 2006); Graham Meikle and
Sherman Young, Media Convergence: Networked Digital Media in Everyday Life
(Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012); Michael Latzer, ‘Media Conver-
gence’, in Handbook on the Digital Creative Economy, eds. Ruth Towse and
Christian Handke (Cheltenham: Edward Elgar, 2013), 123–133.
2. Ruth Page and Bronwen Thomas, ‘Introduction’, in New Narratives: Stories
and Storytelling in the Digital Age, eds. Ruth Page and Bronwen Thomas
(Lincoln: University of Nebraska, 2011), 7. On the topic of remediation, see
Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media
(Cambridge: MIT Press, 1999).
16 Introduction
21
22 Production
game, Mario’s rescue of Peach. Additionally, New Super Mario Bros. Wii
closely replicates many more specific narrative details from the original
game, including its final showdown scenario between Mario and Bowser.
Following the template established by the original game, the Koopa King
awaits the player character at the far side of a lava-spanning bridge;
again, the player must guide Mario beneath the bounding Bowser, dodg-
ing the latter’s deadly projectiles (this time, fireballs), and have Mario
jump upon a large button (which has replaced the glowing axe) that
collapses the bridge, sending Bowser hurtling below.
But on this occasion the quest isn’t over. The awaiting princess is
revealed as an imposter, not Peach but rather a Magikoopa – a sorcerer
servant of Bowser – adorned in blonde wig and the princess’s trademark
pink dress. The Magikoopa sprinkles mystical dust over the lava into
which its master fell, causing Bowser – now at least 20 times his pre-
vious size – to rise from the fire. To free the genuine Peach, the player
must navigate Mario across a set of moving platforms, with a marauding
Bowser in hot pursuit, towards a second button, which – once pressed –
collapses the lava sea floor beneath Bowser’s feet.
New Super Mario Bros. Wii’s replication and variation of narrative con-
tent from the initial entry in the Super Mario series of games dovetails
neatly with Nintendo’s broad industrial goals in recent years, specifi-
cally its audience-targeting strategies. As I go on to detail, the company
has, from the mid-2000s onwards, aimed to attract a wide audience
of both children and adults new to console gaming, while simultane-
ously appealing to dedicated video game consumers (so-called ‘hardcore’
gamers).2 New Super Mario Bros. Wii’s reprisal of the basic narrative for-
mula from the original Super Mario Bros. is appropriate for new gamers,
as it offers a discrete and coherent narrative experience (Bowser kidnaps
Peach, Mario rescues her). Yet New Super Mario Bros. Wii’s playful vari-
ations on narrative elements previously established within the series,
such as its reworking of the original Mario–Bowser showdown, have
the potential to surprise and delight dedicated players familiar with
prior Super Mario games.3 This chapter explores further the connections
between Nintendo’s video game narratives and audience-targeting aims.
It details in particular how a specific mode of serial storytelling, emerg-
ing from Nintendo’s engagement with its back catalogue of games and
ongoing innovation in video game technologies, serves to target these
two distinct audience segments.
This chapter contributes to the games studies literature concerning
the unique ways in which video games convey narratives, which I
define as storyworlds – that is, spatio-temporal models of story that
Anthony N. Smith 23
EAD’s Eiji Aonuma, who manages the software group responsible for
new Legend of Zelda titles, and who has served as a key creative figure on
the series since the late-1990s, emphasises the significance of the par-
ticular capabilities of a hardware platform to development. He notes
that a key objective in the production of Legend of Zelda titles has
been developing game play that complements the specific technolog-
ical affordances of a given console.39 As noted, EAD has, with regard
to the DS’ touchscreen and the Wii’s motion control inputs, used
these technologies to reduce the controller complexity of game play,
thus appealing to new console gamers. But Nintendo has also used
new technologies as another means of simultaneously appealing to
dedicated gamers by consistently integrating new hardware capabili-
ties into its practice of paradigmatic seriality. This section continues
to demonstrate how new entries in Super Mario and Legend of Zelda
series establish paradigmatic connections through the reprising of sto-
ryworld material. But it does so by considering the ways in which the
new hardware technologies either permit this storyworld material to
function in new ways (via touch screen or motion control input) or
be presented in new ways (via 3D stereoscopic display). Nintendo’s
exploitation of new hardware to provide variations on familiar nar-
rative themes sustains the appeal to dedicated gamers through the
paradigmatic serial mode.
Developed for the DS, The Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass
(2007), for example, includes a boomerang within Link’s tool set, an
item that dates back to the original Legend of Zelda, yet its host plat-
form’s touch-screen input allows the prop to function in a new way.
In earlier games, Link’s boomerang can only follow straight-line tra-
jectories but in The Phantom Hourglass the player can draw a line on
the screen to direct the boomerang on a swerving route. Settings are
designed to facilitate, and in some circumstances require, this new prop
function. For example, within some ‘dungeons’ Link must throw his
boomerang around walls so as to hit switches beyond his perspective.
EAD’s utilisation of the Wii Motion Plus technology in the development
34 Production
Conclusion
Notes
1. This overriding narrative goal is not made explicit within the game itself, but
rather by its accompanying instruction manual.
2. For further understanding of the term ‘hardcore’ within a video game con-
text, see Jesper Juul, A Casual Revolution: Reinventing Video Games and Their
Players (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2010), 8–10.
3. On the pleasures to be gained from the combination of repetition of
and variation on narrative within a series, see Umberto Eco, The Lim-
its of Interpretation (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1990), 91–93.
For more on patterns of variation and repetition in narrative, see Omar
Calabrese, Neo Baroque: A Sign of the Times, trans. Charles Lambert (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1992), 27–46; Angela Ndalianis, Neo Baroque
Aesthetics in Contemporary Entertainment (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2004),
71–107.
4. For more on the term and concept of ‘storyworlds’, see David Herman, Story
Logic: Problems and Possibilities of Narrative (Lincoln: University of Nebraska
Press, 2002), 13–14.
5. Henry Jenkins, ‘Game Design as Narrative Architecture’, in First Person:
New Media as Story, Performance and Game, eds. Noah Wardrip-Fruin and
Pat Harrigan (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2004), 118–130; Jesper Juul, Half
Real: Video Games between Real Rules and Fictional Worlds (Cambridge: The
MIT Press, 2005); Marie-Laure Ryan, Avatars of Story (Minneapolis: Univer-
sity of Minnesota Press, 2006), 181–203; Gordon Calleja, In-Game: From
Immersion to Incorporation (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2011), 113–133; Astrid
Ensslin, The Language of Gaming (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012),
142–157.
6. On use of the historical poetics approach in film and television, see David
Bordwell, ‘Historical Poetics of Cinema’, in The Cinematic Text: Methods and
Approaches, ed. R. Barton Palmer (New York: AMS Press, 1989), 369–398;
Jason Mittell, Complex Television: The Poetics of Contemporary Television
Storytelling (New York: New York University Press, forthcoming).
7. For more on the industrial organisation of the console market, see Jon
Dovey and Helen W. Kennedy, Game Cultures: Computer Games as New Media
(Maidenhead: Open University Press, 2006), 43–62.
8. Dominic Arsenault, ‘Company Profile: Nintendo’, The Video Game Explosion:
A History from Pong to PlayStation and Beyond, ed. Mark J. P. Wolf (Westport:
Greenwood Press, 2008), 113–114.
9. Nintendo has, in contrast, sustained its dominance over the handheld video
game console market ever since the introduction of its first Game Boy system
in 1989. Ibid.
10. P. J. Huffstutter, ‘Nintendo Sees Profit Slump on Weak GameCube Sales’,
Los Angeles Times, 8 April 2003, http://articles.latimes.com/2003/apr/08/
business/fi-nintendo8.
11. Daniel Sloan, Playing to Wiin: Nintendo and the Video Game Industry’s Greatest
Comeback (Hoboken: Wiley, 2011), 34–36.
12. Ibid.
13. Ibid., 101–102.
Anthony N. Smith 37
28. Richard George, ‘New Super Mario Bros. U Review’, IGN, 15 November 2012,
http://uk.ign.com/articles/2012/11/15/new-super-mario-bros-u-review.
29. Edge Staff, ‘The Legend of Zelda: A Link between Worlds Review’,
Edge, 14 November 2013, http://www.edge-online.com/review/the-legend
-of-zelda-a-link-between-worlds-review/.
30. For discussion of producers (in other media) making efforts to conceal from
‘casual’ audiences the serial narrative connections between the texts of a
given series, see Matt Hills, ‘Absent Epic, Implied Story Arcs, and Variation on
a Narrative Theme: Doctor Who (2005–2008) as Cult/Mainstream Television’,
in Third Person: Authoring and Exploring Vast Narratives, eds. Pat Harrigan
and Noah Wardrip-Fruin (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2009), 333–342;
Anthony N. Smith, Media Contexts of Narrative Design: Dimensions of Specificity
within Storytelling Industries (PhD diss., University of Nottingham, 2013),
195–205.
31. Jones and Thiruvathukal, Codename Revolution, 18.
32. Satoru Iwata, ‘Iwata Asks. The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. Vol-
ume 3. The Dense Volcano and Enemy Monsters’, Nintendo.com, date
accessed: 19 February 2014, http://iwataasks.nintendo.com/interviews/#/
wii/zelda-skyward-sword/2/0.
33. Satoru Iwata, ‘Iwata Asks. The Legend of Zelda: A Link between Worlds.
A Challenge from the Developers’, Nintendo.com, date accessed: 26 Febru-
ary 2014, https://iwataasks.nintendo.com/interviews/#/3ds/a-link-between
-worlds/0/6.
34. Ibid.
35. Satoru Iwata, ‘Iwata Asks. New Super Mario Bros. 2. Cooperation from the
Super Mario 3D Land Staff’, Nintendo.com, date accessed: 17 February 2014,
https://iwataasks.nintendo.com/interviews/#/3ds/nsmb2/0/1.
36. Satoru Iwata, ‘Iwata Asks. The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. Ideas
Born Out of Functionality’, Nintendo.com, date accessed: 24 February 2014,
http://iwataasks.nintendo.com/interviews/#/wii/twilight_princess/0/1.
37. Dovey and Kennedy, Game Cultures, 52.
38. Stephen Kline, Nick Dyer-Witheford and Greg De Peuter, Digital Play: The
Interaction of Technology, Culture and Marketing (Montreal & Kingston: McGill-
Queen’s University Press, 2003), 153–154; Juul, A Casual Revolution, 13.
39. Thorpe, The Legend of Zelda, 328.
40. Super Mario 3D Land European edition (Nintendo, 2011).
41. Satoru Iwata, ‘Iwata Asks. Volume 1: Super Mario 3D Land. “It’s So High I’m
Scared!” ’, Nintendo.com, date accessed: 17 February 2014, https://iwataasks.
nintendo.com/interviews/#/3ds/super-mario-3d-land/0/3.
42. Andrew Mactavish, ‘Technological Pleasure: The Performance and Narra-
tive of Technology in Half-Life and Other High-Tech Computer Games’,
in ScreenPlay: Cinema/Videogames/Interfaces, eds. Geoff King and Tanya
Krzywinska (London: Wallflower, 2002), 34. For more on this topic, see
Marie-Laure Ryan, ‘Beyond Ludus: Narrative, Videogames and the Split Con-
dition of Digital Textuality’, in Videogame, Player, Text, eds. Barry Atkins
and Tanya Krzywinska (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007),
14; Ndalianis, Neo Baroque Aesthetics, 99–104. Geoff King, ‘Die Hard/Try
Harder: Narrative, Spectacle and Beyond, From Hollywood to Videogame’,
in ScreenPlay: Cinema/Videogames/Interfaces, eds. Geoff King and Tanya
Anthony N. Smith 39
40
Claudio Pires Franco 41
and finally into an online game. The Muddle Earth book is a hybrid
between two narrative genres, fantasy adventure and comedy.5 Since it
is essentially a parody of the hero’s journey genre, and more specifically
a parody of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings saga, it can be termed a ‘comedic
hero’s journey’.6 As the publisher’s description reads:
Where would you find a perfumed bog filled with pink sticky hogs
and exploding gas frogs? A place that’s home to a wizard with only
one spell, an ogre who cries a lot and a very sarcastic budgie? Wel-
come to Muddle Earth. A place where anything can happen – and
usually does.7
The book tells the humorous saga of Joe, a schoolboy who accidentally
falls into an odd world. Joe and his quirky companions – the useless
wizard Randalf the Wise, Norbert the gentle troll and Veronica the acidly
sarcastic budgie – travel across the lands in a parodying Tolkienesque
journey to defeat Dr Cuddles, a blue teddy bear disguised as evil sorcerer.
In the Summer of 2009 the BBC announced the commissioning of
a Muddle Earth animated cartoon programme, which the institution
describes as an ‘[a]nimated high comedy-fantasy-adventure series that
brings the eponymous illustrated book to life’.8 It was the BBC’s first ever
in-house long-form animation series, consisting of two seasons of thir-
teen 11-minute episodes aired on BBC1 and CBBC from March 2010.9
With the television series under production the BBC then commis-
sioned Dubit to create a browser-based Muddle Earth game. According
to BBC documentation the ‘Muddle Earth MMO/Virtual World’ was
intended ‘to complement the series . . . [and] to provide a fun and
humorous way to interact with the world and characters’.10 The game,
launched in October 2010, and which was – at the time of writing – still
live online, is described to players as ‘a multiplayer game based on the
CBBC animation series of the same name’.11 The game adaptation was
based principally on the cartoon, with the book used as a complemen-
tary source of material. There were significant changes in the adapta-
tions of the Muddle Earth texts, but the key objective persisted of main-
taining the book’s comedic style and tone consistently across media.
What follows focuses primarily on the game adaptation, drawing on
data from reading the book, watching the cartoon, playing the game,
interviewing production personnel and analysing production docu-
ments; the chapter uses these data to investigate the ways in which
the Muddle Earth narrative travelled across media. It argues, with Leitch,
that adaptation studies should no longer centre on fidelity (or other
42 Production
nice and easy blueprint to work from. . . . It’s sort of a natural step for
the brand to have a big quest-driven, big story, and also in terms of
how the game looked and played it was very much driven by the artis-
tic style of the animation . . . it had nice, rich, beautiful backgrounds
drawn too, that sort of point-and-click Monkey Island thing worked
really well.22
The Muddle Earth book opens with an illustrated profile of the main
characters, including headshots and text introducing their traits and
functions in the story. Joe is the unwilling hero, a simple boy who
falls into a magical and ‘wacky’ kingdom from which he ultimately
wants to escape. He must put himself to the test, go on journeys and
quests with his allies Randalf, Veronica and Norbert, face Threshold
Guardians such as dragons and trolls, and finally defeat Dr. Cuddles,
the Shadow. The book’s plot is fairly linear, but there are several parallel
sub-plots, with different protagonists, which ultimately converge, often
to comedic effect.
The book’s humour is integral to this study because, as noted, this
element of the source text motivated the BBC to commission its adap-
tion and to ensure that it persisted within the game and television texts.
An analysis of brand consistency thus necessarily entails looking at the
ways humour was defined and created across the media instantiations.
Claire Dormann and Robert Biddle tell us that humour has the prob-
lematic characteristic of being ‘commonplace yet difficult to define’.23
For me the main sources of the book’s humour were the behaviours and
actions of the quirkiest characters: the bogus wizard, Randalf, who is
lazy, cowardly and cares only about sleeping and eating, and the budgie,
Veronica, whose sarcasm and wit unmask Randalf and point up ridicu-
lous situations. Other sources of comedy include ridiculous elements
(such as weird animals with weird names) and the ‘gross’ humour linked
to nasty smells and peculiar inedible ‘delicacies’.
The cross-media journey started with the production of the animated
television series, which in its opening titles is introduced as being ‘based
on the book’. The series contains both continuities and contrasts with
Claudio Pires Franco 45
You want to maximise your audience all the time, and because
of repeat factors . . . you avoid doing a series arc across the whole
series, because then you’d have to watch episode three to understand
episode five . . . that’s something that generally speaking we avoid in
the kids TV business . . . . [You] can’t be sure they’re watching every
single episode . . . in the modern climate that just doesn’t tend to
happen.24
As a result of this change, the cartoon dispensed with the hero’s journey,
the protagonist’s grand quest to get back home. Instead the episodic
narratives are short, each containing simple plot structures.
Many of the characters’ personality traits also changed in the tran-
sition from book to television. Newt is the animated series’ new hero,
an elf-like willing hero and Randalf’s wizard apprentice. The move from
Joe the warrior-hero to Newt the apprentice wizard negates any relation
to the ‘real’ world, any link with ‘warriors’ and any hint of violence;
in making this change, the BBC opted for an arguably more child-
friendly and politically correct ‘magic’ theme, more in line with its
policies on violence and potentially more aligned with the tastes of
young audiences recently exposed to huge media successes within the
‘magic’ fantasy genre such as Harry Potter.25
Norbert and Veronica are again the journeying allies and Dr. Cuddles
is still the villain. But Randalf becomes more of a ‘genuine’ wizard,
less of a coward, and closer to a true mentor for the new hero, Newt.
Veronica becomes less of a trickster and less sarcastic, and although
she still makes the odd comment about Randalf’s failures, these are
less frequent than in the book. But while sarcastic comedy is used
less frequently the cartoon maintains the book’s ridiculous and gross
humour. It also adds new comedic devices, made possible by the new
medium’s specific affordances, such as slapstick humour and amusing
voice-over work (comedy actor Sir David Jason voices Randalf), which
feature throughout the show.26
The series also introduced new narrative elements – settings, char-
acters and adventures – that were in line with the comedic mode of
46 Production
the book. As the BBC put it, the show ‘takes the heart of the epony-
mous world and runs with it’.27 Some of these changes were made in the
hope of appealing to a cross-gender audience. Khwaja explained how the
BBC attempted to broaden the source text’s appeal: ‘The original book
is definitely . . . boys skewing. But the adaptation . . . tried to reach both
boys and girls . . . . There was the addition of new characters . . . there’s the
fairies, and Pesticide, and a new location called Fairy Valley . . . [so as] to
make it more girl-friendly.’28 The settings in the series, depicted in a
map almost identical to the one used in the book, are virtually the same
except for the addition of a new location meant to appeal to girls. Fairy
Valley is home to a group of vain blonde, pink-clad fairies. Opposed
to them is Pesticide, one of the new protagonists, a ‘goth-punkish’ rebel
fairy who dresses in black and does not get along with the blonde fairies.
She represents a kind of ‘troubled teenager’ stereotype and was added
perhaps to counterbalance the presence of the pink fairies.
Muddle Earth’s journey from page to screen involved several changes,
most significantly the replacement of its human reluctant hero with
an elf-boy and willing hero. But its producers believed that they had
retained the book’s ‘essence’, that is, a level of brand consistency, while
turning it into a recognisably BBC product and potentially widening
its audience. The producers perceived that staying ‘on brand’ was an
essential prerequisite for turning the cartoon into a game.
In the words of Khwaja, the Muddle Earth game is a multiplayer ‘quest-
based virtual world’ formed by a series of environments that replicate
locations from the series.29 After an initial backstory, Randalf the wiz-
ard takes the player (called a wizard apprentice) through a tutorial that
explains the interface and essential game mechanics, at the end of which
players are invited to start a quest, the first of a series of chained quests.
Choosing the ‘main quest puts the player in the leading role of a Muddle
Earth adventure which provides a large body of gameplay for the virtual
world and an over arching storyline’.30 Thanks to a distinctive feature
of games – the ability to save progress and play from a saved point –
the game returned to a long story-arc, a hero’s journey format similar to
that found in the book but which the television series had abandoned
due to producers’ understandings of audiences’ viewing habits. Produc-
ers furthermore relied on specific narrative material from the book that
hadn’t been included in the series so as to ‘fill in the gaps’.31 But the
television series remained the main source for the game’s development;
as Khwaja explained, ‘it was much more important dealing with the
scripts, that’s what we wanted to keep it on brand with, rather than
the book’.32
Claudio Pires Franco 47
The BBC exerted tight control over the game’s content in order to
maintain brand consistency with the cartoon. For example, the institu-
tion produced a detailed game concept document, which was passed on
to the game studio, and which was based on the television series ‘bible’
and scripts for the first few episodes.33 Any new content suggested by the
game studio during production underwent a process of approval, which
often included the executive team in charge of producing the televi-
sion series. Brand consistency was never fully defined a priori; rather, it
emerged in the process of communication as producers reviewed and
self-consciously revised game content.34 For example, a shopping basket
(in digital media a widely used icon to signify ‘shop’) was replaced by
a wicker basket (a more thematically appropriate ‘medieval’ symbol).
In other instances, the dialogue of non-player-characters (NPCs) was
refined to bring it closer to the comedic style of the source texts.35
Many of the narrative elements of the game were, to use Jay David
Bolter and Richard Grusin’s well-known term, ‘remediated’ from other
media forms, including those of the book and television series.36 Key
examples include the use of a visual representation of an aged book
to present the initial backstory; cut scenes to introduce plot develop-
ment through animation akin to the television series; the presentation
of NPC dialogue via comic-book style speech bubbles; and finally the
player’s quest journal, common in the game genre and which is remi-
niscent of an explorer’s log book. The ‘scripted’ or ‘authored’ narrative
elements of the game, which are designed by the producers (and which
are distinct from ‘emergent’ player narratives) combine storytelling con-
ventions from other media with storytelling devices specific to the
game medium, mixing representational elements (for example, set-
tings, characters, sound effects, music) and ludic elements (actual game
playing). The ludic component is the medium-specific way of telling
stories within computer games. David Buckingham proposes that the
specificities of computer games are ‘not simply about the manner in
which they represent settings or narratives or characters – in other
words, about those elements that apply to other media or cultural forms.
They are also about the ways in which games are played’.37 Computer
games can be seen in Celia Pearce’s words as ‘structured frameworks
for play’ or in Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman’s as ‘rule-governed sys-
tems’; as Jesper Juul argues, games are to a great extent defined by their
‘gameness’.38
In the Muddle Earth game, players unravel story elements and unfold
the plot through playing mini-games and through the management of
ludic resources based on Muddle Earth themes and events. For instance,
48 Production
players can collect the lost pages of a spell book (originally mentioned
in the source book) and ride a dragon to gain a golden artefact (an adap-
tation of a passage in the book, in turn inspired by Smaug, the gold-
collecting dragon in The Hobbit [1937]). These ludic elements present
game-like challenges, rewarding the player with experience points, level
upgrades and advancement of the plot. More importantly, players can
access the game narrative through engaging in quests in a quest sys-
tem made up of blocks of action and narrative. By completing quests
and sub-quests, each with their own sets of objectives, the player moves
the plot forward. To adopt Seymour Chatman’s distinction, the com-
pletion of quests can be seen as ‘kernel’ events of the game narrative
that are indispensable to the plot, while sub-quests and minor objectives
constitute ‘satellite’ events, expendable and peripheral.39
The story unfolds principally through questing; the quest system
allows the player to experience the type of comedic fantasy adventure
offered by the game’s source texts. It is also the bridge between the
game’s representational elements and ludic structures. Questing inter-
sects storytelling with game playing – in order to develop the plot and
disclose the next part of the story the player has to engage in ludic
activities. The player’s main mission is to find out what, or who, is
behind the magic that is making everyone grow extremely hairy. The
quests involve actions such as speaking to Randalf, finding ingredients
for magic spells, collecting bat-birds and exploding frogs, and defeating
trolls in pie fights. Quests are aggregators of diverse game activities, they
reveal kernel narrative checkpoints that progress the story and intersect
ludic activities with remediated forms such as expository text and cut
scenes. Through quests the player reads, watches and plays the story.
The game’s grand quest narrative restored a key narrative element of
the book that the television series had omitted. But the game was nev-
ertheless primarily consistent with the cartoon. Since the game shared
digital assets (such as character and background artwork) with the series
and both used Adobe Flash software to convey these assets, there was a
good level of visual consistency between them.40 There was also narra-
tive consistency with the cartoon, achieved through the use of settings
and characters specific to the series.
However, despite this consistency, there are further ways in which
the game’s narrative veers from that of the television series, notably
in terms of character, plot structure and style and tone of the cartoon,
with some of these departures linked to medium affordances and others
to the stylistic choices of the production teams. With regards to char-
acter, the game adopts the customary convention of the customisable
Claudio Pires Franco 49
yards away on the other side of the street. These comedic devices did not
originate from the source texts, but still suited Muddle Earth’s ‘wacky’
style. The game producers used the specific affordances available to the
game medium, but in a way that aimed to maintain brand consistency
by adopting a similar tone, of which producers of the game series and
sometimes of the television series approved.
To summarise, the game made use of many narrative elements of the
book and television source texts. Some were translated fairly directly (for
instance, settings, events and character identities), others were modified
(character functions, plot structures), added to (new story material with
BBC approval), or dropped (humorous voices, slapstick humour). A com-
plex number of interrelated factors informed decisions about which
elements to retain, modify or drop, including the producers’ concep-
tions of brand consistency, the specific affordances of the game medium,
the intertextual influences of other games and the BBC’s understanding
regarding its intended audiences.
Conclusion
This study points towards the need for a holistic approach to adaptation
studies, an approach that moves beyond the mere comparison of adap-
tations to their source texts, to consider a more complex set of processes
shaping adaptations. As this chapter shows, the Muddle Earth game adap-
tation was moulded by a series of factors, which can be categorised into
three main areas:
Notes
1. Thomas Leitch, ‘Adaptation Studies at a Crossroads’, Adaptation 1, no. 1
(2008), 63.
2. Ibid., 64.
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid., 66, 76.
5. Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell, Muddle Earth (London: Macmillan, 2004).
52 Production
6. On the hero’s journey genre, see Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand
Faces 3rd Edition (Novato: New World Library, 2008).
7. Book description from publisher website: ‘Muddle Earth’, accessed
29 December 2013, http://www.panmacmillan.com/book/paulstewart/
muddleearth.
8. Description sourced via search results for ‘Muddle Earth’ via BBC website:
‘TV & Radio Programmes’, BBC.co.uk, accessed 26 April 2014, http://www
.bbc.co.uk/search/schedule/?q=muddle%20earth.
9. Press Office, ‘CBBC Unveils Magic of its First In-House Long-Form Animation
Series’, BBC, 12 March 2010, http://www.bbc.co.uk/pressoffice/pressreleases/
stories/2010/03_march/12/muddle.shtml.
10. ‘Request for Proposal for Delivery of Muddle Earth MMO/Virtual World to
the BBC’, BBC production document, 18 November 2009, point 1.1. I was
granted access to the production documents referenced in this chapter by
the BBC and Dubit (my employer at the time). I was not in any way involved
in the production of the game.
11. ‘Frequently Asked Questions’, bbc.co.uk, accessed 16 March 2014, http://
www.muddleearthworld.co.uk/faq#faq-14.
12. On intertextuality in adaptations see Robert Stam, Robert Burgoyne, and
Sandy Flitterman-Lewis, New Vocabularies in Film Semiotics: Structuralism,
Post-Structuralism and Beyond (London and New York: Routledge, 1992); and
Robert Stam, ‘Beyond Fidelity: The Dialogics of Adaptation’, in Film Adapta-
tion, ed. James Naremore (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2000),
54–76.
13. Ibid., 54.
14. Ibid., 57.
15. Geoffrey A. Long, Transmedia Storytelling: Business, Aesthetics and Production
at the Jim Henson Company (MA diss., MIT, 2007), http://dspace.mit.edu/
handle/1721.1/39152.
16. ‘Request for Proposal for Delivery of Muddle Earth MMO/Virtual World’,
point 1.1.
17. Interview with Adam Khwaja (Senior Producer for CBBC and Muddle Earth
game producer), 4 November 2010, BBC Television Centre.
18. The term ‘virtual world’ applies primarily to digital spaces such as Second
Life (2003), which is a kind of simulation of a world, a virtual world, where
avatars can walk through a large digital space. The term has also been applied
to a fairly wide range of typically child-orientated multiplayer games, such
as Moshi Monsters (2007), where players can visit several areas and interact
with the world, non-player-characters and other players, as well as complete
missions, play mini-games, among other activities.
19. Interview with Adam Khwaja.
20. Ibid.
21. Ibid.
22. Ibid. Escape from Monkey Island (2000) is a wacky, humorous ‘point and click’
adventure set in a tropical island in the 18th century. The player explores an
island, talks to quirky characters, solves puzzles and riddles and is exposed
to numerous one-liners and gags. The game – which spawned sequels and
adaptations – was responsible for many innovations in its use of the game
medium for comedic purposes.
Claudio Pires Franco 53
23. Claire Dormann and Robert Biddle, ‘A Review of Humor for Computer
Games: Play, Laugh and More’, Simulation Gaming 40 (2009), 803.
24. Interview with Adam Khwaja.
25. Cartoons aired by the BBC seldom include fighting or violence. Guid-
ance recommends that ‘Programmes will avoid suggesting that violence or
aggression is an easy or appropriate solution to all problems.’ Violence and
the Viewer: Report of the Joint Working Party on Violence on Television, BBC
(1998), 14.
26. As Sir David Jason has played – and voiced – a good number of humorous
characters (including some that feature in animated children’s television),
his presence brings with it many potential intertextual allusions.
27. Press Office, ‘CBBC Unveils Magic’.
28. Interview with Adam Khwaja.
29. Ibid.
30. ‘Muddle Earth MMO/Virtual World Concept’, BBC production document,
23 November 2009, 5.
31. Interview with Adam Khwaja.
32. Ibid.
33. ‘Muddle Earth MMO/Virtual World Concept’.
34. I was able to gain this impression of the production process through
analysing Basecamp, a project management online tool for file sharing and
threaded discussions on which BBC and Dubit teams relied, and which
contained an overall shared history of their communications.
35. Ibid.
36. Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1999).
37. David Buckingham, ‘Studying Computer Games’, in Computer Games: Text,
Narrative and Play, ed. Diane Carr, David Buckingham, Andrew Burn and
Gareth Schott (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2006), 7. Emphasis in original.
38. Celia Pearce, ‘Story as Play Space: Narrative in Games’, in Game On: The His-
tory and Culture of Video Games, ed. Lucien King (London: Lawrence King,
2002), 113; Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman, ‘This is Not a Game: Play
in Cultural Environments’ (Paper Presented at the DiGRA Level Up Con-
ference, Utrecht, 4–6 November 2003), http://www.digra.org/digital-library/
publications/this-is-not-a-game-play-in-cultural-environments-2/; Jesper Juul,
‘The Game, The Player, The World: Looking For A Heart Of Gameness’ (paper
presented at the DiGRA Level Up Conference, Utrecht, 4–6 November 2003),
https://www.jesperjuul.net/text/gameplayerworld/.
39. Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978), 53.
40. Flash is a piece of software commonly used to render images, videos and
games online.
41. For more on this topic, see Tanya Krzywinska, ‘Playing Buffy’, Slayage: The
Online International Journal of Buffy Studies 8 (2003), http://www.slayage.tv/
essays/slayage8/Krzywinska.htm.
42. Interview with Adam Khwaja.
43. Ibid.
3
Distortions in Spacetime: Emergent
Narrative Practices in Comics’
Transition from Print to Screen
Daniel Merlin Goodbrey
54
Daniel Merlin Goodbrey 55
the digital comics form and the role of reader control as a key element
within the medium. By examining the manner by which practitioners
within the medium of comics have responded to the great technolog-
ical shifts of recent decades, the chapter offers a perspective on the
relationship between narratives and their changing contexts within the
convergence era.
A change of space
Over the course of the last 20 years, the nature of the space that comics
use to tell their stories has been undergoing a profound change. The
beginnings of this change can be traced back to the early 1990s and
the addition of image display to the World Wide Web. The Mosaic web
browser’s ability to display images contributed to a massive surge in pop-
ularity for the World Wide Web, with web use growing by a factor of
341,634 per cent over the course of 1993.13 It also lead to the emergence
of the first webcomics – comics created specifically for digital display
and distribution via the web.14
As the web grew in popularity through the 1990s, so the medium of
webcomics expanded and matured, bolstered by a rapidly expanding
community of new comic creators and readers. The web offered these
creators an opportunity to reach a widening audience of readers without
incurring the prohibitive costs of publication and distribution associated
with print.15 By the early 2000s a dominant model for webcomics had
begun to emerge, similar in format (if not in content) to that of the daily
newspaper comic strip. But even as this format began to take hold, so
too did a new wave of webcomic creators emerge who were determined
to push at the boundaries of the fledgling form and further explore the
potential of the digital medium.16
Today, digital display is an increasingly popular mode of consump-
tion for the comics medium. Portable touchscreen devices such as
smartphones and tablet computers have provided a single platform
of consumption on which comics, film, animation, games and other
58 Production
the content of the older media could simply be poured into the new
one. Since the electronic version justifies itself by granting access
to the other media, it wants to be transparent . . . so that the viewer
stands in the same relationship to the content as she would if she
were confronting the original medium.20
introducing the idea of swiping the screen in order to turn the page.
This gesture, with a physical motion more akin to that of the traditional
page turn, can be seen as an example of increased immediacy or ‘a style
of visual representation whose goal is to make the viewer forget’ the
digital nature of the comic being consumed.21
At present there are still relatively few digital comics that have been
designed specifically for primary consumption via tablet computer or
smartphone. There does, however, exist a wealth of experimental work
carried out by independent creators in the field of webcomics that points
towards the potential offered by these new formats. In exploring this
potential such works often tend towards a state of ‘hypermediacy’ in
which the reader is increasingly reminded of the digital nature of the
medium.22 Ultimately, it is only when creators start to question the
tropes common to print and the medium pushes towards hypermedi-
acy that we begin to see significant changes in the relationship between
space and time. For the purposes of this chapter, these changes have
been broken down across three broad categories:
The screen will act as an unmoving stage onto which panels will
appear. Initially, a single panel (or group of panels) is presented to
the reader. The reader clicks on the stage and a new panel (or group
of panels) appears . . . . These new panels join the previous ones, often
replacing or obscuring some (or all) of them.23
The tension between page and screen inherent in this approach was
highlighted by Barber, who describes the result as being ‘a “malleable
page”, using “page” somewhat ironically as this can only occur
on-screen’.24
60 Production
the ‘guided view’ that Comixology includes with the majority of the
remediated print comics that it offers for download.28
When following a guided view, the reader consumes each page of a
comic from a zoomed viewpoint that shows one image at a time. A
simple animated transition is then used to show how each image or
panel relates to the next in sequence. It is a technique necessitated by
the difficulty of adapting print comic pages to the smaller dimensions
of smartphone screens (and similar issues between double-page spreads
and tablet screens). It is unfortunately also a reductive experience, which
severely limits the reader’s ability to appreciate the ‘dechronologized
mode’ of the original print comic’s spatial network.29 The guided view
itself is created by the Comixology service without direct input from
the creators of the original print comic. As such it offers none of the
fine control over pacing, panel positioning or page composition that
is available to a creator making deliberate use of panel delivery in the
creation of a digitally native comic.
The panel delivery approach taken in Insufferable and Infinite Comics
has been heavily influenced by the work of cartoonist Yves Bigerel and
his manifesto, About Digital Comics, which Waid cites as ‘the founda-
tion . . . [for his] . . . entire mindset and mission’.30 The manifesto takes
the form of a webcomic in which Bigerel demonstrates the new ‘story
telling possibilities, [and] new ways to create time with space’ that
panel delivery has to offer.31 He outlines the flexibility of panel delivery
to shift page compositions to support new panel shapes or arrange-
ments as needed, while still making use of traditional page composition
techniques where appropriate. Bigerel suggests that by controlling how
many panels are revealed each time the reader clicks to advance, the
reader’s perception of time can be sped up or slowed down. Controlling
when panels appear and the order in which they appear can also be used
to create surprises for the reader or foreshadow dramatic events.
These processes can be seen at work in the previously discussed res-
cue sequence from Insufferable. As the reader clicks, the sequence of
revealed panels builds towards a close-up of Nocturnus, his eye opened
wide in panic as he tries to think of a possible escape. Once the close-up
is revealed, further clicking causes the other panels to disappear, leav-
ing this image as the sole visual element on the page and extending
the protagonist’s moment of panic. A further click then reveals a single
word balloon with its tail leading off-page, foreshadowing the arrival of
someone new to the scene. Only with a final click is the sequence com-
pleted, revealing the appearance of a hand reaching in to offer rescue
from above.
62 Production
a print comic has to be allotted its share of that resource. The space of
the comic is broken down into fixed, homogenised groupings of panels
we call pages and stories are often told across fixed, predetermined page
counts. For print comic creators, space is at a premium. They have been
trained to get the most narrative impact possible out of every page and
to make every panel count.
On the screen, the space a comic occupies is suddenly no longer finite,
nor fixed. In Reinventing Comics, McCloud proposed the idea that ‘the
monitor which so often acts as a page may also act as a window’ onto
a much larger arrangement of panels.35 McCloud identified the page as
simply an artefact of print rather than an intrinsic element of the comics
form. He went on to offer the following prediction: ‘Once released from
that box, some will take the shape of the box with them but gradually,
comics creators will stretch their limbs and start to explore the design
opportunities of an infinite canvas.’36
Infinite canvas comics, as this subset has become known, have been
taken up by many different webcomic creators since McCloud proposed
the idea in 2000. With space no longer at a premium, the potential to
experiment with the spatial relationship between panels becomes much
more appealing to the creator. This brings to the foreground the concept
of comics as a temporal map, where a change in the spatial relationship
between panels can be used to influence the reader’s interpretation of
fictional time within the comic. In McCloud’s own Zot! Online: Hearts
And Minds Part 3 (2000), the usual flow of panels in the webcomic is
replaced with one long vertical panel lasting across six screens worth
of scrolling.37 A mid-air explosion sees the story’s protagonists falling
through the sky with the vertical panel used to slow the experience
of free fall, before the usual panel structure is abruptly resumed as the
protagonists finally reach the ground.
In Drew Weing’s Pup Ponders the Heat Death Of The Universe (2004),
the webcomic’s protagonist sits pondering the entire future history of
the Universe.38 As the reader scrolls through, the comic’s panels become
larger and then drop away altogether as the scale of both the events
and time being pondered expands out beyond the edges of the screen.
The sun expands to supernova, filling the screen and consuming the
earth. The stars wink out and the reader is left scrolling through screen
after screen of black as the protagonist tumbles through the void, lost in
thought.
Conversely in Manien Bothma and Jason Turner’s True Loves 3: Busi-
ness Is Brisk (2011), we see the infinite canvas used to differentiate
between small moments of everyday life.39 During the protagonist’s
64 Production
Figure 3.1 Digital comics as both temporal and narrative map in Daniel
Goodbrey’s Never Shoot the Chronopath (2007)
Daniel Merlin Goodbrey 65
path they’ve taken through the story.45 To navigate the story requires
non-trivial effort on behalf of the reader, with progression coming about
as the consequence of a series of deliberate choices.
While the infinite canvas has remained a popular choice among
webcomic creators, unlike panel delivery it has yet to see much adoption
among digital comics created for smartphones and tablet computers.
The hypermediacy of treating the screen as a window, with its more
marked departure from notions of the traditional page does not fit well
alongside the prevalent trend towards immediacy seen in the majority
of comics delivered via touchscreen devices, whereby the page turns of
print comics are emulated. However, as Bolter and Grusin note: ‘As each
medium promises to reform its predecessor by offering a more immedi-
ate or authentic experience, the promise of reform inevitably leads us to
become aware of the new medium as a medium. Thus, immediacy leads
to hypermediacy.’46
The more comfortable comic readers become with the concept of
tablets and smartphones as media distinct from that of the printed
page, the more accepting they will be of new, screen-based tropes.
In recent years, my own work as a practitioner has been based around
an exploration of this potential for innovation in digital comics. In my
hypercomic smartphone app A Duck Has an Adventure (2012), the reader
is given the opportunity to make key, life-changing decisions for the
story’s protagonist.47 To do this the comic makes use of a zooming infi-
nite canvas approach. Each decision opens up a new pathway to follow,
with a new trail of panels being created as the reader advances. The
more the reader explores the results of making different decisions for
the protagonist, the more the story builds into a map of all the possible
directions one person’s life might take.
Before the infinite canvas, hypercomics had more often been mod-
elled on the non-spatial relationship of linked ‘lexia’ (or pages) found
in the World Wide Web.48 Infinite canvas hypercomics maintain the
fixed spatial relationship between all elements of their narrative net-
work. As such, divergent timelines and parallel threads of events can be
given clear spatial relationships and resonances in a true ‘artist’s map’
of time.49 In A Duck Has An Adventure, certain alternate timelines can be
seen to mirror each other in their layout, leading to points of thematic
and narrative crossover between the different trails. Some endings to the
story can only be reached once the reader has visited these crossovers
via both of the mirrored pathways. The comic’s temporal map thus
becomes the site of puzzle-solving gameplay on behalf of the reader as
they attempt to find all the points of crossover in order to unlock further
progress through the narrative.
Daniel Merlin Goodbrey 67
The vital nature of the reader’s role is also highlighted by Bigerel, who
stresses the importance of keeping control over time ‘in the reader’s
hands’.62 In his digital comics manifesto he cautions that the overuse
of animated elements in the delivery of a comic can result in the reader
being forced into becoming an observer of the animation rather than
a reader of the comic. Bigerel suggests that the key to making a digi-
tal comic work as a comic is to make sure that it is always the reader
who ‘clicks to see what’s next, with no fancy gimmicks coming from
the temporal world to ruin the experience’ and to ensure that, above all,
‘the reader is still in control’.63
70 Production
In print, as del Toro makes clear, the reader controls the pace of
the story via their own pace of reading and the turn of the page. The
importance of the reader and the act of reading is further emphasised
by Barber, who asserts that: ‘In reading, the reader controls the rate at
which information is absorbed. This is inherent in comics; this is what
separates comics from film.’64 This is, as Waid observes, ‘what makes
comics, comics’.65 Therefore, in digital comics, for a digital comic to still
operate as a comic, the rate at which information is absorbed must still
be set by the reader. Just as in a print comic, this is determined by read-
ing pace and the digital equivalent of the page turn, whether that be a
click, a scroll or a swipe. By keeping control of advancement through
the temporal map, interpretation of the fictional time represented in
the comic remains with the reader. In this manner comics’ transition
to the screen and adoption of screen-based tropes has foregrounded the
importance of the reader’s ultimate control over the temporal map.
Conclusion
panel delivery and how this usage in turn influences narrative. It has
also looked at the animation of the content inside comic panels and
the pre-digital precedents for its inclusion. This examination has con-
cluded by showing how the integration of screen-based tropes such as
animation has highlighted the importance of reader control as a key
characteristic of the medium of comics.
However, while the chapter has extensively detailed the unique
storytelling possibilities that digital displays have afforded comics cre-
ators, it has furthermore shown that preconceptions concerning what
defines comics as a form shape how creators capitalise on these affor-
dances. The chapter thus emphasises that, while the process of digital
convergence has the potential to erode distinctions between media, the
particular cultural uses of digital technologies can nevertheless work to
preserve the identities of media formed in a pre-digital age.
Notes
1. Neil Cohn, ‘Un-Defining “Comics”: Separating the Cultural from the Struc-
tural in “Comics” ’, International Journal of Comic Art 7, no. 2 (2005),
236.
2. Thierry Groensteen, The System of Comics, trans. Bart Beaty and Nick Nyuyen
(Mississippi: University Press of Mississippi, 2007), 21.
3. Scott McCloud, Understanding Comics (New York: Harper Perennial, 1993), 7.
4. Ibid., 67.
5. Ibid.
6. Scott McCloud, Reinventing Comics (New York: Paradox Press, 2000), 206.
7. Ibid., 207.
8. Neil Cohn, ‘The Limits of Time and Transitions: Challenges to Theories of
Sequential Image Comprehension’, Studies in Comics 1, no. 1 (2010), 132.
9. Ibid., 134.
10. Ibid., 142.
11. Groensteen, System of Comics, 146.
12. Ibid., 147.
13. T. Campbell, A History of Webcomics (San Antonio: Antarctic Press, 2006), 15.
14. Ibid., 17.
15. Ibid.
16. Ibid., 33.
17. ‘About Us – Comics by Comixology’, http://www.comixology.com/about.
18. The business models of the larger US comics publishers are still built
chiefly around selling printed products via speciality comic shops and book
stores. As a result, the digital comics offered by these companies are mostly
remediated versions of their existing print-based catalogue.
19. Jay Bolter and Richard Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media
(Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2000), 45.
20. Ibid.
21. Ibid., 272.
72 Production
22. Ibid.
23. John Barber, The Phenomenon of Multiple Dialectics in Comics Layout (MA diss.,
London College of Printing, 2002), 63.
24. Ibid.
25. Mark Waid, ‘Welcome’, 2012, http://thrillbent.com/blog/welcome.
26. Bolter and Grusin, Remediation, 17.
27. Peter Krause and Mark Waid, Insufferable Volume 1 Chapter 1, 2013, http://
thrillbent.com/comics/insufferable/insufferable-volume-1-chapter-1/#1.
28. Stuart Immonen and Mark Waid, Avengers vs. X-Men #1: Infinite, 2012, http://
www.comixology.com/Avengers-vs-X-Men-1-Infinite/digital-comic/
23267; Brian Bendis and Michael Oeming, Guardians of the Galaxy Infi-
nite Comics #1, 2013, http://www.comixology.com/Guardians-of-the-Galaxy-
Infinite
-Comic-1/digital-comic/DIG003257; ‘About Us – Comics by Comixology’.
29. Groensteen, System of Comics, 147.
30. Yves Bigerel, ‘About Digital Comics’, 2009, http://balak01.deviantart.com/
art/about-DIGITAL-COMICS-111966969; Mark Waid, ‘Off to C2E2’, 2012,
http://markwaid.com/digital/off-to-c2e2.
31. Bigerel, ‘About Digital Comics’.
32. Cohn, ‘The Limits of Time and Transitions’, 142.
33. Barber, ‘The Phenomenon of Multiple Dialectics in Comics Layout’, 65.
34. Groensteen, System of Comics, 21.
35. McCloud, Reinventing Comics, 222.
36. Ibid.
37. Scott McCloud, Zot! Online: Hearts and Minds Part 3, 2000, http://
scottmccloud.com/1-webcomics/zot/zot-03/zot-03.html.
38. Drew Weing, Pup Ponders the Heat Death of the Universe, 2004, http://www
.drewweing.com/pup/13pup.html.
39. Manien Bothma and Jason Turner, True Loves 3: Business is Brisk, 2011, http://
www.webcomicsnation.com/jasonturner/trueloves3/series.php?view=archive
&chapter=47882.
40. Groensteen, System of Comics, 146.
41. McCloud, Reinventing Comics, 227.
42. Daniel Goodbrey, Never Shoot the Chronopath, 2007, http://e-merl.com/
chrono.htm.
43. Daniel Goodbrey, ‘From Comic to Hypercomic’, in Cultural Excavation and
Formal Expression in the Graphic Novel, eds. Jonathan Evans and Thomas
Giddens (Oxford: Inter-Disciplinary Press, 2013), 291.
44. Alan Peacock, ‘Towards an Aesthetic of the Interactive’, 2005, http://www
.soundtoys.net/journals/towards-an-aesthetic-of.
45. Espen J. Aarseth, Cybertext: Perspectives on Ergodic Literature (Baltimore: The
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997).
46. Bolter and Grusin, Remediation, 19.
47. Daniel Goodbrey, A Duck Has an Adventure (Welwyn Garden City: E-
merl.com, 2012).
48. George Landow, Hypertext 2.0 (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1997).
49. McCloud, Reinventing Comics, 206.
Daniel Merlin Goodbrey 73
50. Janet H Murray, Hamlet on the Holodeck: The Future of Narrative in Cyberspace
(Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1997), 154.
51. Ibid.
52. Barber, ‘The Phenomenon of Multiple Dialectics in Comics Layout’, 66.
53. Daniel Goodbrey, The Mr. Nile Experiment 11: Burning Your Map, 2003, http://
e-merl.com/mrnile/day11.htm.
54. Daniel Goodbrey. The Mr. Nile Experiment 15: We All Fall Together, 2003,
http://e-merl.com/mrnile/day15.htm.
55. Demian 5, When I Am King 35, 2001, http://www.demian5.com/king/035
.htm.
56. Cohn, ‘The Limits of Time and Transitions’, 131.
57. Ibid.
58. Ibid.
59. O’Reilly Media. ‘TOC 2013: Mark Waid, “Reinventing Comics and
Graphic Novels for Digital” ’, 2013, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v
=vPikusZm2As.
60. Ibid.
61. Ken Levine and Julian Murdoch, ‘9: Guillermo del Toro, Part 2, Irra-
tional Interviews’ Audio Podcast, 2011, http://irrationalgames.com/insider/
irrational-interviews-9-guillermo-del-toro-part-2.
62. Bigerel, ‘About Digital Comics’.
63. Ibid.
64. Barber, ‘The Phenomenon of Multiple Dialectics in Comics Layout’, 7.
65. O’Reilly Media, ‘TOC 2013: Mark Waid’.
4
Lengthy Interactions with Hideous
Men: Walter White and the Serial
Poetics of Television Anti-Heroes
Jason Mittell
In his collection of short stories Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, David
Foster Wallace creates a resonant implication between the two adjectives
in his title – if we’re going to spend time in the company of hideous
men, it best be brief.1 Most fictional television abides by this impli-
cation, where distasteful and unpleasant characters are treated briefly,
whether as unsympathetic figures on an anthology programme like The
Twilight Zone (CBS, 1959–1964) or single-episode villains emerging in
the course of a procedural’s police investigation or medical case. But as
I argue elsewhere, serial television is distinguished by the long time-
frames it creates, and thus any interaction with hideous men found
in an ongoing series’ regular cast will last quite awhile.2 One common
trait shared by many contemporary serialised primetime programmes
is the prominence of unsympathetic, morally questionable or villain-
ous men at their narrative centre, a trend typically identified by the
character type of the anti-hero. The rise of serial television’s anti-heroes
raises a key question: why would we want to subject ourselves to lengthy
interactions with such hideous men?3
Before diving into that question, we should first contextualise the
very prominence of anti-heroes on American television. For most of
television history, fictional series needed to be anchored by characters
who were relatable, likable and otherwise the type of people you would
invite into your home each week, with villains and outcasts clearly
marked as non-sympathetic figures. It wasn’t until original series began
to thrive on cable channels like HBO and FX, specifically with the sur-
prise breakthrough hits The Sopranos (HBO, 1999–2007) and The Shield
(FX, 2002–2008) respectively, that the industry realised that smaller
74
Jason Mittell 75
everyone tells Don Draper how good he is at his job, with most of Mad
Men’s male characters aspiring to be him and many of the women desir-
ing to be with him. Both James Gandolfini and Jon Hamm (who play,
respectively, Tony Soprano and Don Draper) are magnetic actors, with
the former using his physical bulk to create a sense of menacing but
approachable power, while Hamm is commonly regarded as one of the
most handsome actors in Hollywood, a physicality that certainly feeds
into Draper’s desirability. Additionally, both Tony and Don are posi-
tioned as accomplished leaders in their respective careers, generating
material wealth and power that signals desirability and success within
much of American culture. Both characters exude charisma that inspires
viewers to want to spend time with them, despite their hideousness.
The draw of anti-heroes does not simply override such hideousness,
but partly stems from the fascination that it prompts – the immoral
actions of these characters create their own intrigue for viewers, or
what Smith calls ‘the innate fascination of imagining experiences that
we lack the opportunity or courage to experience in reality’.10 Fiction
allows us to witness actions and traumas we are hopefully safe from
in real life, and through aligned anti-heroes, we are able to read their
immoral minds, probing their thoughts and emotions through the win-
dow of fiction. Blakey Vermeule connects such fascination to a concept
in cognitive science called ‘Machiavellian intelligence’, where success in
a socially complex environment depends on the ability to understand
and manipulate other people, a trait that is well served by interpersonal
mind reading.11 For Vermeule, much of our engagement with fiction
stems from our interest in reading the minds of Machiavellian characters
who display social intelligence, cunning and a keen ability to manipu-
late others – we learn from their adventures, helping to develop our
own social intelligence through the tales of fascinating characters. She
posits the core Machiavellian character as a ‘mastermind’ who manip-
ulates others (for good or ill), excels at social problem solving, and is
often found in narratives with ‘high narrative reflexivity’ and allusions
to games and puzzles, all traits common to complex television, sug-
gesting that Machiavellian fascination is a key component driving the
anti-heroic boom.12
The lead character on Showtime’s Dexter offers an interesting example
whose hideousness as a serial killer may be unmatched in terms of rep-
rehensible actions among television anti-heroes, being responsible for
murdering more than 130 people over eight seasons. However, Dexter
Morgan is clearly framed as a protagonist deserving sympathy and alle-
giance via a number of characterisation strategies. Actor Michael C. Hall
78 Production
time with each week – but gets stuck in a narrative bind: because Dex-
ter must continue to kill to fulfil the programme’s concept, but cannot
deviate from his moral code to sustain viewer sympathy, the charac-
ter has little room for change and development. Nearly every season
portrays Dexter fighting his instincts and working to eliminate his mur-
derous urges, but he must always embrace who he is to exact justice,
save his family or preserve his own life, leading to character stagna-
tion and repetition, and stretching emotional credulity for a series that
already lacks realism in much of its storytelling. Typically a programme
can use the fluid dynamics of relationships to offset static characters,
but Dexter’s concept is predicated on his character’s posing behind a
stable facade to all of his long-term friends and family, which means
that they cannot have sincere relationships with him compared with
what we know of him as aligned viewers. Instead, Dexter’s family sit-
uation is the most fluid variable, as he marries, has a child and then
copes with being a single parent, although none of these shifts has
much palpable impact on his core characterisation. Without a sense that
Dexter’s character changes over time, either internally through trans-
formation or development, or cued via the surrogate of externalised
relationships, the programme’s concept wears thin after numerous sea-
sons, only rekindling interest in the seventh season when his sister Deb
learns his secrets and thus transforms their relationship, challenges his
worldview and leads into an endgame that many viewers found to be a
massive letdown.13
Dexter’s serialised challenge highlights one of the key issues with
anti-heroes: what are our expectations for character change? Since anti-
heroes are predicated on a careful chemistry of ambiguous allegiance,
relative morality, Machiavellian fascination and magnetic charisma,
character change can upset that balance, but overt stagnation becomes
dull and troubling for the relationships portrayed on the series. Addi-
tionally, the narrative scenarios of most anti-hero dramas seem pointed
towards an ultimate reckoning, where characters will have to pay the
price for their crimes and immoral behaviours – but without clear char-
acter changes or development, coupled with the potentially endless
delay of American television’s model of sustaining series for as long
as is commercially viable (which Dexter suffers from for much of its
run), the final destination of an anti-hero can set-up mixed expecta-
tions. The Sopranos seemed to point towards a final reckoning for Tony,
but famously ended abruptly before we could witness what might be his
death leaving us in a perpetual state of narrative and moral ambiguity.
Probably the most celebrated final fate for an anti-hero is The Shield’s,
80 Production
with Vic Mackey working the system to get immunity for his crimes,
but ending up condemned to a desk job that feels like prison given his
action-oriented personality. Anti-hero conclusions are extraordinarily
difficult, as they must provide a motivated end to a complex charac-
ter arc, payoff serialised arcs that reward viewer dedication and offer (or
actively refuse) a moral position towards the characters’ behaviours. And
for many ongoing serials, the anticipated ending looms over a series run,
with viewers waiting to judge a character’s arc and morality.
Complex television often acknowledges its own role as fiction
through reflexive storytelling strategies; such awareness that the hideous
acts of anti-heroes are fictional allows us to suspend moral judge-
ments and rationalise their behaviours, which Margrethe Bruun Vaage
argues is essential to enable allegiance with characters doing horrible
actions.14 However, the serial model of television complicates the solid
line between fiction and reality, as parasocial interaction with televi-
sion characters allows characters to persist beyond their time on the
screen.15 If you immerse yourself within the fictional lives of Dexter
Morgan or Tony Soprano, you are likely to think about their behaviours
even while you are not watching television, perhaps positing how they
would handle a situation in your own life or imagining what they might
be doing in between episodes. While we never forget that these are
fictional characters, parasocial interaction allows hideous characters to
occupy our thoughts and attention outside the clear frame of televised
entertainment, creating uncomfortable blurs where we might find our-
selves imagining the actions and thoughts of a psychopath within our
daily lives. Although anti-heroes do spark a different set of allegiances
than typical serialised characters – and I’m loathe to acknowledge that
there are certainly viewers who imagine Dexter as their ‘TV Boyfriend’–
there is no doubt that watching an ongoing serial tightly focused on
an anti-hero does entail entering into a relationship with the charac-
ter and allowing him into our daily routines and thoughts, for better or
worse. While viewers can distinguish between fiction and reality, watch-
ing serial television does blur character boundaries and suggests that any
notion of a clear fictional frame might be a bit more muddy than we
might expect for other more bounded media.
Throughout this discussion of anti-heroes, I have avoided what might
be the most salient and interesting anti-hero from contemporary tele-
vision: Walter White of Breaking Bad (AMC, 2008–2013). The rest of
this chapter offers a detailed look at Walt as a case study of television
character analysis, with the caveat that it is an exceptional and some-
what atypical example. Breaking Bad’s creator Vince Gilligan conceived
Jason Mittell 81
most viewers feel that Jane deserves to die as much as Krazy-8, Walt’s
rationalisation makes sense as an act of passive cruelty towards a char-
acter we have less allegiance towards and as an attempt to rescue Jesse,
who we have become more allied with as the series has gone on.
Walt and Jesse’s relationship is crucial to Breaking Bad’s shift in charac-
ter morality. Throughout the first season, Walt is clearly more admirable,
driven to crime out of desperation and a sense of familial obligation,
and displaying an impressive mastery of chemistry that allows him to
thrive in this new criminal world, while Jesse is an avid if not addicted
druggie, bright but uneducated, and seemingly only motivated by self-
ishness, greed and hedonism. We are more aligned and allied with Walt,
although learning more about Jesse’s family background and undernour-
ished artistic talent makes him more sympathetic and his actions more
understandable. Season two’s ‘Peekaboo’ is a key episode for increasing
our connection to Jesse, as we follow him into a dangerous situation
where he both acts to save a young boy and refuses to murder the boy’s
junky parents, revealing a moral centre that grows to be stronger and
more admirable than Walt’s. The end of season two troubles our alle-
giances, with Jesse being less aligned but more admirable despite his
addiction, while Walt’s selfishness and deceit becomes less justifiable in
contrast.
By season three, the duo shifts roles in terms of allegiances: know-
ing the secret of Jane’s preventable death, most viewers root for Jesse’s
eventual salvation and hope he can escape from Walt’s dark influence.
Jesse comes away from Jane’s death blaming himself and labelling him-
self as ‘the bad guy’, an identity that viewers regard as undeserved and
avoidable. Meanwhile, Walt runs from his own moral culpability, as
he renounces his criminal career to salvage his crumbled marriage and
restore his normal life. But Breaking Bad puts viewers in an uncomfort-
able situation – the moral version of Walter White is an unpleasant,
boring and pitiable character whom we would feel little desire to spend
time with over the course of a series, while the amoral ‘bad’ version is
much more vibrant, Machiavellian and engaging as an anti-hero. Yet the
series pushes Walt further and further across the moral line, making us
root for him to do hideous things for our entertainment, while calling
attention to his hideousness in a way that does not glorify violence or
celebrate depravity. The series poses and reasserts the question of how
far is too far for this man, and given his actions, what price should be
paid and how should we regard him. Thus we root for him to get back
to cooking meth, even though we know there will be unforgivable con-
sequences from that decision and must reconcile our own culpability in
Jason Mittell 87
watching his moral decline. At the end of the third season, he is even
deeper in the drug game, easily killing two henchmen who threaten
Jesse and plotting to kill his co-worker Gale to protect himself – his
most brutal act is enlisting Jesse to shoot Gale, corrupting Jesse further
by pushing him into being a murderer and thus generating more viewer
antipathy through the moral rebalancing of the two characters. Walt’s
turn towards the monstrous reaches far beyond the point of no return
by the end of season four, when he sends his innocent neighbour into
his house to reveal an ambush by murderous thugs, and poisons a child
to manipulate Jesse back to his side, not to mention directly causing the
deaths of five drug criminals and setting off a bomb in a nursing home.
For the first half of season five, Walt tries to become a full-time
Heisenberg super villain in the ‘empire business’, alienating all of his
family and Jesse in the process. He finally triumphs over all adversaries,
but finds the lack of recognition and hard work empty despite the
nearly infinite monetary rewards; thus he retires from the meth busi-
ness and attempts to rededicate himself to his family. Yet the monsters
he unleashed, from his alliance with the dual evils of a global corpora-
tion and a band of neo-Nazi enforcers, will not remain dormant, nor will
his brother-in-law Hank who discovers Walt’s secret life. The final string
of episodes presents an elongated moral reckoning that stems from his
hubris in thinking that he could transcend the drug game that provided
his wealth, with a string of deaths, exiles, bankruptcies and betrayals.
Walt’s most brutal penance is in the series finale, as he finally admits –
to Skyler, to us, and to himself – that his rationalisations were ultimately
hollow: ‘I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And I was alive.’ He
finally owns up to his own villainy and anti-heroic status, but only as
he stands as a dying shell of the kingpin he had become, knowing that
his pride and selfishness has led him to his death and condemned his
family to pay for his sins.
Leading up to this final reckoning, the complexity of Walter White’s
characterisation stems in large part from the disjunctions between how
we see his actions and how he sees himself. The points where those
two perspectives merge is in the episodes whose plots follow a pattern
of ‘trap and escape’ – Walt and Jesse find themselves in a seemingly
inescapable situation, and we watch how they manage to work free in
slow-burning detail.22 As Vermeule suggests, ‘Machiavellian narratives
drop their characters into the middle of the march and watch them try
to wriggle out.’23 From the beginning of the series, Walt’s genius is decid-
edly not in the realm of the social, as his scientific knowledge allows him
to escape traps often set by his own inability to play the human side of
88 Production
Notes
1. David Foster Wallace, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men (New York: Little,
Brown and Company, 2007).
2. Jason Mittell, Complex Television: The Poetics of Contemporary Television
Storytelling (New York: New York University Press, forthcoming).
3. These anti-heroes are nearly exclusively male, raising a number of gender
questions that space doesn’t allow me to explore here.
4. See Amanda D. Lotz, The Television Will Be Revolutionized (New York:
New York University Press, 2007) for an account of these industrial trans-
formations, and Amanda D. Lotz, Cable Guys: Television and American
Masculinities in the 21st Century (New York: New York University Press, 2014),
for an analysis of the rise of anti-heroes in the wake of new business models.
5. Murray Smith, Engaging Characters: Fiction, Emotion, and the Cinema
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1995).
6. Mittell, Complex Television.
7. See Murray Smith, ‘Gangsters, Cannibals, Aesthetes, or Apparently Perverse
Allegiances’, in Passionate Views: Film, Cognition, and Emotion, eds. Carl
Plantinga and Greg M. Smith (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University
Press, 1999), 217–238, for more on this strategy in film.
8. Margrethe Bruun Vaage makes the compelling argument that tight align-
ment can blind us with familiarity by making us feel a kinship with Tony
despite our moral disgust, even in cases where the character’s actions are
relatively immoral. (‘Blinded by Familiarity: Partiality, Morality and Engage-
ment with So-called Quality TV Series’, in Cognitive Media Theory, eds. Ted
Nannicelli and Paul Taberham (New York: Routledge, 2014), 268–284.
9. See Murray Smith, ‘Just What Is It That Makes Tony Soprano Such an Appeal-
ing, Attractive Murderer?’, in Ethics at the Cinema, eds. Ward E. Jones and
Samantha Vice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 66–90 and Noël
Carroll, ‘Sympathy for the Devil’, in The Sopranos and Philosophy: I Kill There-
fore I Am, eds. Richard Greene and Peter Vernezze (New York: Open Court,
92 Production
93
94 Production
its director, Silvio Soldini, ‘one of Italy’s most important and fiercely
independent filmmakers’.3
It is also a particularly interesting case study because of the high pro-
file and rather unusual nature of the product placement in the film.
Product-placement strategies can take three different forms: (1) visual
only, the brand or product is visible on-screen; (2) audio only, the brand
is not visible, but verbally mentioned; (3) combined audio-visual, the
brand or product is both visible and mentioned.4 The Disaronno place-
ment was audio-visual, a form not commonly used because as Pola
B. Gupta and Kenneth R. Lord point out, it ‘is the most expensive and
difficult mode to accommodate’.5 Indeed, the audio-visual form is rare
in Italian films; visual only placements account for 97.3 per cent of
the total, audio-visual ones for 2.1 per cent and audio-only for 0.6 per
cent.6 Product placements are also assessed by their prominence; as
Gupta and Lord say, ‘Prominent placements are those in which the
product (or other brand identifier) is made highly visible by virtue of
size and/or position on the screen, or its centrality to the action in the
scene.’7 Prominent placements attract the viewers’ full attention; this
can be achieved physically by placing the product in the centre of the
screen, and/or symbolically making the product the focus of charac-
ters’ thoughts and actions. The Disaronno placement, as we shall see,
did both.
Although product placement is a century-old phenomenon, academic
research began systematically addressing the topic only about 20 years
ago.8 The vast majority of studies focus on the practice’s effects on
cinema and television viewers, in order to evaluate its success as a mar-
keting practice, although some scholars have discussed its legal and
ethical aspects.9 Aside from Scott Donaton’s essential contribution about
the convergence of Hollywood and the advertising industry, less sys-
tematic attention has been paid to the industrial aspects of product
placement.10 And although most studies have investigated the US film
and broadcasting industries, there is now growing scholarly interest in
product placement in different media – such as video games, music and
novels – as well as in non-US contexts.11 With specific regard to the
Italian context, there are several reports on product placement by pub-
lic institutions and trade associations that particularly address investors
and media practitioners; see, for instance, periodic reports published by
ANICA (the film industry national trade association), Ente Fondazione
dello Spettacolo (a cinema foundation that studies and promotes film
culture in Italy), AGCOM (the national communication authority) and
UPA (the national association of advertisers). These reports seek to
Gloria Dagnino 95
Legal framework
Over the years, EU states have acknowledged the cultural value of audio-
visual works via the adoption of economic policies of support to the film
production industry. The most significant European markets, as to the
number of films produced – France, Germany, Italy and Spain – have
all implemented public policies that provide both direct and indirect
funds to national film-makers and producers. In Italy, the most impor-
tant and longest-established institutional tool providing direct funds
is the ‘Single Fund for Performing Arts’ (Fondo Unico per lo Spettacolo –
FUS); the fund supports a range of performing arts, with cinema receiv-
ing an 18 per cent share in 2012. In 2012 the total FUS funding was
circa 411 million Euros circa, 76 million of which were intended for the
cinema with 26 million specifically addressed to film production – that
is, 6.4 per cent of the total funding.14 From an institutional viewpoint,
direct funds are managed by the Cinema General Directorate of the
Italian Ministry for Cultural Heritage and Activities (Ministero per i Beni e
le Attività Culturali – MIBAC), funds are awarded to ‘culturally relevant’
films (‘film di interesse culturale’), and ‘first and second features’ (‘opere
prime e seconde’) based upon qualitative criteria such as the artistic qual-
ity of the film subject and screenplay, the director’s and screenwriter’s
background and technical and technological quality.15 The Ministry also
sets non-discretionary criteria in order to provide film companies with
indirect funds, the most economically significant of which is tax credit.
In recent years the percentage ratio in the composition of Italian pub-
lic aid to film production has been progressively shifting with indirect
funds growing and direct funds shrinking. In 2007, 71 per cent of public
aid was in the form of direct funds and 29 per cent in the form of indi-
rect funds; by 2011, these figures had reversed with 23 per cent direct
96 Production
But since the Italian state is no longer able to bear the costs for directly
supporting the national film industry due to the persistent economic
crisis, a major goal of policymakers has been to reduce the film indus-
try’s dependency on state assistance. Moreover, by reducing direct funds,
policymakers aim at encouraging a cultural shift, pushing film-makers
and producers to develop a more market-oriented mindset. These goals
are also furthered by means of the legalisation of product placement,
the introduction of tax credit for external companies, and finally, the
combination of these two measures. Tax credit for the film industry was
first introduced within the Italian regulatory framework by the 2008
Financial Bill but became fully operational in 2011, following the EU’s
authorisation and the respective implementation decrees.18 The law pro-
vides for different types of tax credit; most of them address companies
within the film industry. Tax credit is offered to film production and
distribution companies, for example, as well as theatrical exhibitors
who digitise their projection systems. Tax incentives for film produc-
tion are a feature of all the major European film markets; in some cases
national cinema institutions manage their implementation, as do, for
instance, the French Centre National de la Cinématographie (CNC) and
the German Filmförderungsanstalt (Federal Film Board – FFA), and in
other cases national tax authorities do so, as in Spain and the United
Kingdom. Since every state has developed country-specific schemes (tax
credit but also tax shelter, cash rebate, grants and so forth) making valid
comparisons is difficult.19 However, Italy’s combination of tax credit
and product placement for companies external to the industry has no
equivalent in other major European markets at the time of writing.
External companies that invest in Italian film production benefit from
tax credit in the amount of 40 per cent of their investment, up to a
maximum amount of 1 million Euros per year.20 The amount of this
investment cannot exceed 49 per cent of the film’s overall production
Gloria Dagnino 97
& Co., which produced his most recent three films, Days and Clouds
(Giorni e nuvole [2007]), Come Undone (Cosa voglio di più [2010]) and
The Commander. From an artistic perspective, the collaboration with
Lumière & Co. did not affect Soldini’s film-making, which remained
‘marked by rigour, high quality and independent pride over time, as
he actively contributes to the screenwriting, the editing, the actors’
direction and also the post-production processes’.32 However, from a
commercial perspective, the collaboration with Lumière & Co. did bring
something new, the introduction of product-placement deals within
the three above-mentioned films. As had Solidini’s previous films, The
Commander benefitted from a range of public funding: 400,000 Euros
from Eurimages, the Council of Europe fund supporting co-productions;
1.1 million Euros from the Italian Ministry of Cultural Heritage and
Activities, in acknowledgement of the film’s cultural relevance; and
smaller-scale funding from two Swiss institutions, namely the Federal
Office of Culture and the Ticino Canton’s FilmPlus Fund.33 The new ele-
ment was the considerable investment made by Disaronno for tax credit
purposes through the signing of a joint venture contract with Lumière
& Co. This was subsequently followed by a further, smaller investment
to place the Disaronno brand in the film and enhance publicity for
the partnership. As we shall see, the involvement of Disaronno affected
Soldini’s film-making practices.
As previously mentioned, the Ministry Decree of 21 January 2010
allows for joint tax credit and product-placement investments only
if the total invested amount corresponds to a minimum threshold,
5 per cent of the film production budget for ‘difficult films’. The Com-
mander, which falls into this category, received an overall investment by
Disaronno corresponding to 6 per cent of the budget.34 At the film’s offi-
cial press conference, Lionello Cerri, CEO of Lumière & Co., declared in
reference to the partnership, ‘For us, Disaronno is not just an economic
sponsor, which is, by the way, still fundamental within the current eco-
nomic crisis; it is a partner aiming at increasing the success of the movie
and the company itself.’ On the advertiser’s side, Paolo Dalla Mora,
Disaronno’s Global Marketing Manager, confirmed, ‘We didn’t want to
merely put our bottle on a table in one of the movie’s scenes; what
we really wanted was to tie our brand to every step of the filmmak-
ing process.’35 According to Nadia Boriotti, product-placement manager
at Lumière & Co., the integration of Disaronno into the film-making
process was achieved through promotional operations that impacted
upon the textual, as well extra-textual aspects of the film: the former
in terms of product placement, the latter in terms of marketing events
100 Production
the product’s plain packaging and the actor’s seemingly natural han-
dling of the can keep the brand from standing out too prominently.
Leo drives a FIAT van decorated with the logo of his fictional plumbing
company: this placement is both narratively functional – it is perfectly
plausible that a plumber would drive a van – and visually discreet –
the van’s brand is never framed in close-up. Thus Disaronno’s is the
only placement in the film that is visually prominent and lacking a
proper narrative function, be it in terms of story development or char-
acterisation. As discussed above, Gupta and Lord say that prominent
placements are designed to capture the audience’s full attention, which
the Disaronno placement certainly was. The inserted scene was specifi-
cally dedicated to the presentation of the product, causing disruption to
the flow of the story. The scene specifically advertises one of the prod-
uct’s potential uses, the Disaronno Sour. The product is highly visible,
placed in the central portion of the frame. In a fairly rare example of an
audio-visual product placement, a character both uses the product and
mentions its brand name.
Conclusion
incentives for film production.44 While the joint venture system has to
date been approached cautiously by both film-makers and investors it
now seems destined to become a more systematic practice. Both film
practitioners and policymakers would therefore benefit from further
academic studies on this topic, possibly expanded to comparable coun-
terparts in other geographical contexts. When it comes to the regulation
of film production, the preservation of a rational balance between com-
mercial and cultural imperatives should steer the work of policymakers
in Italy and elsewhere.
Notes
1. Pola B. Gupta and Stephen J. Gould, ‘Consumers’ Perception of the Ethics
and Acceptability of Product Placement in Movies: Product Category and
Individual Differences’, Journal of Current Issues and Research in Advertising
19, no. 1 (1997), 37.
2. ILLVA Saronno is the Italian company manufacturing Amaretto Disaronno.
Disaronno is well-established in the entertainment business with its brand
tied, through sponsorship, co-marketing and product-placement deals, to
the leisure, music, broadcasting and film industries in Italy and the inter-
national market. See www.disaronno.com.
3. Bernadette Luciano, The Cinema Of Silvio Soldini. Dream – Image – Voyage
(Leicester: Troubador Publishing, 2008), xvii.
4. See Pola B. Gupta and Kenneth R. Lord, ‘Product Placement in Movies: The
Effect of Prominence and Mode on Audience Recall’, Journal of Current Issues
& Research in Advertising 20, no. 1 (1998), 48.
5. Ibid., 49.
6. Roberto Paolo Nelli, ed., Product Placement Made in Italy. Le marche nei film
italiani dal 2004 al 2011 (Roma: Edizioni Fondazione Ente dello Spettacolo,
2013), 251.
7. Gupta and Lord, Product Placement in Movies, 49.
8. For an historical overview of the product placement practice in Hollywood
see Kerry Segrave, Product Placement in Hollywood Films: A History (Jefferson,
NC: McFarland, 2004).
9. See, for instance, Israel D. Nebenzahl and Eugene Secunda, ‘Consumers’
Attitudes Towards Product Placement in Movies’, International Journal of
Advertising 12, no. 1 (1993), 1–11; Denise E. Delorme and Leonard N. Reid,
‘Moviegoers’ Experiences and Interpretations of Brands in Films Revisited’,
Journal of Advertising 28, no. 2 (1999), 71–95; Alain D’Astous and Francis
Chartier, ‘A Study of Factors Affecting Consumer Evaluations and Memory
of Product Placements in Movies’, Journal of Current Issues and Research in
Advertising 22, no. 2 (2000), 31–40; Cristina A. Russell, ‘Investigating the
Effectiveness of Product placements in Television Shows: The Role of Modal-
ity and Plot Connection Congruence on Brand Memory Attitude’, Journal
of Consumer Research 29 (December, 2002), 306–318; and Etienne Bressoud,
Jean-Marc Lehu and Cristina A. Russell, ‘The Product Well Placed: The Rela-
tive Impact of Placement and Audience Characteristics on Placement Recall’,
Gloria Dagnino 105
Journal of Advertising Research 50, no. 4 (2010), 374–385. For the ethical and
legal aspects of product placement see Siva K. Balasubramanian, ‘Beyond
Advertising and Publicity: Hybrid Messages and Public Policy Issues’, Journal
of Advertising 23, no. 4 (1994), 29–47; Paul Siegel, ‘Product Placement and
the Law’, Journal of Promotion Management 10, no. 1–2 (2004), 89–100; and
Lawrence A. Wenner, ‘On the Ethics of Product Placement in Media Enter-
tainment’, Journal of Promotion Management 10, no. 1–2 (2004), 101–132.
10. Scott Donaton, Madison & Vine: Why the Entertainment and Advertising Indus-
tries must Converge to Survive (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2004). See also Cristina
A. Russell and Michael Belch, ‘A Managerial Investigation into the Product
Placement Industry’, Journal of Advertising Research 45, no. 1 (2005), 73–92;
Jean-Marc Lehu, La Publicité Est Dans Les Films. Placement De Produits Et
Stratégie De Marque Au Cinéma, Dans Les Chansons, Dans Les Jeux Vidéo . . .
(Paris: Eyrolles Editions d’Organisation, 2006); Jean-Marc Lehu, Branded
Entertainment: Product Placement and Brand Strategy in the Entertainment
Business (London: Kogan Page, 2007).
11. See Thomas Mackay, Michael Ewing, Fiona Newton and Lydia Windisch,
‘The Effect Of Product Placement in Computer Games on Brand Attitude
and Recall’, International Journal of Advertising 28, no. 3 (2009), 423–438;
Hank Kim, ‘Def Jam, H-P Explore Branded Music Alliance’, Advertising Age
73, no. 36 (2002), 4, 28; Alan Nelson, ‘The Bulgari Connection: A Novel
Form of Product Placement’, Journal of Promotion Management 10, no. 1–2
(2004), 203–212. For a comparative study of product placement in EU coun-
tries and the United States see Stephen J. Gould, Pola B. Gupta and Sonja
Grabner-Kräuter, ‘Product Placement in Movies: A Cross-Cultural Analysis of
Austrian, French and American Consumers’ Attitudes Toward This Emerging,
International Promotional Medium’, Journal of Advertising 29, no. 4 (2000),
41–58. For Latin America, see Antonio C. La Pastina, ‘Product Placement in
Brazilian Prime Time Television: The Case of the Reception of a Telenovela’,
Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media 45, no. 4 (2001), 541–557. For the
United Kingdom, see Chris Hackley and Rungpaka Amy Tiwsakul, ‘Unpaid
Product Placement: The Elephant in the Room in UK TV’s New Paid-For Prod-
uct Placement Market’, International Journal of Advertising 31, no. 4 (2012),
703–718.
12. See, for instance, Daniele Dalli, Giacomo Gistri and Dino Borello, Marche
Alla Ribalta. Il Product placement Cinematografico In Italia E La Sua Gestione
Manageriale (Milano: EGEA, 2008); Roberto Nelli and Paola Bensi, Il
Product placement Nelle Strategie Di Convergenza Della Marca Nel Settore
Dell’intrattenimento (Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2007); Roberto Nelli, ed., Prod-
uct placement Made in Italy. On branded entertainment, see Roberto Nelli,
L’evoluzione Delle Strategie Di Branded Entertainment. Presupposti Teorici E
Condizioni Di Efficacia (Milano: Vita e Pensiero, 2011); Roberto Nelli, Branded
Content Marketing. Un Nuovo Approccio Alla Creazione Di Valore (Milano: Vita
e Pensiero, 2012).
13. Most of the information concerning the case study derives from a personal
interview with Nadia Boriotti, product placement manager at Lumière & Co.,
conducted in January 2012. I thank Ms. Boriotti for her assistance.
14. D. M., ‘Riparto FUS 2012’, 23 February 2012, www.spettacolodalvivo
.beniculturali.it/index.php/normativa-fus-e-contributi; Nicola Borrelli,
106 Production
108
Iain Robert Smith 109
In this film the lead role character suffers from short term memory
loss . . . This film has been inspired by some stories and incidents with
similar idea [sic] and real life incidents of people suffering from short
term memory loss. We acknowledge other stories based on the disease
short term memory loss.11
A statement from the film’s star, Aamir Khan, reflects this reluctance
to explicitly identify the film as a remake and thereby acknowledge its
copyright infringement. He asserts that ‘Ghajini is not a remake or even
slightly inspired by Hollywood flick Memento, but it is a remake of the
Tamil film Ghajini’, although the actor conveniently neglects the fact
that the Tamil film was itself inspired by Memento.12 The copyright sta-
tus of Ghajini is further complicated by the fact that director Murugadoss
was arrested by the police in Chennai after a complaint that he had vio-
lated the copyright of the Tamil film.13 While he was later released and
the case was settled out-of-court, this event reveals some of the ten-
sions surrounding cultural ownership and copyright in the practice of
remaking in contemporary Indian cinema.
Indian film-makers defend themselves against charges of copyright
infringement by arguing that American films are thoroughly trans-
formed to suit them to the tastes of Indian audiences. Understanding
their argument requires addressing the dominant storytelling practices
of these contemporary Bollywood remakes to consider the ways in
which they function as a distinct ‘narrational mode’. According to David
Bordwell, a narrational mode ‘is a historically distinct set of norms of
narrational construction and comprehension’.14 While this concept has
previously been applied to a range of examples from American film
and television, this chapter considers its utility in relation to a source
text that shifts narrational mode across different national and regional
contexts.
112 Production
is and, once this is solved, the much more difficult task of extracting
the story – what actually happens in the film, and the chronological
order of the fictional events – from the fragmented plot.’19 Understand-
ing the transformation of this experimental narrative form to fit the
conventions of commercial Indian cinema requires discussing Ghajini’s
relationship to the dominant industrial conventions of the Bollywood
remake.
Conclusion
If you consider the track record in the last 4–5 years, the remakes
have fared better in comparison to fresh subjects. English [language]
films stand better chances only if they are convincingly Indianised
but the South [Indian] remakes are the ones that are definitely safe.
There is no question of them being losing proposals!38
Notes
1. Joe Leydon, ‘Review: “Ghajini” ’, Variety, 7 January 2009, http://variety.com/
2009/film/reviews/ghajini-1200473403/.
2. Iain Robert Smith, The Hollywood Meme: Transnational Adaptations of
American Film and Television (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2014).
3. Claire Molloy, Memento (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2010), 46.
120 Production
4. Meena Iyer, ‘Ghajini First Hindi Movie to Cross Rs 200cr Mark’, The Times
of India, 8 January 2009, http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/mumbai/
Ghajini-first-Hindi-movie-to-cross-Rs-200cr-mark/articleshow/3953822.cms.
5. Richard Dawkins, The Selfish Gene (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989).
6. Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation (London: Routledge, 2006).
7. Daya Kishan Thussu, ‘The Globalisation of “Bollywood”: The Hype and
The Hope’, in Global Bollywood, eds. Anandam P. Kavoori and Aswin
Punathambekar (New York: New York University Press, 2008), 98.
8. Ibid.
9. Susanne Gruss, ‘Shakespeare in Bollywood?: Vishal Bhardwaj’s Omkara’, in
Semiotic Encounters: Text, Image and Trans-nation, eds. Sarah Sackel and Walter
Gobel (New York: Rodopi, 2009), 227.
10. Tejaswini Ganti, Bollywood: A Guidebook to Popular Hindi Cinema (London:
Routledge, 2004), 75.
11. A.R. Murugadoss, ‘Director’s note’, Ghajini (2008).
12. Anon., ‘Ghajini is not a Memento Remake: Aamir Khan’, Real Bollywood,
18 December 2008, http://www.realbollywood.com/news/2008/12/ghajini
-memento-remake.html.
13. Vicky Nanjappa, ‘Ghajini Director Murugadoss Arrested, Released’, Rediff
India, 1 March 2008, http://www.rediff.com/news/2008/mar/01film.htm.
14. David Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film (Madison: University of
Wisconsin Press, 1985), 150.
15. Jason Mittell, ‘Narrative Complexity in Contemporary American Television’,
The Velvet Light Trap 58 (fall 2006), 30.
16. Warren Buckland, Puzzle Films: Complex Storytelling in Contemporary Cinema
(Malden: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009), 6.
17. Claire Molloy, Memento, 47.
18. Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film.
19. Andrew Kania, ‘Introduction’, in Memento, ed. Andrew Kania (London:
Routledge, 2009), 1.
20. Rosie Thomas, ‘Indian Cinema: Pleasures and Popularity’, Screen 26, no. 3–4
(1985), 121.
21. Ibid.
22. Rakesh Roshan as cited in Trade Guide 44, no. 30 (25 April 1998), 15.
23. Thomas, ‘Indian Cinema’, 121; Ganti, Bollywood, 77; Sheila J. Nayar,
‘Dreams, Dharma and Mrs. Doubtfire: Exploring Hindi Popular Cinema via
its “Chutneyed” Western Scripts’, Journal of Popular Film and Television 31,
no. 2 (2003), 73.
24. Amit Rai, ‘An American Raj in Filmistan: Images of Elvis in Indian films’,
Screen 35, no. 1 (1994), 56.
25. Ravinder Kaur, ‘Viewing the West through Bollywood: A Celluloid Occident
in the Making’, Contemporary South Asia 11, no. 2 (2002), 203.
26. Wimal Dissanayake, ‘Rethinking Indian Popular Cinema: Towards Newer
Frames of Understanding’, in Rethinking Third Cinema, eds. Anthony
R. Guneratne and Wimal Dissanayake (London: Routledge, 2003), 205.
27. Noël Carroll, ‘Memento and the Phenomenology of Comprehending Motion
Picture Narration’, in Memento, ed. Andrew Kania (London: Routledge, 2009),
136.
28. Ganti, Bollywood, 77.
Iain Robert Smith 121
29. Claus Tieber, ‘Aristotle Did Not Make It to India: Narrative Modes in Hindi
Cinema’, in Storytelling in World Cinemas: Volume 1 – Forms, ed. Lina Khatib
(New York: Columbia University Press, 2012), 14.
30. Tejaswini Ganti, ‘ “And Yet My Heart Is Still Indian”: The Bombay Film Indus-
try and the (H)Indianization of Hollywood’, in Media Worlds: Anthropology
on New Terrain, eds. Faye D. Ginsburg, Lilu Abu-Lughod and Brian Larkin
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 293.
31. Ian Garwood, ‘The Songless Bollywood Film’, South Asian Popular Culture 4,
no. 2 (2006), 172.
32. Ibid., 172–173.
33. Sriparna Ray, ‘Reconfiguring Hindi Commercial Cinema: Changing Tem-
plates of Production, Exhibition and Target Audiences’ (unpublished PhD
thesis, University of Nottingham), 2014.
34. Toby Miller, Nitin Govil, John McMurria, Richard Maxwell and Ting Wang,
Global Hollywood 2 (London: BFI, 2005), 239.
35. Rajesh Thadani as cited in Trade Guide 44, no. 10 (6 December 1997), 15.
36. Sawaan Kumar as cited in Trade Guide 44, no. 30 (25 April 1998), 15.
37. Rosie Thomas, ‘Sanctity and Scandal: The Mythologization of Mother India’,
Quarterly Review of Film and Video 11, no. 3 (1989), 15.
38. Manoj Chaturvedi as cited in Trade Guide 44, no. 10 (6 December 1997), 15.
7
A Case of Identity: Sherlock,
Elementary and Their National
Broadcasting Systems
Roberta Pearson
In March 2014, the BBC announced the closure of its youth oriented
digital channel BBC3. Director General Tony Hall provided an explana-
tion for this radical and unprecedented decision in the popular tabloid
newspaper, The Daily Mirror.
The BBC can’t keep doing the same thing with less money. Moving
BBC Three online will save over £50 million a year. But we will use
£30 million of that money to invest in drama on BBC One. Without
that money, the BBC would not be able to keep delivering the great
shows people . . . love – like Sherlock, Doctor Who and Atlantis.
122
Roberta Pearson 123
watched new series in the 2012–2013 season and averaged 12.1 million
viewers in its second season, a very good if not a ‘staggering’ number in
the US context.
Elementary competes well in the current age of niche audiences and
programme abundance, but Sherlock harks back to the earlier era of the
mass audience and programme scarcity when a television drama could
galvanise a nation. As David Lister of The Independent said, Sherlock ‘has
revived a great cultural tradition, that of making television a national
shared event, a communal experience which brings viewers together’.7
Sherlock is a national sensation, one of the BBC’s most valuable assets,
while Elementary delivers the ratings but has no greater value to CBS
than a number of its other dramas such as the similarly highly rated
The Good Wife, Person of Interest and NCIS whose showrunners met the
press along with Elementary’s Rob Doherty. Many factors could account
for this disparity in status.8 Sherlock could simply be the better pro-
gramme, although that’s a risky assertion for an academic to make in
the context of a television studies still influenced by cultural studies
relativism. But television critics, employed to make value judgements,
have consistently praised Sherlock while Elementary, although having its
defenders, has garnered mixed reviews.9 The Hollywood Reporter’s Tim
Goodman calls Sherlock ‘one of television’s best amalgamations of high-
end excellence and pure entertainment’, attributing this to the writing
of showrunner Steven Moffat and actor/writer Mark Gatiss, the acting
of Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock) and Martin Freeman (John) and
the visual style.10 The Rolling Stone says that the programme’s success
‘owes much to the chemistry between Cumberbatch and Freeman’.11
The increasing visibility of these actors, who have both appeared in
recent Hollywood blockbusters, may partially explain Sherlock’s audi-
ence share and appointment television status as might Cumberbatch’s
perceived sex appeal. And, as I have argued elsewhere, Sherlock is a
fan-friendly text that perfectly complements existing fan practices.12
In keeping with this book’s concern with narratives and their contexts
of production and reception, I do not discuss aesthetics, acting, stardom
and fandom. Instead this chapter uses a UK and US adaptation of the
same texts (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s 56 short stories and four novels)
as case studies to argue for the continued significance of national differ-
ences even in an age of globalisation and convergence. Therefore, this is
not a conventional adaptation study, despite the intriguing similarities
and differences between the two programmes. Both update the charac-
ters to the 21st century, with Sherlock’s Holmes, like the original, based
in London while Elementary’s Holmes (Johnny Lee Miller) has relocated
Roberta Pearson 125
from London to New York City. The US adaptation strays further from
Conan Doyle by transforming John Watson into Joan Watson (Lucy
Liu). However, the focus here is not primarily on textual characteris-
tics, but rather on the discrepancies between Sherlock’s and Elementary’s
respective national prominence and audience shares. Examining the
context of production and circulation, the chapter attributes these to
the two programme’s specific functions within their national broadcast-
ing systems and specific relationships to their broadcasters, BBC1 and
CBS. The explanation of the discrepancies also entails discussing the
context of reception, the very particular and quite different ways in
which viewers are encouraged to understand and evaluate the two pro-
grammes. The chapter first investigates the institutional roles of serial
drama within the UK public service and the US commercial broadcasting
systems. It then looks at BBC and CBS branding strategies to substanti-
ate and detail the assertion that Sherlock has greater value to the former
than Elementary has to the latter. It concludes with some limited con-
sideration of textual characteristics by exploring the two programmes’
generic influences, arguing that these also account for Sherlock’s larger
audiences.
the two countries’ most popular free-to-air networks, BBC1 and CBS,
the homes of Sherlock and Elementary.
Data from the UK regulatory body Ofcom show that during peak time
in 2012, drama comprised 6 per cent of BBC1’s output, the rest consist-
ing of national news/weather (29 per cent), other factual (17 per cent),
sports and current affairs (11 per cent each), arts and classical music,
other and education (5 per cent each) and soaps (2 per cent).20 I have
been unable to find comparable yearly data for CBS so have instead
analysed a representative week from the 2013–2014 season, Tuesday,
4 March to Monday, 10 March, 2014.21 The week consisted of 19 hours
of primetime programming, during which CBS aired eleven one-hour
dramas, 58 per cent of the total, and eight half-hour sitcoms, 21 per
cent of the total, with two-hour-long reality shows and two back-to-
back episodes of the current affairs programme 48 Hours comprising the
remaining 20 per cent of the schedule. The Tuesday and Friday nights
both featured three back-to-back dramas, while only the Saturday lacked
any drama. CBS’s output for the sample week included almost ten times
as much drama as the BBC1 yearly average for 2012; presumably as a
consequence CBS’s viewers watch far more drama than BBC1’s.
The lower percentage of drama programmes on BBC1 results from a
fundamental principle of the UK broadcasting system, the mixed pro-
gramme schedule; regulation legally obliges public service broadcasters
to provide a diversity of programme genres whereas US commercial
broadcasters have much greater latitude in determining the content of
their schedules. As Sylvia Harvey explains, the United Kingdom’s 2003
Communications Act mandates that
To adhere to this mandate, the BBC must provide a ‘wide range of pro-
grammes, across every genre, trying to reach the widest possible range
of audiences’.23 In keeping with the fundamental principle of educat-
ing and informing, public service broadcasters must also ensure that
128 Production
Sherlock and the BBC brand: ‘it’s a big new BBC drama
for all the family’
Oh dear. That was bad timing. In the week that the Culture Secretary,
Jeremy Hunt, questioned whether the BBC licence fee gives ‘value
for money’, the advent of Sherlock donked his theory quite badly.
It’s a bit embarrassing to be standing on a soapbox, slagging off a
corporation as essentially wasteful and moribund, right at the point
where it’s landing a bright, brilliant dragon of a show on the rooftops,
for 39p per household.26
Moran’s direct connection between Sherlock and the value of the licence
fee resonates with the BBC brand. As Catherine Johnson says, ‘the neo-
liberal political turn in broadcasting policy and regulation since the
mid-1980s’ that threatened and reduced the licence fee caused the BBC
to ‘adopt branding as a more central strategy’. But unlike the US net-
works, which turned to branding in the face of the declining audience
shares and advertising revenues resulting from cable and satellite com-
petition, ‘the BBC did not see the adoption of branding purely in
commercial terms, but also as a way of communicating the value of
the BBC to the public’.27 A 2005 Green Paper on the future of the BBC
Charter asserted that this value, ‘the justification for spending billions
of pounds of public money’, lay primarily in ‘the first two parts of the
Corporation’s mission – to inform and to educate’. But to persuade the
public ‘that its money is being well spent’, the BBC must also pro-
vide ‘high quality entertainment’ in the form of ‘programmes that large
audiences enjoy’.28 To achieve this ‘the BBC recently unveiled a new
programme strategy’ part of which was to ‘invest more in original UK
drama, comedy, news, documentaries, the arts and music’.29 Original
UK drama has subsequently become a key element of the BBC’s pol-
icy and branding, the latter constructed through both promotion and
scheduling.
In December 2013, BBC News reported that, subsequent to a review
of the Corporation’s governance, the BBC Trust (the BBC’s governing
130 Production
body) had given Director General Hall a set of new objectives. One of
his ‘immediate priorities’, said the Trust, should be the ‘quality, variety
and originality of new drama on BBC One’ especially in peak time.30 Just
a few days earlier, perhaps already aware of these priorities, Hall gave a
speech at the Voice of the Viewer & Listener Conference. He told the
audience, ‘Say the words “it’s a big new BBC drama for all the family”
anywhere in the world and you excite expectations of quality and orig-
inality and depth’. Addressing the perception of ‘a loss of confidence in
[UK] television drama’ as opposed to the ‘great things’ happening ‘in
the USA – or in Scandinavia’, he said, ‘Of course Breaking Bad is bril-
liant. So is Borgen. But . . . so is Top Of The Lake, Luther and Sherlock. Peaky
Blinders, The Fall and The Village. Ambassadors and Atlantis. Line Of Duty,
Last Tango In Halifax, EastEnders and Call The Midwife’.31
When Sherlock’s series three became the BBC’s most watched drama
in a decade, BBC1 controller Charlotte Moore said, ‘This latest accolade
is the icing on the cake and only further demonstrates the audience’s
huge appetite and appreciation for original British drama on BBC1’.32
Moore was echoing the ‘Original British Drama’ promotion strategy that
groups together the various dramas on the BBC’s television channels
and highlights them with interstitial trailers and a pre-programme logo.
As part of the campaign’s ‘aggressive marketing’, 90-second trailers pre-
viewed the upcoming dramas for the autumn and Christmas seasons
on BBC1 and BBC2 in 2012 and 2013.33 When the 2013 BBC1 trailer
first aired in September, the ‘teeny snippage of new footage’ excited so
much fan speculation that #Sherlock trended worldwide on Twitter.34
But the fans had to wait for several months to see whether their spec-
ulations were correct; Sherlock’s series two and three constituted one
of the highpoints of the BBC’s much-touted 2012 and 2013 Christmas
schedules.
Promotion overtly communicates the BBC’s value to the public;
scheduling does so less obviously. Public service broadcasters use
scheduling to ensure that their budget permits them to cater for each
audience demographic. As John Ellis puts it:
swearing and you’ve probably got a better line.’40 Given its BBC1 time
slots, Sherlock was aimed at a large, age-diverse audience. And, as Tom
Steward notes, the BBC3 repeats necessitated suitability for ‘teenagers
and viewers in their early twenties’.41 By contrast, as we shall see in the
following section, Elementary targets a narrower, more mature audience.
All but one of Sherlock’s episodes aired on a Sunday, a day of the week
that, like the channel and timeslot, would activate viewer expectations.
When Sherlock premiered on 25 July, 2010, The Telegraph’s reviewer said
that ‘the BBC’s new, modern version of Sherlock Holmes, is a must-see
for Sunday nights, and it’s a long time since we’ve had one of those’.42
Sunday evenings are a long-established traditional slot for high-profile
dramas. According to Steward, ‘The 9 P.M. Sunday slot in which Sherlock
is broadcast is one typically reserved in UK television for period drama
and literary adaptation . . . but is also open for mystery dramas . . . and
police procedurals.’43 The original Upstairs, Downstairs (1971–1975), the
Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice (1995), Downton Abbey (2010–present), the
long-running mystery Midsomer Murders (1997–present) and the police
procedural Waking the Dead (2000–present) all aired or continue to air
in that time period. Scheduling Sherlock on Sunday marked it out as
special, as having the potential to achieve its illustrious predecessors’
success with audiences and critics. Sherlock’s first series did indeed per-
form very well with both; the first and third episodes attracted over nine
million viewers and the second over eight million while critics such as
Moran sang the programme’s praises.
Ellis argues that viewer expectations are also activated by ‘the annual
pattern of seasons, events and special occasions’ including ‘the fixed
points of public holidays’.44 The BBC incorporated Sherlock’s series two
and three into BBC1’s Christmas programming, giving it almost the
same special event status as Doctor Who, which has aired an annual
Christmas episode since its 2005 reboot. While the Christmas peaktime
viewing numbers are most crucial, those for New Year’s Day peaktime
also have important consequences for broadcasters’ reputations. In 2012
and 2013, BBC1 broadcast the first episode of Sherlock’s new series on
New Year’s Day, the second and third episodes following in the usual
Sunday night slot. In 2013, as the world waited to hear how Sherlock
had survived the plunge from that rooftop, a seven minute series pre-
quel, ‘Many Happy Returns’, available on Christmas Eve online, via
the red button and on the BBC Youtube channel, increased anticipa-
tion and publicity. That year’s RadioTimes bumper two-week Christmas
issue accorded Sherlock lavish coverage. The cover proclaimed, ‘Free
Sherlock Book’. Inside, readers learned how they could acquire the
Roberta Pearson 133
‘original stories’ that ‘inspired the episodes in the new series of Sherlock
starting on BBC1 on New Year’s Day’.45 The issue also featured Steven
Moffat interviewing Benedict Cumberbatch.46 Subsequent to reports of
Sherlock’s massive audiences and ‘a surge in people watching ITV over
the festive period’, it was rumoured that the ‘BBC is understood to be
eager to bill the programme as the main event in its Christmas 2014
schedule’. A ‘BBC insider’ told the tabloid newspaper The Sun that ‘the
BBC is desperate for a Sherlock Christmas Day special this year. It wants
its biggest guns ready’.47 Were that to happen, Sherlock might rival or
even supplant Doctor Who in national prominence. But, given that both
the writing team and the cast are finding it difficult to clear their sched-
ules to film series four it seems unlikely that Sherlock will be back by
Christmas 2014 or even the following year. Whenever it returns, how-
ever, the BBC will promote the new series as a special event, a big BBC
drama for all the family and all the nation, and for which viewers will
have great expectations.
else in its weekly schedule’.50 But both the number one show, NCIS,
and the number one new show, Elementary, are variants on the police
procedural, the genre with which the network is most identified. CBS
faces a branding dilemma. It must broadcast the diverse content that
will appeal to a general audience, but it must also compete with strongly
branded niche cable channels such as HBO and with the other three net-
works, also trying to construct distinctive brands. As Johnson says, the
networks are still ‘primarily mass broadcasters whose value to advertis-
ers [lies] in their reach’. Because the ‘networks tend to broadcast a wider
range of programming than niche cable channels such as MTV . . . their
brand identities need to encompass this range in order to accurately
reflect the service offered’. Therefore their branding campaigns are
‘often far less focused than those adopted by cable companies’.51
CBS has the most focused branding campaign of the four networks.
In a 2010 article, the Hollywood Reporter’s Goodman said, ‘Staying true
to your brand is an issue that’s always in play in the TV industry, even if
certain players believe their network truly is a “broadcaster” and capable
of being all things to all people.’ Of all the networks, CBS is ‘far and
away’ the one ‘that best understands its audience and programs with
alarming accuracy’ for it. CBS’s best branding strategy, says Goodman, is
years and still a decade or more away from retirement’. Talking to the
AARP, Nina Tassler, CBS’s head of entertainment, said ‘While we enjoy
winning in all the categories, 18–49 is not the end-all it’s made out to
be.’55 Given CBS’s distinct audience building strategy, procedurals solve
the branding dilemma of simultaneously attracting large numbers of
viewers and constructing a unique identity.
Since CBS exploited the hit CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000–
present) ‘by embracing procedural dramas as emblematic of the net-
work’s primetime brand’, the CBS procedural has become an established
genre.56 Jason Mittell argues that genre is ‘best understood as a process
of categorization that is not found within media texts, but operates
across the cultural realms of media industries, audience, policy, crit-
ics, and historical contexts’. He asks: ‘Does a given category circulate
within the cultural spheres of audiences, press accounts, and industrial
discourses? Is there a general consensus over what the category refers to
in a given moment?’57 Judging by reviews of Elementary’s first episode,
press accounts indeed exhibited a critical consensus about the generic
category of the CBS procedural. The Los Angeles Times said that the pro-
gramme was set in ‘the land of the CBS procedural, where instead of
pursuing egghead-y cases about purloined letters, Holmes tracks serial
killers, sex offenders and other villains of the prime-time grotesque. This
is Sherlock Holmes, Les Moonves [CBS president] style.’58 Goodman,
whose analysis of the CBS brand is quoted above, said that an American
Sherlock Holmes, following on the heels of the acclaimed Sherlock, could
have been a ‘disaster in the making’, but ‘there also was every reason
to believe that the franchise would be perfect on CBS, home to tele-
vision’s best procedurals’.59 Alan Sepinwall too invoked Sherlock, but
rejected a comparison between the two programmes on the basis that
Elementary was ‘essentially, a traditional CBS procedural mystery with a
famous literary hero at the center’. But that presented a problem, given
that the difficulty of crafting a less than 45-minute mystery ‘challeng-
ing enough for the world’s greatest detective’ made Miller’s Holmes seem
‘less brilliant’ than his literary progenitor.60
British critics had praised Sherlock for cleverly updating the original
stories while remaining ‘true’ to the source, but US critics asserted that
Elementary’s CBS house style almost completely overwrote the Conan
Doyle canon. The Hollywood Reporter noted that: ‘The procedural struc-
ture of the pilot is more like current CBS shows like The Mentalist than
the classic Holmes stories.’61 The headline of Entertainment Weekly’s
review asked, ‘This Sherlock looks like a sure hit but is it good Holmes?’
However, critic Ken Tucker pointed out that moulding the source text to
136 Production
the CBS brand made sense, given the network’s competitive strategy of
mass appeal.
Others, however, thought that the ‘CBS treatment’ diverged so far from
the source that only the characters’ names linked them to the origi-
nal Holmes and Watson. Amber Humphrey, writing on the Film School
Rejects website, said that ‘Elementary . . . really could be called “some
young guy solves difficult cases with sharp powers of deduction.” Or
if that’s too long, it could be called, I don’t know, The Mentalist . . .
But the show is Holmes in name and not much else.’63 The Huffington
Post’s Ryan, saying that ‘Miller is not playing Sherlock Holmes, despite
the name of his character’, complained that ‘to shove this venerable
duo [Holmes and Watson] into CBS’ procedural format, the show’s pro-
ducers have managed the unlikely feat of removing almost everything
interesting about them’.64
The labelling of Elementary as a standard CBS procedural, particu-
larly the equating of it to The Mentalist (2008–present), would probably
have pleased the CBS programmers, while the criticisms would prob-
ably not have overly concerned them. Referring to the fact that the
network had unsuccessfully sought to licence Sherlock from the BBC,
Sepinwall said, ‘CBS may have wanted to adapt Steven Moffat’s take
on Holmes, but all the network really wanted was a show that could
comfortably slot in after “Person of Interest” and not have to worry
about. “Elementary” is definitely that.’65 In other words, the program-
mers wanted an hour-long drama suitable to the CBS brand, audience
demographics and the time slot since, in the United States just as in
the United Kingdom, scheduling constructs network brands and acti-
vates audience expectations. As Curtin and Shattuc say, ‘When assigning
a show to a particular spot in the schedule, executives begin with an
assessment of the intended audience and qualitative characteristics of
the programme.’66 Elementary was fit for purpose, leading out from the
strong performer, Person of Interest, in the Thursday 9 p.m. slot and tak-
ing the place of the strong performer The Mentalist in the Thursday
10 p.m. slot. That 10 p.m. time slot would have led to certain viewer
Roberta Pearson 137
assumptions; Curtin and Shattuc tell us, ‘The genre and tone of a show
should match the time slot, with early evenings devoted to the broad-
est range of viewers and late primetime focused on mature audiences.’67
As in the United Kingdom, government regulations ensure that children
are not exposed to inappropriate content; the Federal Communications
Commission prohibits ‘indecency’ and ‘profane speech’ on broadcast
television between the hours of 6 a.m. and 10 p.m.68 Therefore, view-
ers familiar with Sherlock may have anticipated more graphic sex and
violence in the US adaptation, although not of the same intensity as
that on cable channels like HBO unregulated by the FCC. And viewers
familiar with the procedural, The Mentalist, may have anticipated that
the replacement would adhere to the same genre.
Audiences would also have had expectations about the Thursday
night line-up. A programme that CBS did not have to worry about
needed not only to conform to viewers’ understandings concerning
genre and tone at 10 p.m. but to compete on that particular day of
the week. While UK public service programmers have the dual goals
of conforming to regulatory requirements and besting the opposition,
the commercial nature of US broadcasting makes competition the net-
work programmers’ primary goal. As Mittell says, ‘Networks realize they
are competing for ratings against other networks and channels, and
thus they design their schedules in reaction to what their competition
offers.’69 Networks want to field their strongest contenders on Thursday
nights, which Johnson says ‘are particularly important for network tele-
vision, typically producing half of network revenues’.70 This is because
network executives and advertisers believe that it is the last night to
reach audiences, particularly younger viewers, before television viewing
declines over the weekend.71
Elementary was scheduled against NBC’s newsmagazine Rock Center
(2011–2013) and ABC’s drama Scandal (2011–present). Although Rock
Center’s first season ratings were low, NBC moved it to the 10 p.m.
Thursday slot in its second season perhaps because the struggling net-
work had nothing better to offer at that time. But Scandal, the Shonda
Rhimes produced Washington-based political thriller, had averaged over
eight million viewers per episode in its first season, a respectable per-
formance. Nonetheless, reviewers gave Elementary good odds against
the opposition. The same Ken Tucker who praised the ‘canny com-
mercial aspect of Elementary’ noted that ‘it is the closest thing to a
new fall season sure-thing hit. Programmed after the increasingly big-
ratings Person of Interest, and opposite ABC’s goofy Scandal and NBC’s
wan Rock Center, Elementary is positioned for long-term viability.’72 The
138 Production
Standing out will be the challenge for this show, and not just from
Sherlock. Right now there are quite a few shows that feature an eccen-
tric male lead who notices things that most people don’t, to name a
few: Psych, Perception, and The Mentalist. Elementary needs to work on
making itself stand apart.75
Tucker also pointed to the need for distinction. ‘[T]he writing staff has
a formidable challenge: Coming up with puzzles and cases that are
worthy of Holmes, and not just variations on CSI or . . . House mys-
teries’.76 Elementary, like all generic texts, needed to offer the familiar
conventions leavened with a degree of novelty; this combination would
hopefully meet the dual purpose of retaining the loyal CBS audience
and enticing new viewers. The next and final section addresses this issue
of standardisation and differentiation with regard to both Sherlock and
Elementary.
Roberta Pearson 139
Elizabeth Evans argues that Sherlock meets the needs of the BBC as a
‘global public service broadcaster’ by combining ‘the US quality tradi-
tion and the UK prestige tradition of television drama’.84 Elaborating on
this point, she says ‘the series may recreate the aesthetic and narrative
characteristics of highly-praised US quality drama, but the deliberate
emphasis on the character’s literary provenance and Victorian origins
allows it to call on the literary pedigree of Holmes and so maintain
a clear place within British cultural history’.85 Paul Rixon shows how
the BBC press pack for the first series was intended to persuade crit-
ics that the programme had links to the original texts but was also
‘modern a la Doctor Who’.86 CB Harvey discusses the many transmedial
and intertextual linkages between Sherlock and Doctor Who, saying
that Sherlock Holmes has long influenced the British science fiction
programme and, with Sherlock, the Doctor now influences the Great
Detective.87 As all these scholars demonstrate, Sherlock’s showrunners
conceived their hybrid chimera from many genetic strains.
The previous section demonstrated that Elementary was conceived and
is perceived as a standardised procedural, in which the three executive
producers, Rob Doherty, Sarah Timberman and Carl Beverly had a ‘long
track record’ and which CBS required for all the reasons detailed above.88
Nonetheless both showrunner Doherty and the network need to create
some distance from the genre to enhance the chances of attracting view-
ers not normally inclined to procedurals. Reviewing the programme’s
first episode, critic Matt Webb Mitovich commented that Elementary’s
‘Sherlock Holmes branding is but icing on the cake (or cream on the
trifle)’ of a standard procedural.89 Doherty, however, believes that the
Sherlock Holmes brand has crucial importance. ‘What we have is a name
that means something and a franchise that means something and a
mythology that people treasure and value.’90 Like Moffat and Gatiss,
Doherty professes allegiance to the original character and his author
(although with considerably less frequency). ‘I was always a huge fan of
the character . . . Conan Doyle knew what he was doing.’91
The programmes’ writers know enough about what Conan Doyle did
to imprint the brand; in the course of its first two seasons Elementary
has borrowed or reworked canonical titles (‘The Man with the Twisted
Lip’ [2:21]]; ‘The Hound of the Cancer Cells’ [2:18]), events (the curi-
ous incident of the dog in the night time), characters (brother Mycroft,
Moriarty, like Watson transformed into a woman, and her henchman
Sebastian Moran) and Holmes’ characteristic behaviours (violin play-
ing, bee keeping). The A.V. Club’s Myles McNutt says that the canonical
references function as easter eggs rather than as integral plot points,
Roberta Pearson 141
which makes sense given that the writers can’t assume viewer famil-
iarity with the source text.92 But relative to Sherlock the canonical
borrowings are indeed mere icing rather than an essential ingredi-
ent in the cake. Take, for example, episodes of both programmes that
allude to The Hound of the Baskervilles. Den of Geek’s review of the
‘Hound of the Cancer Cells’ asked ‘Did we see a modern take on Conan
Doyle’s hell beast/inheritance plot . . . ? Did we heck. Instead, we were
served an intricately plotted but workaday murder.’93 The same site’s
review of Sherlock’s ‘The Hound of Baskervilles’ (2:2) commented that
the programme ‘selects from its source material with discrimination,
carefully restages some parts in workable modern contexts and wit-
tily disposes of other elements with a flourish’. The Gatiss authored
script for this episode ‘takes a hammer to Conan Doyle’s story, send-
ing shards of character and plot flying, then reassembling them into
a neatly constructed mosaic’.94 Despite Sherlock’s generic hybridity, the
source text serves as a vital inspiration for the writers; Elementary’s adher-
ence to the procedural formula, the ‘workaday murder’, makes canonical
references primarily a branding exercise. As a long-time Sherlockian
myself, I find Elementary’s branding more annoying than enjoyable and
Sherlock’s canonical mosaics intriguing and delightful; if my reactions
typify Sherlockian fandom that might also account for the latter’s larger
audiences. However, that hypothesis must be explored in another essay.
Doherty thinks that the brand works to Elementary’s advantage, per-
mitting it to achieve both standardisation and differentiation. ‘We feel
we check off many of the boxes for what people think of as a network
procedural. But we also can push the hour long show and Holmes to
places they haven’t gone before.’95 In a CBS promotional video, Doherty
said that a ‘brilliant’, ‘quirky’ character like Sherlock Holmes needs more
than a ‘standard mystery’; Elementary has to ‘tell the kind of stories
you wouldn’t see on a more standard procedurals show, very compli-
cated mysteries, the kind of mysteries that merit Sherlock’s attention’.96
Critical reception, however, indicates that the pilot at least failed to con-
struct a mystery worthy of the Great Detective. Said Sepinwall, ‘if you’ve
watched virtually any of CBS at all in the last decade, you’ll know almost
every beat of the pilot’s story before it happens’.97 Tucker, while gener-
ally favourably inclined to the programme, didn’t think much of the
pilot’s mystery. ‘I saw the bag o’ rice crime solution coming a mile away,
and as I’ve written often, I’m rarely very good at solving mysteries.’98
US dramas should not be judged solely by their pilots since the length of
a series permits programmes to develop and change; nonetheless, con-
fined by the procedural formula, Elementary’s mysteries must usually be
142 Production
Conclusion
This chapter has tried to account for the disparities in Sherlock’s and Ele-
mentary’s national prominence and audience share through examining
the institutional roles they play in their respective broadcasting systems.
I have considered five factors:
While Sherlock has more value to the BBC than Elementary has to CBS,
given the persistent differences in the two national broadcasting sys-
tems and the institutional roles the two programmes must play, Sherlock
is perfectly suited to BBC1 and Elementary to CBS. The special versus rou-
tine status of drama, together with differences in branding, scheduling
Roberta Pearson 143
Notes
Many thanks to Elizabeth Evans, Matt Hills, Michele Hilmes, Catherine Johnson
and Máire Messenger Davies for their helpful suggestions for and comments on
this chapter.
1. Tony Hall, ‘BBC’s Director General Tony Hall Explains Why Moving
BBC Three Online Will “Help Deliver Great Shows Like Sherlock” ’,
6 March 2014, http://www.mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-news/bbc-tony-hall-bbc-three
-3215099#ixzz2yrJvHjFq.
2. John Plunkett and Jason Deans, ‘Saving BBC3 “Would Have Meant Cutting
Funds for Dramas Such as Sherlock” ’, The Guardian, 7 March 2014, http://
www.theguardian.com/media/2014/mar/07/saving-bbc3-cutting-funds
-dramas-sherlock; Paul Blanchard, ‘BBC3 Axed . . . To Save Sherlock’, The
Huffington Post, 5 March 2014, http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/paul
-blanchard/bbc3-axed_b_4902792.html.
3. Sean O’ Neal, ‘CBS Drama Showrunners Panel at TCA: CBS Shows Just How
Seriously It’s Started Taking Its Dramas’, A.V. Club, 15 January 2014, http://
www.avclub.com/article/cbs-drama-showrunners-panel-at-tca-cbs-shows-just
-106989.
4. O’Neal, ‘CBS Drama Showrunners Panel at TCA’.
5. Paul Jones, ‘Sherlock Is Most Watched BBC Drama Series for Over a Decade’,
RadioTimes, 22 January 2014, http://www.radiotimes.com/news/2014-01-22/
sherlock-is-most-watched-bbc-drama-series-for-over-a-decade.
6. Amanda Kondolojy, ‘TV Ratings Thursday: “Grey’s Anatomy” & “Scandal”
Return Up, “Big Bang Theory” Steady With Last Year + Premieres for “Ele-
mentary” & “Last Resort” ’, TV by the Numbers, 28 September 2012, http://
tvbythenumbers.zap2it.com/2012/09/28/tv-ratings-thursday-greys-anatomy
-returns-up-big-bang-theory-steady-with-last-year-premieres-for-elementary
-last-resort/150554/.
7. David Lister, ‘Sherlock Has Succeeded in Bringing Back “Appointment Tele-
vision”, but the BBC Shouldn’t Spoil It by Patronising Audiences’, The Inde-
pendent, 17 January 2014, http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/
sherlock-has-succeeded-in-bringing-back-appointment-television-but
-the-bbc-shouldnt-spoil-it-by-patronising-audiences-9067935.html.
8. This disparity is also reflected in academic research. As far as I know, this
is the first scholarly essay on Elementary but Sherlock has already attracted
considerable academic attention. Two edited collections on Holmes include
essays on Sherlock: Sherlock Holmes for the 21st Century: Essays on New Adap-
tations, ed. Lynnette Porter (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2012) and Sherlock
Holmes and Conan Doyle: Multi-Media Afterlives, eds. Sabine Vanacker and
Catherine Wynne (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012). One edited col-
lection focuses entirely on Sherlock: Sherlock and Transmedia Fandom: Essays
144 Production
on the BBC Series, eds. Kristina Busse and Louisa Stein (Jefferson, NC:
McFarland, 2012). Matt Hills is preparing Sherlock: Detecting Quality TV for
I.B. Tauris and there is probably other material forthcoming.
9. For example, Zack Handlen argues that ‘Elementary is a fundamentally bet-
ter series’, but considers this a ‘shocking’ assertion in light of the two
shows’ ‘relative positions in the pop culture zeitgeist’ (‘It’s Elementary,
Sherlock: How the CBS Procedural Surpassed the BBC Drama’, A.V. Club,
20 January, 2014, http://www.avclub.com/article/its-elementary-sherlock-
how-the-cbs-procedural-sur-200870).
10. Tim Goodman, ‘Sherlock: TV Review’, The Hollywood Reporter, 3 Jan-
uary 2014, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/review/excellent-sherlock-
returns-form-668329.
11. Logan Hill, ‘How “Sherlock” Made Holmes Sexy Again’, Rolling Stone, 24 Jan-
uary 2014, http://www.rollingstone.com/movies/news/how-sherlock-made-
holmes-sexy-again-20140124.
12. Roberta Pearson, ‘ “Good Old Index”; or The Mystery of the Infinite Archive’,
in Sherlock and Transmedia Fandom, eds. Busse and Stein, 150–164. See also
Matt Hills’ chapter in this book for a discussion of Sherlock’s fan service.
13. Elke Weissmann, Transnational Television Drama: Special Relations and Mutual
Influence between the US and the UK (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012),
186.
14. Ibid.,10. Trisha Dunleavy discusses the different shaping of drama by the two
countries’ broadcasting systems from both an historical and a contemporary
perspective. See Television Drama: Form, Agency and Innovation (Basingstoke:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 23–28; 205–210.
15. BBC, ‘Mission and Values’, 21 December 2011, http://www.bbc.co.uk/
aboutthebbc/insidethebbc/whoweare/mission_and_values/.
16. Elizabeth Evans and Paul McDonald, ‘Online Distribution of Film and Tele-
vision in the UK: Behavior, Taste, and Value’, in Connected Viewing: Selling,
Streaming, & Sharing Media in the Digital Age, eds. Jennifer Holt and Kevin
Sanson (New York: Routledge, 2014), 162.
17. For more on this see ibid., 169.
18. John Plunkett, ‘BBC1 and Channel 5 Increase Their Audience Share in 2012’,
The Guardian, 10 January 2013, http://www.theguardian.com/media/2013/
jan/10/bbc1-channel-5-increase-audience-share.
19. Frazier Moore, ‘CBS Scores Big Weekly Win in Prime-TV Ratings’, The Big
Story, 15 January 2013, http://bigstory.ap.org/article/cbs-scores-big-weekly
-win-prime-time-ratings.
20. Ofcom, ‘PSB Report 2013 – Information pack’, August 2013, 55, http://
stakeholders.ofcom.org.uk/binaries/broadcast/reviews-investigations/psb
-review/psb2013/viewing.pdf.
21. For the complete 2013–2014 schedule see ‘2013–14 United States
network Television Schedule’, Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/
2013–14_United_States_network_television_schedule.
22. Sylvia Harvey, ‘Ofcom’s First Year and Neoliberalism’s Blind Spot’, Screen 47,
no. 1 (2006), 97. Harvey quotes the Communications Act 2003, clause 264,
(6), (b), (e), (f) and (h).
23. Department of Culture, Media and Sport, ‘Review of the BBC’s Royal Charter:
A Strong BBC, Independent from Government’, March 2005, 28.
Roberta Pearson 145
42. Harry Mount, ‘Why the Riveting Sherlock Holmes Stories Have Endured’,
The Telegraph, 26 July 2010, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/
7911226/Why-the-riveting-Sherlock-Holmes-stories-have-endured.html.
43. Steward, ‘Holmes in the Small Screen’, 143. Steward ignores the fact that the
second episode of the first series aired at 8.30 p.m.
44. Ellis, ‘Scheduling’, 27.
45. ‘Sherlock Holmes: Get Three Free Books’, RadioTimes, 21 December 2013–3
January 2014, 58.
46. Steven Moffat, ‘The Great Detective’, RadioTimes, 21 December 2013–3
January 2014, 32–34.
47. John Hall, ‘Sherlock Could Be Back in Time for Christmas as
BBC Bosses Urge Producers to Fast Track New Episodes’, The Daily
Mail, 13 January 2013, http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2538467/
Sherlock-time-Christmas-BBC-bosses-urge-producers-fast-track-new-episodes
.html.
48. Maureen Ryan, ‘ “Elementary” Review, “Vegas” Review And “Made In Jersey”
Review: The Pleasures And Pains Of CBS’ New Dramas’, The Huffington
Post, 25 September 2012, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/maureen-ryan/
elementary-review_b_1912874.html.
49. ‘CBS America’s Most Watched Network Promo 2013’, http://www.youtube
.com/watch?v=WeBNwvROvCs.
50. Michael Curtin and Jane Shattuc, The American Television Industry
(Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 65.
51. Johnson, Branding Television, 172.
52. Tim Goodman, ‘When TV Brands Go Off Brand’, The Hollywood Reporter,
23 November 2010, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/tv-brands
-brand-47791.
53. Curtin and Shattuc, The American Television Industry, 65.
54. Ibid.
55. Elizabeth Nolan Brown, ‘54 Is the New 49, says CBS’, AARP Blog, 31 August
2012, http://blog.aarp.org/2012/08/31/54-is-the-new-49-says-cbs/.
56. Curtin and Shattuc, The American Television Industry, 66.
57. Jason Mittell, Genre and Television: From Cop Shows to Cartoons in American
Culture (London: Routledge, 2004), xii.
58. Steven Zeitchik, ‘Fall TV Preview: The Sherlock Holmes of “Elementary” Is
on the Trail of a New Idea’, 8 September 2012, http://www.latimes.com/
entertainment/tv/showtracker/la-et-st-fall-tv-preview-elementary-20120909,
0,5190834.story.
59. Tim Goodman, ‘Elementary: TV Review’, The Hollywood Reporter, 19 September
2012, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/review/elementary-review-jonny
-lee-miller-lucy-liu-371289.
60. Alan Sepinwall, ‘Review: “Elementary” Makes Sherlock Holmes a Part of the
CBS Brand’, Hitfix, 26 September 2012, http://www.hitfix.com/whats-alan
-watching/review-elementary-makes-sherlock-holmes-a-part-of-the-cbs
-brand.
61. Andy Lewis, ‘Fall TV Pilot Preview: CBS’ “Elementary” ’, The Hollywood
Reporter, 10 July 2012, http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/
elementary-cbs-pilot-preview-lucy-liu-jonny-lee-miller-347179.
Roberta Pearson 147
62. Ken Tucker, ‘ “Elementary” Premiere Review: This Sherlock Looks Like a
Sure Hit but Is It Good Holmes?’, Entertainment Weekly, 27 September
2012, http://watching-tv.ew.com/2012/09/27/elementary-sherlock-episode
-1-premiere-review/.
63. Amber Humphrey, ‘Bringing Sherlock Holmes into the 21st Century’, Film
School Rejects, 9 November 2012, http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/features/
bringing-sherlock-holmes-into-the-21st-century-ahump.php.
64. Ryan, ‘ “Elementary” Review’.
65. Sepinwall, ‘Review: “Elementary” ’.
66. Curtin and Shattuc, The American Television Industry, 60.
67. Ibid., 6.
68. Federal Communications Commission, ‘Obscene, Indecent and Profane
Broadcasts’, http://www.fcc.gov/guides/obscenity-indecency-and-profanity
69. Jason Mittell, Television and American Culture (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2010), 28.
70. Johnson, Branding Television, 26.
71. Curtin and Shattuc, The American Television Industry, 49, 65.
72. Tucker, ‘ “Elementary” premiere review’.
73. Lewis, ‘Fall TV Pilot Preview’.
74. Goodman, ‘When TV Brands Go Off Brand’.
75. Allison Nichols, ‘New fall TV drama: CBS’s “Elementary” ’, 4 September 2012,
AXS Entertainment, http://www.examiner.com/article/new-fall-tv-drama-cbs
-s-elementary.
76. Tucker, ‘ “Elementary” Premiere Review’.
77. Steward, ‘Holmes in the Small Screen’, 135.
78. Ibid., 136.
79. Ibid., 137–138.
80. Ibid., 138.
81. Ibid., 143.
82. Ibid., 144, 145.
83. Ibid., 140,141.
84. Elizabeth Evans, ‘Shaping Sherlock: Institutional Practice and the Adaptation
of Character’, Sherlock and Transmedia Fandom, eds. Busse and Stein, 112,
114–115.
85. Ibid., 115.
86. Paul Rixon, ‘Sherlock: Critical Reception by the Media’, in Sherlock and
Transmedia Fandom, eds. Busse and Stein, 168.
87. CB Harvey, ‘Sherlock’s Webs: What the Detective Remembered from the Doc-
tor about Transmediality’, in Sherlock and Transmedia Fandom, eds. Busse and
Stein, 118–119.
88. Lewis, ‘Fall TV Pilot Preview: CBS’ “Elementary” ’.
89. Matt Webb Mitovich, ‘Fall TV First Impression: CBS’s Elementary Finds a
Holmes in New York City’, TV Line, 5 July 2012, http://tvline.com/2012/
07/05/fall-tv-preview-elementary-cbs/.
90. Abbie Bernstein, ‘Interview: Robert Doherty on Elementary Season
2’, AssigmentX, 24 October 2013, http://www.assignmentx.com/2013/
interview-robert-doherty-on-elementary-season-2/.
91. Ibid.
148 Production
92. Myles McNutt, ‘Elementary: “The Hound of the Cancer Cells” ’, AV Club,
13 March 2014, http://www.avclub.com/tvclub/elementary-hound-cancer
-cells-202196.
93. Frances Roberts, ‘Elementary Season 2 Episode 18 Review: The Hound of the
Cancer Cells’, Den of Geek, 14 March 2014, http://www.denofgeek.com/tv/
elementary/29727/elementary-season-2-episode-18-review-the-hound-of-the
-cancer-cells#ixzz30v3obVrl.
94. Louisa Mellor, ‘Sherlock Series 2 Episode 2: The Hounds of Baskerville
review’, Den of Geek, 8 January, 2012, http://www.denofgeek.com/tv/
sherlock/10753/sherlock-series-2-episode-2-the-hounds-of-baskerville-
review#ixzz30v8gYeSk.
95. Zeitchik, ‘Fall TV Preview’.
96. CBS, ‘Elementary: Behind the Scenes’, http://www.cbs.com/shows/
elementary/video/RCwieLLYWRcsGHZc3ROUKGKQFBqOywkT/elementary
-behind-the-scenes/.
97. Sepinwall, ‘Review: “Elementary” ’.
98. Tucker, ‘ “Elementary” Premiere Review’.
Part II
Circulation and Reception
8
Storyselling and Storykilling:
Affirmational/Transformational
Discourses of Television Narrative
Matt Hills
151
152 Circulation and Reception
Mittell does not view such narrative forms as determined by the techno-
logical changes of the digital era, instead understanding complex nar-
rative as one possible response to shifts whereby Web 2.0 has ‘enabled
fans to embrace a “collective intelligence” for information, interpreta-
tions, and discussions of complex narratives that invite participatory
engagement’, while ‘orienting paratexts’ have also furnished guides to
complicated narrative worlds.8 It is somewhat ironic that despite cham-
pioning the discursive turn in relation to genre – in the book Genre and
Television published several years before his ‘Narrative Complexity’ arti-
cle – Mittell nevertheless grounds complex television storytelling in an
historically and institutionally specific narrational mode that ‘encour-
ages’ or even ‘necessitates’ fan-like engagement; from such phrases it
is apparent that complex narrative is conceptualised here as an objec-
tive property of television texts – one that audiences respond to (or,
indeed, one requiring a degree of paratextual guidance).9 By contrast,
Mittell argues that discursive practices surrounding texts may differen-
tially activate generic categories. ‘To examine generic discourses, the site
of genre analysis must shift from isolated texts precategorized by their
genre to culturally circulating generic practices that categorize texts.
Discursive formations do not adhere to seemingly clear boundaries, such
as between texts and audiences.’10
The outcome of this move, away from ‘isolated texts’ to circulating
categorisations, is that genres become ‘discursive practices. By regard-
ing genre as a property and a function of discourse, we can examine
the ways in which various forms of communication work to con-
stitute generic definitions, meanings, and values’.11 But if genre can
be reconceptualised as a matter of discursive practices, resulting in a
neo-Foucauldian ‘generic function’, then on what basis can narrative
Matt Hills 153
‘Kernels’ are those events that are central to the story . . . Satellites,
conversely, are minor story events ‘not crucial . . . [which] can be
deleted without disturbing the logic of the plot’ . . . Importantly,
Chatman does not delineate exactly who outlines this kernel/satellite
distinction. . . . [However, via narractivity] . . . the kernels and satellites
thus become differentiated from each other by audience involve-
ment, not authorial intent.15
The initial 2005 BBC press release for Torchwood gave the show a pitch-
style identity of ‘The X Files [1993–2002] meets This Life [1996–1997]’,
promising a show that would be ‘dark, wild and sexy’ while also working
as a ‘sci-fi paranoid thriller’.23 The programme’s production discourse
156 Circulation and Reception
[I]t’s not really clear who it’s aimed at. It contains swearing, blood and
sex, yet still somehow feels like a children’s programme. Thirteen-
year-olds should love it; anyone else is likely to be more than a little
confused. Which isn’t to say Torchwood is bad. Just bewildering. And
very, very silly.26
[C]ritics writing for the national papers are linked to the national
community; they are positioned, culturally, as ‘public’ critics, produc-
ing . . . a public discourse on television. Thus they are still able to play
an important social . . . role for the reader, a way of bonding readers
together into a shared (televisual) culture.30
After the first Torchwood went out, I had a look at a couple of reviews –
of Russell’s episode – and I just thought, ‘I don’t agree . . . . ’ That was
the point where I thought, ‘You’re not going to gain anything from
reading this stuff”. If they’re going to be like that about Russell, who
is a really extraordinary writer and this is . . . years ago when I had far
fewer credits – I thought, Okay, I’m going to be sniper-fire.33
[I]t’s worrying, just two episodes in, [that] the series already seems to
[be] showing signs of padding. The entire plotline with Jack, Gwen
and Rex on the plane was, basically, an extended excuse for them
not to arrive in the US before all the necessary shenanigans with the
CIA had been sorted out.43
The biggest criticism of Torchwood: Miracle Day, now that we’re more
than halfway through, has been its slow pacing. And after last night’s
clogged drain of an episode, it’s hard not to feel like that’s a valid
critique. As long as Miracle Day was raising fascinating issues about
politics, [and] society . . . it was easier to ignore the fact that the story
was moving somewhat glacially.44
This sense of the thriller genre hinges on stretching a storyline ‘as much
as may be tolerated’, of course. And as became apparent with regards to
narrative ‘padding’, there was precious little agreement between many
audiences and the show’s producers on where the line indicating ‘as
much [narrative deferral or stretching] as may be tolerated’ actually fell.
Torchwood was seemingly expected to be faster-paced science fiction first
and foremost by its established fans, whereas Miracle Day focused more
on its positioning as a stretched-out medico-political thriller, despite
integrating a science-fictional novum – but not an extraterrestrial, alien
force – into its set-up. Production uncertainty over creative choices that
were made is testified to by Russell T Davies’s DVD commentary for ‘The
New World’ (4:1), while the dominance of transformational, storykilling
discourses can be seen in the unusual tenor of Chris Chibnall’s even-
tual post-Miracle Day interview comments. Davies states that ‘one of the
biggest risks’ when storylining series four lay in downplaying any alien
presence, musing: ‘I kind of thought “do you miss aliens in this?” I do
slightly’.57 This DVD commentary was recorded in 2011 after the first
162 Circulation and Reception
Each comment, from the showrunner and the series one and two co-
producer, echoes fan discourses of textual authenticity, suggesting that
Miracle Day lost its ‘Torchwood-ness’ as a result of the US setting or
the lack of major aliens. Ironically, despite Davies’s earlier attempts to
non-dialogically close down fan critique, Miracle Day’s capitulation to
storykilling and transformational discourses comes in the form of major
creatives linked to the show appearing to accept or seriously ponder
these very discourses. Ultimately, production discourse either accepts or
anticipates fan complaints, indicating how publicity strategies can be
over-run by fan, press and fan press critiques.
Unlike Torchwood, whose transmedia (online/press) public discourse
was transformational from the very start, eventually overwhelming offi-
cial publicity and its attempts at positioning the show’s storytelling,
Sherlock enjoyed a highly affirmational response to its opening series.
It is this that I’ll consider next.
Paul Rixon has traced how Sherlock’s ‘pre-image’, set out in the BBC’s
official press pack preceding the broadcast of series one, was typically
echoed in a range of national press coverage.59 In this instance, narrative
discourses of ‘modernising’ Arthur Conan Doyle’s canon were put into
play by the BBC and reproduced by tabloid and broadsheet journalists.
Harry Mount, writing for The Telegraph, noted that Sherlock was ‘a must-
see for Sunday nights’, and the predominantly positive press response
approved of the show’s modernising gestures.60 Some coverage was more
than merely affirmational, instead reaching exuberant and celebratory
heights, such as Caitlin Moran’s review of ‘A Study in Pink’ (1:1) in The
Times – like Charlie Brooker’s journalism, subsequently republished in
Matt Hills 163
brushed aside the views of some critics and viewers who found the
opening episode, The Empty Hearse [3:1], too self-referential as it
ran through the ways in which Sherlock might have escaped what
seemed like certain death in his fall from the roof at the end of the
previous series. Moffat said . . . ‘It is not a detective show. It is a show
about a detective’.64
Magazine published two days after the BBC Media Pack, on 21 December
2013, Benedict Cumberbatch reinforces series three’s newfound narra-
tive prioritisation of Sherlock’s relationship with John: ‘It always goes
back to their relationship, and that is very much what the first new
episode is all about. There is a mystery in there, but it’s more about
whether they are going to get back together.’68
The media pack and promotional pre-image for series three thus
stressed new elements (Mary Morstan; Charles Augustus Magnussen)
and developments that would enable the diegesis to ‘reassess things’
(Gatiss), along with emphasising the realism of Sherlock’s self-
development and growing relationships.69 However, a number of UK
broadsheet journalists reviewing series three’s opener on 2 and 3 January
2014 immediately diverged from any such narractivity, instead criticis-
ing ‘The Empty Hearse’ (3:1) for excessive ‘fan service’ in The Guardian,
and for alienating the ‘casual viewer’ in The Independent.70 Mark Lawson
cautioned that:
The risk of this approach . . . is that the stories become skewed towards
the smallest audience that any programme has: the obsessives. While
any successful TV drama these days should generate fan fiction,
it cannot afford to become entirely fan fiction itself. Even shows
as successful as . . . Sherlock should be aiming . . . to introduce new
viewers.71
In The Independent, Archie Bland was even more polemical in his defence
of casual viewing, as opposed to Sherlock’s narratives presuming detailed
fan knowledge:
own viewpoints. As Serena Davies notes in The Telegraph after ‘His Last
Vow’: ‘Some carp that all these in-jokes are a distraction, that the show
is just too pleased with itself’.73 Lucy Mangan, writing in The Guardian,
similarly observes:
Each critic goes on to offer a more complex, celebratory view, but their
analysis remains framed by what ‘some’ have been ‘vociferous’ about.
Perhaps surprisingly, even leading fan site Sherlockology – independent
from series producers though perhaps partly co-opted into production
discourse – draws on a related formulation when its preview of ‘His
Last Vow’ notes that the episode’s narrative developments are ‘not what
some have cited as the “fan service” . . . in The Empty Hearse and The
Sign of Three [3:2]’.75 And Zoe Taylor, a letter writer to Radio Times
defending Sherlock’s third series, used the same style of formulation:
‘I know many people complained about the first two episodes of Sherlock
[series three], but surely no one could deny the brilliant pay-off of the
final instalment’.76
In Analysing Discourse, Norman Fairclough argues that this kind of
‘non-specifically (vaguely) attributed’ intertextuality makes its points
more difficult to challenge since they are not precisely linked to iden-
tifiable dialogue between writers. Instead, non-specifically attributed
intertextuality simulates dialogue, in a way.77 Somewhat distinct from
Fairclough’s political examples, however, television journalism covering
Sherlock series three deploys non-specific intertextuality to enable writ-
ers to discursively individuate their own viewpoints from a posited (and
unevidenced) ‘received wisdom’. Rarely do these journalists specify and
precisely reference an opposing view, although Laurie Penny does so
when writing in The New Statesman in defence of Sherlock’s fandom, and
this ‘accentuates the dialogicality’ of her position:78
You can almost hear the wrinkle-nosed whine in Guardian critic Mark
Lawson’s voice when he describes the latest episodes of Sherlock as
‘blog-aware’. . . . Lawson, along with a great many other critics, would
prefer that storytelling remained appropriately hierarchi[c]al – with
166 Circulation and Reception
writers and showrunners from the right backgrounds at the top, and
everybody else watching along quietly and not making a fuss. I beg
to differ.79
This series of Sherlock was supposed to be one for the fans, full of
in-jokes and character trait reversions that only a mother, or a fan-
fic obsessed devotee, could love. Clearly, this has backfired. The fans
were not best pleased. At the end of my last blog [concerning ‘The
Sign of Three’] there were a few hundred comments saying the show
had lost its way – it was too knowing, too comedic and had strayed
too far from the formula.81
However, even here what is taken to represent ‘the fans’ is far more
likely to simply represent the ‘comment culture’ focused around this
one national newspaper’s blog:82 an online ‘filter bubble’ where those of
a shared political persuasion or similar taste culture can be temporar-
ily unified.83 Interpreting such comments as a reaction of ‘the fans’
tout court would be foolhardy, given the range of different fan fac-
tions which can be linked to various platforms and practices (Tumblr,
AO3, LiveJournal, forums and so on). The key difference between
Sam Wolfson’s remarks and those of other television critics is that
Wolfson does at least progress from referring to an imagined or unspec-
ified Sherlock fan audience to citing a partially evidenced Web 2.0
grouping.
Wolfson’s summary of complaints – especially that series three had
abandoned Sherlock’s formula – is also mirrored in Neela Debnath’s tele-
vision review of ‘His Last Vow’ in The Independent which itself becomes
a commentary on series three:
Matt Hills 167
Notes
1. See Henry Jenkins, Convergence Culture (New York: New York University Press,
2006).
2. On this process, see Matt Hills, ‘Torchwood’s Trans-Transmedia: Media tie-ins
Note and Brand “Fanagement” ’, Participations 9, no. 2 (2012), 409–428.
3. Jonathan Gray, Show Sold Separately (New York: New York University Press,
2010), 143; Matt Hills, ‘Fiske’s “Textual Productivity” and Digital Fandom:
Web 2.0 Democratization Versus Fan Distinction?’, Participations 10, no. 1
(2013), 130–153.
4. Elizabeth Minkel, ‘Mutually Assured Destruction: The Shifting Dynamics
Between Creators and Fans’, The New Statesman online, 10 April 2014, http://
www.newstatesman.com/culture/2014/04/mutually-assured-destruction
- shifting-dynamics-between-creators-and-fans.
5. Thomas Doherty, ‘The Paratext’s the Thing’, Chronicle of Higher Educa-
tion online, 6 January 2014, https://chronicle.com/article/The-Paratexts-the
-Thing/143761/.
6. Robin Nelson, TV Drama in Transition (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997), 24.
7. Jason Mittell, ‘Narrative Complexity in Contemporary American Television’,
The Velvet Light Trap no. 58 (Fall, 2006), 29.
8. Ibid., 31; Jason Mittell, ‘Serial Orientations: Paratexts and Contemporary
Complex Television’, in (Dis)Orienting Media and Narrative Mazes, eds. Julia
Eckel, Bernd Leiendecker, Daniela Olek and Christine Piepiorka (Bielefeld:
Transcript Verlag, 2013), 165.
9. Jason Mittell, Genre and Television (New York: Routledge, 2004); Mittell,
‘Narrative Complexity’, 38.
10. Mittell, Genre and Television, 13.
11. Ibid., 12 (emphasis in original).
12. Ibid., 15.
13. Ashley D. Polasek, ‘Winning “The Grand Game”: Sherlock and the Fragmen-
tation of Fan Discourse’, in Sherlock and Transmedia Fandom, eds. Louisa Ellen
Stein and Kristina Busse (Jefferson: McFarland, 2012), 53; Roberta Pearson,
‘ “Good Old Index”; or, The Mystery of the Infinite Archive’, in Sherlock and
Transmedia Fandom, eds. Louisa Ellen Stein and Kristina Busse (Jefferson:
McFarland, 2012), 155.
14. Paul Booth, Digital Fandom (New York: Peter Lang, 2010), 104–105.
15. Seymour Chatman, Story and Discourse: Narrative Structure in Fiction and Film
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1978), 53–54 quoted in Booth, Digital
Fandom, 91.
16. Paul Rixon, TV Critics and Popular Culture: A History of British Television Criti-
cism (London: I.B. Tauris, 2011), 228; Lynnette Porter, The Doctor Who Fran-
chise: American Influence, Fan Culture and the Spinoffs (Jefferson: McFarland,
2012), 143.
170 Circulation and Reception
17. See, for example, Charlie Brooker, Dawn of the Dumb (London: Faber and
Faber, 2007), 234–236 and 244 [these were originally reviews published in
The Guardian newspaper in 2006].
18. Tabloid responses appear, as far as I can tell, to be consistent with my
findings. For example, Stephen James Walker’s compilation of ‘Press Reac-
tion’ to Torchwood series one and two includes quotations from just The
Metro and The Mirror in terms of tabloid responses. Of these two titles,
The Mirror is highly celebratory of Torchwood at the show’s very begin-
ning, but by the time Jim Shelley reviews episode 1:6 his tone echoes the
mocking of Charlie Brooker’s earlier Guardian journalism. See Jim Shelley
quoted in Stephen James Walker, Inside the Hub (Tolworth: Telos Publishing,
2007), 152.
19. See obsession_inc, ‘Affirmational Fandom vs. Transformational Fandom’,
1 June 2009, http://obsession-inc.dreamwidth.org/82589.html; and Pearson,
‘Good Old Index’.
20. See, for example, Josh Wilding, ‘Sherlock Verdict: Stunning Explanation in
The Empty Hearse for How Sherlock Faked His Death Won’t Satisfy Every-
body, but It Works’, The Mirror, 1 January 2014, http://www.mirror.co.uk/
tv/tv-reviews/sherlock-season-3-verdict-everything-2979053/; Josh Wilding,
‘Sherlock verdict: His Last Vow was in Many Ways the Best Episode Yet’, The
Mirror, 13 January 2014, http://www.mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-reviews/sherlock-
verdict-last-vow-many-3015982; Kelby McNally, ‘Fans Left Unimpressed as
Sherlock Shows his Sensitive Side in The Sign of Three’, The Express,
6 January 2014, http://www.express.co.uk/news/showbiz/452292/Fans-left-
unimpressed-as-Sherlock-shows-his-sensitive-side-in-The-Sign-of-Three.
21. Benjamin Poore, ‘Fighting Paper Dragons? The Emergence of Political Ideol-
ogy in Sherlock Series 3’ (paper presented at the New Directions in Sherlock
Symposium, UCL, 11 April 2014).
22. Elizabeth Minkel, ‘Fangirl’, The Millions, 30 January 2014, http://www
.themillions.com/2014/01/fangirl.html.
23. BBC Press Office, ‘Captain Jack to get his own Series in new Russell T Davies
Drama for BBC THREE’, 17 October 2005, http://www.bbc.co.uk/pressoffice/
pressreleases/stories/2005/10_october/17/torch.shtml.
24. Nick Griffiths, ‘The Torchwood Files’, Radio Times, 21–27 October 2006, 11.
25. BBC Press Office, ‘Captain Jack’.
26. Charlie Brooker, ‘Screen Burn’, 28 October 2006, http://www.theguardian
.com/media/2006/oct/28/tvandradio.broadcasting.
27. Ibid.
28. Charlie Brooker, ‘Screen Burn’, 16 December 2006, http://www.theguardian
.com/media/2006/dec/16/tvandradio.broadcasting.
29. Walker, Inside the Hub, 222.
30. Rixon, TV Critics, 229.
31. Ibid., 185–187.
32. On the representation of bisexuality in Torchwood, see Christopher Pullen,
‘ “Love the Coat”: Bisexuality, the Female Gaze and the Romance of Sexual
Politics’, in Illuminating Torchwood, ed. Andrew Ireland (Jefferson: McFarland,
2010), 135–152.
33. J.R. Southall, ‘Interview: Chris Chibnall/Part 1 Torchwood’, 12 February
2013, http://www.starburstmagazine.com/features/interviews/4568
-interview-chris-chibnall-part-1-torchwood.
Matt Hills 171
34. See Darren Scott, ‘Jack’s Back’, Gay Times, August 2011, 45.
35. Michel Foucault, ‘What Is an Author?’, in The Foucault Reader, ed. Paul
Rabinow (New York: Pantheon Books, 1984), 101–120; see also Craig Haslop,
‘The Shape-Shifter: Fluid Sexuality as Part of Torchwood’s Changing Generic
Matrix and “Cult” Status’, in Torchwood Declassified, ed. Rebecca Williams
(London: I.B. Tauris, 2013), 209–225; Brooker, ‘Screen Burn’, 28 October
2006.
36. See Matt Hills, ‘BBC Wales’ Torchwood as TV I, II and III: Changes in
Television Horror’, Cinephile 6, no. 2 (Fall 2010), 23–29.
37. Russell T Davies quoted in Michael Ausiello, ‘ “Torchwood” Boss to Angry
Fans: Go Watch “Supernatural” ’, Entertainment Weekly, 24 July 2009, http://
insidetv.ew.com/2009/07/24/backlash-shmacklash-thats-torchwood-creator
-russell-t-davies-reaction-to-the-outcry-over-the-death-of-gareth-david
-lloyds/.
38. On Children of Earth’s critical acclaim, see Lynnette Porter, Tarnished Heroes,
Charming Villains and Modern Monsters (Jefferson: McFarland, 2010), 239.
For more on this struggle between production and fan discourse, includ-
ing attempted self-policing and factionalism within Torchwood fandom, see
Matt Hills, ‘ “Proper Distance” in the Ethical Positioning of Scholar-Fandoms:
Between Academics’ and Fans’ Moral Economies?’, in Fan Culture: The-
ory/Practice, eds. Katherine Larsen and Lynn Zubernis (Newcastle upon Tyne:
Cambridge Scholars, 2012), 28–32.
39. Ausiello, ‘ “Torchwood” boss’.
40. Ibid.
41. Norman Fairclough, Analysing Discourse: Textual Analysis for Social Research
(London: Routledge, 2003), 46.
42. Jane Tranter quoted in Craig McLean, ‘Captain America’, Radio Times, 9–15
July 2011, 19.
43. Dave Golder, ‘Torchwood: Miracle Day “Rendition” TV REVIEW’,
SFX, 25 July 2011, http://www.sfx.co.uk/2011/07/25/torchwood-miracle-day
-“rendition”-tv-review/.
44. Charlie Jane Anders, ‘It’s Hard to Deny That Torchwood Is Treading
Water’, io9, 13 August 2011, http://io9.com/5830566/its-hard-to-deny-that
-torchwood-is-treading-water.
45. Benjamin W.L. Derhy, ‘Cult Yet? The “Miracle” of Internationalization’, in
Torchwood Declassified, ed. Rebecca Williams (London: I.B. Tauris, 2013), 56.
46. Ibid.
47. Ibid., 58.
48. Ibid., 59.
49. Ibid., 58.
50. Ibid., 57.
51. Porter, The Doctor Who Franchise, 143.
52. ‘The Blood Line’ (4:10) Intro (Russell T Davies), Torchwood: Miracle Day,
Region 2 DVD Release (2 Entertain, 2011).
53. ‘The End of the Road’ (4:8) Intro (John Barrowman), Torchwood: Miracle Day,
Region 2 DVD Release (2 Entertain, 2011); ‘Immortal Sins’ (4:7) Intro (John
Barrowman), Torchwood: Miracle Day, Region 2 DVD Release (2 Entertain,
2011); Gray, Show Sold Separately, 84.
54. Matt Hills, ‘Torchwood Miracle Day, Episode Six: Stuck in the Mid-
dle?’, Antenna, 19 August 2011, http://blog.commarts.wisc.edu/2011/08/19/
torchwood-miracle-day-episode-six-stuck-in-the-middle/.
172 Circulation and Reception
(2014), http://journal.transformativeworks.org/index.php/twc/article/view/
513/416; Sherlockology, ‘SHERLOCK S3E3 HIS LAST VOW – ADVANCE
SPOILER-FREE REVIEW’, 9 January 2014, http://www.sherlockology.com/
news/2014/1/9/his-last-vow-review-090114.
76. Zoe Taylor, ‘Elementary Success’, Radio Times, 25–31 January 2014, 156.
77. Fairclough, Analysing Discourse, 48.
78. Ibid., 41.
79. Laurie Penny, ‘Sherlock and the Adventure of the Overzealous Fanbase’, The
New Statesman, 12 January 2014, http://www.newstatesman.com/culture/
2014/01/sherlock-and-adventure-overzealous-fanbase.
80. Sam Wolfson, ‘Sherlock Recap: Series Three, Episode Three – His Last Vow’,
The Guardian, 12 January 2014, http://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/
tvandradioblog/2014/jan/12/sherlock-recap-series-three-episode-three-his
-last-vow; see Rixon, TV Critics, 236–237.
81. Wolfson, ‘Sherlock Recap’.
82. Geert Lovink, Networks Without a Cause (Cambridge: Polity, 2011), 50–62.
83. Eli Pariser, The Filter Bubble: What the Internet Is Hiding from You (London:
Penguin, 2012).
84. Neela Debnath, ‘Sherlock “His Last Vow” TV review: A Disappointingly Des-
perate Finale’, The Independent, 12 January 2014, http://www.independent
.co.uk/arts-entertainment/tv/reviews/sherlock-his-last-vow-tv-review-a
-disappointingly-desperate-finale-9052641.html. Covering all bases, The
Independent simultaneously offers a counter view, namely that following
‘the bromantic lull of last week’s wedding episode, in which the mystery
plot was half-drowned in sentiment, there was reason to fear Sherlock had
gone soft’, yet ‘His Last Vow’ redeemed the series; Ellen E Jones, ‘Sherlock,
TV review: “Series 3 Finale Delivers the Goods” ’, The Independent, 12 Jan-
uary 2014, http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/tv/reviews/
tv-review-intelligence-humour-and-obscure-fanboy-references-galore-as
-sherlock-finale-delivers-the-goods-9054365.html.
85. Debnath, ‘Sherlock “His Last Vow” ’.
86. Michael Z. Newman and Elana Levine, Legitimating Television: Media Conver-
gence and Cultural Status (New York: Routledge, 2012), 2.
87. Nick Cohen, ‘Infantile, My Dear Watson’, Standpoint, March 2014, http://
www.standpointmag.co.uk/node/5416/full; Debnath, ‘Sherlock “His Last
Vow” ’.
88. Cohen, ‘Infantile, My Dear Watson’.
89. Emily Nussbaum, ‘Fan Friction’, The New Yorker, 27 January 2014, http://
www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/television/2014/01/27/140127crte
_television_nussbaum; Penny, ‘Sherlock and the Adventure’.
90. Devon Maloney, ‘Sherlock Isn’t the Fan-Friendly Show You Think It Is’, Wired,
24 January 2014, http://www.wired.com/2014/01/sherlock-fandom/; Bethan
Jones, ‘Johnlocked: Sherlock, Slash Fiction and the Shaming of Female Fans’,
New Left Project, 18 February 2014, http://www.newleftproject.org/index.
php/site/article_comments/johnlocked_sherlock_slash_fiction_and_the
_shaming_of_female_fans.
91. Pearson, ‘Good Old Index’; Rixon, ‘Sherlock: Critical Reception’.
92. Fairclough, Analysing Discourse, 48.
9
Whistle While You Work: Branding,
Critical Reception and Pixar’s
Production Culture
Richard McCulloch
The sheer quantity of media articles that have been written about Pixar
demonstrate a commonly recurring desire on the part of journalists and
film critics to explain the studio’s track record of critical and commer-
cial successes. Writers have variously justified their coverage in terms
of going in search of the company’s ‘secret’, ‘how they do it’, or ‘what
makes [them] so special’.1 Particularly interesting is the frequency with
which the writers look beyond the studio’s films, and even the key cre-
ative staff that make them, and instead focus on Pixar’s headquarters in
Emeryville, Northern California.2 As William Taylor and Polly LaBarre of
The New York Times succinctly put it in 2006, ‘The secret to the success of
Pixar Animation Studios is its utterly distinctive approach to the work-
place.’3 Bill Capodagli and Lynn Jackson also hint at this idea in their
introduction to Innovate the Pixar Way, describing the organisation as ‘a
childlike storytelling ‘playground’ . . . a place that enables storytellers to
create tales of friends and foes who share great adventures in enchanting
lands’.4 Note the choice of language here: Pixar is not merely a studio,
company, or group of people, but a place.
In other words, credit for the imaginative narratives of Pixar’s films –
toys coming to life (Toy Story; Toy Story 2; Toy Story 3 [1995–2010]); an
elderly widower attaching balloons to his house and flying to South
America (Up [2009]); a Parisian rat who dreams of becoming a gourmet
chef (Ratatouille [2007]) – is frequently attributed to the company’s cre-
ative production culture. By analysing the representation and mediation
of Emeryville across a range of paratextual materials (primarily critical
reception and DVD bonus features), this chapter argues that coverage
of the studio space both informs, and is informed by, critics’ responses
174
Richard McCulloch 175
to the studio’s film output. Emeryville acts as a physical space for the
reification of Pixar’s intangible brand values – a nexus point for the con-
ceptions of creativity, fun and innovation that purportedly distinguish
its films from those of its rivals. More broadly, the chapter elucidates the
relationship between on-screen narratives and off-screen spaces within
a brand, focusing in particular on the commodification of a media com-
pany’s production culture and the way in which this process can impact
upon a brand’s cultural value. In doing so, it argues that Pixar’s screen
narratives have frequently come to be understood in relation to the
discursive representation of their production context.
While the topic has been studied and discussed in an enormous vari-
ety of ways, academic and journalistic definitions generally see brands
as being closely linked to reputation – as Teemu Moilanen and Seppo
Rainisto put it, a brand is ‘an impression perceived in a client’s mind of
a product or service’.5 According to Celia Lury, brands regularly perform
the role of ‘silent salesmen’ that add ‘value’ to products or services, as
strategists and marketers seek to invest them with ‘character’ or ‘per-
sonality’ that transcends functional properties alone.6 Audiences can
of course enjoy a Pixar film without knowing anything at all about
the company or people behind its production, but production narra-
tives are circulated so readily that they become an integral part of what
Eileen Meehan would term Pixar’s ‘commercial intertext’.7 In relation to
Batman, Meehan argues that such intertexts are comprised of a ‘complex
web of cross references . . . into which we fit ourselves’.8 Very rarely, if
ever, will all of these references be circulating simultaneously in a given
moment of reception, yet their potential for shaping a film’s meaning
or reputation is significant.
In his influential work on paratexts, Jonathan Gray has drawn a link
between advertising and media studies, arguing that ‘hype and sur-
rounding texts’ establish ‘frames and filters through which we look at,
listen to, and interpret the texts that they hype’.9 Adam Arvidsson would
agree, describing brands as ‘not so much [standing in] for products, as
much as [providing] a part of the context in which products are used’.10
Brands and paratexts thus perform a similar function – framing, filtering
meaning, and providing context for the consumption of specific prod-
ucts or services. Accordingly, this chapter locates the Pixar brand within
various forms of paratexts, since it is in these media spaces – between
producer and consumer – where brands can be seen to crystallise.
176 Circulation and Reception
Here, Leith not only acknowledges the constant repetition of the same
stories but also that ‘this stuff’ is precisely the reason why Pixar has
become so successful. The implication is that employees’ use of silver
scooters to transport themselves between offices is an equally important
part of success as hard work and ‘attention to detail’. However accurate
an assertion this may be, the fact remains that the critical consensus that
has built up around Pixar is heavily reliant upon a detailed knowledge
of the studio’s ‘wacky’ production culture, with a particular emphasis on
its unusual ‘childishness’. These stories are repeated across various forms
of media – newspaper articles, television broadcasts, behind-the-scenes
documentaries – and what emerges is a sense of a place that collapses
notions of age, which in turn enables it to create films that connect
with as many people as possible. ‘Normal’ adult behaviour is replaced
with ‘childish’ behaviour, yet always in a way that is controlled and
safe, as demonstrated by one article in the San Francisco Chronicle by
Jessi Hempel:
In most companies, it’s extremely bad form to deck your boss. Not so
at Pixar, where Technical Director Bill Polson clocked the president
Richard McCulloch 179
over the head – many times – shortly after he was hired. His weapon:
long, thin red balloons. His audience: 12 classmates, ranging from
janitors to animators to executives. His motivation: the teachers told
him to.20
the late-1990s, in danger of disappearing and that a new site was needed
in order to restore or even enhance its effectiveness. This may simply
be public relations rhetoric, but in terms of Pixar’s reputation it is the
story, not its veracity, that is important here; the Emeryville studio space
has consistently been depicted as an indispensible contributor to the
company’s success.
Co-founder and majority shareholder Steve Jobs was reportedly the
most heavily involved executive in a design process intended to fos-
ter community and creativity, so much so that the building and its
grounds are occasionally referred to as ‘Steve’s movie’.27 Architecture
firm Bohlin Cywinski Jackson was commissioned to design the building,
which upon completion comprised a 200,000 square foot, two-storey
construction of steel and brick, set amid 15 acres of landscaped grounds.
Designed for 600 employees, master planning was also carried out for
expansion to house over 1,000 employees in the future.28 At the hub
of the building lies a vast atrium, with the wall that houses the main
entrance being comprised entirely of glass and steel. Filled with natural
light, the atrium acts as a point that has to be traversed regularly in order
to get to different parts of the building, housing essential features such
as eateries and restrooms, therefore encouraging employees from differ-
ent departments to run into each other regularly throughout the day.29
As well as forming the core of Pixar’s physical studio space, this area
also serves as a central component of the discourses that surround the
space, and the studio more generally. Almost every single article, inter-
view or DVD feature that takes audiences or readers behind the scenes
at Pixar will either mention the atrium explicitly or use it as a filming
location. Accordingly, this communal space is positioned as the starting
point not only for studio visitors (‘corporeal travellers’, as Urry would
refer to them), but also for anybody interested in finding out about Pixar
and its production culture.30 Employees are routinely shown walking or
riding scooters across this floor space as they go about their business,
and frequent gatherings and company announcements are often shown
to take place in the lobby. The consumer of these ‘behind-the-scenes’
features is thus positioned as a participant in the Pixar community, shar-
ing in the studio’s paper plane throwing competitions, or celebrating as
the opening weekend box-office figures for the latest film release are
announced.31 To employ Zahid Sardar’s analogy of the atrium as Pixar’s
‘town square’, reading about or watching footage from inside Emeryville
is akin to accepting an invitation to become a citizen.32
The insider/outsider dichotomy discussed above becomes most appar-
ent when considering which areas of Emeryville act as recurring motifs
182 Circulation and Reception
for journalists or camera crews visiting the studio. Aside from the atrium
and its adjoining areas (which include a café and a free breakfast cereal
bar), footage is often shot inside employees’ offices, with Lasseter’s
toy-filled shelves providing by far the most common interview back-
drop. Lasseter’s ‘childlike’ behaviour has often been contrasted with
his status as the creative head of Pixar (and, since 2006, Disney too),
serving as the symbolic embodiment of what Pixar represents – the
injection of a child’s sense of creativity and fun into the serious business
of film-making.33
Animator Andrew Gordon’s office also acts as a common stopping
point, but this is no reflection of his status within the company. In fact,
Gordon himself is generally not named, or mentioned only in passing;
it is his office, or rather, one specific part of it, that takes centre stage.
For example, in Jeffrey Young and William Simon’s biography of Steve
Jobs, this space is the only part of Emeryville to be mentioned except the
atrium. As they put it, ‘Off in one corner [of the building] is a waist-high
passageway into the Love Lounge, a stainless-steel lounge for on-the-job
relaxing that embodies the unique spirit of the place.’34
Reports about the Love Lounge speak to the heart of the Pixar
brand. The space is actually an air-conditioning shaft that Gordon (pur-
portedly) ‘discovered’ in his office and subsequently decorated with
furniture, fabrics, photographs and a variety of ‘kitsch’ items before it
eventually became popular among employees (and the media) for its
unusualness. Young and Simon’s implication that the Love Lounge was
intentionally part of the building’s design is thus misleading, but also
telling with regard to how readily they attribute an unusual feature
to Pixar’s creative vision. Their use of the phrase ‘on-the-job relaxing’
illustrates the way in which discourses surrounding Emeryville (and
Pixar more generally) combine vocational words and/or descriptions of
labour with contrasting leisure terminology. I contend that the Love
Lounge features so heavily in reports of Emeryville precisely because
it is seen to embody ‘the unique spirit’ of Pixar – the studio brand in
microcosm.
Just as DVD bonus features can position viewers as inquisitive insid-
ers, the Love Lounge performs a clear marketing function, existing as a
‘hidden’ area of Pixar which itself is normally inaccessible to the public,
waiting to be discovered by skilled explorers. Clearly there is a contra-
diction here, in the sense that images and descriptions of this ‘secret’
area are among the most widely publicised features of the entire studio.
For example, when New York Times journalist Rick Lyman was given a
tour of the studio prior to writing an article about Pixar, at least three
Richard McCulloch 183
separate people asked whether he had ‘visited the Love Lounge yet’.35
This strongly suggests that Pixar are keen for certain areas of the studio
to be seen (and therefore written about and discussed) far more than
others, insisting that all visitors are shown and educated about very
specific features of Emeryville – those that echo symbolic and thematic
notions about what the studio is seen to represent. It is, to use Beth
Dunlop’s phrase, ‘architecture with a plot’.36
The ‘Studio Stories’ DVD bonus features afford a clear picture of what
‘plot’ might mean in Pixar’s case. The series is comprised of simple 2-D
animated versions of ‘behind-the-scenes’ anecdotes, and each one con-
cludes with the line, ‘99% true, as far as we remember it!’ signalling the
studio’s self-consciously ‘knowing’ mythologisation of its own history.
The emphasis is on extra-curricular opportunities and social activities,
while intensive labour and stressful obstacles are consistently down-
played. ‘The Movie Vanishes’, for example, details a moment when
enormous portions of the data files for Toy Story 2 were accidentally
deleted, yet the animation style, music and sound effects turn the
episode into a light-hearted yarn.37 In the ‘Where’s Gordon?’ instalment
of the series, the eponymous animator’s discovery of the Love Lounge –
finding a mysterious key and hatch, crawling down it and building a
‘secret spot’ to hide away from his superiors – echoes well-known chil-
dren’s stories such as Alice in Wonderland and The Chronicles of Narnia. He
ends by documenting the range of guests who have visited the lounge,
and then concluding, ‘If those walls could talk, it’d be really something
to hear.’38 It is a line that could equally refer to the media coverage
the studio has received since it began making movies, which celebrates
the room while simultaneously reinforcing its exclusivity. But while this
chapter has so far examined the understandings that such discourses
establish regarding Emeryville and the production culture it accommo-
dates, the next section connects these discourses to those concerning
Pixar’s films.
I have shown, the set of values that pervades them is both incredibly
consistent, and reflected in the critical reception of the studio’s films.
Conclusion
Notes
1. Jonah Lehrer, ‘Animating a Blockbuster: How Pixar Built Toy Story 3’, Wired,
24 May 2010, http://www.wired.com/magazine/2010/05/process_pixar/all/
1; Sam Leith, ‘WALL-E: How Pixar Found Its Shiny Metal Soul’, The Sun-
day Telegraph, 22 June 2008, 10; Paul McInnes, ‘Inside Pixar: “I haven’t
Thought about Anything but Toy Story 3 for four years” ’, The Guardian,
7 July 2010, http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/video/2010/jul/07/pixar-toy-
story-3-making.
2. While Emeryville is a small town in Alameda County, California, throughout
this chapter all mentions of Emeryville refer specifically to the Pixar studio
space and grounds.
3. William C. Taylor and Polly LaBarre, ‘How Pixar Adds a New School of
Thought to Disney’, The New York Times, 29 January 2006, Sec. 3, 3.
4. Bill Capodagli and Lynn Jackson, Innovate the Pixar Way: Business Lessons
from the World’s Most Creative Corporate Playground (New York: McGraw-Hill,
2010), ix.
5. For an overview of approaches to branding, see Leslie de Chernatony
and Francesca Dall’Olmo Riley, ‘Defining a “Brand”: Beyond the Literature
With Experts’ Interpretations’, Journal of Marketing Management 14 (1998),
417–443. Teemu Moilanen and Seppo Rainisto, How to Brand Nations, Cities
and Destinations: A Planning Book for Place Branding (Basingstoke: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2008), 6.
6. Celia Lury, Brands: The Logos of the Global Economy (London: Routledge,
2004), 22.
Richard McCulloch 187
Mash: Pixar expands’, Contra Costa Times, 1 November 2001, C3. See also
Chuck Barney, ‘ “Slumdog Millionaire” Is Top Dog at the Oscars’, San Jose
Mercury News, 22 February 2009, http://www.mercurynews.com/lottery/ci
_11763654; Chloe Veltman, ‘Fun Factory’, The Telegraph, 31 December 2001,
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/4727218/Fun-factory.html.
26. Karen Paik, To Infinity and Beyond: The Story of Pixar Animation Studios
(London: Virgin Books, 2007), 167–168.
27. Ibid., 168. Also see Walter Isaacson, Steve Jobs (New York: Simon & Schuster,
2011), 243–244.
28. BCJ.com, ‘Pixar Studios and Headquarters’, http://www.bcj.com/public/
projects/project/39.html.
29. Paik, To Infinity and Beyond, 168.
30. Urry, The Tourist Gaze, 152–156.
31. Events such as these have been common fixtures of Pixar DVD bonus features
in the past.
32. Zahid Sardar, ‘Pixar Unbound’, San Francisco Chronicle, 3 February 2002,
Magazine, 26.
33. See for example, Veltman, ‘Fun Factory’.
34. Jeffrey S. Young and William L. Simon, iCon: Steve Jobs – The Greatest Second
Act in the History of Business (Hoboken, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, 2005),
308.
35. Lyman, ‘A Digital Dream Factory in Silicon Valley’, E1.
36. Beth Dunlop, Building a Dream: The Art of Disney Architecture (New York:
Harry N. Abrams, 1996), 13.
37. ‘Studio Stories: The Movie Vanishes’, Toy Story 2, Special Edition, Blu-
Ray/DVD, directed by John Lasseter (Burbank, CA: Walt Disney Studios
Home Entertainment, 2012).
38. ‘Studio Stories: Where’s Gordon?’, Toy Story 3, 2-Disc Double Play Edition,
Blu-Ray/DVD, directed by Lee Unkrich (Burbank, CA: Walt Disney Studios
Home Entertainment, 2010).
39. Gérard Genette, Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1987), 2.
40. Gray, Show Sold Separately, 6.
41. A. O. Scott, ‘In a World Left Silent, One Heart Beeps’, The New York Times,
27 June 2008, E1.
42. A. O. Scott, ‘Voyage to the Bottom of the Day Care Center’, The New York
Times, 17 June 2010, C1.
43. Todd McCarthy, ‘ “Up” Hits Rarefied Heights’, Variety, 18–24 May 2009, 29.
44. Todd McCarthy, ‘Incredibles Indeed!’, Variety, 1–7 November 2004, 27.
45. Desson Thomson, ‘ “Incredibles”: One Super Family’, The Washington Post,
5 November 2004, T35.
46. Jason Mittell, Genre and Television: From Cop Shows to Cartoons in American
Culture (London: Routledge: 2004), 56–93.
47. Joe Morgenstern, ‘An Ode to “Toy” ’, Wall Street Journal, 16 July 2010, http://
online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB100014240527487042895045753126028864
39646
48. Stephen Holden, ‘Film Review: Vast Sea, Tiny Fish, Big Crisis’, The New York
Times, 30 May 2003, E1. Emphasis added.
Richard McCulloch 189
49. See, for example, Jonah Lehrer, ‘Steve Jobs: “Technology Alone Is Not
Enough” ’, The New Yorker, 7 October 2011, http://www.newyorker.com/
online/blogs/newsdesk/2011/10/steve-jobs-pixar.html.
50. Colleen Montgomery, ‘Woody’s Roundup and Wall-E’s Wunderkammer:
Technophilia and Nostalgia in Pixar Animation’, Animation Studies 6 (2011),
7–13.
51. Paik, To Infinity and Beyond, 170–171.
10
Hidden in Plain Sight: UK
Promotion, Exhibition
and Reception of Contemporary
French Film Narrative
Cécile Renaud
190
Cécile Renaud 191
The [new] trailer included very little speech and was dominated by a
series of quick cuts that offered no hint of the feature’s extended takes
and oblique camera angles, foregrounding the relationship between
stars Juliette Binoche and Daniel Auteuil and so implying a drama
fuelled by marital infidelity rather than socio-political forces.26
two Odeon venues (Swiss Cottage and Covent Garden).32 These multi-
plexes are the first stepping stones for foreign-language films onto the
multiplex chain circuit in the capital. With a maximum of 16 simulta-
neous venues in Central London, Hidden never reached the penetration
rate of multiplexes achieved the following year by La Vie en Rose/ La
Môme (2007) or Tell No One. These films primarily followed the conven-
tions of their respective genres, the biopic and the thriller, and were
based on a popular singer and a best-seller novel respectively; having a
wider appeal than Hidden, these films were each distributed to 36 differ-
ent venues across London.33 However, despite its more austere subject
matter, Hidden remained in a minimum of ten simultaneous London
venues including various multiplexes until its ninth week. In the tenth
week, the film then reverted to the original ‘auteur marketing’ strategy,
withdrawing back into independent venues only. The advertising of the
film then reflected this change of target audience; a Time Out advert
thus featured quotes describing the film as: ‘an artistic masterpiece’ and
‘a huge arthouse success’, as opposed to the theatrical poster praising
‘A great movie’, ‘Utterly gripping’.34
Creating the illusion of a traditional thriller in the promotion allowed
Hidden to reach wider audiences than any previous Haneke film, with
a British box-office gross of £1,448,137 on 40 screens at WPR.35 This
also warranted the film a run in the larger multiplexes in main cities
in the United Kingdom. In smaller cities such as Southampton or
Poole, however, the film never crossed beyond the traditional venues
for foreign-language films, showing the limitations of the thriller mar-
keting. But the film’s review in The Mirror is a telling example of how
effective the promotional campaign was, as it concludes:
The reviewer did not question the positioning of the film as a thriller,
as the ‘best quote’ and ‘best bit’ choices demonstrate, and did not seem
to mind the lack of plot resolution or explanations; but he did regard
subtitling as the most problematic aspect of the film, emphasising the
difficulties in moving beyond the language barrier, regardless of a given
film’s narrative content. But as we see below, the film’s DVD release
mitigated the geographical unevenness of its availability and the issues
created by its foreignness.
Cécile Renaud 197
DVD releases
The first single-disc DVD was released by Artificial Eye less than five
months after the theatrical release, the front cover of the DVD jacket
reproducing to a large extent the design of the final theatrical poster. The
back cover similarly featured Binoche as the main figure, while Auteuil,
despite playing the lead character in the film, only appeared in a much
smaller still from the film relegated to the lower third of the back jacket.
The quotes underlined the film’s genre: ‘A stunning thriller’, ‘The most
gripping film of the year’ and the synopsis on the back similarly started
with a description of the film as an ‘utterly compelling psychological
thriller’. These phrases firmly placed the film within the clear genre
identity that had been adopted for the theatrical release. As with the
poster, the quality of the film within the popular genre was emphasised
by the star-ratings on the front and back of the DVD describing it as,
‘The first great film of the 21st century.’ Haneke’s name only appeared in
a small font, while the names of the actors were given prominence with
a larger font. However, the director’s name featured in large lettering on
the back cover in one of the quotes: ‘Haneke at his formidable best.’ The
DVD thus acknowledged the auteur status of the director, his celebrity
with specialised audiences and cinephiles, but nonetheless relegated the
director to the back cover. This is symptomatic of the marketing strat-
egy for Hidden across the different exhibition formats, foregrounding the
film’s thriller identity and dissociating it from the auteur film category
into which European subtitled films frequently fall.
A similarity with the theatrical marketing campaign was to be
expected; more surprising about the DVD packaging of Hidden was the
departure from the traditional Artificial Eye branding. In the 1980s, Arti-
ficial Eye VHS covers inaugurated a standard style template which was
then carried over to DVDs. The brand name appeared on the spine as
well as the front and back of the jacket, in a narrow green band on the
edge of the upper left quarter. The director’s name was prominently dis-
played either in white lettering on a red background across the top of
the jacket or in red lettering above the title. The top half of the front
cover usually displayed a snapshot of the film, the English title appear-
ing underneath on a grey background under which press quotes were
inserted. The back was similarly strictly compartmentalised, featuring
a synopsis, a few quotes followed by the credits of the film, from the
director to the sound and editing, as well as festival prizes. The spine of
the DVD was clearly numbered, in a fashion similar to that of Criterion,
numbering their releases to underline the collectability of the items and
198 Circulation and Reception
The Independent, The Observer and Sight & Sound among others. Not
only were these review snippets more upmarket, they presented a less
generic image than those on the DVD cover. Mentioning the film’s
‘compositional brilliance’ and ‘thematic weight’ and describing it as
‘intellectually ambitious and rewarding’, the contents of the website cor-
respond more closely to the long-standing reputation of French cinema
and to the expectations of the cine-literate audiences who form the cus-
tomer base for Artificial Eye’s products. The quote from The Daily Mail
describing Hidden as ‘The most gripping film of the year’, so prominent
on the DVD cover, did not appear online where its tabloid nature might
have harmed the film’s prospects with a more cinephile audience. The
different marketing medium therefore allowed distributors to pursue
different audiences by layering different identities onto the film. Sub-
sequent repackaging similarly presented opportunities to redefine the
film’s generic identity.
Box sets
Hidden has, at the time of writing, been released under four different
packages, three of these as part of a box set. While the single-disc DVD
release relegated the name of the director to the back cover, box sets
tend to foreground it. Considered auteuristic products by nature, indeed
often focusing on a director, box sets imply a singularity of vision and
a unified oeuvre.40 Yet Hidden was subjected to a different treatment in
each of the three packages in which it was included.
‘The Michael Haneke Collection’ box set was released by Artificial Eye
on 9 October 2006 and used a similar design to the single-disc DVD
released less than four months before. Such a short window between
the release of the two products, as well as the box set design itself, with
the name ‘Haneke’ styled to mirror the title of Hidden in prior promo-
tional material, suggested that the box set was a means of capitalising on
the theatrical success of Hidden by offering a selection of the director’s
previous titles. These, while made in a similar style and context, with
similar actresses and actors, had had more modest cinema promotion,
distribution, box-office takings and DVD releases.
No mention was made of the nationality of the director, and the
four films included in the box set belonged to his ‘French period’ and
featured mainly French dialogue, as well as either Juliette Binoche or
Isabelle Huppert in one of the lead roles. Both actresses have often been
hailed as icons of French cinema, and each of them is indeed the focus
of a box set from Artificial Eye’s French Collection. The name of ‘The
200 Circulation and Reception
Conclusion
Notes
1. UK Film Council Statistical Yearbooks from 2002 to 2009.
2. Demetrios Matheou, ‘So, Who’s Afraid of a Few Subtitles? We Are’, The
Independent, 1 October 2000, 2.
3. Ian Johns, ‘They Still Have a Lot of Gaul’, The Times, 8 September 2005, 20.
4. Elisabeth Lequeret, ‘Le Film français assied son succès sur le film de genre’,
Cahiers du cinéma, May 2002, 72.
5. Kevin Maher, ‘How We Learned to Love Subtitles’, The Times, 12 April 2007,
13.
6. In the case of Maher, his enthusiasm was based on the evidence of poor
examples. For instance, one of his proofs of the widespread appeal of sub-
titled films is the screening of Asterix and the Vikings/Astérix et les Vikings
(2006) in multiplexes, which was released by Optimum dubbed into English.
Moreover, with a total gross of £6,152 on 61 prints, it proved a consider-
able commercial failure, hardly a strong example of successful exhibition in
British multiplexes, regardless of its language.
7. A report for the Centre National de la Cinématographie showed that in the
1980s, four prints constituted a wide release for a French-language film;
but in 2007, nine French-language films were distributed on more than
40 prints. Caroline Dequet, Rapport Sur La Distribution Et L’exportation Du
Film Français En Europe (Paris: CNC, 1991), 44; Cécile Renaud, Selling French
Cinema to British Audiences: 2001–2009 (unpublished thesis, University of
Southampton, 2012), Appendix A.
Cécile Renaud 203
8. Mark Betz, Beyond the Subtitle: Remapping European Art Cinema (Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press, 2009), 28.
9. Barbara Klinger, Beyond the Multiplex: Cinema, New Technologies and the Home
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006); Barbara Klinger, ‘The DVD
Cinephile’, in Film and Television After DVD, eds. James Bennett and Tom
Brown (New York: London: Routledge. 2008), 19–44; Paul McDonald, Video
and DVD Industries (London: British Film Institute, 2007).
10. Paul McDonald, ‘What’s on? Film Programming, Structured Choice and the
Production of Cinema Culture in Contemporary Britain’, Journal of British
Cinema and Television 7, no. 2 (2010), 264–298.
11. KPMG, Specialised Exhibition and Distribution Strategy (London: UK Film
Council, 2002), Appendix A1.
12. UK Film Council, Group and Lottery Annual Report and Financial Statements
2008/2009 (London: Crown Copyright, 2009), 11, https://www.gov.uk/
government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/248139/0904.pdf.
13. Calculated from data found in UK Film Council Statistical Yearbooks from
2002 to 2009.
14. Maher, ‘How We Learned to Love Subtitles’.
15. Calculated from the data presented in Cécile Renaud, Selling French Cinema,
Appendix A.
16. Ibid.
17. ‘UK Weekend Box Office Reports 2007’, UK Film Council, http://www.bfi.org
.uk/publications/corporate-documents-publications/film-industry-statistics
-research/box-office-reports-3.
18. Ibid.
19. Paul McDonald, ‘What’s on?’, 264.
20. Peter Bradshaw, ‘Cannes Film Festival: Reviews Round-Up’, The Guardian,
16 May 2005, 10.
21. Charles Gant, ‘Eye Spies a Class Act’, Sight & Sound, May 2009, 9. Artificial
Eye released 50 out of 224 French language films between 2001 and 2009, as
calculated from the data presented in Cécile Renaud, Selling French Cinema,
Appendix A.
22. Robert Mitchell, ‘Eye on the Prize’, Screen International, 10 March 2006, 25.
23. Mark Cousins, ‘After the End: Word of Mouth and Caché’, Screen 48, no. 2
(2007), 225.
24. UK Film Council, Awards Database, http://industry.bfi.org.uk/awards.
25. UK Film Council, The Prints & Advertising Fund Guidelines For Applicants
(London: UK Film Council, 2010), 5.
26. Catherine Wheatley and Lucy Mazdon, ‘Intimate Connections’, Sight &
Sound, May 2008, 39.
27. Mark Betz. ‘Art, Exploitation, Underground’, in Defining Cult Movies: The
Cultural Politics of Oppositional Taste, ed. Mark Jancovich (Manchester:
Manchester University Press, 2003), 202–222.
28. Lucy Mazdon, ‘Vulgar, Nasty and French: French cinema in Britain in the
1950s’, Journal of British Cinema and Television 7, no. 3 (2010), 421–438.
29. Charles Gant, ‘The Cachet of Daniel’, Sight & Sound, April 2006, 8.
30. 22 appearances on Film4 between May 2003 and December 2009, cited in
Cécile Renaud, Selling French Films, 32.
204 Circulation and Reception
31. Ginette Vincendeau, ‘Juliette Binoche, from Gamine to Femme Fatale’, Sight
& Sound, December 1993, 22; Ginette Vincendeau, ‘Binoche: The Erotic Face’,
Sight & Sound, June 2000, 14.
32. Exhibition in London was determined on the basis of cinema listings in Time
Out London while Hidden was on the programme of at least one cinema in the
capital between 25 January 2006 and 10 May 2006.
33. Exhibition in London was determined on the basis of cinema listings in Time
Out London between 13 June 2007 and 18 September 2007.
34. Advertisement published in Time Out London, 29 March 2006, 79.
35. Nielsen EDI. Weekly UK Box-office Report, accessed 12 October 2010,
BFI library, London. Even the subsequent English-language remake of his
earlier film: Funny Games U.S. (2007) only grossed £208,469 on 63 prints on
the British market.
36. David Edwards, ‘Set It’, The Mirror, 27 January 2006, 5.
37. Bradley Schauer, ‘The Criterion Collection in the New Home Video Market:
An Interview with Susan Arosteguy’, Velvet Light Trap 56 (2005), 33.
38. ‘Hidden’, Artificial Eye, http://www.artificial-eye.com/film.php?dvd
=ART312DVD.
39. UK Film Council, UK Audience Development Scheme: Context, Strategic Fit, and
Audience Issues (London: UKFC, 2006).
40. Catherine Grant, ‘Auteur Machines? Auteurism and the DVD’, in Film and
Television after DVD, eds. James Bennett and Tom Brown (London: Taylor &
Francis, 2008), 101–115.
41. Rod Liddle, ‘Cherchez les Femmes’, The Sunday Times, 21 October 2007, 22.
42. On the association between French cinema and the thriller genre, see Jill
Forbes, The Cinema in France after the New Wave (London: British Film
Institute, 1992), 53.
43. Jason Solomons, ‘A Few Homer Truths’, Mail on Sunday, 6 January 2008, 79.
44. Phillip French, ‘Review Christmas Shopping’, The Observer, 10 December
2006, 8; David Mills, ‘The Michael Haneke Collection’, The Sunday Times, 29
October 2006, 27; Steve Morrissey, ‘This Week’s DVD Releases’, The Evening
Standard, 9 November 2006, 34; Dave Calhoun, ‘DVDs of the Week: The
Michael Haneke Collection’, Time Out London, 18 October 2006, 104.
45. Ben McCann and David Sorfa, The Cinema of Michael Haneke (Europe Utopia:
Wallflower Press, 2009); McDonald, Video and DVD Industries, 61.
46. Geoffrey Macnab, ‘Foreign Films: “Subtitles Are Like Cod Liver Oil – Good
for You, Supposedly” ’, The Observer, 22 September 1996, C10.
11
Serial Narrative Exports:
US Television Drama in Europe
Alessandro Catania
205
206 Circulation and Reception
Each cell illustrates the delay in days or months behind US schedules, the channel and type of distribution platform [within brackets]. Chevrons (>)
are used to indicate redistribution on a different channel/platform with additional delay.
209
210 Circulation and Reception
before the US premiere, with the result that the programme was pro-
grammed almost synchronically in multiple television markets. While
the series’ US premiere date was 24 September, it premiered in Spain,
Portugal, France, Italy, Belgium and the United Kingdom (and many
other international markets) over the subsequent two weeks.
With FlashForward, Disney-ABC not only created a new franchise
designed from its origin to appeal to a multiplicity of territories but also
actively altered traditional distribution cycles by collapsing different dis-
tribution windows on VOD and, most importantly, on traditional tele-
vision channels.16 Disney’s president of global distribution, Ben Pyne,
compared FlashForward’s distribution with that of another globally suc-
cessful Disney-ABC franchise, Lost. He pointed out that, when Lost
first appeared, old logics still dominated the international distribution
of television content. During Lost’s lifecycle, however, Disney realised
that this ‘disconnected’ system was not suitable for a shifting media
landscape in which rapid technological changes allowed for quasi-
instantaneous access to content and implemented new alternative distri-
bution models.17 Disney accelerated FlashForward’s international distri-
bution, planning a simultaneous release in multiple territories; this strat-
egy was, as Pyne explained, intended ‘to reduce piracy’ but also to allow
‘bigger-than-life global marketing campaigns’.18 Distributors had already
begun to combat piracy through new distribution models. As Havens
explains, the longer it takes for a programme to ‘cycle through various
distribution windows, the more vulnerable it becomes to unautho-
rised copying, so distributors often shorten the time between windows
or release programming simultaneously in multiple windows’.19 But
Disney’s simultaneous release of FlashForward was also intended to make
the most of international marketing initiatives by ensuring that the
programme and its ancillary and promotional paratexts would be simul-
taneously available in all markets. On the day of the US premiere of the
show more than eight multiplatform components were already globally
available as part of FlashForward’s digital campaign:
Notes
1. John Tomlinson, The Culture of Speed. The Coming of Immediacy (London:
Sage, 2007).
2. Amanda D. Lotz, The Television Will Be Revolutionized (New York: New York
University Press, 2007).
3. See Elizabeth Evans, Transmedia Television: Audiences, New Media, and Daily
Life (London: Routledge, 2011); Jonathan Gray, Show Sold Separately: Promos,
Spoilers, and Other Media Paratexts (New York: New York University Press,
2010); Henry Jenkins, Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide
(New York: New York University Press, 2006). I use both ‘multiplatform’ and
‘transmedia’ without nuancing the differences and similarities of the two
terms.
4. Henry Jenkins, ‘ “We Had So Many Stories to Tell”: The Heroes Comics
as Transmedia Storytelling’, Confessions of an Aca-Fan, 3 December 2007,
http://henryjenkins.org/2007/12/we_had_so_many_stories_to_tell.html. On
the production of the Heroes comic books, see M J Clarke, Transmedia
Television: New Trends in Network Serial Production (London: Bloomsbury,
2013).
5. Lotz, The Television Will Be Revolutionized.
6. Internet Protocol television (IPTV) is a system through which television
services are delivered using the Internet network, instead of through a
traditional terrestrial or satellite signal, or through cable.
7. For example, see Christopher Rosen, ‘Do We Need Network TV? A Golden
Age of Choice’, The New York Times, 27 February 2009, http://roomfordebate.
blogs.nytimes.com/2009/02/27/.
8. Timothy Havens, Global Television Marketplace (London: BFI, 2006), 13.
9. While RAI2 acquired the rights to Lost between 2007 and 2009, it failed to
do so between 2009 and 2010.
10. Ibid., 16.
11. Ibid., 38.
220 Circulation and Reception
In May of 2011 a trailer appeared online for the ‘film’ Green with Envy
(2011). In the first half of the trailer, the narrator signals the genre of the
film, which appears to be a typical romantic comedy, introduces Jason
Segel and Amy Adams as playing the romantic leads, then stumbles over
Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy, becoming more than a bit confused
by their presence. Jason Segel ‘stops’ the trailer, turning to the camera
and saying, ‘Wait, wait, wait, stop. Are there Muppets in this movie?’
This trailer is then revealed to be the first preview for the 2011 film The
Muppets.
Over that summer, several more previews for the film were released,
mostly parodies of trailers for other contemporaneous films (Green
Lantern, Hangover Part II, Girl with the Dragon Tattoo [all 2011]). In
October 2011, prior to the November US release of the film, a trailer
was posted online as The Final Muppets Parody Trailer (2011). This trailer,
mirroring the Green with Envy one and with similar narration, begins
with the romantic story of two Muppets. The narrator names the stars,
Kermit the Frog, Miss Piggy, then stumbles over ‘Jason the Segel? Amy
Adams?’ Kermit (Steve Whitmire) interrupts, saying, ‘Wait, wait, wait,
stop. Are there humans in this movie?’ Immediately the narrator breaks
in, saying, ‘Wait, wait, wait, stop. Are we doing a parody of our own
parody trailer?’ The narrator goes on to say, ‘I think we’ve taken this as
far as it will go. Thank you, internet, for one heck of a year!’ The trailer
continues with visual references to the other parodies the film-makers
have done and includes several brief new parodies of other films. These
trailers could potentially be viewed as simply a novel promotional cam-
paign – interesting, self-reflexive, but still paratextual. However, these
trailers go well beyond the standard remit of film trailers. They stand
221
222 Circulation and Reception
as texts in their own right and become part of the overall Muppet nar-
rative. Further, they demonstrate the spread of the Muppet story and
the difficulty in delineating primary texts from ancillary (in this case
promotional and paratextual) material within the media franchise.
Some scholars have historically situated connected media texts in
a hierarchy, with some seen as primary and others as ancillary, the
latter being understood as promotional, paratextual or secondary, sub-
ordinate to the primary text. Using the Muppets as a case study, this
chapter argues that franchise media challenge this understanding of
what constitutes ancillary material. One of the clearest challenges to
these hierarchies is the presence of narrative material across franchise
texts, the inclusion of original creative content which adds to the
franchise storyworld. In order to understand the full story of many
transmedia franchises, a consumer must seek out each text that con-
tributes to that overall narrative, not simply those perceived as ‘primary’
texts. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to offer a new and com-
prehensive model for ranking or assigning relative value to a spectrum
of texts; rather, my goals are as follows: (1) to illustrate, particularly
with reference to the Muppet franchise, the inadequacies of conven-
tional hierarchical models, arguing against an easy delineation between
primary and ancillary texts and proposing in particular that even mate-
rials designated ‘promotional’ could be entitled to the designation of
a primary text; (2) to propose that any new hierarchical model ought
to include both original creative content and unique narrative material as
the key criteria in determining textual status. In order to achieve these
goals, I examine Muppet texts that would be labelled as promotional
or paratextual (firmly situated as ancillary in traditional hierarchies)
to demonstrate the presence of narrative and original creative content,
showing that each text enhances the whole franchise. The Muppets case
study suggests that a franchise should be approached as a whole, not
necessarily through the lens or gateway of a particular franchise text.
The Muppets are not a television property or a film property, they
are a multimedia franchise. Their story is spread across film, TV, web-
sites, magazines, online videos, comic books, books, games, audio CDs
and other media. Each component adds to the franchise storyworld. The
YouTube videos The Muppets Bohemian Rhapsody (2009) and The Muppets:
Ode to Joy (2008) may not be directly making money for their produc-
ers or contain much in the way of explicit narrative, but they are part
of the overall Muppet story, which positions the Muppets as creators
of media. Muppet CDs not only contain original audio performances
by the Muppeteers, but also often include interstitial narrative material
Aaron Calbreath-Frasieur 223
Hierarchies
valued than another? Some texts may provide more narrative than oth-
ers, but if each adds something unique then it should be given status as
a primary text. An overarching Muppet narrative is easily, if erratically,
spread across media.
Given the atypical nature of the Muppet narrative, it is necessary to
establish a working definition of narrative. Narratology is a huge area
of study with which this work cannot engage extensively but a frame
of reference is needed to evaluate the role of narrative in the Muppets
franchise. For a definition of narrative I am using the broad one offered
by H. Porter Abbott that, ‘Narrative is the representation of an event or a
series of events.’2 Abbott argues that narrative is made up of two com-
ponents: the story (the events or series of events) and the narrative
discourse (the way the story is represented).3 Abbott also says that, ‘The
concept of story can be further subdivided at least once. There are two
components to every story: the events and the entities involved in the
events. Indeed, without entities, there would be no events. What are
the events but the actions or reactions of entities?’4 That events are
merely actions or reactions of entities is a particularly relevant asser-
tion as the Muppet narrative is character-focused, rather than event- or
world-focused.
Marie-Laure Ryan offers a more complex model for approaching nar-
rative, but uses the same basic definition, with the addition of social
function or use. She writes, ‘Most narratologists agree that narrative con-
sists of material signs, the discourse, which convey a certain meaning (or
content), the story, and fulfil a certain social function. This characteriza-
tion outlines three potential domains for a definition: discourse, story,
and use.’5 The use domain is significant here, in that it promotes the
basic principle that fulfilling different uses does not negate a text’s sta-
tus as narrative. Thus a text that has the social function of promoting
another text can nonetheless be a narrative text.
The Muppets’ narrative then is made up of their story, the repre-
sentation (discourse) of that story and different social functions. The
discourse of the Muppet story involves the conventions of each medium
in which it develops, puppetry and character performances. The story of
an individual Muppet film or television episode is clear enough – those
stories are usually straightforward – but the overall transmedia story is
less clear because of its complex form. The Muppets’ overall story func-
tions as a history almost as much as it does as a fictional story. The
entities of the story are the Muppets and all the people with whom they
interact. The events of the Muppet story are all the activities, occur-
rences and performances in which or with which the characters have
226 Circulation and Reception
engaged across texts, media and time. The overarching Muppet narrative
is what I am calling the entertainment narrative.
The Muppets as characters are positioned as entertainers: actors,
singers, comedians, musicians, dancers, performance artists. Their over-
arching narrative revolves around the act of entertaining, of performing.
Their live-action television series have all been about putting on a
show; in each, a backstage element reinforces the idea that onstage
performances are designed by the characters. Their other texts involve
performing in some capacity, either explicitly or implicitly (such as
when Kermit plays Bob Cratchit in The Muppet Christmas Carol [1992]).
An entertainment narrative involves entertainer characters, engaged
in acts of performance, as well as non-performance character devel-
opment. Performances often involve character information, adding to
the narrative through the performance. Choice of material, behavioural
traits, skill level – all these performance elements, in addition to specific
narrative information that may be present, tell us about the entertainer.
Self-reflexivity is often used to signal the performance as performance
and help build this overarching Muppet narrative.
Having established that the Muppets have a transmedia narrative, I
move now to examine Muppet online videos to demonstrate how they
undermine conventional hierarchies. Online franchise videos would
usually be understood as promotional, supporting specific texts in other
media or promoting the franchise in general. Though these videos are
short-form and usually sketch-based, like other Muppet texts they are
part of the entertainment narrative. These online videos are to an extent
an example of the Muppets adapting to a new media context, but for the
Muppets this adjustment is not as significant as it might be for other
properties, making a distinction in status even more problematic. The
short-form sketch was at the heart of the Muppets from the very begin-
ning. Sam and Friends (1955–1961), their first show, usually consisted of
a single three- to five-minute sketch. In the 1960s, most Muppet pro-
ductions were short commercials for a variety of products. The Muppet
Show and later live-action Muppet series were all variety shows with
sketches framed by a backstage storyline. The sketch has been the main-
stay of Muppet productions since 1955. Each sketch becomes part of
their history, part of their ongoing story. Why would scholars privi-
lege a three-minute sketch that is an ‘episode’ of Sam and Friends as
a primary text simply because it was broadcast on television, while a
three-minute sketch that is a YouTube video is relegated to ancillary
status? The short online sketches should be seen as primary Muppet
texts, though recent academic discourse might label them, along with
Aaron Calbreath-Frasieur 227
Between the 2004 purchase of the Muppets by the Walt Disney Com-
pany and the 2011 theatrical release of The Muppets, the majority of
Muppet texts were designed for the online environment, with over
100 videos made for free online distribution. The franchise’s first for-
ays into online videos took the form of videos posted on YouTube,
ostensibly by the Muppets themselves, first under individual usernames
such as ‘weirdowhatever’ for Gonzo (reinforcing the Muppets’ position-
ing as celebrities and media creators), then later as ‘Muppets Studio’
(the corporate brand). Some of these videos became viral hits, gaining
millions of views and garnering several Webby awards. In addition to
the viral videos on YouTube, Muppets Studio created numerous video
shorts for the Muppet website (part of the DisneyXD website) – all
involving unique Muppet performances. These videos, for the most part,
are just sketches, sometimes single songs, sometimes very brief Muppet
moments. The Muppets: Bohemian Rhapsody (YouTube, 2009) is a Muppet
performance of the Queen song, uniquely filmed for this video. At over
34 million views, it is one of the Muppets’ most successful viral videos
and should be seen as a primary Muppet text. It was released a year after
the previous television special and months before the new film went
into production. It is not promotion for another text, it is the show
itself and as such challenges any simplistic notion of what separates a
primary text from an ancillary one.
Texts such as free Muppet online videos, though they do not directly
earn income, may be the source of income-generating texts, even as
they serve promotionally to guide consumers towards those texts. The
YouTube page of the video Muppets: Bohemian Rhapsody, for instance, has
links to iTunes to purchase the audio file for both the Muppets version
and the original Queen song. The video is both the origin of the Muppet
version of the song and the promotional piece that guides consumers to
purchase the song. Another YouTube video, The Muppets: Pöpcørn (2010),
features the Swedish Chef making music with his kitchenware and pro-
duce until his microwave popcorn explodes and covers him. There are
links to iTunes to purchase the video even though it is free to watch on
228 Circulation and Reception
YouTube. Even these freely accessible online videos can lead to income
for their creators, through ad-revenue in some cases or through links to
consumer products drawn from the videos themselves.
Though there certainly are real economic distinctions between texts,
we see in these examples that even in the economic realm the income
value differences between texts are somewhat blurry. Ancillary mate-
rial can earn money just as a primary text can. More importantly,
the economic differentiation is inadequate as the sole criterion used
in delineating textual hierarchies. Within the industry an argument
might be made for this approach, but it is not clear why scholars
would follow the same logic. Is The Muppets: Pöpcørn more of a text
itself, and less promotion, when it is purchased? Is it more worthy
of study as a text proper because someone paid for it, much less
because of the price someone paid for it? It is difficult to justify clas-
sifying the free online version as ephemeral promotional media and
the paid-for download as a primary text. The purchased object and
free object are the same; the only difference is the monetary trans-
action. From the point of view of creative content and narrative,
there is no difference. It is unclear why media scholars would choose
monetary value over creative content as the defining characteristic of
media texts or as the basis for relegating a text to the category of
‘paratext’.
Gray’s Show Sold Separately: Promos, Spoilers, and Other Media Paratexts6
is one of the key works on paratexts (taking the term from Gérard
Genette,7 building on an earlier discourse on the relationship of primary
texts to secondary and tertiary texts.8 Gray, in some ways, is challenging
textual hierarchies, arguing that these peripheral paratexts are worthy of
study. Even in Gray’s work, however, certain hierarchies remain which
do not fit the Muppet case and are problematic for looking at fran-
chises in general. Gray discusses websites, merchandise, trailers, video
games, ARGs, DVD commentaries and a variety of other media objects
as paratexts. He suggests that scholars should re-conceptualise the dis-
tinction between primary and secondary or paratextual texts, but for
the most part his work still sees these paratexts as part of a ‘film itself’
or ‘show itself’. They shape, enhance and direct our understanding of
the primary text, but function as part of that text. My argument, how-
ever, is that in the franchise context, there often isn’t a ‘show itself’, or
rather there are many ‘shows’. Many media objects that might seem like
paratexts should be seen as primary texts themselves. Take for example
the case of Muppet DVD commentaries. Commentaries would usually
involve production personnel discussing their experiences and choices
Aaron Calbreath-Frasieur 229
One of the primary issues dividing the WGA leadership and man-
agement at the studios and networks was the proper definition of
these quasi-entertainment ventures that straddle the once firm line
dividing art and hype. Whereas the WGA and its members insisted
on calling their creative contributions ‘content’, the networks and
studios insisted they functioned primarily as ‘promotions’, thereby
limiting their need as corporate owners to pay residuals to talent.12
Currently, creative personnel are not paid for their work on most
paratexts, the film and television industries choosing instead to see
such work as strictly promotional. When a cast member records a
commentary track, when a writer works on an ARG or a mobisode,
and when the showrunners of complex, transmediated shows such as
Heroes or Lost try to coordinate and incorporate various paratexts into
the grand narrative, they must do so for free and for the love of their
text; participation in all ‘promotions’ is a part of their contractual
agreement.13
Conclusion
Notes
1. Henry Jenkins, ‘The Revenge of the Origami Unicorn: Seven Princi-
ples of Transmedia Storytelling’, Futures of Entertainment, 21 Decem-
ber 2009, http://www.convergenceculture.org/weblog/2009/12/the_revenge
_of_the_origami_uni.php.
2. H. Porter Abbott, The Cambridge Introduction to Narrative 2nd edition
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 12. Italics in original.
3. Ibid., 16.
4. Ibid., 17.
5. Marie-Laure Ryan, ‘Toward a Definition of Narrative’, in The Cambridge Com-
panion to Narrative, ed. David Herman (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2007), 24.
6. Jonathan Gray, Show Sold Separately: Promos, Spoilers, and Other Media
Paratexts (New York: New York University Press, 2010).
7. Gérard Genette, Paratexts: Thresholds of Interpretation, trans. Jane Lewin
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997).
8. This earlier discourse is drawn primarily from these works: John Fiske,
Television Culture (London: Routledge, 1987); Jostein Gripsrud, The Dynasty
Years: Hollywood Television and Critical Media Studies (London: Routledge,
1995); John Thornton Caldwell, ‘Critical Industrial Practice: Branding,
Repurposing, and the Migratory Patterns of Industrial Texts’, Television & New
Media 7, no. 2 (2006), 99–134.
9. Paul Grainge, ‘Lost Logos: Channel 4 and the Branding of American Event
Television’, in Reading Lost: Perspectives on a Hit Television Show, ed. Roberta
Pearson (London: I.B. Tauris, 2009), 104.
10. P. David Marshall, ‘The New Intertextual Commodity’, in The New Media
Book, ed. Dan Harries (London: British Film Institute, 2002), 71.
11. Gray, Show Sold Separately, 215.
12. Denise Mann, ‘It’s Not TV, It’s Brand Management TV: The Collective
Author(s) of the Lost Franchise’, in Production Studies: Cultural Studies of Media
Industries, eds. Vicki Mayer, Miranda J. Banks and John Thornton Caldwell
(London: Routledge, 2009), 110.
13. Gray, Show Sold Separately, 215.
14. David Hesmondhalgh, The Cultural Industries 2nd edition (London: Sage
Publications Ltd., 2007).
Aaron Calbreath-Frasieur 237
15. Notably, the audiobook of Before You Leap is performed in character as Kermit
by Steve Whitmire. Again, it is problematic to make a distinction in status
between this text and other Kermit texts.
16. Gray, Show Sold Separately, 207.
17. Jocelyn Stevenson, personal interview with author, London, 23 August 2012.
18. Ibid.
19. Gray, Show Sold Separately, 209.
Index
238
Index 239
Britain, market for foreign-language Chatman, S., 48, 53n39, 153, 169n15
films, 190–2 Chaturvedi, M., 119, 121n38
see also Hidden/Caché Chibnall, Chris, 157–8, 162
Brooker, C., 154, 156, 158, 170n17, Chin, B., 173n75
170n26, 170n28, 171n35 Chocolat (Hallström), 195
Brookey, R.A., 176, 187n15 Chris, C., 16n17
Brook, S., 220n18 Clarke, M.J., 17n21, 219n4
Brotherhood of the Wolf/Le Pacte des Cohen, N., 167, 173n87, 173n88
loups (Gans), 190 Cohn, N., 55–6, 62, 68, 71n1, 71n8,
Brown, E.N., 146n55 72n32, 73n56
Brown, M., 172n64 Colombo, S., 106n32
Brown, T., 203n9, 204n40 Come Undone (Soldini), 99, 101–2
Bruce Almighty (Shadyac), Bollywood comics
remake, 109 change in the publishing
Buckingham, D., 47, 53n37 landscape, 57
Buckland, W., 112, 120n16 concept analysis, 55
Burgoyne, R., 52n12 remediation, 58
Burn, A., 53n37 space and time in, 55–7
Busse, K., 144n8, 144n12, 145n41, vs other visual media, 55
147n84, 147n86, 147n87, webcomics medium, development,
169n13, 172n59, 172n66 57; see also digital/web comics
Comixology, 58, 60–1
Calabrese, O., 36n3 The Commander and the Stork (Soldini)
Caldwell, J., 176, 187n13, 212, ‘difficult film’ categorisation, 99
220n12, 236n8, 236n12 other product placements, 101–3
Calhoun, D., 204n44 prominence of the Disaronno
Calleja, G., 36n5 placement, 103
Call The Midwife (BBC), 130 public funding, 99
Campbell, J., 52n6 setting and characters, 100
Campbell, T., 71n13 textual and extra-textual impact of
Canale5, 211, 212 Disaronno’s association with,
Capodagli, B., 174, 186n4 100–1
Carr, D., 53n37 Communications Act (UK 2003), 127
Carroll, N., 4, 16n8, 91n9, 115, copyright infringement, Indian
120n27 filmmakers’ defence, 111
Catmull, E., 187n24 Cosa voglio di più (Soldini), see Come
CBS Undone
audience share, 126 Couldy, N., 220n12
average audience member, 134 Cousins, M., 193, 203n23
branding dilemma, 134–5 Cranston, Bryan, 81–2, 89–90
emphasis of mass appeal, 133 creativity
peak time output data, 127 in franchise media, 232; see also
perceptions, 133 franchise media; Muppet
and the procedural drama, 134–5; franchise; Pixar Animation
see also Elementary Studios
promotional slogan, 126 transmedia texts as sites of, 232–3
self-promotion, 133 Creeber, G., 8, 17n21
showrunners’ panel, 123 CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Chartier, F., 104n9 (CBS), 135
Index 241