Ubiquity, is definitely the issue here. As someone who never really identified as a gamer, it always felt like there was a large part of that culture that I just didn’t “get” (even though it always seemed interesting to me). I’m reminded of this key argument that Clay Shirky made years ago: “Communications tools don’t get socially interesting until they get technologically boring,” in Here Comes Everybody. It’s not the newest thing that changes us (like Occulus Rift or the self-driving car). It’s when that functionality becomes diffused and, to some degree, “expected” that the human element can really change it. That’s happening, as you’ve said, with mobile platforms.
I also think that there’s an interesting correlation between the argument that you’re making her and the rise of “gamification” (which by now is a pretty old term) in education and business. Gamification wasn’t really a thing until everyone could engage playfully with technology on devices not specifically designed for games (smart phones). The tangental side-features of the phone have not just made games change and develop, they’ve also made the abstract concepts of “gaming” (leveling up, developing skills, building a narrative, collaboration) valuable in wider and wider contexts.
I find this kind of use social media simultaneously disingenuous and fascinating. You’re absolutely right — more than any election before, more than Obama’s social media campaigns — we’re looking in this cycle at the brand rather than the person.
It also makes me wonder how new this kind of branding is. Instagram and Twitter have allowed the candidates to operate in the same social media spaces as their constituencies, but how is an Instagram feed any more a function of brand than then TV ad buys that have dominated elections for decades? Some of that kind of branding, packaging, and image/sound-byting has been with us our entire political lives.
The difference, I guess, is that broadcast media allowed a limited amount of expensive branding opportunities. Twitter and Instagram allow a constant stream. What’s become important for us as voters, I think, is watching how those brands are constantly evolving and under what pressures/conditions. And I wonder, when Clinton or Trump pose now they instinctively think: that was a social media moment. Right there :)
I see synergy with your observations, Steve, and those that Eric made earlier this week on open access publishing. Eric astutely noted how we as scholars need to take responsibility for the accessibility of our published work. You take this argument one step further and underscore a scholarly responsibility to the promotion of our subjects — which in the context of your excellent new book, means getting these films out there and seen. In this case, the promotion of your book and the documentary films that you write about can be synthesized. Getting the films out there in the digital world also highlights awareness of the filmmakers and their work but also, your book!
To answer your question, Steve — yes, I do think that the promotion of the book should be thought of as a continuum from the writing and publishing process of the book, rather than a separate process. Like you already noted — although the book process is so time consuming that we would rather be a witness than active instigator for our book’s promotion — if we are passive, that risks the book receiving less attention and/or publicity. To take a star analogy that helped motivate my mustering the energy for my own book’s promotion — we must work the publicity “circuit” like actors/talent do to help promote their movies. Perhaps we don’t get the same round of morning talk and late night talk show interviews or major magazine press, but we can seek out many opportunities on the web as you also noted. Podcasts are a great opportunity as well to promote a book that is more accessible for our cross-over books.
Emily, this post really speaks to me right now. The work of “shameless self promotion” has been difficult for me to embrace. On the one hand there is a certain relief in knowing that the book is done, that it is out. My mindset in finishing the book was geared towards finishing and I assumed that, once it was done, its post-publication life was something that I would bear witness to rather than steer. In trying to finish the book, the last thing I wanted to think about was all the promotional work that completion of the book would inaugurate. In order to properly embrace this next phase, I’m trying to imagine the promotional process as a kind of extension of the work of the book. To put another way, that a digital presentation of some of the films or documents discussed in the book might function as a continuation or revamping of the book’s argument. Is it possible to look at the promotion stage not necessarily as a separate stage, but as almost a continuation of one’s work on the book?
Eric, I’m so glad you’ve highlighted the soaring cost of text books, which coupled together with the sky-rocketing cost of higher education and increasing need for students to take out student loans, is a vital issue for we as scholars-authors to address. What I find striking is the disparity between the high cost of text books and often the lack of compensation that we as academic authors receive for our writing labor. Perhaps we become so accustomed to not receiving financial compensation for our writing in lieu of being respected or engaging in the discourse within the field that compensation seems an after thought. But it seems to me a paradox that if we authors are not receiving substantial royalties from expensive textbooks, then why charge our students and colleagues a high price to read our work? Your Archlight Guidebook seems a fitting nascent model for an open-access publishing approach that shares the exchange of ideas. At the same time, I’m thinking back to the conversation Ross and I initiated earlier this week on In Media Res — that of crossover books. These books are usually much more modestly priced — for example, my book is priced at $24.95 ( in fact my press jointly published the hardcover and the paperback) — and this seems a fair compensation for what is usually years of work in the humanities (where research grants or lengthy sabbaticals are difficult to attain). Perhaps open access is a good model for our books used in the classroom and for our students, but for the general public? I’m not yet convinced books should be free for everyone.
Emily — Creating crossover books is definitely not a new trend but, as Tom Schatz notes in his terrific In Focus essay, the lines between trade and academic press seem to be getting stronger. As you know, he questions whether those trade presses would even commit to the same projects that they did years ago. I often wonder, for example, what the History of the American Cinema series would have become if it had been launched in the 2010s instead of the 1990s. In a larger response to your excellent question, I think we’re all interested in reaching a larger audience. The trick — to avoid jaywalking — is not to lose sight of the scholarly tone of the book in the process of making it more readable. As the desire for “public intellectuals” grows and the desire for our books to reach beyond a small market, we have to remain focused on the scholarship and the importance of our research and writing while thinking about audience and “address.” The “classifications” you speak of may also come from a critic’s desire for expectation management. In other words, they also want to telegraph to their readers that the books they are reviewing aren’t all “Devil in the White City.”
Ross, we both touched on our work with our mutual presses to create a book that both engages with our scholarly field but still appeals to broader audiences — a “cross walk” as you eloquently put it. Do you think this is a new desire and/or goal that both authors and presses have determined as the needs and expectations of publishing the academic book have evolved, especially in the last 10-15 years? Or has this “cross-walk” always been part of our field (here I am thinking of Thomas Schatz’s and Rick Jewell’s decisions to publish film history books on popular/trade presses. Like your experience, some of my early and positive reviews for Independent Stardom continually noted that the book was “academic” and “solidly researched,” mirroring your reviewer’s note about your book being a “tad staid.” This is precisely our goal — to have a well-researched book that appeals to an array of audiences, but why do these classifications persist? Anything less would be a jaywalk, not a crosswalk.
Thanks for the post, Ben, you’ve raised some great questions for me to think about. Gender and cultural capital is the crux of my dissertation, so this type of feedback is so helpful. In her book, West mentioned that she continues to get violent threats from Norton’s fans, and his response is usually to shrug and say that comedy doesn’t influence people to be violent. I think the point she makes in her debate is important — why is it that comics who think that comedy needs to be a protected space because speech is important simultaneously argue that speech can’t cause violence? That tension is something I’m interested in exploring.
Your point that rape jokes reinforce hegemonic hierarchies instead of flipping them is one of the impetuses for the paper I drew this post from (which I wrote soon after this debate happened) — I kept reading work on comedy relating it to the carnivalesque, and it seemed to me that there was an assumption that the carnivalesque space works similarly for all comics and all audiences, when it seemed to me more complicated. For me, Bourdieu’s framework has been more useful to me in thinking through power dynamics within the comedic sphere.
Your last point reminds me of Beck Krefting’s book — she might argue that Schumer gained capital by adhering to masculine comedic norms, and now that she’s accumulated enough, she can start to be more outspoken in her social critique. At the same time, she still seems (in interviews at least) to see herself as a comic first and a feminist second, while there are many female comics who fail to gain traction in mainstream outlets because they see their feminism as more important than getting the loudest /easiest laugh. Schumer has said that she got a movie deal because Judd Apatow heard her on Howard Stern and thought she was funny, and she’s become mainstream through outlets like Comedy Central and Last Comic Standing that cater to a male audience.
Stephanie, your use of Bakhtin to enter into this debate is really intriguing. Another aspect of the “carnivalesque” is an active, unruly crowd, which social media and Twitter in particular seems to have reconstituted in the digital age. Following the logic of Tosh’s infamous retort, I imagine most if not all netizens barraging West with rape and death threats imagined themselves as the vanguards of bad taste. This is the prevalent theme when writers for “Family Guy,” for example, answer for the frequency of violence against women on their show: it’s shuffled into the grab-bag of beyond-the-pale that is supposedly chosen from indiscriminately when finding new ways to tell jokes about everyday depravity. Assuming that the dominant culture does already abhor violence against women, then, a carnivalesque “billingsgate” (abusive language) would indeed include rape jokes. The feminist critique articulated at least in part by West is that, on the contrary, rape jokes reaffirm dominant power structures rather than invert them, and that the “safety valve” function of Tosh et al’s extreme blue humor thus fails.
EDIT: This clip of Norton discussing the debate on Opie and Anthony is illuminating. Although he doubles down on his position, he also dismisses concerns about free speech, and seems especially focused on the craft aspect.
Your post really has me thinking about gender and cultural capital in comedy. That the NY scene is a boy’s club is a pretty uncontroversial assessment, so the question that follows naturally would be: Do women comics like Amy Schumer or Sarah Silverman, who regularly collaborate with the likes of Norton, Kurt Metzger, and Nick DiPaolo, all NY comics and all outspoken critics of feminist critiques of rape jokes, gain power in this scene by being “one of the guys?” Much of their comedy, especially more recently, would suggest otherwise. Rather, the kinship with their male counterparts seems to subsist more in mastery of a double-coding practice that these comics all, to some degree, have in common, and that Schumer in particular has harnessed as a feminist praxis. But then, another question remains: is double-coding itself gendered, by virtue of being the only way for women comics to articulate experiences of sexism/misogyny while also accruing capital in their male-dominated habitus?