Foreword the Road to Interactivity Also These Voices the Effect Of

2 Foreword And Yet It Moves Anna Warso, Paweł Pyrka

4 The Road to The Influence of Media Izabela Convergence on Talent Show Interactivity Programs Kurczewska,

14 Also These Voices Technology and Gender in the Joanna Kucharska, Practice of Fanvidding 30 The Effect of Rafał Uzar Technology on Language and the Importance of Language Technologies

42 Is There a Literature Urszula Pawlicka in this Class?

58 When Man Becomes The Creation of ‘Symborgs’ Ewelina Twardoch Machine in Pop Cultural Universes

72 Technologized Video Games as a New Form Ewa Drab Culture or Cultured of Storytelling Technology?

82 (Re)Designing Human Genetics in Cinema. The Dialectics Aneta Jałocha of Past, Present and Future

94 Stereo Vision and The Influence of 3D Technology on Piotr Fortuna the Imaginary Man the Experience of the Film Viewer

102 Technology Fear and Desire: A Female Robot Zbigniew as Witchcraft in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis Wałaszewski

110 Fifty Shades of Real The Sexual and the Virtual in Rafał Morusiewicz Spike Jonze’s Her

120 Abstracts 2 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Anna Warso, Paweł Pyrka Fore‑ word: And Yet It Moves Anna Warso, Paweł Pyrka Foreword: And Yet It Moves 3

The following collection of articles revolves around the points of convergence between technology in its broadest possible sense and the limitless space of popular culture. As a result, the phenomena, artifacts and mechanisms discussed by their authors represent a minuscule fraction of potential top‑ ics which have been emerging in recent years in discussions on art, culture, media, philosophy, and, ultimately, (post­‑)humanism. The rhizomatic land‑ scape of postmodernity appears, after all, to be viewed best through the lens of technological media; in fact it seems to thrive on the sort of indeterminacy resulting from the dynamics of obsolescence inscribed in the concept of progress and the uneasy balancing act inextricably linked to the aesthetics of technol‑ ogy. The latter, as an expression of the unique combination of fascination and terror felt when faced with the project designed to explain and harness the principles of the universe, is an especially powerful theme, utilized by numerous discourses, in and outside fiction. Just as traditional mythology relied on the supernatural in the form of magic, contemporary myths subsist on discourses of science and technology. So much more than a simple collection of tools, technology must now be clearly viewed as a practice, a dynamic science­‑in­‑use, constantly transforming the world itself, as well as, inevitably, its users (who frequently remain oblivi‑ ous to the fact). Mechanisms which shape popular culture and its practices, thanks to their inherent sensitivity to changes in social and conceptual fabric, are best equipped to make use of technology’s offerings. In addition, the all­ ‑inclusive (and adaptive) character of popular culture predisposes it to serve as space for experimentation for the products of totalizing scientific discourse. The points of convergence studied in the following articles are thus nec‑ essarily temporary, perhaps ephemeral in a sense, but the connections they describe provide the framework for future change and further interplay, for the continuation of the passionate relationship between technology and popular culture – the affair which has given us new language(s), interactive narratives, cyborgized bodies, seductive operating systems and giant mecha. And as its dynamics dictate, by the time we have finished writing this foreword, it will have already moved on, perhaps beyond the scope of this collection, or, as Ashbery would say, will “have adopted a different attitude”. In other words: To be continued. 4 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Izabela Kurczewska The Road to Interactivity The Influence of Media Convergence on Talent Show Programs

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109970 Izabela Kurczewska The Road to Interactivity 5

Izabela Kurczewska Introduction is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of Social The romance between mass media and new technologies is leading to chang‑ Sciences and Humanities (SWPS) in Warsaw. Her es in television genres. Progressing digitalization has influence not only professional career is fo‑ on the fragmentation of the television market due to viewers switching cused on media studies, to Internet­‑based media, but also on participatory culture. The relationship media production, and non­‑standard marketing. between the broadcaster and the viewer is changing: new technologies allow the viewer to change from a passive receiver of television broadcasts to an active participant. Using digital tools such as the Internet or mobile technologies, viewers can engage with the content and interact by means of social media or dedicated applications. These changes are forcing broadcasters, producers, advertisers and sponsors to modify their behavior. One of the television genres to have most widely taken advantage of the po‑ tential of such phenomena is the talent show. This genre has developed viewer participation with interaction by return communication using digital media. It has allowed viewers (at least superficially) to decide the fate of participants and interact with them, as well as to discuss and make contact with other fans in real time. It has also taken advantage of the effects of media convergence by creating multiscreen broadcasts. In this article, I intend to analyze the evolution of the genre in Poland, from the paradigm of “old” mass media based on single­‑platform passive broadcast to engaging transmedia communication. Popular entertainment programs broadcast in Poland, based on a competition between singers, such as “Szansa na sukces”, “Idol”, “The Voice” or “X­‑Factor” will serve as examples. I will analyze what changes in the structure and formula of the programs act as determinants of multi­‑platform communication. Finally, I will investigate the ways audience participation is used to build drama, cohesion and a higher level of engagement on the part of the receivers. Transmedia Narration

The market for audio­‑visual media is subject to dynamic fragmentation as a result of the rising number of available television channels and their thematic profiling, as well as loss of viewers to the Internet (Ytenberg, 2009: 469). The growing tendency to receive content from a number of screens simultaneously (mul‑ tiscreening trend) is also a factor. Research on new media conducted by IAB Polska (Kolenda, 2012: 15) shows that 48% of frequent Internet users watch television at the same time at least a couple of times a week. Moreover, media consumers (in the 18 – 44 age group) increasingly often receive content from even four screens simultaneously – television set, computer, tablet and mobile phone (Econsultancy Digital Marketers United, 2012: 14 – 15). The attention of viewers is therefore more distributed and “engagement” has become a key word in modern communication (Tenderich, 2013: 2). Television industry is moving slowly towards interactivity in a bid to keep the interest of viewers. The phenomenon of convergence forces broadcasters to modify the way content is constructed, both in terms of technology and concept (Jenkins, 2007: 23). Power over the received content is gradually transferred from the broadcaster to the viewers, who learn how to control the received content using technology (Jenkins, 2007: 23) and decide not only what and when they want to watch, but often to also influence the content. In the hunt for the viewer’s attention, television content is becoming 6 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

a transmedia narrative. In accordance with the theory developed by Henry Jenkins, this means that particular elements are disclosed on different media platforms and each medium has its own input into the presented content (Jenkins, 2007: 260). Disclosures of content occur on subsequent platforms, e.g. initially from a television show, through Web content, to mobile devices. The processes of digitalization and convergence support the development of a participation culture (Jenkins, 2007) with receivers becoming more and more often co­‑creators of a media product, reaching a higher level of engage‑ ment. Content can achieve viral potential and spread in accordance with the wishes of participants of the Internet community. Examples of such activities include covers of songs, memes, parodies, etc. The Pre­‑reality Show Era

“Szansa na sukces” was the first Polish program based on the idea of a competi‑ tion between amateur singers. It made its début on TVP2 on 14th November 1993 and was broadcast for 19 years, until 29th April 2012. It was more an entertain‑ ment show than a typical talent show with its genre features. The program, conceived by Elżbieta Skrętkowska, was a purely Polish production, hosted by the journalist Wojciech Mann. The theme for each show consisted of the songs of one Polish artist, who not only acted as a special guest singing his or her song, but was first and foremost a member of the jury deciding the winner. At the first stage the participants took part in auditions (later called castings) that were conducted in the headquarters of Telewizja Polska (TVP, Polish public broadcasting corporation), away from the cameras. Chosen singers participated in the recording of an episode. Episodes were recorded in a small studio with the jurors sitting on a sofa and the adjacent steps, while a performer sang on a small platform. In front of him or her was a screen displaying the lyrics. The host picked a song for the participant at random by pulling on a cord with a numbered cube. The artist read the title of the song hidden in an envelope (as of 2004 on a disk) marked with the same number. The participants sang karaoke, choosing background music with or without the melodic line. The jurors did not comment on the performance in an ongoing manner. After hearing all the contest songs they went to deliberate and announced the verdict, awarding the winner and exceptional performers. The prize for the episode was the opportunity to sing a part of the song together with the star of the episode, as well as the fact that the person progressed to the so­‑called final concert held at the end of each season in the Congress Hall of the Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw. The final concert also included participants deemed exceptional. The prize in the final concert was an appearance at the Début Concert at the National Festival of Polish Song in Opole. Despite TVP introducing a phone­‑based voting system, the main winner was, until the end, chosen by jurors, with the viewers’ choice of fa‑ vorite being strictly complementary. It is therefore difficult to speak of true engagement of viewers in an interactive broadcast, but these were the first steps, followed by producers of other shows, who developed the possibility of real­‑time telephone voting. In 2009 the program was finally given a website, where viewers could find program­‑related news and episodes made available as VOD. In 2011 the program’s creators introduced, in cooperation with the entertainment­‑social platform iSing.pl, an Internet casting application (TVP, 2011). Interested singers could Izabela Kurczewska The Road to Interactivity 7

submit an application to participate in the program by performing a song on the platform or uploading a file to YouTube. The jury evaluated songs that received at least five votes of support on Facebook. Despite the introduction of this multi­‑platform communication system, it was already nothing new or innovative in terms of formula at this stage on the Polish market (“Idol” made its début in 2002, “Fabryka Gwiazd” in 2008, “Must Be the Music. Tylko Muzyka” in 2011, “X­‑Factor” in 2011 – therefore the development of the Szansa na Sukces format can be seen more as a market necessity con‑ forming to the expectations and habits of viewers than as innovative changes in the format’s structure.) Over the years “Szansa na Sukces” had undergone minor changes – the logo, intro and stage design of the studio had been refreshed. The program’s production values were limited, until the end it did not achieve the same lavish level of spectacle as viewers knew from programs produced on foreign licenses. It was devoid of drama, tears of participants or arguments among the jurors, who in its case were kept at a distance and almost invisible. Other media showed little interest in the events or in the program’s participants until they achieved success in the music industry – in that case it was often mentioned that a particular performer began his or hers career thanks to this show (for example Justyna Steczkowska, Kasia Stankiewicz). The level of interactivity in the program remained negligible and was limited to final concerts. “Szansa na Sukces” resembled to a very limited degree its successors – the talent shows. “Real” People, “Real” Tears

A talent show is a genre of (usually) televised entertainment that is derived from the reality show (prior to reality show, programs based on a talent show premise were present). Similarly to a reality show, it is based on the idea of “voyeurism” of participants (Godzic, 101 – 103), but in contrast to programs such as “Big Brother”, the participants are not isolated from the outside world. Amateurs compete by presenting skills defined by the theme of the show. Viewers watch their preparations, struggles, rivalry and, most importantly, the emotions that accompany their successes and failures. The popularity of the programs, similarly to “traditional” reality shows, is based to a large extent on people’s interest and fascination with the presentation of “average” people and their “authentic” emotions on a television screen (Dovey, 2004). Viewers want to believe that real stars are born right in front of their eyes. They follow these modern fables, of a sort, which show a completely average person undergoing a great transformation, becoming more attractive, confident and a celebrity. In her article on talent shows Su Holmes (2004) asserts that the attractiveness of candidates from the point of view of “average‑ ness” is often related to their social standing, with a perceived lower social class being a “guarantee of averageness”. Holmes is relating to the “American dream” and stresses that “averageness” is the key to the creation of a myth of a person from the lower classes achieving spectacular success and moving to the privileged class. The public wants to participate in this process and, armed with technology, is given the power to decide who will rise to the top and become the star of the season. This makes talent shows into programs with a high level of participation and viewer engagement, and has led to their continued success for several years (with an interlude in the form of programs showing celebrities competing). 8 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) From Talent to Show “Idol”, broadcast by Polsat on a British license was the first talent show in Poland. In other countries it was known as “Pop Idol” or “American Idol”. It combined a reality show, song contest and live spectacle, as well as interac‑ tive elements engaging viewers in front of their television sets. It ushered in a new era of television when it came to the Polish market in 2002. The program’s aim was to listen to a number of singers and select the most interesting candidates, both in terms of vocal skills and character. The search for a new idol consisted of four stages. The first was conducted in the form of castings in various parts of Poland. Candidates performed fragments of their chosen songs a capella in front of members of the jury, who at the same time commented and decided whether a particular person would pass to the next phase. At this stage, viewers were just as keen to spot outstanding talent, as they were to find people who stood out due to their non­‑standard appearance, behavior or clear lack of talent. Despite the fact that the program’s structure assumed passive observation at this stage, the viewers engaged by creating their own content – videos they shared on YouTube that were compilations of their favorite moments from the casting stage. Many years after the program’s broadcast one might hazard an opinion that the true winners of the show emerged at this stage – the jurors. Some of them, initially completely unknown to a broader public, have become television personalities and gained a place in entertainment programs for many years. When watching the first two stages of the program one could indeed feel that it was the jurors who were most important and that the entire spectacle centered on them. The participants were an excuse for them to talk, discuss and act nastily. They have also, to a great extent, become idols of the viewers, who created their own content based on the jurors’ personae – they chose the best moments of episodes and edited them to make videos, created visual materials and the phrase “jestem na tak” (“I vote yes”) started functioning among younger people. Kuba Wojewódzki, one of the first jurors, became the central character of the program. Thanks to his critical, ingenious statements and sharp retorts he quickly became the most colorful member of the jury. Participants feared his nasty remarks, while the viewers waited for them in anticipation. In a short time Wojewódzki gained widespread recognition, followed by elevation to the status of a star and television personality when he hosted his own show “Kuba Wojewódzki”, first on Polsat and subsequently on TVN. Elżbieta Zapendowska, another juror from the first team, also gained popularity as a result of the program. After “Idol” she sat on the juries for other Polsat music programs: “Jak oni śpiewają” and “Must Be The Music. Tylko Muzyka”. A similar mechanism can be observed in the case of other programs as well – it is thanks to talent shows that, for example, Agustin Egurrola or Michał Piróg (dancers and choreographers) gained wider recognition. The second stage, the so­‑called ‘theatre stage’, consisted of hearings dur‑ ing which participants sang on a theatre stage in small groups. At this point the jurors made their decision after watching all the performances and fol‑ lowing a discussion. Here the viewers had no possibility of direct interaction with the program; they were passive recipients of the content. At the third stage of the program, the relationship between the viewer and the participants changed (Holmes, 2004:153). This stage of the program was broadcast live and the jury took on a strictly advisory role, while the viewers took part in the process of elimination of subsequent participants and the choice of finalists. Izabela Kurczewska The Road to Interactivity 9

During this stage the performers underwent a metamorphosis – they trained their singing with specialists, chose stage costumes with the help of styl‑ ists, changed their image under professional guidance and in the end sang on a small stage in the studio where their performances were commented upon by members of the jury. From this point on it was clear that they sang to the viewers (and cameras). Another new element was the, so­‑called, “green room” – a place where participants stayed before and after live performances, talked to the host, shared their emotions and were given a chance to observe their competitors sing on screens. The final of the program took the form of a show, a live musical rivalry – the participants performed with full visual effects and costumes, and their performances were often similar to those of professionals. The live episodes featured elements aimed at encouraging the viewers to interact and take part in voting. The participants presented songs prepared earlier, on the basis of which the jurors gave their opinions. It was the viewers, however, who decided who would proceed. During the performances a bar was displayed at the bottom of the screen with a telephone number and text message that could be used to vote for one’s favorite singer and therefore help him or her win. The host, participants and even the jury encouraged viewers to vote:

Jacek Cygan (juror): “We’re telling people clearly that we want to see you in the final (…) I want to appeal to everybody typing these messages (…) vote for Paweł” Maciej Rock (host): “Should they vote?” Paweł Kowalczyk (participant):”You should vote, you have to vote, there’s no other option”. Maciej Rock: “Vote for Paweł, you saw the number, if not we’ll remind you in a moment”.

Votes cast by text messages were counted in real­‑time and the episode’s winner announced the same evening. Viewers had total control over the fate of the participants and their continued presence in the program. In each episode the viewers voted off one person and the season’s winner – the person that lasted till the last episode and received the highest number of votes via text messages – won a publishing contract with a record company. “Idol” developed (drawing upon experiences from “Big Brother”, which made its début in Poland in 1999) not only a telephone voting system, but also a whole range of additional content on other media platforms. The program even got its own dedicated newspaper, in which more dedicated viewers could read interviews with the jurors, relive some of the most interesting moments from the show or get to know it better from the inside. “Idol” had a sizeable Internet platform, albeit (from today’s perspective) one which was very sim‑ ple, or even primitive, in its form. It did, however, contain a certain amount of additional information to supplement the program and entice the viewers to engage. The website made it possible to view parts of the program, listen to participants by means of uploaded audio files, learn more about the final‑ ists or follow news related to the program. Elements were created that were aimed at building a community of fans and give viewers the tools needed to express their affiliation. Fans of the program could surround themselves with gadgets related to the show – wallpapers for their desktops, screen savers, puzzles. The platform also made it possible to send a virtual postcard with the program’s visual identification, exchange opinions on a discussion board 10 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

and, lastly, chat. The users were able to exchange their observations about their favorite show, but also talk to the jurors and participants at specified times. The mobile phone space was also conquered – a fan could download the program’s logo or ringtone with the show’s theme. Very quickly the par‑ ticipants started to create their own content, which they shared with other Internet users, thereby growing a faithful fan base. Extended Liveness

Multi­‑platform activities extend the ‘liveness’ of a program on many levels. As Espen Ytreberg states, on the first level viewers take part in the event in real time during the live broadcast of episodes. Viewers then participate in a text message vote (or using a website in the case of some formats) for their favorite performers or search for information about them online, taking part in another form of live participation:

When an audience member becomes a Pop Idol website user, navigating through it for background information on contestants, this does not quite amount to being ‘live’ in the sense of experiencing the transmission of Pop Idol competition rituals simultaneously with others. In surf‑ ing, no others need be involved, at least not in terms of the surfer’s experience. However, at the same time, surfers on the Pop Idol website will constantly encounter information and commentary on the competition that is unfolding live. So, if web surfing is not itself an experience of liveness, surfing on the website of a multi­‑platform reality format at least happens in the context of such an experience, and with reference to it. (Ytreberg, 2009: 478)

It is also worth noting that ‘liveness’ is also extended in two temporal dimensions. On the one hand, fans are engaged between the transmissions of episodes in the case of programs that are broadcast once a week. Chatting with jurors, searching for additional information, discussions within a discussion group regarding the result of the last episode, all these make the program live in the consciousness of recipients in between episodes. They also provoke discussions and cause the program to be a subject of talks within communities engaged in the reception of the format. On the other hand, additional platforms allow the program to continue to function while off­‑air between seasons. After the end of one season the viewers could track the lives of program winners on the website, learn more about the next season, any changes to the rules, dates for submissions, and the start of the new season. Transmedia and Higher Forms of Participation

Subsequent generations of talent shows develop their formula on the basis of ex‑ periences of predecessors and proven mechanisms. Programs such as “The Voice Izabela Kurczewska The Road to Interactivity 11 of Poland” (TVP2) or “X­‑Factor” (TVN), which appeared on the Polish market in 2011, can be perceived as modern representations of the genre. In their fundamental premise they are faithful to their predecessors, keeping among other things the concept of the dominating role of the jury, especially at the pre­ ‑selection stage, with the decision­‑making power shifting to the viewers when episodes become transmitted live (viewers decide on the eliminations and winners), or the idea of making ordinary people into stars and preserving reality elements. Such programs ceaselessly grow in their eventfulness and are increasingly becoming music shows interwoven with stories of people and sensational reactions from the jury. Episodes, even the casting, have a multimedia environment, while the finals make it seem as if the participants have come far and made their careers by standing on the stage of a televi‑ sion program, amid impressive decorations and in the spotlight. In some formats (such as “The Voice of Poland” and “X­‑Factor”) the role of the jurors is broadened – they become closer to the participant, becoming their coaches and partners, lending credence to the apparent entry into “the great show business world” and discovery of its secrets. The programs have developed a transmedia approach, encompassing a wide spectrum of media. The producers of “The Voice of Poland” prepared communication involving television, press, radio, the Internet and mobile phones. Television remains the main channel of communication, where an episode is transmitted, but it is combined with other channels, especially within the scope of live programs and online interaction. On the basis of media partnerships, the press featured articles with people involved in the show and publications devoted to episodes. Radio was added as a partner, preparing programs and broadcasting “extra” materials, conducting a contest among listeners, but also acting as part of the live show by means of interviews with participants during the broadcast. The engagement of listeners was also built by allowing them to choose from among 10 candidates, participants that were taking part in a “wild card” draw – a competition to enter one of the juror’s teams thanks to votes from fans. Such cross­‑promotion on­‑air and over the airwaves maintained interest in the program on days when there were no premières, referred viewers do their radios, promoting the partner radio station and had the potential of growing the program’s fan base from the new target group of radio listeners. The growth in popularity of social media has led to each music program having its own dynamic social platforms – a channel on YouTube, a fanpage on Facebook with a couple of hundred thousand fans and sometimes an account on Twitter, somewhat less popular in Poland. Social media websites combined with the programs’ websites are partially taking over the functions previously reserved for websites, becoming the place for dissemination of updates and sharing thoughts regarding the program. By allowing interaction with particular multimedia materials or news, directly on Facebook or on the show’s website connected to it, they are partially taking over the functions of websites and supplanting online forums, which have disappeared from program websites. Users are happy to provide user­‑generated content relating to their favorite program and distribute it using social channels, increasing the outreach through new content. Internet interactivity has also been employed in live programs. In season 1 of The Voice of Poland, viewers could ask program participants questions when they were in the “red room” (equivalent of the “green room” in “Idol”) via Facebook. Questions and comments from Internet users were shown 12 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

on screens in the red room, while singers responded, entering into direct interaction with viewers in real­‑time. The creators of the American edition of “X­‑Factor” have, in cooperation with Verizon, the program’s sponsor, created an application that allowed the users to engage to a great extent via mobile devices. It allowed fans to not only judge the performances and interact with other users, but also receive additional content synchronized with the live program (JWT, 2012: 18). On the other screen viewers could see backstage during the program or display the lyrics of a song being performed, so that they could sing it together with the participants while sitting in front of the television set. In addition, users could receive prizes from the program’s sponsor for activities performed in the application. By introducing elements of ‘gameification’, aimed at maintaining the interest of viewers, the producers and sponsors reached out to the recipi‑ ent’s loyalty. The creators of reality show programs have succeeded in creating a system of concurrently operating platforms, generating transmedia content, to a certain extent independent of each other. A viewer who is not interested in receiving additional content can receive the televised content exclusively and still receive completely clear, intact content, which does not require clarification or any additions to be understandable. Conclusion

Talent shows have evolved over the years from simple singing contests to transmedia, interactive spectacles. By taking advantage of a wide range of co­‑operating media platforms, the creators of television programs started to follow the attention of television viewers, which has been shifting to other communication channels. Tools obtained by means of media convergence have made it possible to not only “surround” the receiver with content, but also engage him or her on a number of levels, while still making it possible to choose received content. New media have given the “old” forms a chance to re­‑model set structures and discover the potential in content spreadability. The have also made it possible to reach a new group of viewers, maintain the attention of fans between episodes or season premières, therefore building loyalty and attachment. New media have given receivers the possibility of being not only co­ ‑participants but, thanks to the possibility of voting and deciding on the fate of contestants, also co­‑creators of the format. By creating viral content, memes, as well as reproducing and redistributing content, they turn into, in a way, ambassadors of the program within the fan base. From the point of view of broadcasters they also become new broadcast platforms that allow new target groups to be reached, ones clustered around the aforementioned self­‑proclaimed ambassadors in social media. The success in ratings and consequent commercial success of talent shows in their current shape can lead one to believe that televised communication will develop formats oriented towards transmedia narratives over many platforms. However, it does happen that a multi­‑platform approach is perceived as a nov‑ elty and used separately from any broader strategy, which can lead to content dispersion and chaos in communication. As a result, it can discourage viewers and cause them to turn their backs on such communication. It is therefore important for prepared content to have strong substantive foundations, not Izabela Kurczewska The Road to Interactivity 13 only to be a way to boast about the broad spectrum of technologies and new media used in communication, but without any broader context.

Works Cited Berelowitz M. (2012). 10 ways marketers are using second screen. New York. Dovey J. (2000). Freakshow: First­‑Person. London. Econsultancy Digital Marketers United, The Multi­‑Screen Marketer, “IAB” 05.2012, http://www.iab.net/multiscreenmarketer [ 10.12.2012 ]. Enli G. S. (2009). Mass Communication Tapping into Participatory Culture Exploring Strictly Come Dancing and Britain’s Got Talent. “European Journal of Communication”, 24, (481 – 493). Godzic W. (2004). Telewizja i jej gatunki po „Wielkim Bracie”. Cracow. Holmes S. (2004). “Reality Goes Pop!”: Reality TV, Popular Music and Nar‑ ratives of Stardom in Pop Idol (UK). “Television and New Media”, 5(2), (147 – 172). Holmes S. (2004). ‘But this time you choose!’ Approaching the ‘interactive’ au‑ dience in reality TV. “International Journal of Cultural Studies”, 7, (213 – 231). Kolenda P. (2011). TV+WWW: Razem lepiej. Współ­‑konsumpcja mediów i kon‑ sumpcja reklamy wśród Internautów. IAB Polska. Jenkins H. (2007). Kultura konwergencji. Zderzenie starych i nowych mediów. Warsaw. Tenderich B. (2013). Design Elements of Transmedia Branding. Materiał niepub‑ likowany. USC Annenberg Innovation Lab. TVP.pl (2011). Wystartował pierwszy w historii „Szansy na sukces” casting in‑ ternetowy!.. http://www.tvp.pl/rozrywka/programy­‑muzyczne/szansa­‑na­ ‑sukces/aktualnosci/wystartowal­‑pierwszy­‑w­‑historii­‑szansy­‑na­‑sukces­ ‑casting­‑internetowy/4896967 [ 12.02.2014 ] TVP.pl (2009).Występują u nas barwne postaci. http://www.tvp.pl/rozryw‑ ka/programy‑muzyczne/szansa­ ­‑na­‑sukces/aktualnosci/wystepuja­‑u­‑nas­ ‑barwne­‑postaci/491799 [ 12.02.2014 ] Ytreberg E. (2009). Extended liveness and eventfulness in multiplatform re‑ ality formats. “New Media & Society”, 11, (467 – 485). 14 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Joanna Kucharska Also These Voices Technology and Gender in the Prac- tice of Fanvidding

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109973 Joanna Kucharska Also these voices 15

Joanna Kucharska Audiences have always been an integral part of media and media studies, but is a PhD candidate they gained prominence in the age of television, and then internet. Studies at the Institute of Audio‑ of television audiences turned the light on them, showcasing the passive and visual Arts, Jagiellonian University. Her research active ways of approaching the media. But it was the internet emergence that interests include really made the audiences visible, allowing for various channels of participation: transmedia narratives, the forum boards, comment sections appearing practically everywhere, from audience and fandom studies, and televisual blog posts to youtube videos; the widespread tagging and recommendation and para­‑televisual texts. system, blogging and microblogging, picture and video sharing, and social media profiles. Modern technology not only enabled the viewers to access information quickly, but also made sharing opinions incredibly easy. Creators who ignore the opinions posted online do it at their own peril – the word of mouth, the recommendations, and the viral marketing are powerful tools both in the hands of a television showrunner or a movie director and in the hands of a media­‑savvy single audience member, turning a personal watching experience into a communal effort. Just as the modern media channels have enabled the audiences to speak up and opine, they have also enabled them to share their creativity with oth‑ ers. Participating in creative fan practices predates the internet, of course; what we consider the modern fandom was being shaped in the 60s and 70s, but the strategies used by fans have been present in our culture for centuries: the readers entered interactions with the texts, disputing their meanings, creating new ones, and coming up with works inspired by and continuing the existing texts. Fan practices in the age of internet are both grassroots efforts under the radar of the copyright laws or sometimes in argument with them, and extremely visible endeavors entering the mainstream. Fan‑ nish expression online is often considered juvenile and inconsequential, but some of those outputs are meant as serious commentary, in­‑depth analysis, and deep criticism of the texts they refer to and of the mainstream popular culture in general. Those producers and copyright holders who look favorably on fan creation tend to laud the more traditional forms that reinforce rather than question the status quo and norms, disregarding the more original and unorthodox approaches. This text analyses one of the forms that offers a critical and analytical tool to the viewer. Vidding is a fan practice of juxtaposing video footage from one or several sources with the audio clips, most often music, from an external source, in order to comment on the original text. Vidders use this technique to analyse and criticise the source texts, often pointing out cultural narratives and media cliches, but the art is often dismissed by those unused to the peculiar aesthetic of the form and unfamiliar with the fandom tactics. “The ‘television audience’ is not a social category like class, race, or gender – everyone slips in or out of it in a way that makes nonsense of any categorical boundaries: similarly when in ‘it’ people constitute themselves quite differently as audience members at different times.” (Fiske, 1989). Fiske sees the view‑ ers not as social groups and masses, but as individuals, who not only define themselves as different audiences depending on what they choose to watch and how, but also who take a proactive, productive role in the media proc‑ ess. Fiske refers to two economies of television: the financial economy and the cultural economy (Fiske, 1987). The financial economy is the one we most often consider: it amounts to production of popular programming watched by the demographic groups attractive for advertisers. In this model, the audience is a commodity that can be, and is, sold to the advertisers. In the cultural economy what matters is the consumption of programming by the audience, 16 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

who through this process decides on the popularity of the programming and therefore on its continuing existence. In essence, the audience becomes akin to a producer of meaning. Fiske goes on to discuss the cultural economy model as an integral part of fan practices. All popular audiences, he argues, engage in some degrees of semiotic productivity, in the model discussed above. But fans are a special group of the audience, often turning the semiotic productivity into some form of textual productivity, with the output circulating among the fan community and helping to define it. “Fans create a fan culture with its own systems of production and distribution” which he calls “a shadow cultural economy.” (Fiske, 1987). The fan practice of semiotic productivity that creates meanings different from those intended has been termed “poaching” by Michel de Certeau. “Far from being writers, readers are travellers; they move across lands belonging to someone else, like nomads poaching their way across the fields they did not write, despoiling the wealth of Egypt to enjoy it themselves.” (de Certeau, 1984) De Certeau’s poaching is closely related to the process of bricolage; ap‑ propriating existing cultural elements and changing the meaning of the ‘bor‑ rowed’ pieces to create a new one, in a semiotic collage. A bricoleur, according to Mikko Lehtonen, is a “sampler of meanings,” who produces the semiotic content for themselves. Two different samplers will produce a different set of meanings from the same cultural elements, and the point of the practice, the oppositional reading, lies in the difference (Lehtonen, 2000). De Certeau brings the practice of bricolage, his “poaching,” into reading texts. He saw the author and the reader almost as adversaries – the authors and producers are trying to impose their meaning on the text, and the readers are employing tactics during consumption of those texts, in engaging in what he called “secondary production” which “does not manifest itself through its own products but rather through its ways of using the products imposed by the dominant order.” (de Certeau 1984). He saw culture as a struggle between the dominant power of creators of content on one side and the audiences’ poachers on the other. What the secondary producers have on their side, is time, as they can engage with the text after the content producer is done with it. One of the most influential factors affecting the reading of any given media text is the gender of the reader, and so it is not surprising that gender is one of the most often considered issues in writings about fandom as an empowering tactic for those made subordinate by the dominant cultural code. The very image of a fan differs depending on their gender, and fan activities tend to be divided across gender lines. In her essay “What Can a Heroine Do? or Why Women Can’t Write,” Joanna Russ states that “Our literature is not about women. It is not about women and men equally. It is by and about men.” (Russ, 1995). She points out that in the large portion of texts, especially texts that our culture is thought to be based on, texts which constitute our literary canon, do not only center around male protagonists, but do not really feature women, only images of women shown in relation to male characters as their wives, lovers, mothers, sisters, daughters, nemeses, monsters, temptresses, and so on. This theory is reiterated by the modern pop culture phenomenon, the Bechdel Test. The Bechdel Test stems from an Allison Bechdel’s comic strip “Dykes to Watch Out For” from 1985, entitled simply “The Rule.” The comic presents a three­‑pronged test for movies that one of the characters would watch: 1) it has to have at least two women in it, 2) they have to talk to each other, 3) about something other than a man. Most of the western movies and a large Joanna Kucharska Also these voices 17 portion of tv shows and other media fail the test (Bechdel 2005). As Anita Sarkeesian from Feminist Frequency points out, the test is not to be taken literally. It is not a test to see if a movie is feminist, or if it is a good movie. Its role is to simply point out a systemic cultural problem of underrepresentation of women in mainstream culture (Sarkeesian, 2009). A part of fanfiction writing fandom, especially centered around Livejournal and Archive of Our Own has set out to fight the issue, including “Bechdel Test Pass” or “Bechdel Test Fix” as a fanfiction label on the AO3 archive, and hosting ficathons for stories designed to pass the test. But not only the direct Bechdel Test fixes address the matter of under‑ representation of female characters and lack of narratives for women. One of the most visible and significant aspects of fanfiction, and so the object of most scholarly research into female fan activities, is the slash fiction. Slash is the term used in fandom and scholarship for stories depicting two men in a romantic and/or sexual context. The name comes from the virgule, or the for‑ ward slash, the “/” sign between the names of two main characters engaged in the romantic pairing used in the labels and headers for the fic, for example “Kirk/Spock.” The forward slash is used nowadays between the names of all romantic and erotic pairings, including lesbian and heterosexual stories, but the name ‘slash’ continues to denote a relationship between two men, causing some confusion in academia. Slash differs from a gay romance in that it is based on characters coded as heterosexual in the source material, reinvented and reread as homosexual, bisexual, or other, in fanfiction. To be classified as a slash story, a fanfic does not need to concentrate on the erotic relation‑ ship. A vast majority of fanfic does not reach beyond a PG­‑13 rating and does not feature sex scenes. Some stories are focused on more general plots, crime stories, action, sci­‑fi, etc., with the slash romance being a background factor, much as a heterosexual love interest would be featured in a mainstream movie. Most of fan fiction, though not all, features a romantic plot or subplot. It is hard to determine if this is the cause or effect of a strong female domi‑ nation of the fan fiction field, but the gender divide is impossible to ignore. Rhiannon Bury points out the difference between narratives offered to “boys and girls:” “being an intelligible boy or girl, man or woman, in part involves reading prescribed genres in certain ways and gaining pleasure from them.” Stories for girls and women center around romance and relationships. Those stories are clearly marked as intended for women and subsequently devalued as a lesser form of culture: Harlequin romances, soap operas, “chick flicks.” Narratives offered for men, such as blockbuster action films, science­‑fiction, comedies or crime stories, are served without a label, never called “guy flicks” or any equivalent of the female designator. They are intended to be viewed by all, regardless of their gender. Relationship stories remain a domain of women, perhaps explaining their prominent position among fanfiction, but not quite explaining the popularity of slash pairings (Bury 2005). Patricia Frazer Lamb and Diana L. Veith offer an explanation, noting that slash reworks the typical romance narrative by presenting a relationship between equals. “Theirs is a union of strenghts, a partnership rarely possible between men and women today and just as unlikely – if not more so – be‑ tween men and women in the ST television universe … ” (Lamb, Veith, 1989). As Harlequins and chick flicks would present various and countless takes on Cinderella story, with a clear and glamourised power imbalance between male and female protagonists; Star Trek universe, despite its futuristic, almost utopian setting, would only reinforce the gender divide, by featuring women 18 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

in supportive, nurturing roles of nurses and communications officers, submis‑ sive to most males and clad in miniskirts or fetish gear. A female reader and writer would turn to male relationships in search for equality. Lamb and Veith suggest that slash, in its pursuit of equality, plays with androgyny: both Kirk and Spock share traits commonly considered masculine and feminine. As Jenkins summarizes: “Kirk is sexually promiscuous, an undisputed leader, always ready for action and in command of most situations (masculine), yet he is also beautiful, emotional, intuitive, sensuous, and smaller (feminine); Spock is rational, logical, emotionally controlled, keeps others at distance, and stronger (masculine) while he is also virginal, governed by bodily cycles, an outsider, and fully committed to sexual fidelity (feminine).” (Jenkins 1992). Slash romance allows the female writer and reader to both explore a relationship based on mutual respect and equality, but also to identify with a protagonist and the hero of the narrative, something she is denied by the source material itself. Given a choice of identifying with “sex kittens” and “token females” of the mainstream culture and the male heroes… – “the adventurers and problem solvers,” (Bury, 2005) female fans easily choose the latter, even if by doing so they’ve entered the still contested and very controversial area of slash fiction. Francesca Coppa, in the 2007 series of posts dedicated to gender in fandom on Henry Jenkins’ blog “Confessions of an Aca­‑Fan,” noted that “What many women want from narrative is often framed as embarrassing or shameful: we’re told that we shouldn’t value what we value in stories (high emotions, deep friendships and strong relationships, expressions of sexuality, as well as the intricate plotting and big ideas of SFF) and that our critiques of main‑ stream culture therefore aren’t valid.” (Coppa, 2007). Francesca Coppa notes: “A fanfiction story or a fanvid may not be read as an obvious critique of its source the way an essay or a parodic film does, but it is. Many female fans critique the mainstream media for its lack of nuance and emotional depth, and we create stories and vids that rectify that; we add feelings to the text, we add personal attachments and sustained relationships; we add sex, tears and put in what I would say are appropriate emotional responses to the kinds of stories we like. You get to cry when your planet blows up. You might fall in love with the person you’ve been fighting aliens with.” (Coppa, 2007). Fanvid, sometimes referred to in a shortened form as just ‘vid’ or called by its older moniker, ‘songvid,’ is “a fannish form of music video.” Fanvidders use footage from films, tv shows, or other video sources, and edit the short clips over a song, usually from an external source. The music is used as an interpretative lens, allowing the vidder to relay a message through the jux‑ taposition of the footage and audio. Within Western movie and television fandom, the practice is referred to as ‘vidding’ and similar practices exist in other fandoms, developed separately and existing independently, for example the AMVs (Anime Music Videos) of Japanese animation fandom, or machinima movies of the games fandom. As has been noted before, vidding originated in the 1970s, in the Star Trek fandom. According to fandom historians, the first vidder was Kandy Fong, who has been showing her slideshows at conventions since 1975. (Coppa, 2007) Her first video, a Star Trek slideshow, “What Do You Do With a Drunken Vulcan?” (1975) has unfortunately not survived to this day. She used music from an external player overlying a series of slides of leftover footage from the cut‑ ting room floor. During later showings of her videos, Fong switched from using one projector to two, so she could cut faster from one image to another. Joanna Kucharska Also these voices 19

The earliest example of Fong’s video that survived till this day is “Both Sides Now,” recorded on a video tape for Gene Rodenberry, the series’ creator, in 1986, though the slideshow itself dates back to 1980. Francesca Coppa calls this “the grandmother of vids,” (Coppa, 2007) and the vid certainly seems almost prehistoric due to its technology. In the early 1980s, vidders were using footage sparsely, with minimum interference and with a very few shots used. It was not unknown for vidders to work as a collective, not individually, in order to speed up the process, and share expertise and equipment. Despite the technological distance, “Both Sides Now” displays the characteristics of contemporary vids on the aesthetic and analytic levels. The structure of the video is very similar to contemporary fanvids. Despite using footage from an external source, it is treated as a completed artwork, with both opening titles (crediting the song and the performer; the source of the video footage didn’t need to be specified, as Fong displayed her slideshows only at Star Trek conventions and fan gatherings) and the final slide showing the name of the author and the contributors, in a similar way a movie would display a cast and crew list. “Both Sides Now” is an example of a character study vid, and it sets out to offer a vidder’s perspective on Mr. Spock, showcasing the dual nature of the character. Spock is half­‑human, half­‑Vulcan, and the conflict between his dual nature is one of the show’s plots. By the choice of the song and the images from the series, Fong concentrates on the moments important to that aspect of Spock’s character, but she frames it in a unique way available to a vidder. By choosing a song by Joni Mitchell, popularized by Judy Collins, she adds another duality to Spock: the male/female aspects of his personality that has been a point of identification for the female viewers. By choosing a version of the song performed by Leonard Nimoy, the actor behind Spock, she frames the lyrics as the character’s inner voice, a tactic often employed by vidders to follow. Francesca Coppa points out that the voice of Spock – the “other” on the Enterprise’s bridge, caught between a dual nature, is also the voice of the female audience, posing that just as Spock the character is at heart of the show, abandoned femininity is at heart of fandom (Coppa, 2007). She refers to the original, failed incarnation of Star Trek, the abandoned pilot “The Cage” (1964), featuring a different cast of characters. Spock is present in this early take, but not as the aloof, clinical science officer and second in command we would come to know from the actual show. This role is instead taken by Number One, a female officer who is everything Spock will become in the latter incarnation: technical, unemotional, and tactically brilliant. Like Spock, she is torn between methodical mind and a deeply masked sexuality. Number One disappears from the second iteration of Star Trek, her role handed down to Spock. Actress Majel Barrett was recast as Nurse Chapel: emotional in a feminine, submissive way, ultimately nurturing, and a (failed) love interest for Spock. (Majel Barrett also voices Enterprise’s central computer in all versions of Star Trek, including the 2009 reboot, her last role before her death. Francesca Coppa in the same essay argues that the unseen voice of the computer could be the voice of female authors; the vidder and the fan artist. ). In the tradition of fanvidding, while all that history and interpre‑ tation might not be immediately evident in the vid itself, it will influence the viewing experience of a Star Trek fan coming to the vid already armed with the fandom knowledge. For someone outside of fandom, the slideshow might be just a random collection of images set to music, but a fan will understand at least some (if not all) of the intra­‑ and inter­‑textual references, 20 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

including the context of the images, their sequence, the choice of music and editing, and the meta­‑knowledge of fandom background. For example, most fans, aware of slash history of Star Trek fandom and the importance of the Kirk/Spock relationship to its fans, will interpret the slide of Spock looking at Kirk and Chapel accompanied with lyrics “I’ve looked at love from both sides now,” as relating to that fannish tradition. Spock, framed to the left of the image, is turned away from the viewer, looking in the same direction the viewer does, effectively reinforcing the point of view as belonging to him. Fong adds another duality to Spock’s nature: heterosexual, with the textual love interest of Christine Chapel, and homosexual, with the subtextual and fandom­‑generated relationship with James Kirk. Such qualities of the vid: open interpretation, character study, intertextuality and function within fandom contexts; are what makes Kandy Fong’s vid extremely significant not only for being historically first, but also for embodying the characteristics of fanvids to come. The 1980s brought a technological shift to the practice of vidding with the spread of VHS equipment. It became commercially available between late 70s and early 80s, and vidders quickly adopted it as their primary technique. While this meant that making videos became a little easier, the process was still lengthy and technologically demanding, requiring two VCRs (one for playing the footage and the other for recording it) and great attention paid to timing of the edits. “The clips had to be selected and measured in advance, and then the clips had to be played on one VCR and recorded on the other in the exact order in which they were to appear. Vidders also had to grapple with rollback. As VCR users will remember, the tape rolled back a few frames or seconds when the button was pushed. Moreover, rollback wasn’t standard from machine to machine, so vidders had to learn the idiosyncrasies of their particular equipment. Worst of all, in the early days of vidding, the audio track could only be imported once all the clips had been laid down on tape, so a vidder who wanted to edit to the beat or who wanted internal motion synchronized with the music had to be extremely meticulous.” (Coppa, 2007). Because of the financial costs (in equipment and tapes) and time and effort required to create a vid, vidders often collaborated. The preserved vids of 1980s and 1990s are not only technologically advanced (especially when one consid‑ ers they were made largely by amateurs) but also a testament to collaborative and community power of female fans acting together to create meanings from their perspective. The process of vid making has been presented and lovingly spoofed in a 1990 metavid (a vid containing self­‑reflecting commentary on fandom) “Pressure,” by three vidders known collectively as Sterling Eidolan and the Odd Woman Out, a subgroup of the California Crew of vidders. The vid showcases the entire process, from travel, through planning, accumulation of resources, timing, clipping, filming and editing, and it also portrays a joy of fannish experience shared with others: the vidders eat together, sleep in the same house, get caught up in watching the show, and celebrate their successes. (Coppa, 2008) Vidding, while growing in popularity during the 80s and early 90s, has not become a widespread activity until the development of easily accessible computer technology. The successful expansion of vidding can be attributed to two factors: personal computers and software making it easier to create videos, and the internet access opening a new form of distribution. In terms of editing, the tedious process of VHS editing has been substituted by the use of semi­‑professional and professional programs, like the basic Windows Joanna Kucharska Also these voices 21 editor Windows Movie Maker, Apple’s iMovie, or more professional Adobe Premiere or Sony Vegas. It became easy to cut and edit film footage available to vidders in form of dvds or electronic files downloaded from the internet. In terms of distribution, video hosting sites like YouTube or Vimeo made it easy to reach audiences. Early fanvidding sharing traditions have not disappeared completely in the age of online video, but flourished in a slightly updated form. As early videos were shown at conventions and fan gatherings, the tradition continues, for example with VividCon, a convention dedicated purely to vids, for vidders and watchers alike. Another of initial ways of viewing vids were tape distribution channels, with vidders or fans copying and sharing VHS tapes. Nowadays some vidders offer collections of their vids to be downloaded in a dvd­‑ready version, or distribute copies of dvds themselves. While the channels of distribution and the technological aspects of the vid‑ ding practice have changed, the primarily purpose, aesthetic, and aim of the vids remains the same: they are meant to present and comment on the films and shows that are objects of fandom, on the media narratives, and on the fandom itself. Watching vids is a challenging endeavor: at first glance they present nothing more but an arbitrary selection of footage, put together over a piece of music. Understanding of vids as a genre requires not only a kind of pop culture savvy relating to the knowledge of the source and concepts of mainstream pop culture, but also a multi­‑leveled media literacy and context of fandom in general and vidding fandom in particular. Most vids require close reading and repeated viewing to be comprehended. “The Long Spear” is a Star Trek fan video, made by “Jmtorres, Niquaeli, et al,” set to the song “The Boxer” by Simon and Garfunkel (with use of ad‑ ditional audio material by Joni Mitchell, Lorenna McKennit, and voices of fans themselves) (JM Torres, 2009). The video has been made in 2009, after the reboot Star Trek movie directed by JJ Abrams came out, but it features footage from all the TV and movie incarnations of Trek, as well as some external source images. The title is a reference to an obscure fandom metaphor described by Jo Walton as: “a point in writing, and it’s a spear­‑point, it’s very small and sharp but because it’s backed by the length and weight of a whole spear and a whole strong person pushing it, it’s a point that goes in a long way. (…) Examples are difficult to give because spear­‑points by their nature require their context, and spoilers. They tend to be moments of poignancy and realization. When Duncan picks the branches when passing through trees, he’s just getting a disguise, but we the audience suddenly understand how Birnam Wood shall come to Dunsinane.” (Walton, 2004). The metaphor takes a particular significance within fandom, as fans are not only aware of their fandoms’ history, but also emotionally invested enough to carry on creating fanworks even if the show has ended its run. The Trek fandom flourished in the 70s, after the series has been cancelled. And even though the 2009 movie came seven years after poorly received “Star Trek: Nemesis,” panned by critics and fans alike, fandom was ready and eager to accept the new reboot. The reception within fandom was a mix of nostalgia and excitement, with plenty of fanworks concentrating on joining the original timeline with the one offered by the new movie, reconfiguring new emotional connections of the 2009 movie in the context of storylines and relationships considered canon in the light of old series and movies. A plethora of fiction and vids, for example Here’s Luck’s “The Test” connected the original series footage with the new movie’s clips. In “The Test” the vidder illustrates a common 22 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

fanfic trope based on a scene in the movie in which Spock Prime (portrayed by original series actor Leonard Nimoy) transfers memories to the young ver‑ sion of Kirk. Fanfic writers and vidders argued that along with the memories, and the “emotional transfer side­‑effects” of the Vulcan Mind Meld, Spock Prime gave Kirk the knowledge of the relationship between Kirk and Spock in the original timeline. Fan artists strove for a sense of continuity, both in terms of plot which they got from the new movie itself, but also a continuity of the emotional bond between the characters and the continuity of fannish practices of slashing the pair (Here’s Luck, 2010). While “The Long Spear” is undoubtedly a Star Trek vid, it takes the events of the series and the movie, and the emotional bond between Kirk and Spock, as a secondary matter. It is important in terms of fan practices and fandom’s enjoyment of the show, but the analytical lens of the vidders is turned at the re‑ lationship between the text and its fandom, particularly its female audience, and highlights the female voices in the fandom’s conversation with the text. The video opens with a typical title card, offering the credit for the footage and the song used by the vidders, but it shifts into the second card, reading: “But hear also these women’s voices:” and a list of names of the women whose songs were also used in the video, the female creators of the vid, and everyone who contributed to the vid, along with fandom’s historical vidders, like Kandy Fong. As they fade, the emphasis is put on the bold text reading: “women’s voices” “USS Enterprise” and “fandom.” We have already mentioned the history of Star Trek fandom’s relationship with gender in the light of the show’s treatment of its “First Lady,” Majel Barrett. Barrett was present in all the incarnations of Star Trek: she was cast as Number One, the clinical and logical first officer of the Enterprise in the failed pilot “The Cage;” she was one of the cast members in the actual run of the original series, playing Nurse Christine Chapel; and she recorded voice over for the USS Enterprise in all its movie and series versions, including the 2009 movie reboot. Majel Barrett was also married to the series’ creator Gene Rodenberry: the anecdotal story goes that when the TV execs told Rodenberry to get rid of the devilish­‑looking Spock and remove the female officer from the bridge, as they believed that the audiences would never accept a woman in a command position, Rodenberry “kept the Vulcan and married the woman, ‘cause he didn’t think Leonard [ Nimoy ] would have it the other way around” (Barrett, 2002). The mechanical, cold woman in charge becomes split in two due to Barrett’s recasting: she becomes the love interest Christine Chapel, whose function is to be in danger, wear short skirts, and pine after Spock, the embodiment of female physicality, emotionality, and sexuality. And she becomes the disembodied voice of the ship’s super computer, mechanical, controlling and ever­‑knowing voice of a mind without body. Both voices could be argued to be the voice of fandom. Francesca Cop‑ pa argues that the voice of the Enterprise is the voice of the controlling, technologically­‑savvy woman who reshapes the narrative. In other words, the voice of the vidder. (Coppa, 2007) But the voice of the emotional, romantic Nurse Chapel is the other side of the fannish consciousness: the shipper who delves into the world of emotional and erotic connections between the characters. “The Long Spear” makes the juxtaposition even more tangi‑ ble, setting its title cards over an audio excerpt from the original series. It is a conversation between Kirk and the Enterprise’s computer, voiced by Bar‑ rett, which the vidder also illustrates with subtitled title cards. Kirk records his Captain’s Log, a typical opening of many of the original series episodes. Joanna Kucharska Also these voices 23

At the end of the entry, the computer’s mechanical voice accepts the log, but the acknowledgement is followed by an endearment. Kirk orders the computer to cease this kind of behaviour, an order which the computer accepts but fol‑ lows with yet another endearment. The mechanic voice of the computer takes on a throaty, seductive and affectionate quality during the conversation, as if expressing its feelings towards Kirk. What is interesting is that the original conversation was a random one off event, not meriting any sort of plot or a follow­‑up, but it is used and reframed by the vidders as a representation of the fandom’s female voices, both struggling for the control of the message and emotionally affectionate towards the characters despite the fact that that emotional approach is unwelcome by the copyright holders and controllers of the meanings, here represented by Kirk’s patriarchal and decisive orders. The proper song part of the video starts with footage of young Kirk from the reboot movie, but when the lyrics voice “though my story’s seldom told,” the vid cuts between Kirk’s face and images of women reading, their faces out of focus so they can represent the everywoman and not a particular character. The footage comes from Star Trek:DS 9 alternate universe episode in which the crew are science­‑fiction writers in the 50s. The Trek connec‑ tion is fortunate, but almost coincidental; while the knowledge of the DS9 is the type of fan textual knowledge that enriches the vid­‑watching experience, the power of the sequence comes from the visual representations of women whose stories are not told, juxtaposed with the footage of Kirk, the hero of the story. The following sequence introduces Kirk, played by Chris Pine, the way he is introduced in the movie reboot to the new audiences: a reck‑ less, daredevil kid from Iowa. It shows the death and sacrifice of his father at the ship USS Kelvin – an aberration from the original series and the plot point sending the reboot movie into a new timeline, and the meeting with Captain Pike and shots of Enterprise under construction, the events that will send Kirk out on his journey. As the singer’s voice begins to hum, the images of the Kirk Prime from the original show, the role performed by William Shatner, begin to bleed through the reboot footage. As the new viewers of Trek were introduced to the character through his hot­‑headedness and volatile instincts, the Trek fan is reminded of the same aspects of the original Kirk’s personality in a series of flashes to fighting scenes of the original Captain juxtaposed with very similar shots of the new hero. The series of violent confrontations leads the New Kirk to his meeting with the New Spock. The footage follows that with a meeting of New Kirk with Spock Prime and the violent physicality of the new relationship is contrasted with the gentle touch of the Vulcan Mind Meld between Spock Prime and New Kirk and between the characters in their original setting. If the images of the original series trickles through before, the mind meld sequence starts a flood, with the vidders cutting between the reboot and the original to highlight the differences and similarities between the old and the new, the two versions of the relationship of the same characters in a different universe. As the chorus rises, images of other characters start to appear, with the cuts between their old universe and new versions, followed by a sequence of characters from different Star Trek versions, from the original pilot to the latest Enterprise tv series. Vidders give most of the spotlight to female characters, but they are not the only ones to be featured as emotional events and connections are briefly glimpsed in a long montage piling up footage from all Trek sources. As the music rises, the montage expands from the tight character scenes into sweeping images of battles, starships, explosions and disasters. The vidders 24 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

show the viewer all of the important events in the decades of Trek history, reminding of the years of fandom’s existence. This is all the length and weight of the spear behind the sharp point of the reboot movie, the emotional bag‑ gage of all the fans encapsulated in a minute of fleeting footage. To a non­‑fan, this is a selection of images without context or meaning, but to anyone in fandom, this is a personal and emotional history of the object of fans’ devo‑ tion. The montage ends with the emotional punch of the new movie: planet Vulcan is destroyed, forever changing and reshaping the original timeline. Whatever comes after the movie will not follow the same path as the previ‑ ously established canon material, in a way wiping all of the events we have just witnessed out of the existence. For the new viewer of the 2009 movie, Vulcan’s destruction was an emotional event due to the personal loss suffered by one of the movie’s protagonists, Spock. but for the Star Trek fans, this is the end­‑all of history. The sequence ends with a nostalgic, emotional image of Spock Prime, played by Leonard Nimoy, looking at the sky and watching his home planet’s destruction, being at once the object of fans’ affection and a representation of fans watching the movie. The song fades on that image, but the video doesn’t end; instead, the audio side is picked by a different voice, that of Joni Mitchell performing “Both Sides Now.” The short segment features the lyrics “as every fairy tale comes real, I’ve looked at love that way,” over the images of new movie’s Spock jux‑ taposed with pictures of a Spock/Uhura pairing, both from the old and new versions of Star Trek. In the old timeline, Spock and Uhura have never been romantically linked on screen – as it has been previously mentioned, Spock’s pining love interest was Nurse Chapel, and it has been shown in the movie continuations of the series that Uhura married Chief Engineer Scott. In the new universe, with the altered timeline, relationships are reconfigured and Spock gets a “fairy tale ending.” The use of the Joni Mitchell song is a clear callback to Kandy Fong’s original video study of Spock’s character and relationships. Kandy Fong’s name is one of those featured in “The Long Spear’s” opening credits and the sequence is in equal parts a homage to the history of vidding, an update of Spock’s personal history, and a reclamation of the female voice. Fong’s video used a Leonard Nimoy cover of the song instead of the original female­‑sung version, and the return of a woman’s voice seems to emphasise both the female aspects of Spock’s dual nature, and the voice of the vidder and the fan, who now looks at the “fairy tale” of Spock/Uhura romance, even though she has seen “both sides” of Spock’s pairings, with the fannish interpretation of the homoerotic aspects of Kirk/Spock. And those aspects of the fannish interpretation are highlighted by an‑ other callback to the history of vidding and Star Trek, as Joni Mitchell’s voice fades into Loreena McKennitt’s for one line: “please remember me.” The lyric is juxtaposed with a scene of Spock of the new universe meeting Spock Prime for the first time. For the casual viewer, or even a fan of Trek, the combination of the lyrics and the footage could mean the importance of memory and history in fandom. The meeting of old and new Spocks, and Leonard Nimoy’s presence in the movie, are important to fans, who feared that a complete recasting of the original characters would mean a downright reboot and a denial of the decades of history this fanvid just showcased. The scene between Nimoy and Quinto, who portrays new Spock, is as much about passing a torch to the new generation of cast and fans as it is about reassuring old fans of the continuity and respect for the history. But the vid‑ ders imbue the scene with additional meaning by overlying it with Lorena Joanna Kucharska Also these voices 25

McKennitt’s verse; “please remember me” is a plea for respecting the history of the original stories, but it is also a reference to the very specific work in the history of fandom and vidding: Killa’s “Dante’s Prayer.” Killa’s vid is regarded as one of the milestones of the fandom, both for the technological inventiveness (it was made in 2001, just when the vidders were discovering what exactly could be achieved on computers, and the vidding software was becoming widespread and accessible), and for the emotional resonance of the Kirk/Spock story arc in the cinematic Star Trek. Inclusion of “Dante’s Prayer” in the video reinforces the message of how important memory and history is in fandom, especially in Star Trek fandom; the message build up throughout the vid. Unlike most of the Star Trek fanworks, Killa’s vid doesn’t concentrate on the original series, but chooses the movies as the subject of her analysis, particularly the second and third movies: “The Wrath of Khan” and “The Search for Spock.” The movies see the heroes aged and moved on from adventuring in space; in fact, The Wrath of Khan could be seen in terms of a struggle against old age and inevitable death. The storyline of the first movie is driven by Khan, a villain from the past, and culminates in Spock’s heroic sacrificial death. The third movie (and the second continuing the storyline) tells a story of rebirth as Spock comes back from the dead, nurtured by a life­‑giving planet, but he does not remember who he is, nor does he remember his friends, including Kirk. Significantly, Spock is able to return to life precisely because of his memories: his body has been brought back by the planet, but to be awaken he needs his memories, the Vulcan “katra,” which he previously deposited in Dr. McCoy. His memories bring him back to life and allow him to recognise Kirk, and call him “Jim,” in the scene Killa’s vid builds up to throughout the vid with the song’s repeated lyrics “please remember me.” The final lines are reinforced with sepia images of the original series embedded in the footage, meaning to represent Spock’s memories of Kirk. “The Long Spear,” calls back to that with Loreena McKennit’s line, embed‑ ding the same sepia images standing for Spock Prime’s memories as Killa did in her original video. For the viewer unfamiliar with the history of vidding, the scene stands for Spock Prime’s sharing of his memories with the young Spock, just like he did in the earlier movie scene with Kirk through the mind meld. Leonard Nimoy is not only the connection to the history and continuity of the show, he is also there as the fandom stand­‑in. In the altered timeline he is the one who knows how the things were and how they should be, and endeavors to right them – and the fixing of the universe’s history begins with fixing its emotional core, the relationship between Kirk and Spock. He has the same extra­‑textual knowledge the audience possesses, and tries to guide the events, just like a fan might in a fanfic or a fanvid. And as the vidders use the same clips that featured in “Dante’s Prayer,” they create additional levels of meaning available for the fan who is aware of the vidding history, who has another level of extra­‑textual knowledge and is able to interpret the scene within the wider scope. In the last segment of “The Long Spear,” the footage of the conversation between two Spocks continues, but the music comes back to the originally used Simon and Garfunkel song, with one change: this time it is sung by a voice of a female fan. The final lyrics are: “Now the years are rolling by me, they are rockin’ evenly, I am older than I once was, And younger than I’ll be, that’s not unusual. No, it isn’t strange, after changes upon changes, We are more or less the same, After changes, we are more or less the same.” What 26 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

is significant, it is that this verse is missing from the wide release of the song on the “Bridge Over Troubled Water” record, and it has only been played at a handful of live performances. “The Long Spear” uses the original record‑ ing of the song, with the missing verse, but the lines themselves are added, sang by a fan, GreyBard. The verse overlays the footage of the old and young Spock, and the voice of the song, sang by the female fan, seems to be Spock Prime’s point of view, again stressing the dual nature of the Vulcan, possess‑ ing both male and female qualities, but also, in this case, as the character within the universe and as the voice of the audience commenting on the story. As Spock Prime offers a Vulcan greeting to his younger counterpart, there is another line of images embedded with the footage. As the lyrics say “we are more or less the same,” the greeting is repeated by other characters through‑ out the verse: Kirk, Spock and McCoy from the original series and movies, Captain Picard, and Captain Archer from the following spin­‑offs. And then “after changes” as the lyrics say and as the young Spock returns the greeting, raising his hand, so do others from the embedded images, characters and real people from our universe and pop culture: Stephen Colbert, Hiro from Heroes, Tony Dinozzo from NCIS, Zoe Saldana’s (new movie Uhura) character from Terminal, Sheldon Cooper from Big Bang theory, and finally, President Obama. All of them are shown with their hands up and fingers settled into a recognizable Vulcan salute, the sign of fannishness. Those images fade into photos taken especially for the vid: fans responding with the same gesture. Fanvidders work within a very specific fandom context, borrowing from the tradition of existing practices, entering a dialogue not only with cultural texts, but also with other fans within a larger fan community, often intend‑ ing to offer alternative readings. Not all fanvids, of course, aim to negotiate meaning or criticise the sources: some are celebratory or promotional. But their common characteristic is that vidders choose the material they work with very carefully and meticulously edit it to reinforce the message they wish to convey. Vidding is also an entirely subjective form of fan practices: in watching the vid the viewer is almost literally watching the original source through someone else’s eyes, as the footage has been almost entirely decontextualised and reappropriated. Of course, some members of the media audience are used to looking at media texts through someone else’s lens: it has been often pointed out that the camera’s view follows the male gaze, forcing the identification with a male subject most often looking at female objects on the viewer, regardless of their gender or sexual orientation. In this way the vidding shift of the gaze could be seen not only as a subversion of the mainstream standard, but also as a reclaiming of the gaze. Favidding is a relatively new form of expression, even though not as recent as one might expect from its present strong ties to the internet. It is not, however, widely researched, and one can hope that the ideas touched upon within this article would be expanded on further in the years to come, particularly as the social media and prosumer culture­ ‑oriented web tools make vidding easier, more accessible, and widely available. As audiences become more savvy in interpreting meanings through multiple channels at once, vidding could be seen as an example of how we will look at and consume media in the near future, and also how the audiences will communicate between themselves and negotiate the meanings provided by the creators. Joanna Kucharska Also these voices 27

Works Cited Barrett, M. interview, quoted in “Majel Barrett­‑Rodenbery” in Memory Alpha, http://en.memory­‑alpha.org/wiki/Majel_Barrett­‑Roddenberry (13.03.2014) Bechdel, Alison. “The Rule” in Dykes to Watch Out For: The Blog, 2005, http:// alisonbechdel.blogspot.com/2005/08/rule.html (13.03.2014) Bury, R. Cyberspaces of their Own: Female Fandom Online, New York: Peter Lang, 2005. Coppa, F. (dir), Shapiro, Laura (ed), “Good Vids, Bad Vids,” in OTW Fan‑ vidding series, http://techtv.mit.edu/videos/1247­‑otw­‑fanvidding­‑series­ ‑good­‑vids­‑bad­‑vids (13.03.2014) Coppa, F. “A Brief History of Media Fandom,” in Karen Hellekson and Kris‑ tina Busse, Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Jef‑ ferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2006. Coppa, F. “Celebrating Kandy Fong: Founder of Fannish Music Video,” in media res: a media commons project, http://mediacommons.futureofthe‑ book.org/imr/2007/11/19/celebrating­‑kandy­‑fong­‑founder­‑of­‑fannish­ ‑music­‑video (13.03.2014) Coppa, F. “Gender and Fan Culture (Round Fourteen, part One): Frances‑ ca Coppa and Robert Kozinets”, in Confessions of an Aca­‑Fan: The Official Weblog of Henry Jenkins, September 6 2007 Coppa, F. in interview by Jesse Walker, „Remixing Television: Francesca Coppa on the Vidding Underground,” Reason Magazine, August/September, 2008, http://reason.com/archives/2008/07/18/remixing­‑television (13.03.2014) Coppa, F. “Women, Star Trek, and the early development of fannish vidding”, Transformative Works and Cultures no 1., http://journal.transformative‑ works.org/index.php/twc/article/view/44 (13.03.2014) De Certeau, M. (1984). The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. Steven Rendall, Berkeley and London: University of California Press,. Fiske, J. (1989). Moments of Television: Neither the Text nor the Audience, [ in: ] Ellen Seiter and others, eds. Remote Control. Television, Audiences, and Cultural Powers, London: Routledge Fiske, J. (1987). Television Culture, London: Methuen, Fiske, J. (1989). Understanding Popular Culture, Boston: Unwin Hyman, Here’s Luck, “new vid: “The Test” (Star Trek, reboot + TOS), March 15th 2010, http://heresluck.livejournal.com/308207.html (13.03.2014) Jenkins, H. (2006).Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide, New York and London: New York University Press. Jenkins, H. (2006). How to Watch a Fanvid, [ in: ] Confessions of an Aca­‑Fan: The Official Weblog of Henry Jenkins, 18 September 2006, http://www.hen‑ ryjenkins.org/2006/09/how_to_watch_a_fanvid.html (13.03.2014) Jenkins, H. (1992). Textual Poachers, New York: Routledge, JMTorres, “Vid announcement: Star Trek, The Long Spear,” http://jmtorres. dreamwidth.org/1366457.html (13.03.2014) Lamb, Patricia Frazier and Veith, Diana L. (1986). Romantic Myth, Transcen‑ dence and Star Trek Zines, [ in: ] Erotic Universe: Sexuality and Fantastic Literature, edited by Donald Palumbo, New York: Greenwood Lehtonen, M. (2000). Cultural Analysis of Texts, London: SAGE Publications Inc. “Pressure – a metavid by California Crew,” media res: a media commons project, curated by Francesca Coppa, http://mediacommons.futureofthebook.org/ imr/2008/01/28/pressure­‑metavid­‑california­‑crew (13.03.2014) 28 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

Russ, J. (1995). What Can a Heroine Do? or Why Women Can’t Write, [ in: ] To Write Like a Woman: Essays in Feminism and Science Fiction, Bloom‑ ington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press Sarkeesian, A. 2009 “The Bechdel Test for Women in Movies”, http://www. youtube.com/watch?hl=en&v=bLF6sAAMb4s&gl=US (13.03.2014) Walton, Jo. “The Dyer of Lorbannery”, February 23rd 2004, http://papersky. livejournal.com/143157.html (13.03.2014)

30 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Rafał Uzar The ­Effect of ­Technology on Language and the ­Importance of Language Technologies

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109975 R a f a ł U z a r T h e ­E f f e c t o f ­Technology on Language 31

Rafał Uzar is a graduate There were still occasions when words printed on‑ of Lancaster Univers‑ pieces of paper were the most convenient medium of ity and the University communication. of Łódź. He specializes in language technolo‑ (Clarke, A. C. 1987:126) gies, corpus linguistics, translation, translation training and journalism. 1. Introduction

Language and technology have always been intrinsically connected. In 1960, Ted Nelson developed ‘hypertext’ as part of the Xanadu Project, which lay the foundations for the invention of the World Wide Web by Tim Berners­‑Lee almost thirty years later. Back in the 1960s, the celebrated writer, scientist and inventor Arthur C. Clarke envisaged a world in which computers could be accessed in one’s own home and could provide us with information to help in our daily needs. Clarke talked about people being able to access their bank accounts and buy theatre tickets with a console the size of a book.

Floyd sometimes wondered if the Newspad, and the fantastic technology behind it, was the last word in man’s quest for perfect communications … It was hard to imagine how the system could be improved or made more convenient. But sooner or later, Floyd guessed, it would pass away, to be replaced by something as unimaginable as the Newspad itself would have been to Caxton or Gutenberg. There was another thought which a scanning of those tiny electronic headlines often invoked. The more wonderful the means of com‑ munication, the more trivial, tawdry, or depressing its contents seemed to be … the newspapers of Utopia, he had long decided, would be terribly dull. (Clarke, 1968:53)

The following paper is divided into three sections. The first section will touch upon the historical context of technological development with refer‑ ence to language. The second section will focus on the idea that technology plays a leading role in changing language. This includes the internet as well as computers, tablets, smartphones, mobiles and the suchlike. The third section will deal with some of the language technologies and linguistic tools that are currently being used to manipulate, analyze and quantify language data, something never hitherto undertaken to this extent. 2. Typography as Energy

In parallel with the sci­‑fi prognostications and predictions of Arthur C. Clarke and William Gibson, the media theory scholar and philosopher Marshall McLuhan posited the idea of a “global village” in his 1962 The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographic Man. Following in the footsteps of the great philosophers of human history, he also gave credence to the idea that human civilization had forever been riding on an evolutionary wave of intellectual development, spurred on by the invention of increasingly complex technologies. 32 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

In fact, McLuhan was convinced that contemporary human civilization had recently crossed an event horizon and was moving headlong into a new phase of history and growth. The future was tangible but, as always, a nebulous unknown.

The next medium, whatever it is (1) it may be the extension of consciousness, (2) will include television as its content, not as its environment, and (3) will transform television into an art form. A computer as (4) a research and com‑ munication instrument could (5) enhance retrieval, (6) obsolesce mass library organization, (7) retrieve the indi‑ vidual’s encyclopedic function and flip into (8) a private line to (9) speedily tailored data of (10) a saleable kind. (McLuhan, 1964:10)

At a time where there were no PCs in our sense of the word, or the internet, both Arthur C. Clarke and Marshall McLuhan, to name but two scholars, were acutely aware of the feeling that the western world, and by extension human civilization, was at a remarkable tipping point and on the brink of technological progress. They both envisaged a world in which knowledge and data, embedded firmly in the linguistic sphere, would be of great if not central importance. Popular science, to name but one area of study, has seen a slew of publications in recent years documenting the role that technology has had in mankind’s development. A handful of example titles include: The Big Ideas That Changed the World (published 2010), Inventors That Changed the World (2011), Breverton’s Encyclopedia of Inventions: A Compendium of Technological Leaps, Groundbreaking Discoveries and Scientific Breakthroughs that Changed the World(2012), Inventions: A History of Key Inventions that Changed the World (2012), A History of the World in 100 Objects (2012). In each publication, similar inventions can be found. The wheel, electricity, the airplane, the printing press, the telephone, the steam engine, the radio, the television, the automobile, the computer and the internet are all among the top technologies. Of the eleven mentioned here, at least five (plus computers) are intrinsically linked to linguistic communication. What is more, each of these new technologies has helped shrink our world.

And somewhere in the shadowy centuries that had gone before they had invented the most essential tool of all… They had learned to speak, and so had won their first great victory over Time… with the taming of fire, he had laid the foundations of technology… The tribe grew into the village, the village into the town. Speech became eternal, thanks to certain marks on stone and clay and papyrus. (Clarke, 1968:32)

These advances more often than not go hand in glove with language (or even literacy). The former have had, and will continue to have, an overwhelming effect on the latter, and in turn have a residual effect on our cognitive ap‑ paratus. Writing has given us the ability to perform complex calculations and contemplate abstract philosophical notions, therefore, giving us the weaponry for cognitive advancement. R a f a ł U z a r T h e ­E f f e c t o f ­Technology on Language 33

Marshall McLuhan was aware of this fact and in The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographic Manposited an alluring concept – human history can be categorized into four discrete phases of development:

Oral Culture Manuscript Culture Gutenberg Culture Electronic Culture

The catalyst for the shift from one ‘culture’ (viz. epoch) to another is the crea‑ tion or invention of a new (communicative and/or linguistic) medium. Thus, the Manuscript Culture was preceded by the invention of (phonemic) writing systems, which also serves to explain why different societies, states, countries etc. can reside in different ‘cultures’ (to use McLuhan’s term). Therefore, the Sumerians and Egyptians were the contemporaneous initiators of what later became a Manuscript Culture thanks to the new ‘technology’ of cuneiform and hieroglyphic script, kick­‑starting the early phonemic systems of language recording of this new epoch. As a side note and on a micro scale, it is interesting to consider Sumer (of the Sumerians) which was conquered by the Akkadian Empire whose language Akkadian was later displaced by Aramaic, the language of Christ. Many scholars, George Roux and John Sawyer to name but two, believe this latter displacement to be a direct result of the use of a “relatively easy alphabetic script” (Sawyer, J. 1999:14) by Aramaic rather than the “cumber‑ some cuneiform” (Roux, G. 1992:276) of Akkadian, the legacy of Sumer. Perhaps, this is one example of a technological medium having a direct impact on language. Following the ‘cultural’ advancement of humanity through the invention of phonemic and alphabetic systems, the next thrust that lifted up the peo‑ ples of the Manuscript Culture was the technology of the moveable type in Johannes Gutenberg’s printing press which rocketed humanity to the giddy heights of the Gutenberg Culture. In the same way that Gutenberg’s legacy empowered the peoples of its respective epoch, so Olivetti’s Programma 101 initiated the Electronic Age in 1965. The Programma 101 was the world’s first commercial personal desktop computer. However, does it end here? McLuhan’s four cultures could be augmented with a fifth (or perhaps an appendix to the fourth): the Information Age. Tim Berners­‑Lee’s invention not only poured oil on the flames of an already blazing technology, but it also democratized it, giving PCs the neces‑ sary software to ‘go forth and multiply’. The Information Age empowered the Electronic Age. 3. Technology as Catalyst the emergence of knowledge societies makes literacy even more critical than in the past. Achieving widespread literacy can only happen in the context of building literate societies that encourage individuals to acquire and use their literacy skills. (UNESCO Institute for Statistics 2008: 9) 34 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

A question that begs to be asked is whether the knowledge society/infor‑ mation age (or Information Age) that we live in now will bootstrap literacy. Will computers (and the internet) improve literacy or is full literacy needed to develop a knowledge society? However, the big change that the internet has tangibly brought about is the democratization of language itself, allowing for its unfettered (and perhaps undisciplined) use. The internet has brought with it a new wave of language awareness. This meta­‑linguistic discourse is often manifested in the popular belief that the new medium has polluted or vulgarized the language. In the face of the liberalized use of language, a certain degree of conservative pushback is expected. Linguistic conservatives live in the fear that the language may be further corrupted which has led to calls for better writing, spelling and grammar:

pupils (or students as they are mysteriously called) are not taught such rules of spelling as may exist and certainly aren’t tested on them. As for adverbs, subjects, objects or clauses, let alone such fabulous monsters as subjunc‑ tives, children are left in sublime ignorance of them. So [ UK Minister of Education ] Michael Gove’s call for grammar to be taught in primary schools is sweet and catchy music to my ears. (Wordsworth, The Telegraph, 6 July, 2012)

This is not an isolated opinion and in recent years there have been many calls for English schools to reinstall grammar, spelling, rhetoric, ‘good’ English as well as grammar schools back into the system, much to the chagrin of most educationalists (the United Kingdom Literacy Association, to name but one). They are fully aware that linguistic conservatism is nothing new and, when implemented, has generally not had a tangibly positive effect on the improvement of language skills amongst the youngest of learners. It is enough to turn back the clock exactly one hundred years to see that similar sentiments were also rife:

The English have no respect for their language, and will not teach their children to speak it. They spell it so abominably that no man can teach himself what it sounds like. It is impossible for an Englishman to open his mouth without making some other Englishman hate or despise him. (Shaw, 1912:1)

In fact, we could turn the clock back another two hundred years, five hundred years or even a thousand years and read similar statements bemoaning the state of the language, be it German, French or even Latin. Every generation in nearly every state in the world has its fair share of linguistic warriors ready to fight the evils of linguistic modernity. Indeed, tempus fugit. And with it language also. Computers and the internet, therefore, should in no way be seen as ‘harming’ the language. In fact, literacy has improved over time, not the other way around. New technologies are feeding into language and changing the way we use it. An obvious example of this is the use of text messaging on mobile phones, smartphones, tablets and the suchlike. To appreciate the impact ‘texting’ has R a f a ł U z a r T h e ­E f f e c t o f ­Technology on Language 35 had on modern society, it is enough to look at the statistics regarding the use of SMSes in recent years.

Time Period No. of texts June 2002 1.38 billion June 2004 2.11 billion June 2006 3.51 billion June 2008 6.31 billion

Table 1. Text Messages Sent in UK (Mobile Data Association)

Research figures from Deloitte tell us that 145 billion mobile text messages were sent in 2013. This figure is predicted to fall over the coming months. However, during the same period, 160 billion instant messages (IMs) were sent over mobile networks and this figure is set to rocket to 300 billion by the end of 2014. Despite another technological shift in the guise of IMs, to the detriment of SMSes, text messaging has already left its indelible mark on our language. SMS language has become as ubiquitous as it once was notorious and slated by linguistic conserva‑ tives. Words (and pragmatic markers) like OMG, LOL, CU have encroached into our everyday written and spoken language thanks to the medium.

Linguists have actually shown that when we’re speaking casually in an unmonitored way, we tend to speak in word packets of maybe seven to 10 words… Speech is much looser. It’s much more telegraphic. It’s much less reflec‑ tive, very different from writing. So we naturally tend to think, because we see language written so often, that that’s what language is, but actually what language is, is speech. What texting is, despite the fact that it involves the brute mechanics of something that we call writing, is fingered speech … Now we can write the way we talk … But the fact of the matter is that what is going on is a kind of emergent complexity. That’s what we’re seeing in this fingered speech. . there is new structure coming up. (McWhorter, 2013)

Therefore, the medium of mobile phones has squeezed language into a new dialectal variation. This “emergent complexity” is a prime example (and the sec‑ ond in this paper after the example of writing systems) of how technology is in a very real sense fashioning the way we write and speak. This applies not only to texting but the internet in general. Words are also shifting in mean‑ ing thanks to new usages on the internet. Liking can now mean ‘befriending someone on a social networking website or approving of something on a social network’. Unfriending is often cause for concern and is the act of deleting a friend (!) from a social network. This is not only limited to the English language. Journalist Aleksan‑ dra Krzyżaniak­‑Gumowska (Newsweek Polska, 2 August, 2013) lists a host of wonderful gems we can find in Polish. This emergent complexity has added to the vocabulary of modern Polish. This includes words and phrases likesłit focia (eng. selfie, from ‘sweet photo’),lajk (form eng. ‘like’), the verb hejtować (to hate) or even hasztagować (to hashtag). Other social networking words like OMG (Oh my God), YOLO (you only live once) or SWAG (panache, style) 36 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

have crept into Polish so much so that they are an intrinsic part of the vo‑ cabulary of texting, instant messaging and the internet. Our third example of the technological medium affecting language. The force with which we are witnessing language development as a result of technological progress is so powerful that even seemingly conservative circles are reluctantly having to accept the march of progress. Between 2013 and 2014, the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) added a host of new words to its pages. Examples include interoperability (ability to share information between systems), bestie (one’s best friend – compare selfie, a photograph one has taken of oneself, typically with a smartphone and uploaded to a social media website), to live­‑blog (post commentaries while an event is taking place in the form of short blog updates), TBH (to be honest), geekery (obses‑ sive interest in a specialist subject), and Aspie (a person with Asperger’s syndrome). The fact that the last entry has entered the OED at this present time is of particular import as several scholars attest that individuals with levels of autism and Asperger’s syndrome demonstrate competences that can be made use of in the computerized world, a very real example of how technology might be altering society (and perhaps another example of how technology is affecting change).

And the other thing is the high incidence of hackers like these who have characteristics which are consist‑ ent with Asperger’s syndrome. Now I discussed this with Professor Simon Baron­‑Cohen who’s the professor of developmental psychopathology at Cambridge. And he has done path­‑breaking work on autism and confirmed, also for the authorities here, that Gary McKinnon, who is wanted by the United States for hacking into the Pen‑ tagon, suffers from Asperger’s and a secondary condition of depression. And Baron­‑Cohen explained that certain disabilities can manifest themselves in the hacking and computing world as tremendous skills, and that we should not be throwing in jail people who have such disabilities and skills… We need to engage and find ways of offering guidance to these young people, because they are a remarkable breed. (Glenny, 2011) 4. (Language) Awareness as Liberation

As we have seen, technology is having a critical effect on language. However, we are only able to make sense of these changes thanks to the linguistic tools which have come to the fore in recent years allowing us to collect, analyze and quantify linguistic data. The rise of the personal computer has not only had a profound effect on language use, it has had a revolutionary impact on lan‑ guage research and given thousands of linguists access to myriad linguistic processing tools. The fact that the OED has added and continues to add such modern terms as those mentioned above to its dictionary is largely thanks to (personal) computers. Between 1993 and 2013 when John Simpson was R a f a ł U z a r T h e ­E f f e c t o f ­Technology on Language 37

Chief Editor of the Oxford English Dictionary, a staggering 60,000 new words and meanings were added. This does not necessarily mean that the English language has dramati‑ cally expanded in recent years (compared with previous times) but the advent of new language technologies has allowed linguists to catalogue in details how the language has changed. This has all been made possible largely thanks to the birth of corpus linguistics. The corpus is a large body of real language, a database or repository of linguistic data. On the face of it, this may not seem revolutionary as text­‑based research and studies were being undertaken in the past, for example by German stenographer Friedrich Wilhelm Käding in 1897, who collected 11 million words of German in order to study the spelling conventions used in the language (McEnery & Wilson, 1996). However, the revolutionary aspect was applying the scientific method in linguistic research and making these large collections of linguistic data machine­‑readable, structured and sampled. This began in the 1960s with the work of Henry Kucera and W. Nelson, who developed the now legendary Brown Corpus and wrote the innovative Computational Analysis of Present­‑Day American English (1967), both of which paved the way for a seismic shift in modern linguistics from prescriptivism and to descriptivism. Linguistics had hitherto been largely concerned with how the language should be spoken rather than how it actually is spoken. Although this is not to say descriptivism did not exist, it simply was not at the forefront of research. Linguists understood that empirical language research must lie with high­‑end statistical analyses. The key was to collect as much sampled linguistic data as possible in order to begin making informed suggestions about what was going on in language. As J.R. Firth’s succinctly claimed: “You shall know a word by the company it keeps” (1957:11). This approach also led to other innovative computer corpus projects, such as the Lancaster­‑Oslo­‑Bergen Corpus (LOB) and the ground­‑breaking British National Corpus (BNC), which is seen as the benchmark for modern corpora today. It continues to be used by linguists, lexicographers, language teachers and sociologists alike for research on British English, British society and British culture. Today, almost all corpora are ‘tagged’, that is they include part­‑of­‑speech data and sometimes other important information including semantic and pragmatic data (or even translation error data – see Uzar, R. 2006). The part­ ‑of­‑speech tagging of corpora is undertaken using automatic probabilistic systems to tag the words found therein (for more information see: Levin, Pęzik, Uzar 2005; Uzar, 2006; Uzar, Waliński 2001). This gives linguists an incredibly powerful tool as, once annotated, a corpus can give us a snapshot of linguistic performance at a very specific point in time. The corpus, if sam‑ pled correctly, can give us insights that we might never have known before. This meta­‑knowledge is being utilized today in a host of different industries. Modern lexicography is one area that has benefited immensely from the use of linguistic statistical work. Frequency lists tell us the frequency with which a word is used and concordancers show us the context (collocations) in which certain words and phrases are grouped together, inspired perhaps by Firth’s ideas on context. To do similar meta­‑linguistic calculations in one’s head would take days, months and perhaps years. This allows corpus linguists (lexicographers or sociologists) to track changes in the meanings of words over time or the appearance of new words or even the frequency of use of certain words over others and make inferences about society. Recent work by Tony McEnery of Lancaster University (McEnery, A and Xiao, Z. 2004; McEnery, 38 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

T. 2006) has given us insights about swearing in the English language with regards sex and class as well as fascinating studies of the attitudes of the modern English press towards Islam and the Muslim world. Forensic linguistics is another field that has profited from these methodolo‑ gies. Authorship tools and anti­‑plagiarism systems are based on corpus research. An example of this is research undertaken by Boston University, which found that large parts of Martin Luther King’s 1955 doctoral dissertation had been plagiarized. Another example is recent work on discovering if Shakespeare was actually the author of his own works, as opposed to Christopher Marlowe, Francis Bacon or Edward de Vere (made famous by the film Anonymous). The work has been undertaken using comparative corpus methodologies. Forensic linguistics also makes use of corpus­‑based statistical techniques for, amongst others, intellectual property disputes and voice identification. One of the most ubiquitous tools of the modern information age, Google Translate, is another that benefits from the new technology that is the corpus. It works by gathering vast collections of bilingual parallel translations (see: Uzar, 2006) and aligning them with each other, a task which is largely done automatically. This is followed by the extraction of key words, phrases and collocations which are retrieved as soon as the user needs a text translated. The quality of the translation largely depends on whether the Google Trans‑ late corpus has a text of similar style and register in its repository or not. The system learns by doing – the more texts it has and the more feedback it gets, the better it becomes. It is a self­‑learning system inspired by concepts of artificial intelligence. The once half­‑baked idea of a ‘Universal Translator’ may not be as ridiculous as it once was thought to be. Another crucial language technology is Natural Language Processing – a marriage of computer science, linguistics and artificial intelligence. Develop‑ ments in corpus linguistics owe a great deal to NLP. Synergistically, the construc‑ tion of ever larger corpora hundreds of millions of words in size have allowed scientists to create better algorithms for statistical models that use probabilistic techniques (for example, part­‑of­‑speech tagging) which give us hope for artificial intelligence. Language research, therefore, is playing an important role in perhaps the most important technological step awaiting us. Speech recognition and speech production software are the tangible results of this drive towards AI. British scientist Alan Turing is said to have been the father of artificial intelligence, and to some extent NLP. The Turing Test was a philosophical test designed to distinguish the behavior of a machine from a human. If a machine’s behavior was indistinguishable from a human then could this lead to the supposition that the machine was intelligent, or even sentient? The idea might seem purely philosophical, however, the idea of the Turing test has been put to use with great success in the CAPTCHA system that most of us see on the internet during tests of identity. The CAPTCHA system (Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart) is a user identification procedure to determine whether a user is a human or not. It is in fact a reverse Turing test and is based on the human ability to recognize and decipher jumbled words. 5. Conclusion

Language technologies, although never often in the spotlight, are in fact a critical part of modern lives. Whether it is hashtagging a picture on Instagram, R a f a ł U z a r T h e ­E f f e c t o f ­Technology on Language 39 translating a text on Google Translate, verifying the authorship of a text or simply using an online dictionary, society has become more meta­‑linguistically aware than ever before. In the Information Age all forms of data are invalu‑ able. What is more, data is power. And linguistic data is perhaps the most valuable. Many of the world’s national surveillance security systems seem to agree and make use of basic linguistic algorithms and concepts, including word and phrase frequency lists, keys words or keyness (how crucial a word is to its context) in order to analyze, track and monitor the language we are all using. We are surrounded with examples of how language and technology are working together and developing each other. Several examples of the synergetic and symbiotic development of lan‑ guage and technology have been mentioned here. Modern technology con‑ tinues to shape language and society. Our first example was the invention of the cuneiform script by the Sumerians, which gave rise to a “Manuscript Culture” able to record language, thoughts and ideas in order to pass them on to the next generation. Another language technology, the printing press, led to another shift, to the “Gutenberg Culture”. Computers have brought us into the “Electronic Age”. Personal computing, it can be argued, is undoing the work of previously ages by doing away with the need for handwriting. Official letters and formal correspondence, if not typed and printed, are sent electronically nowadays. The need to write by hand is becoming increasingly rare. More recently, the “emergent complexity” of texting has demonstrated how the medium of mobile phones has created “fingered speech”, a completely new variety of language. A new variety of language. Technology has had a profound effect on language: it is changing it, modifying it and augmenting it. What lies ahead can only be guessed at.

Works Cited Clarke, A. C. (1968) 2001: A Space Odyssey. Hutchinson. London. Clarke, A. C. (1987) 2061: Odyssey Three. Random House. New York. Gibson, W. (1984) Neuromancer. Harper Collins Publishers. London. Glenny, M. (2011) Hire the Hackers! TEDGlobal. Firth, J. R. (1957) Papers in Linguistics 1934 – 1951. Oxford University Press. London. Levin, E., P. Pęzik and R. Uzar (2005) Zastosowania baz danych w języko‑ znawstwie [ Using Databases in Linguistics ] [ in: ] Podstawy Językoznaw‑ stwa Korpusowego: Łódź University Press. Łódź. McEnery, T. and A. Wilson (1996) Corpus Linguistics. Edinburgh Universi‑ ty Press. Edinburgh. McEnery, A and Xiao, Z. (2004) Swearing in modern British English: The Case of Fuck in the BNC. “Language and Literature”. 13:235 – 268. SAGE publications. London, Thousand Oaks, New Delhi. McEnery, T. (2006) Swearing in English: Bad language, purity and power from 1586 to the present. Routledge. London and New York. McLuhan, M. (1962) The Gutenberg Galaxy: The Making of Typographic Man. University of Toronto Press. Toronto. McLuhan, M. (1964) Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. The MIT Press. London. McWhorter, J. (2013) Txtng is killing language. JK!!! TED2013. 40 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

Oxford English Dictionary Online (1989 – 2014). Oxford University Press. Orwell, G. (1949) Nineteen Eighty­‑Four. Random House. London. Roux, G. (1992) Ancient Iraq. Penguin. London. Sawyer, J. (1999) Sacred Languages and Sacred Texts. Routledge. London. Shaw, G. B. (1912) Pygmalion. Penguin Classics. London. UNESCO Institute for Statistics (2008) International Literacy Statistics: A Re‑ view Of Concepts, Methodology and Current Data. UNESCO Institute for Statistics, Montreal. Uzar, R. (2006) Korpusy w nauczaniu tłumaczenia i w pracy tłumacza [ Cor‑ pora in translation training and the translation process ], [ in: ] Korpusy w Angielsko­‑Polskim Językoznawstwie Kontrastywnym. Universitas, Kraków. (156 – 179) Uzar, R., J. Waliński (2001) Testing the Fluency of Translator, [ in: ] “Interna‑ tional Journal of Corpus Linguistics”, 6 (155 – 166).

42 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Urszula Pawlicka Is There a Litera­ ture

in This 1 Class?

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109978

1 This work was funded by The National Science Centre, Grant Number 103 398340. Urszula Pawlicka Is There a Litera ­ture in This Class? 43

Urszula Pawlicka The literary work called Electronic Literature, by Roman Bromboszcz (Bro‑ is a PhD candi‑ mboszcz, 2008: 33 – 35), from the digital.prayer volume, without any doubt date at the University is to be categorized as poetry, considering, among others, the verse form of Warmia and Mazury in Olsztyn, member of the text, its vividness, repeatability, metaphorical nature or rhythmicity. of Laboratory of Interse‑ Paradoxically, this poem presents the process of formulating poetry, deter‑ miotic and Intermedia mined by Bromboszcz as cybernetic, and popularized by the Perfokarta group Research at the Faculty of Polish Studies, Univer‑ (Perfokarta, n.d). The artist defined it as follows: “I meant the poetry which sity of Warsaw. Co­‑author puts inspiration in brackets and attempts to create texts, which could be re‑ of Hiperteksty literackie. Literatura i nowe media ferred to as machines, the poetry which embarks on problems associated with (ed. by P. Marecki and technology, particularly artificial intelligence, automated technology, robotics, M. Pisarski, 2011), author as well as knowledge­‑power issues, censorship etc” (Bromboszcz, 2010: 99). of (Polska) poezja cy- bernetyczna. Konteksty In Electronic Literature, he presents the method of generating cybernetic works i charakterystyka (2012). which is not based on awaiting the inspiration, but rather on the transfer, as he remarks himself: “In the cybernetic poetry that I compose, either I reset myself completely and write like an automaton, trying not to correct anything, or I have a dictionary, a database and I look for connections” (Pawlicka, 2010a). Automatism and randomization of cybernetic poetry put a question mark over its classification as part of literature, of which the above properties are largely untypical. Although literariness of the quoted work is beyond doubt, the projects of Perfokarta group problematize the issue even more. The presentations of Wariacje na Kwadrat Magiczny by Bromboszcz, or rozstrzelam_krew by Łukasz Podgórni immediately result in the question whether they still constitute poetry. Following the emotional impulse, to use the category introduced by Edward Balcerzan and discussed further in this essay (Balcerzan, 2013: 12 – 27), to classify it as poetry comes across as adequate. But whenever I am asked about the literariness of digital works, I invoke Stanley Fish in my heart of hearts, particularly his famous anecdote on the lecture during which a female student asked him: “Is there a text in this class?” In‑ spired by this event, in his own article Fish describes the process of bringing meanings of words into life, and their function in social communication, which “takes place only within some such a system (as well as context, situation or interpretative community), and that the agreement reached by two or more persons is appropriate for this system and is applicable only in the framework of its restrictions” (Fish, 2003: 194). Fish’s question: “How communication is possible at all, if not by relating it to some public and stable norm?” (Fish, 2003: 209) makes one aware that the recipient who embraces digital literature will use the acquired knowledge in the field of literature and the entire ac‑ cumulated experience related to its perception. Further, the same recipient will place digital literature solely within the area of literature, as a result of which any attempt to interpret it with the existing research tools will be in vain. The emotional impulse must be accompanied by the scientific impulse which systematically defines that there is digital literature in these classes. Katherine Hayles, who writes about the necessity to explain literariness, claims that: “electronic literature arrives on the scene after five hundred years of print literature (and, of course, even longer manuscript and oral traditions). Readers come to digital work with expectations formed by print, including extensive and deep tacit knowledge of letter forms, print conventions, and print literary modes. Of necessity, electronic literature must build on these expectations even as it modifies and transforms them” (Hayles, 2011). Ac‑ cording to the quoted statement, digital literature is supposed to explain its literariness, or rather specify in what way it is handled and, further down, redefine literariness at the time of digital, multimedia and convergent culture. 44 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

The phenomenon of “interlacing realms” in literature under the influence of different media, was pointed out by Agnieszka Fulińska, who sums it up as follows: “in this way, the ultimate interlacing of realms takes place, which once used to be separate, cultural worlds: of documentary and fiction, of continuity of events and of fragmentariness, of the word and the image. Obviously, the constituents of such means might be found in the bygone days, from before the revolution of new media, however the total freedom to join all forms of communicativeness and taking its institutional literariness (artistry) or colloquialism (docummentarism) for granted, is a distinctive feature of the modern times, in which not only medium is message, but also the way that we receive the message, is certainly dependent on the medium through which it is transmitted to us” (Fulińska, 2012: 468 – 469). The purpose of this article is to present the way in which digital literature announces its literariness. The first part includes a definition of digital literature, followed by reflection questions, which, however, do not necessarily require unequivocal answers. The second part mentions current methods of defining literariness and its inclusion criteria. The third part focuses on reasons why the term literariness is being blurred, with reference to digital literature, and presents a number of notions from within the artistic and literary culture which indicate that the borders between media and those domains are be‑ ing erased. The final part determines the factors that identify digital works as pieces of literature. Defining Digital Literature

“Electronic literature, or e­‑lit, refers to works of highly vital literary aspects that take advantage of the capabilities and contexts provided by a stand­‑alone or networked computer” (ELO, n.d.). This definition, found on the official site of Electronic Literature Organization, rather than providing a clear explanation arouses further doubts. The authors do not specify which ones among the “vital literary aspects” they refer to or how the relation between literary attributes and properties of the computer occurs. Their explanation of the definition denotes areas classified as belonging to electronic literature, and these are: hypertext fiction and poetry, kinetic poetry, interactive fiction, computer art, novels that take the form of emails, SMS messages, or blogs, poems and stories that are generated by computers, collaborative writing projects and online literary performances which develop new ways of writ‑ ing. The authors’ main objective, according to Hayles, was “to include both the works performed in digital media and work created on a computer but published in print” (Hayles, 2007). The controversial nature of the above description was noticed not only by Hayles, but also by Roberto Simanowski, who claims that the explanation concentrates more on the digital area which literature entered, rather than on the very nature of electronic literature (Simanowski, 2011: 27). Although further in the definition there appears a statement ensuring that art of word is the central reference point for electronic literature, the authors do not explain the correlation between this statement and the following one, which assumes that literature is not associated with any medium or institution, since it moves freely between different spaces ELO( , n.d.). The sheer number of summoned implementations included in digital litera‑ ture, exposes it to charges of losing its literary aspects in favor of the artistic Urszula Pawlicka Is There a Litera ­ture in This Class? 45 ones. Andrew Gallix in the article “Is literature just one big anti­‑climax?” (Gallix, 2008) critically describes digital literature, stating, among others, that it is losing its literary character. In the concluding remarks, he recalls the words of Mark Amerika, an artist who believed that “we are witnessing the emergence of a «digitally­‑processed intermedia art», in which literature and all the other genres of art are «remixed into yet other forms still not fully developed»” (Gallix, 2008). Gallix concludes that the number of similarities between “other forms” and literature is constantly decreasing. Dene Grigar, in her notable publication Electronic Literature: Where Is It? (Grigar, 2008) enters a polemic with Gallix’s theories and tries to supersede his charges. Grigar states that the allegations in question stem from a wrong diagnosis of digital literature, which, admittedly, requires a constant process of description and explanation. The researcher admits that the hybrid form and technological innovations exploited by artists, might, as a result, blur the literary content. Grigar, moreover, points out that perceptual processes in case of traditional literature differ greatly from the ones involved in the cognition of digital lit‑ erature. The latter is definitely more sense­‑oriented, thus the recipient is more willing to categorize the work as a work of art, rather than a piece of literature. Grigar is convinced that “the more ubiquitous computing becomes, the more we interact with media in electronic environments, the more we experience electronic writing, the easier it will be to expand our sensibility about literature created and distributed in mediums beyond print” (Grigar, 2008). Multimedia, kinesthetic, technological innovations, interactivity, multimodal perception, these are only some properties of digital literature and its nature, which is not as much interdisciplinary as transdisciplinary. In a publication devoted to the borderlands of arts, Seweryna Wysłouch introduces a list of important questions which, in the light of incessant development of the new media, keep updating themselves and require dynamic interpretation. “What is literariness? Are there any indicators of literariness?”, “What relations are there between literature and the non­‑literary discourse?”, ”Is utterance segmenta‑ tion supposed to account for the literariness of text exclusively? “(Wysłouch, 2009: 7 – 25). In fact, further questions emerge, parallel to the ones posed by Wysłouch, such as: should literariness be redefined? Is there a demand for establishing clear criteria of literariness for electronic literature? Is leaning towards categorization wise in the times of “interlacing realms”? Here, the transdisciplinary approach, mentioned before, seems to be the right solution, also according to Wysłouch who claims that “in contrast with the interdisciplinary research – these do not exhibit the borders and do not concentrate only on border phenomena, but through «action across» neutralize these borders completely” (Wysłouch, 2009: 22). Fluent transitions require not only flexible descriptions, on account of the dizzying pace of technological development, but also expressive descriptions, which emphasize and reinforce the identity of a given domain, in order not to decline literature completely as a result of (dangerous) transfers. 46 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Comprehending Literariness: from Linguistic Conceptualization to Communication

Sławiński’s dictionary of literary terms explains literariness as “a category implemented by the Russian formal school to indicate the set of proper‑ ties specific for literature, perceived as the art of word, which decide about its irreducibility to any other ways of speaking a language for cognitive, expressive or coaxing purposes” (Sławiński, 2002a: 283). In the first part of his definition, Sławiński emphasizes the meaning of systemness, which in other words signifies the introduction of a certain system of rules, by a group of researchers, which must be fulfilled in order to rank the work among pieces of literature. In the following passage, the author abandons the description of the structural conceptualization, shifting towards the communicative aspect. He claims that “literariness is a set of conditions, which in frames of the given social­‑literary awareness are to be fulfilled in a verbal statement so that it is classified among the works of literature” (Sławiński, 2002a: 283). This short sentence contains categories which perform an important function of determining the nature of literariness. Sławiński’s points out the following indicators of literatiness: systemness, social­‑literary awareness and literary canon. Therefore, the concept of literari‑ ness on one hand might be imposed by the brain trust, whereas on the other, it is established intuitively by community, assuming that this intuition can be located within the framework of the on­‑going canon to which the recipi‑ ent is appealing, in order to identify literariness of the work. Accordingly, the criteria of literariness are “historically and socially relative” (Sławiński, 2002a: 283) and each time shaped by literary communication, characterized through “the dominant way, in the given time and the environment, of com‑ prehending the individual nature of a literary work in the context of other verbal transmissions, i.e. approaching its conditions of literariness” (Sławiński, 2002b: 256). The communication is formed on the basis of a distinctive literary model, valid in a given community, which at the same time directly influences the process of forming a new way of thinking and defining literariness. The cat‑ egory of literariness is specified on the foundations of the prevailing context of metaliterary statements or literary manifestos, valid for the certain period. Consequently, literariness was reflected on by Russian structuralists, particularly by Roman Jakobson who enumerated three conditions of its existence: fictionality, vividness and defamiliarization. Wysłouch adds that following the poststructural turn, Jakobson’s conception had to be reassessed, because it was not appropriate anymore in the context of hybrid and multimedia literature (Wysłouch, 2009: 13 – 15). Marko Juvan, in the article “On Literariness: From Post­‑Structuralism to Systems Theory” (Juvan, 2000), points out various criteria of literariness. Above all, he underlines that literariness should not be explained by refer‑ ring exclusively to the text and using preconceived rules, as it was in the case of Russian formalists, but by appealing to the “exterior” conditions, among which he distinguishes: circumstances and the context of reception, literary conventions and literary institutions. These three areas, included in a literary Urszula Pawlicka Is There a Litera ­ture in This Class? 47 communication are responsible for shaping literariness, which is historically, socially and culturally conditioned. However, Juvan supports the system approach (established by community) which is the “most convincing reply to literary elaborateness” (Juvan, 2000). Nevertheless, it is essential that the systemic conceptualization utilized such tools and categories, which neither downgrade the meaning of literariness nor deny the fact that a given text should be ranked among pieces of literature. Literackość by Edward Balcerzan plays an important role in the discourse on the matter in question. Balcerzan scrupulously describes conditions in which the given notion is formed, as well as the way of establishing its semantic frames. The author stipulates four impulses (Balcerzan, 2013: 9 – 44) which, at the same time, are methods of comprehending literariness. The first, formal­‑linguistic impulse (or linguistics­‑related) perceives lit‑ erariness as a “literature­‑derived” form; according to the dictionary defini‑ tion quoted by Balcerzan, literariness is “a synonym of «literary character (typical of literary works)»” (Balcerzan, 2013: 11). Such conceptualization relates literariness exclusively to the encyclopedic description of literature and, within its frames, attempts to specify its meaning without evoking any other research contexts. The second, emotional impulse, already mentioned above, exploits emotions as means to decide about the literariness of a given work. “The knowledge of literariness of literature much more often manifests itself, following Viktor Shklovsky’s statement, in a «half­‑understandable» way, and if it happens to be verbalized, the process is temporary, intuitive and semiconscious. Still, its functional being is a fact beyond any doubt: after all, literary texts are dis‑ tinguished from the non­‑literary ones almost flawlessly on the base of some undefined and indescribable approach, albeit satisfying for many subjects” (Balcerzan, 2013: 13). Balcerzan discusses the given approach as directed by “literary consciousness and subconsciousness” and a “spontaneous cognition of literariness”. The emotional impulse also appears at the moment of relating the work to the literary tradition: “among the simplest ways of conduct‑ ing half­‑conscious identification of linguistic texts as literary texts we may confirm their connection with the palpable tradition, determined as literary, or searching for similarities to the constructions regarded, on the whole, as representative for literature (belonging to the generally accepted on­‑going canon)” (Balcerzan, 2013: 21). Since different literary, and particularly avant­ ‑garde, movements of this kind have defined literariness in different ways, theoreticians describe a work by appealing to particular poetics which functions in the literary tradition. This strategy allows to defend the thesis postulat‑ ing literariness of a work and, simultaneously, to point at its interpretative contexts. In the attempt to define literariness through emotional approach, Chris Funkhouser mentions digital poetry, which should be characterized according to literary tradition, among others to Dadaism and neo­‑avangarde (Funkhouser, 2007a: 24). Another proof is the passage of the manifesto by cybernetic poets, in which they openly recognize references to the history of literature: “the discourse with tradition undertaken by us is regarding: the Futurist poetry, so­‑called «zaum»; specific poetry, particularly in the area of «identity» and «contradictions», including the kaligram; phonetic and sound poetry; animation and the art­‑net (computer art)” (Perfokarta, n.d.). Another two impulses can be defined as ideological, directed by various ide‑ ologies, and the scientific. The latter is to be understood as appealing to existing theories and attempts to explain literariness. In this case, literariness of the work 48 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

is expressed through reference to on­‑going research practice, theoretical concep‑ tualizations, and poetics of the author or speech genres. Literariness, in this case, manifests itself on the base of situation; it might be understood and determined depending on the adopted criteria, shaped by the literary communication. This multitude of conceptualizations leads to a conclusion that literari‑ ness cannot be limited to rigid frames of one definition, because every art form heads for the violation of conventions, and therefore, eventually, puts a question mark over the existence of one stable description of literariness – inadequate to changing strategies, aesthetics and artistic styles. Balcerzan concludes: “there is an indefensible thesis which reputedly depicts one universal, unchanging and omnipresent «approach to literariness» in the linguistic substance of the literary work and amongst the components. If we are able to, without much difficulty, distinguish a certain group of works in which some specific, particularly active property is becoming the sign of membership for all copies from a given group to the art of word, we have to consider the high likelihood that the same feature will be marginalized in the neighboring areas of literature, and eventually will probably disappear from view entirely; at the same time some new, competitive attributes of literariness will appear” (Balcerzan, 2013: 61). Every attempt to define literariness proves that it is not possible to clearly and unambiguously specify its principles, since they are incessantly changed and updated depending on the social and cultural space. Digital Literature and the “Blurring” of Literariness

Digital literature undermines the definition of literariness expressed in accord‑ ance with its current image in the social awareness. It is vital to investigate reasons why its meaning is being blurred in electronic literature. Firstly, this kind of literature uses non­‑literal forms and signs, which often dominate over the verbal text. Such examples are reflected in the works of cybernetic poetry, where the word either does not occur at all, or it is supplanted by visual elements or sound. Cybernetic poets appeal to the tech‑ nology of transcoding, which relies on “scientific and procedural connection of the impressions picked up by one of senses with the impressions picked up by another sense” (Bromboszcz, 2011: 52), According to Bromboszcz, assigning sounds to letters, colors to sounds or colors to letters are all il‑ lustrations of transcoding. Another factor casting a shadow of doubt over this matter involves manifestos and statements of authors, which are likely to contain expressions contrary to the existing image of literature. Cybernetic poets, self­‑determining their own activity, style and aesthetics, utilize terms from non­‑literal branches, such as: cybernetics, information technology or computer art. Therefore, such texts make use of, among others, such notions as computer, machine, cyborg, randomization, generativity, noise, entropy or homeostat. In this context, one should also refer to the following statements: “Out of many existent and non­ ‑existent (yet) proceedings applied in writing it is possible to highlight: 1. (due to the course of events in the act of creation) machine­‑based composition – i.e. determining the set of elements which comprise both the randomization and selection factor; 2. (due to the techniques of creation (writing)) «cut­‑up»; 3. (in the view of the objectives) critical poem” (Perfokarta, n.d.); Bromboszcz: Urszula Pawlicka Is There a Litera ­ture in This Class? 49

“In the cybernetic poetry that I compose, I either reset myself completely and write like an automaton, trying not to correct anything, or I have a dictionary, a database and I look for connections” (Pawlicka, 2010a); Podgórni: “«In my poetry» the computer slaves away, replacing organic inspiration, and a man is in charge of it”. (Pawlicka, 2010b). Second reason why literariness is blurred in digital literature is the incor‑ poration of the sense of sight, as well as the hearing, touch, and even smell into cognitive processes of the poem apprehension (Kac, n.d.). Additionally, perception processes sometimes require bodily movement, in order to stimulate the creation of a text. As Dene Grigar mentions, multimodal perception is more intuitively associated with art rather than with literature. The active range of digital literature is the third reason making literariness more vague. Literature is not only accessible on the Internet or smartphones, but also displayed in the public sphere (as mapping art) and galleries. The term gallery alone produces artistic, not literary connotations. One example of such a case is the “Głos i fonem” (“Voice and phoneme”) exhibition, which took place on 10 May 2013 in the Gallery Siłownia in Poznań. The organizers wanted to “present a variety of attitudes which go beyond the stereotype of understanding the poetry and literature. It portrays such aesthetic phe‑ nomena which indicate the widening of literary devices and lead them beyond literature, in the direction of music, plastic arts and new media. The area can be referred to as processual redefinition of avant­‑garde experiments in the phonetic, sound and visual poetry” (Editor, n.d.). Connecting poetry, especially, its avant­‑garde related forms, with artistic implementations and the venue, created a multidimensional picture, to which the current methods of measuring the literary quality of works cannot be applied. “Głos i fonem” featured not only representatives of cybernetic poetry (Bromboszcz, Podgórni), but also persons associated with artistic activities (Joanna Adamczewska, Małgorzata Dawidek Gryglicka). “Widening the range of literary devices and leading them beyond literature”, one of main intentions of the organizers, leads to a situation, in which all statuses and categorizations are removed. A poet becomes an artist, and an artist becomes a poet. Mark Amerika, Noah Wardrip­‑Fruin, Roman Bromboszcz, and Zenon Fajfer are only a few figures who perform their activities on the intersection between digital literature and art. In the process of apprehending, the recipient finds it difficult to classify particular projects into the appropriate fields of art. As a consequence, digital works are described by some as examples of digital literature, and by others as conceptualizations of art. Screen by Camille Ut‑ terback and Romy Achituv is an exemplification of this issue, discussed by one critic in the context of literature (Górska­‑Olesińska, 2010a: 28 – 36), and by another located in the field of interactive art (Kluszczyński, 2010: 39). “Linie i krzyki/Lines and crimes”, an installation by Roman Bromboszcz included in the “Ciśnienie” (“Pressure”) exhibition, which took place in Siłownia on 1 June 2012 in Poznań, is another example. The organisers informed, among others, about computer art exhibition, that the recalled “Linie i krzyki/Lines and crime” can be classified as; asked about it, Bromboszcz replied in the fol‑ lowing words: “The work consists of cybernetic poetry with projection, sound and physical object as canvas with electronics” (Pawlicka 2012a). Answering the question whether the installation is still a piece of art or already a part of cybernetic poetry, in one of interviews he said that they were “mixed media”, and the applied term was supposed to combine cyberpoetry and computer art safely (Pawlicka 2012a). 50 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

Activity in different artistic fields is thus leading to consternation, and makes it difficult to locate particular projects within a certain field explicitly. Academic publications do not solve the problem, on the contrary, they em‑ phasize the fact that the border between digital literature and art is vanish‑ ing, however, they do not provide any explanation what the new relation is essentially about. The articlePoezja nomadyczna (Nomadic Poetry) by Monika Górska­‑Olesińska which pictures the nomadic nature of digital poetry is only one example (Górska­‑Olesińska, 2010b: 210 – 220), published in the book Sztuki w przestrzeni transmedialnej (Art in The Transmedial Space) and edited by Tomasz Załuski. Another one is Liberatura, e­‑literatura i… Remiksy, remediacje, redefinicje (Liberature, E­‑literature and…Remixes, Remediations, Redefinitions) (Górska­‑Olesińska ed., 2012) which, as the title seems to indicate, contains an analysis of digital literature and its varieties shaped under the influence of new media. Apart from the chapters concerning literature and electronic literature, the book also discusses multimedia art; however the presence of the latter chapter is not explained by the editor at all. Digital Literature and Digital Art

Diverse implementations and varieties of literature, developed under the in‑ fluence and with the use of new media, may be divided into three groups, depending on the interrelation between digital literature and digital art, i.e. transcoding (semiotic criteria), prosthesis (media convergence criteria) and absorption (criteria of the exhibition space for work). Transcoding consists in conversion of one sign to another, which entails different perception and involves other senses. Bromboszcz states: “I am going to define transcoding as precise and procedural connection of the impressions picked up by one of senses with the impressions picked up by another sense. I am also going to define transcoding as technological and procedural amalgamation of symbols, which belong to one field or genre of art, with symbols derived from some other kind of art – in accordance with the other existing definitions “(Bromboszcz, 2011: 52). Some of the digital adaptations, which involve the process of adjusting a traditional work to web conditions, are a straightforward imple‑ mentation of transcoding which exploits the features of new media. The adapta‑ tion of formistic poetry by Tytus Czyżewski, edited by Urszula Pawlicka and designed by Łukasz Podgórni, (Pawlicka, Podgórni, 2012b), shows how a tra‑ ditional text develops kinesthetic nature and takes the form of image or sound. The term prosthesis, on the other hand, means “linking” or reinforcing the word with a non­‑literal element, generated under the impact of new media. The notion of “aggregation”, suggested by Bromboszcz, has a similar connotation, though he uses it to emphasize the phenomenon of “putting genres of art, types of art or media together” (Bromboszcz, 2011: 49), refer‑ ring to the role of all media, not only the digital ones; thus, as an example, he used an illustrated book. “Junction” was another term, introduced by cybernetic poets, close in meaning to prosthesis; it was, however, more related to the formation of relations between a poet and a device (Bromboszcz, n.d.). The prosthesis aims to emphasize the role of new technologies, which act as an amplifier or upgrade for literature; here, the project presents interconnection of those areas, where one empowers the other without touching its core iden‑ tity. Among the works that exemplify prosthesis are the so called extended or “plugged” books, such as Elektrobiblioteka (Electrolibrary) by Waldemar Urszula Pawlicka Is There a Litera ­ture in This Class? 51

Węgrzyn (Węgrzyn, n.d.), presented by the Museum of Contemporary Art in Cracow, which allow to connect a custom made paper book to the computer, so that it can be used as an interface. Absorption refers to literature as being potentially devoured by other forms of digital art, which, as a result, blurs the boundaries between them. Literature “is immersing” in the area so far occupied by art, taking the form of installation or event. Accordingly, a work can be regarded to be both digital literature and digital art. Text Rain projects, by Camille Utterback and Romy Achituv are examples of absorption, followed by Screen by Noah Wardrip­‑Fruin, all of them described by Simanowski. Simanowski, in his attempt to determine their character and, in the process, solve the problem of relations between literature and art, reaches a conclusion that it is not the very material which diversifies these fields, but its function (Simanowski, 2011: 28). Hence, if a work is supposed to produce linguistic meaning, it becomes a piece of literature; but if interaction and relation are its main purposes, it is recognized as a work of art. Simanowski, however, supplements this condition with several more detailed observations, emphasizing the role of the author and the attitude of recipients, as – after all – it is their perception that decides whether they aspire to draw meanings, or focus exclusively on interaction (Simanowski, 2011: 40). In a careful analysis of digital artworks, the researcher is made to consider the Text Rain installation an example of both digital literature and art (depending on the user’s inten‑ tions); whereas Screen as an implementation of digital art, because in the latter case we are able to notice a distinctive shift from the role of a listener/reader to an activist, and the from semantic level to the interactive one, which require concentration not on the meaning of words, but on the sign manipulation and reactions to changes in the environment (Simanowski, 2011: 45). Screen installation is a proof that interpreting literariness depends on the recipient’s point of view; moreover it is an illustration of how the recognition process is conducted. While Simanowski undermines the status of Screen as part of digital literature, its creator, Wardrip­‑Fruin bestows a title upon it. From that moment on, the so called “instrumental text” is associated with preserving the balance between reading and playing (Simanowski, 2011: 46); in the proc‑ ess the artist locates his handiwork in the area of literature, rather than art. Distinct opinions of the researcher and the artist prove that treating the project as an implementation of literature is subjective, flexible and relative. The authors are, in particular, the ones who, by defining their own works, decide which area of activity they belong to, together with the context one should analyze them in. As a result, both researchers and artists tend to summon and implement various notions to define their projects, united under one common target: removal of all categorizations. Apart from hybridity, an omnipresent term in the fields of art and literature, helping to define digital poetry and used by, among others, Górska­‑Olesińska (Górska­‑Olesińska, 2010b: 210), new concepts have emerged as well: intermedi‑ ality and transmediality, conjured, for instance, by Agnieszka Przybyszewska while describing books as interfaces (Przybyszewska, 2012: 37 – 56). Konrad Chmielecki is attributed with establishing the difference between them, recognizing, that “the subjects of research on the aesthetics of intermediality are media, which established a discourse of mutual interrelation between one another. Moving across the boundaries appointed by individual media systems, however, is out of question” (Chmielecki, 2010: 67). Postmediality, resulting from fluent transitioning between all sorts of media, was discussed in Poland by Piotr Celiński who states: “Postmedia and the postmedial situation 52 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

are the media and the cultural­‑social communication systems, subjected to digital reconstruction, in which they are losing their current ontological (technical), aesthetic and ideological identity. Their presence in contemporary culture is increasingly based, no longer on their actual, material driving force, but on the cultural spirit and its vitality, being of much greater importance than the permanence of technological solutions which appointed and sup‑ ported this spirit in analogue conditions of the mass culture” (Celiński, 2013: 11). Postmediality is an intriguing notion indicating that medium is losing its significance, as it is not the storage medium/ hardware that is really essential, but the content/ software of the project. The transition of content between various types of media is called nomad‑ ism, the term itself used by Górska­‑Olesińska to discuss “nomadic poetry” (Górska­‑Olesińska, 2010 b: 215). Nomadism, a wandering notion between different fields using herein the Mieke Ball’s metaphor (Ball, 2012), should not, however, only refer to one variety of poetry, because it manifests itself within the entire digital literature that can be read on different storage mediums and presented in different dimensions. The authors from the circle of cybernetic poetry, on the other hand, use a number of terms meant to explain their activity, and each refers to the same feature: integral union of poetry and the new media, development of poet‑ ics and aesthetics in contemporary poetry and removal of racial divisions. As a result, the following notions emerge: polipoetry (Bromboszcz, 2010: 93), which links different avant­‑garde traditions; mixed media, “material mix” (Pawlicka, 2012a), being in fact a synonym of multimedia; junction (Bromboszcz, n.d.); expanded poetry, reinforcement poetry (Editor, n.d.), post­‑production – a term used by Mark Amerika to determine his own projects which evade the traditional typologies of media (Wójtowicz, 2012: 73 – 84), this term is also referred to by cyberpoets (Editor, n.d.); postpoetry, derived from the notion of “postpoet” that Piotr Puldzian Płucienniczak used to describe himself, encouraging this way the creation of projects which are “poetry” in name only, as they have nothing in common with the traditional concept; Puldzian’s term also contains reflections on depleting poetry and its transformation into other forms; found poetry (Michalska, 2013), a notion used by Ewa Michalska, appealing to the found footage method in the film, refers to the method of formulating works from a specified, accessible range of vocabulary and combines poems with collages. Apart from those terms, it is worth to mention ones which, although not used in Poland, are active in digital literature discourse: recombina‑ tion and creative cannibalism. The first term, introduced by Bill Seaman is the recombination of words under the influence of neighboring multimedia elements (Seaman, 2014); as far as creative cannibalism (Funkhouser, 2007b) is concerned, the term should be understood as an absorption, or rather “devouring” of certain forms of expression and the production of the other (absorption of literature through art or art through literature). How Digital Literature Indicates its Literariness

Having explained the way of eliciting literariness of work and underlin‑ ing relations between electronic literature and digital art, it is necessary Urszula Pawlicka Is There a Litera ­ture in This Class? 53 to enumerate the factors which determine digital work as piece of literature. An intuitive awareness is the first indicator, it appears when the recipient does not realize that the given work belongs to literature, but intuitively decides about the appropriate affiliation. This could be illustrated Mnemotechnikiby , a publication by Jarosław Lipszyc, which does not involve any generic expres‑ sions, but the structure of remixed entries from Wikipedia signalizes a poetic form (Lipszyc, 2008). The poetics of a literary work is the second factor, which is the recognition of the features typical for conventional literature in digital work. The examples here are hypertext novels. Tradition is the third condition; it consists in finding resemblances between poetics, style or aesthetics to works and the literary tradition. In this way, digital and cybernetic poetry is analyzed by Andrzej Pająk (Pająk, 2008), Mariusz Pisarski (Bromboszcz, Misiak, Podgórni, 2008) and by Urszula Pawlicka (Pawlicka, 2012c). Ascribing to the work the status of literature is the fourth condition, per‑ formed by the very author, who identifies his digital work as part of literature. The fifth one is the process of granting the status of literature to the work by a researcher or a literary critic. The sixth possibility is conferring the status of literature by a publisher. The form of publication and the setISBN number are evidence that the work is acknowledged as an example of literature. The poetic volume 918 – 578 by Roman Bromboszcz exemplifies this case (Bromboszcz, 2012), together with the collection of animated poetry C()n Du It by Katarzyna Giełżyńska (Giełżyńska, 2012). The last factor engages the recipient, who personally determines the status of literature, as a result of interaction with the work affirms its affiliation to a particular genre. The last issue, engaged with by Emilia Branny­‑Jankowska, is interlinked with the category of literary promise; it represents the first effort to describe literariness of digital works (Branny, 2009: 153 – 162). The process of reading electronic work, according to the researcher, is based on the rendezvous “of the reader’s aspirations towards literature” with “the literary promise of work” (Branny­‑Jankowska, 2010: 53). The digital work itself conceals literariness, whose desire for freedom is carried out by the very user. “Every premise that the work is a literary work or is able to generate literary works, will be related to as a literary promise. The very promise evokes mental and physical operations of the reader who attempts to create and experience the promised literary texts “ (Branny­‑Jankowska, 2010: 54). The recipient, knowing that the work is regarded as piece of literature, on the basis of its title or description, intends to generate a work which will be literary in nature. The objective is to form a textual composition (the promise of a poem), discover the structure of a work (structural promise), or to find the concealed meaning (cognitive promise). This way, the category of “literary promise” emphasizes the role of the user in defining literariness of a digital work. Digital literature consists of diversified conceptualizations: from works imitating conventional features, to projects undermining its literary status. The final resolution concerning literariness takes place in the communicative space, between the artist and his work, the author and the recipient, or the user and digital work. The three areas of relations might be linked to three separate conclusions. The answer to the eponymous question “Is there a literature in this class?” is relative; arguably dependant on the type of classes (ELMCIP, n.d.) and the attitude of the lecturer. There is no one, single, straightforward criteria; there are only factors, on the basis of which it is possible to decide 54 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

whether they ought to be attributed literary nature. The main objective of the participants of literary communication, in the light of transmediality and transdisciplinarity, is to create justification for the development and modifica‑ tion of literature, and, simultaneously, to amplify their own literary sensitivity.

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Seaman B. (2014). Approaches to Interactive Text and Recombinant Poetics, “Electronic Book Review”. http://www.electronicbookreview.com/thre‑ ad/firstperson/languagevehicle [ 14.03.2014 ]. Simanowski R. (2011). Digital Art and Meaning. Reading Kinetic Poetry, Text Machines, Mapping Art, and Interactive Installations, Minneapolis. Sławiński J. (2002a). Literackość, [ in: ] Sławiński J. (ed.), Słownik terminów literackich, Wrocław. Sławiński J. (2002b). Komunikacja literacka, [ in: ] Sławiński J. (ed.), Słownik terminów literackich, Wrocław. Węgrzyn W. (n.d.). Elektrobiblioteka. http://www.elektrobiblioteka.net/ [ 12.03.2014 ]. Wójtowicz E. (2012). Przez net literaturę do wizualnej narracji. Immobilité Marka Ameriki z perspektywy remiksologii, [ in: ] Górska­‑Olesińska M. (ed.), Liberatura, e­‑literatura i… Remiksy, remediacje, redefinicje, Opole. Wysłouch S. (2009). Ruchome granice literatury, [ in: ] Wysłouch S., Przy‑ muszała B. (ed.), Ruchome granice literatury. W kręgu teorii kulturowej, Warszawa.

58 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Ewelina Twardoch When Man ­Becomes Machine The Creation of ‘Sym- borgs’ in Pop Cul- tural Universes

“I want to see you not through the Machine” E. M. Forster, The Machine Stops

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109982 Ewelina Twardoch When man becomes machine 59

Ewelina Twardoch is Between Humans and a PhD candidate at the Jagiellonian Univeristy (Institute of Audiovisual Technological Tools Arts) and the SET program. Her dissertation The relationship between humans and technology has always been a concern concerns the represen‑ of popular culture. What is more, popular culture is a ‘testing ground’ for tations and functions of biometric data in numerous ideas and experiments stemming from the relationship which are the new media art. impossible to carry out in other fields of human activity. The various worlds created by rich and vivid imagination of popular culture creators have often preceded and still are ahead of the ideas of scientists, and politicians. This might be due to the fact that ideas in the imagined worlds seem not as dan‑ gerous as in the real one, and the creative suggestions of popular culture’s creators are not taken as seriously. Besides, which seems to be the crucial issue, the field of popular culture has always been understood as an area of entertainment, amusement and ludic rituals, allowing for a more encom‑ passing approach to the universe of technology, it being both close to us and unfamiliar. According to Sheryl N. Hamilton: ‘Scientists themselves evoke the idea of science fiction as a way of capturing the incredible speed of technoscientific change’ (Hamilton 2013: 271). Regardless of the reasons for colonization of the world of popular culture by technological visions and solutions, it is worth to have a closer look at these two; all the more so since we as human beings are less autonomous in relation to technology than we would like to believe. According to Joanna Zylinska and Sarah Kember “we are – physically and ontologically – part of that technological environment”, since we “are not entirely distinct from our tools” (Kember and Zylinska 2012: 13). The ‘creative media’ project, proposed by Zylinska and Kember, is an interesting attempt to review our relationship with the media, which are strictly connected with technology. The concept of mediation presupposes that we are constantly dealing with the process of the emergence of the media, a process which consists of a range of various relations between some human and nonhuman actors, to employ the concepts of Bruno Latour’s ANT­‑theory. The notion of the processual nature of media is crucial here, as it underlines the fact that we are dealing not just with individual media objects as a television set or a computer, but, significantly, with relations between these objects, between us and these objects and a number of others factors that have an impact on them. Hence Zylinska and Kember’s claim follows: “we have always been mediated” and “we have always been technical” (Zylinska and Kember 2012: 18). The argument, of course, does not equate media with technology; it solely points to the fact that both media and technology may not be reduced to certain objects, or tools; that technology such as media is a process which involves human beings. Zylinska nad Kember follow Heidegger, whose ideas inspired the ‘creative media’ project, and claim that we are not only the users of technology, having control over technological world in the era of mobile media when life is run with mobiles, notebooks and other electronic devices, but that we have always been “chained to technology”, as Heidegger boldly declared in The Questions Concerning Technology (Heidegger 1977: 1). The ar‑ gument, however, goes further than the famous McLuhan’s statement that the media are our prostheses. The mobile tools are not only an extension of our body, something external to our being; they develop with us and our connections with technological tools constitute the core of technology. Thus, the crucial concept turns out to be our originary technicity [ Martin Heidegger’s 60 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

terms as interpreted by Bernard Stiegler – E. T. ], our way of being­‑with and merging­‑with technology’ (Zylinska and Kember 2012: 14). In his book Technics and Time, 1 Bernard Stiegler recalls the story of Pro‑ metheus, which serves as an apt illustration of the relations between humans and technological tools (Stiegler 1998: 185 – 187, 202 – 203). Prometheus is set out to be a figure who establishes the relationship between a human being and technology. Not only did he give people fire, he also pointed to a new way of development. At first, technology was out of humanity’s reach; thanks to Prometheus it became a part of human environment and a human way of discovering abilities (cf. Zylinska and Kember 2012: 15). The Prometheus myth is also a story about humans becoming technological beings. There‑ after, the development of technology is associated with the development of a human, and complementarily, the evolution of human condition runs parallel to technological advances. The story offers an answer to the question of the arbitrary status of technological tools. If technology is perceived merely as a set of objects which we use to satisfy our needs and which we are capable of managing, where do the human fears of technology, reflected in popular culture stories, originate? Human attitude toward technology seems to be just as ambiguous. On the one hand, technology precedes humans, and we can only reach out to it; on the other, we want to take control of it, because we are convinced that we are able to hold it in our power. Thus, we see ourselves both as beings subordinate to technology and dependent on it, and as creatures who have sufficient capacity and power to have technology subordinated. Therefore, it seems that our coexistence with technology is based primarily on the ne‑ gotiation of power and, in fact, it is so (also literally, as it is no secret that most technological innovation was in the first place produced for the army (cf. Dinello 2005: 88)), though this relation is not reducible solely to this process. The issue of this peculiar symbiosis involves a number of our daily practices as well; first of all, various transformations of identity both in the human and nonhuman beings. The merging of our being with technology transpires mainly in the two approaches. One practice associated with the humans’ desire to control technology and to be a creator of a half­‑human/half­‑technological identity is the attempt to create the so­‑called ‘artificial man’. The expression of the desire to create an artificial man has been present in cultures for centuries in the figures of the homunculus and the golem. Homunculus, traditionally, was supposed to be an entity created by alchemists of the Middle Ages and the following epochs. Paracelsus’ sixteenth century treaty De rerum naturae even supplies a kind of provision for the making of humanoid beings, whose source was to be the human sperm (Campbell 2010). Since the Middle Ages the figure of the ​​ homunculus remains culturally alive, growing in new contexts, particularly, however, since the Enlightenment and the discovery of human anatomy, it is no longer associated with folklore and magical practices, but with alchemy, understood as a type of technology, as a technological preparation and transfor‑ mation of matter (Campbell 2010). A variant of the figure of the ​ homunculus​ is the golem, derived from Jewish tradition; it is a being made ​​of clay in

the shape of a man, which has 1been functioning primarily in religious contexts. 1 More on that subject in: W.R. Newman, Pro- Regardless of their differences , both figures are related to the notion of human methean Ambitions: imitation. It is also worth noting that in literature and popular culture they Alchemy and the Quest appear interchangeably as symbols of an artificial man, manifesting themselves to Perfect Nature, Chicago 2004, p. 183. in various guises: from demons to the leading­‑edge robots and machines. Ewelina Twardoch When man becomes machine 61

In my article, I would like to focus not solely on androids (i.e. the ma‑ chines based on the notion of homunculus which are not directly combined with humans), but on relations between androids and humans, which may take on one of two forms. The first one assumes that androids and humans are separate entities, but at some point begin to converge through an inex‑ plicable organic bond, making their autonomies (first and foremost, bodily) clearly indistinct (as in the case of Neon Genesis Evangelion, Pacific Rim, and the Iron Man stories). The second approach conceives all direct human body transformations as a result of technological interventions (from the famous figure of RoboCop, through the characters from the Claymore anime – similar to the story of The Witcher presented in a series of fantasy novels by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski – to the X­‑Men comic characters), that make the bond between human and machine endogenous. Below, I would like to demonstrate the complexity and ambiguity of both takes on android­‑human relations and attempt to draw the image of the technology emerging from such contexts. Additionally, I will try to present the ways in which both modes of human­‑machine coexistence surface in our everyday life. Neon Genesis Evangelion, or In an Ambiguous Relation with the Machine In popular culture productions we find plentiful images of impressive, inde‑ structible robotic machines appearing on Earth for various purposes. They are ‘contemporary homunculi’ constructed by humans (e.g. the technologically advanced robot in the film RoboCop) or, as Autobots and Decepticons in the Transformers series (American film series, animated series and the comic book series), living robotic beings from another planet (in this case, the ‘metal planet’ Cybertron), who were not constructed by humans. Most often, the rela‑ tionships with the robots, regardless of their being visitors from another planet or Earthly creations (whether post­‑apocalyptic or not), become complicated in time.. Paradoxically, the more similar the androids are to humans, the greater perceived threat they are to humanity, (i.e. when the boundary between ‘us’ and ‘them’ is blurred). Another scenario, barely exploited by popular culture, is possible; one which makes the relationship between a man and a machine extremely complicated; in this scenario a human being begins to feel a strange organic link with the mechanical entity under their control. One of the most complex and fascinating enactments of this theme appears in the Japanese production Neon Genesis Evangelion. Neon Genesis Evangelion created by Hideaki Anno is an animated series consisting of 26 episodes. In this article, I choose to interpret the television production from 1995 – 1996, although the extended story was also adapted for cinema as three feature films, since I consider the films not as ­remarkably revealing as the television series. Susan J. Napier rightly claims that manga and anime are frequently perceived as “a medium often denigrated by Western‑ ers as fit only for children” (Napier 2002: 421); nonetheless, it can hardly be questioned that the animated stories are one of the most significant illustra‑ tions of the complicated man­‑machine relationship which is one of obsessive preoccupations of Japanese culture (Napier 2002: 421). Notably, by the end of the 20th century, the Japanese animations successfully invaded Western 62 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

popular culture, often becoming ‘hip’, as was the case with Neon Genesis Evangelion. The living proof of Neon Genesis Evangelion’s popularity was

the attempt to transfer the story into Western culture; many viewers2 interpret 2 http://observa‑ tiondeck.io9.com/ Guillermo del Toro’s Pacific Rim (2013) as such an attempt . I shall return the­‑comparison­ to this movie below, where I would like to argue that the human­‑machine ‑everyone­‑wants­‑to­ bond is presented by the Mexican director cursorily, lacking the nuanced ‑make­‑evangelion­ ‑vs­‑p­‑805474792 complexity of Hideaki Anno’s production. (access: 10.03.2014), The story of Neon Genesis Evangelion transports the viewers to Japan T. Hornyak, http://news. of the future, specifically to future Tokyo (described by Karl Taro Greenfeld cnet.com/8301 – 1793 8_105 – 57593836 – 1/ as a “society in symbiosis with the machine” (quoted after: Gilson 1998: 367), is­‑pacific­‑rim­‑a­‑retelling­ divided into zones. Numerous anime productions (e.g. Akira) present Tokyo ‑of­‑japanese­‑anime­ ‑evangelion [ 10.03.2014 ]. as a post­‑apocalyptic city; similarly in Hideaki Anno’s series, it is a city which fifteen years ago had to deal with ‘The Second Impact’, and now is threat‑ ened by the anticipated ‘Third Impact’. ‘The Second Impact’ was a profound disaster to humanity, but only ‘The Third’ will complete the apocalypse, totally annihilating the entire living world. The Third Impact is to be brought about by the so­‑called angels, certain creatures genetically almost identical with humans (99,89 % compatibility (Napier 2002: 425)), originating from the mysterious figure of Adam (religious contexts of the anime are complex and replete with Christian and Judaic symbols (Napier 2002: 424)). Conven‑ tional weapon are useless in the impending encounter with the angels, so the special government organization NERV (the pun is intended) constructs the Evangelions. The Evangelions are giant modern robots: machines equipped with advanced weapons and resistant to damage. Despite their characteris‑ tics they cannot function independently, they require a pilot: a human who on entering the cabin is synchronized and combined with the machine. Due to required physical and mental flexibility in contact with an Evangelion, the pilot must be a child. In Japanese culture the figure of a child appears in various contexts and children often play the roles intended for adults. It seems, however, that in the Neon Genesis Evangelion children are capable of connect‑ ing to the machine due to the simple biological fact of not being fully formed. Besides being androids, the Evangelions are fully mechanical devices that can be used as any other weapon. This, however, Napier notices righty, is only one aspect of the story told in Hideaki’s anime. Gradually, the viewers of Neon Genesis Evangelion learn that the Evangelions are to some extent organic beings and their mechanical coating serves primarily to reduce their unpredictable potential, and keep them under external control. The pilots combine with the robots via LCL fluid, which enables them to breathe and feel deeper machine movements so as to better coordinate the giant body. In combat, the bodies of the pilot and the machine are conjoined in a kind of peculiar mutual transformation. As the connections between humans and Evangelions unexpectedly become deeper and grow stronger, it turns out that one of the pilots feels human blood in the LCL fluid, which is only the starting point of subsequent disclosures of Evangelions’ secrets. Above all, the signs of the robots’ autonomy become increasingly clear. In individual cases they are able to make independent decisions, but most importantly, their relationship with the pilots is gradually becoming permanent or even absolute. The unit Eva 01, piloted by a boy named Shinji, “allows” to be piloted only by the boy, because it contains his mother’s personality (or consciousness; it remains uncertain which). Eva absorbed the woman during the experiments in which she participated, and since then they have become inseparable, merged into one entity. When Shinji combines with Eva 01, he also combines with his Ewelina Twardoch When man becomes machine 63 mother, but only to ‘feel her’; they do not talk and the boy cannot see his mother. There is, however, a strong suggestion in the closing scenes of the Neon Genesis Evangelion, that Shinji has ‘merged’ with his ‘machine’ forming one being, both bodily and mentally. His body transformed into the shapeless creature with half­‑technological entity, he shares its feelings, and is faced with the danger of complete identity loss. This does not happen, as Shinji breaks the connection with Eva 01 and regains his autonomy, which he manages only with his extraordinary willpower. Another pilot, the girl named Asuka, goes through similar experience, but loses part of her personality in the process. The story presented in Hideaki’s anime is extremely multilayered, so even its main themes are hard to summarize (e.g. the momentous political theme) and the complex psychology of its protagonists deserves deeper analysis, but even the above brief presentation reveals the arbitrariness and intricacy of the notion of technology proposed by Neon Genesis Evangelion. The na‑ ture of man­‑machine relation and its ambiguous ontological status initially poses the question of the ethical use of technology, at the cost of health and damaged personality of minors. Paradoxically, the complex reality, actu‑ ally created and determined by technology, makes it the simplest question. As Napier claims, in Neon Genesis Evangelion: “ … reality itself becomes part of the apocalyptic discourse, problematized as a condition that can no longer be counted on to continue to exist, thanks to the advances of technology and its increasing capabilities for both material and spiritual destruction” (Napier 2002: 419). Technological development is certainly conceived in Hideaki’s anime as a profoundly destructive force, determining the living world, advancing the fulfillment of the apocalyptic visions, and bringing about the end of the world. The technological world is equivalent to “terminal culture” (Bukatman 1993: 20). Shinji’s greatest fear is the possible identity loss due to dependence on the machine. On the other hand, the Evangelions, a species of homunculi, the core achievement of future Japanese technology, are presented by Hideaki unlike mechanical, cruel or passive robots (e.g. robots in Richard Stanley’s Hardware); they appear to be living beings with essential organic components. Moreover, the bond formed between the pilots and the Evangelions cannot be understood merely as a connection allowing for improved battle performance. On account of their specific transfiguration, the characters acquire the ability to scrutinize their interiors, to accept or to deny the non­‑apparent facts of their beings. Also, I would like to emphasize that through bioorganic fusion with the Evangelions the humans in turn become partly technological entities. Thus, the series seems to be the fullest pop cultural realization of Slavoj Žižek’s assumption about the direct inte‑ gration of human mind with a machine (Žižek 2004: 18), but with an even broader range of integration – including the body connected to the mind. It provides a powerful illustration of humans merging with technology, not only alongside technology, to refer back to Zylinska and Kember’s argument. In the connections with the machines the pilots discover their limitations, the possibility of bodily transformation, and they change radically not only in terms of their personality, but also their ontological status as a human being is radically altered. The stimulating imaginative idea of giant robots piloted and controlled by human race was recapped in the mainstream 2013 movie Pacific Rim directed by Guillermo del Toro. The blockbuster movie seems to be only mimicking the idea, setting it against a spectacular backdrop. The Earth is attacked by monsters named Kajiū (a name derived from Japanese culture), which emerged 64 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

from the breach in the oceanic plate and they are mentioned to be creating their own species. So, similar to angels they are not constructed by humans. Although in the movie the mind of Kajiū is studied and one of the scientists integrates his brain with the brain of the monster, the theme is not developed any further. The equivalent of the Evangelions is the Jaegers (both created by humans); but – they are robots and nothing but robots, dependent on the hu‑ mans, and human­‑made in order to protect the Earth and its inhabitants. The Jaegers are piloted by two people and this fact allows the creators to insert the themes of brotherhood, partnership, love etc., but the status of the Jaegers is absolutely unequivocal; they are not in any sense autonomous creatures, but only mechanical objects. Even the connection between the pilots and the Jaegers does not question human identity, as there is a clear­‑cut boundary between us, the humans, and the mechanical weapon that we created. Unlike in Neon Genesis Evangelion where the main idea was us “becoming with technology” (Kember and Zylinska 2012: 141) whether we want it or not. As much as we may not be entirely determined by technology, it does not change the fact that we are part of the process of creation of technology and in this proc‑ ess we make ourselves technological entities. Debra Benita Show explains: “In other words, technology should not be considered an adjunct to the body or in opposition to it but as a determinant of its ontology” (Show 2008: 81). Pacific Rim bears no signs that the distinction between human beings and technological entities may be problematically complex. Here, technology is a set of devices which people use to satisfy their needs or, at best, a product of common desire powering the forces of the market. Therefore, there are hardly any other popular culture production which would actually attempt to problematize the potential ambiguity of relation between humans and technology, and the unpredictable impact it may exert on the human body. The famousIron Man franchise, telling the story of one of many supernatural characters of Marvel universe, also fails in this respect. The comic version of Iron Man adventures predatesNeon Genesis Evangelion, while the first movie adaptation comes from 2008. Iron Man is an example of a man who pilots the machine that is in the same time his armor. So, similarly to Neon Genesis Evangelion or Pacific Rim, the technologically advanced suit is external to the character of Tony Stark. There is more than one armor which Iron Man uses, but any one of them can be taken off. A kind of electromagnet which keeps Tony Stark alive is not the exactly a part of his ‘equipment’, but rather a technological device functioning like a pacemaker, belonging to the realm of everyday life. In his technological armor, not un‑ like the character of Batman, Tony Stark transforms into a different person. He is both a superhero who uses high­‑tech gadgets and weapons and a bril‑ liant businessman, but never simultaneously. He has no identity problem or personality disorder that would arise from the coexistence of a man with a machine. His double personality becomes a problem in the context of social roles, but it does not concern his integration with the armor. The exception to this rule comes with the cycle of a six­‑issue story arc from the comic book Iron Man (vol. 4) Extremis, published between 2005 and 2006. The storyline was also adapted into the third part of the Iron Man movie, but with some alternations. The eponymousextremis is a substance which can turn a man into a superhuman creature, of incredible strength and other amazing abilities. It was developed for the army to create superhuman soldiers, a fact confirmed in the movie, but only tentatively suggested in the comic book, where Tony Stark injects himself with it to increase the possibilities of his armor Ewelina Twardoch When man becomes machine 65 and to protect people against the man who was transformed by the substance. Through this process he and his armor grow into each other, forming a whole, allowing Tony to control the suit with his mind, as efficiently as his body or even better. In the movie a similar process is portrayed, but it is not extremis which enables Tony to achieve better integration with his machine armor, but a microchip implantation. The man­‑machine connection grows deeper, causing intensified interference with the body, but besides the process being presented as extremely painful, no other consequences of the ‘fusion’ for the human body and mind are explored in the movie. Daniel Dinello noticed that there are few superhuman creatures who are created solely for the human protection (cops, soldiers) as opposed to these who produce people’s anxiety (Dinello 2005: 136), so such unproblematic integration with the machines might be corresponding to the Western projections of the process. This issue seems to be even more puzzling, when the connection between human beings and machines proceeds not only externally, but when the conjoining is internal and tantamount to interference in humans tissues. Half­‑Man, Half­‑Machine

The distinctions of various forms of human connections with machines can become quite problematic. As Daniel Dinello emphasizes, “cyborgs are not robots or androids. Robots consist of mostly mechanical and electronic components … , androids do not combine organic and inorganic. A cyborg, or cybernetic organism, combines the biological and mechanical, and may or may not look identical to a human … “ (Dinello 2005: 7 – 8). Basic differ‑ ences sketched here appear to be simple, and as a general rule they capture the significant categories, but there are so many variants of man­‑machine relation that such basic distinctions are insufficient. Therefore, I have chosen not to categorize the relations at the beginning of the article, but to begin with presenting one of its most complex forms in Hideaki Anno’s anime. In Neon Genesis Evangelion or even in Pacific Rim or Iron Man, as I have demonstrated, certain connections between human beings and machines are established, although in the latter two productions the connections are not internal. What is more, in Hideaki Anno’s anime the connection made is neither external, nor internal. Indeed, the machine is not implanted into the pilot (so it cannot be defined as a cyborg), but their coexistence is irreducible to a simple human use of a technological device. Therefore, an apt and attractive concept comes with the notion of ‘symborg’, as formulated by the renowned performance artist Stelarc. According to Stelarc, a ‘symborg’ is a human who is somehow transformed through technology, but the transformation does not mean that one becomes half­‑robot, but a hybrid; a human body is multiplied and one continues3 to be in symbiotic relation with 3 The website about new technologies, based mainly on the Web . I would claim that the notion the Stelarc project of ‘symborg’, if Stelarc’s proposal is used slightly more comprehensively, may titled Metabody: From be successfully employed to describe human relation with technology which Cyborg to Symborg www.merlin.com.au/ are ambiguous, but undeniable. Of course, subtle divisions separate ‘symborgs’ stelarc, www.metabody. from ‘cyborgs’, but to define various forms of humans using technology with com [ 12.03.2014 ] and the umbrella­‑term of ‘the process of cyborgisation’ seems to me a misuse. We some comments of Piotr Zawojski: http://www.za‑ do ‘become with technology’ and we adapt to technological solutions, but wojski.com/2006/04/19/ having a pacemaker or implants installed in ours bones or using avatars when destrukcja­‑versus­ ‑wspomaganie­‑ciala­ we play computer games does not make us cyborgs, but ‘symborgs’. We are ‑w­‑cyberprzestrzeni­ ‑przypadek­‑stelarca (access: 12.03.2014). 66 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

technological beings, even without direct interventions in our body or radical bodily transformation. Therefore, I would employ the concept of ‘cyborg’ only with reference to creatures different from robots and androids in their organic parts and who are radically altered through certain technological procedures. The exemplary cyborg character who has also come to be very figure of a cyborg in popular culture is RoboCop. The significance of RoboCop for the common imagination is evident in numerous programs and projects in high­‑tech ventures which are named after the character. What is more, twenty years after the last part of the original RoboCop movie series a remake was filmed, which premiered in January 2014. Daniel Dinello claims that since 1980 the cyborg figure has become an essential icon of pop cultural world (Dinello 2005: 12). There are plenty of incarnations of the icon in the world­ ‑famous characters of Terminator, Cyborg (originally from the movie Cyborg from 1989 directed by Albert Pyun), Bionic Man and Bionic Woman (from the TV series The Six Million Dollar Man and its spin­‑off The Bionic Woman) and others. On the other hand, Dinello argues that: “Science fiction cyborg stories dramatize our fears as we become targets in the world of cyborg weapons, while anticipating the demise of the flesh­‑and­‑blood body and the gradual extinction of humanity” (Dinello 2005: 12). Thus the figure of the cyborg embodies the ambivalence inherently connected with its hy‑ brid ontological status, as Donna Haraway showed over twenty years ago (Haraway: 1991). Both in the 1987 movie (and its sequels) and the 2014 remake RoboCop is presented as a combination of man and robot. In both versions the main protagonist is constructed by a mighty corporation as creature combining technologically advanced armor with human organic elements taken from a cop who suffered severe injuries. The differences between the original movie and the remake are quite symptomatic, pointing not only to advances in technological development, but also to cultural interpretations of the changes. In the RoboCop directed by Paul Verhoeven, the process of cyborg creation is an attempt to produce a super cop in response to previously failed projects of other scientists. The high technology at the time, in comparison with the latest version of the story, is in its infancy; whereas in José Padilha’s movie, the construction process of RoboCop appears to be almost obvious, because of the wide availability of a number of advanced technological devices. The management of the corporation sees the creation of RoboCop as a real sign of technological (and economic) revolution, not solely a successful experi‑ ment. Furthermore, in Verhoeven’s movie Alex Murphy seems to accept his new mechanical body, since he only wants revenge. There is no knowing how Murphy is going to function in everyday life and what the actual whereabouts of his organic body are (at least some parts of it). He retained his consciousness and memories, but there is hardly any clue as to how he manages his emo‑ tions. In Padilha’s movie, questions about the everyday life of Alex Murphy are posed. He is not separated from his family, and he struggles to adapt to both everyday life and his hybrid body. There are also some scenes which suggest that the transformation of Alex Murphy is to be understood not only as a ground­‑breaking improvement of humanity, but as well, or rather primarily, as cruel mutilation. This signifies a closer contemporary human relationship with technological devices than the one of people in the late 80s, and the perspective produces a different set of questions concerning technology. The human fear of domination of the world by robots, or of using cyborgs as weapons is no longer a concern, but our abilities to coexist with technology, Ewelina Twardoch When man becomes machine 67 and our own growing transformations of humanity are. The civilizational turn is only signaled in the movie, but as a theme cannot be ignored by creators of popular culture narratives. It marks the emergence of new characters, who unlike the science fiction heroes perfectly exploiting their capabilities gained through technological solutions, are to undergo a long and complicated process of accepting their internal technological modifications. Popular culture productions strongly idealize the fusion of man and ma‑ chine. Even though the process of integration with a machine is standardly presented as extremely difficult and painful, there is no further discussion of the organism’s response to the considerable body burden. Even the story of X­‑men (I am referring to the film version), presenting an indirect manifesta‑ tion of the notion of man­‑robot union, does not attempt to tackle the issue. One of the main characters who calls himself Wolverine had undergone a complete transformation process through mysterious metal alloy, adamantium (a typical Marvel device), which bonded with all the bones of his skeleton. As a result of the process he acquired artificial endogenous skeleton and gained uncommon strength and movement abilities. The technological changes to his body are so pervasive that Wolverine should be considered as cyborg. At the same time Wolverine’s body bears no traces of the transformation. On the one hand, one could argue that Wolverine is already a mutant and his body is the object of an evolutionary leap, as demonstrated by his extraor‑ dinary adaptability. On the other hand, it is still a human, organic body, so such profound interference with the tissues should have some consequence. Dinello claims: “The replacement of our flesh and blood with mechanical augmentation subtly blurs the definition of what constitutes a human body, and encourages a dream of immortality” (Dinello 2005: 12). The 2014 remake of RoboCop story provides a small, but significant correction to the dream.

Additionally, it should be noted that we can read about and watch certain4 4 http://www.percep‑ technological solution5 used in RoboCop 2014 on Perception team website tionnyc.com/content/ and on Youtube . This shows that present­‑day viewers may follow the tech‑ robocop­‑case­‑study nological aspect of RoboCop mythology not only by watching the movie. [ 14.03.2014 ]. Advanced technology has ceased to be a distant, mesmerizing mystery, but 5 ­http://www. has become a readily available part of everyday life, and it is this availability youtube.com/ which constitutes the real difference. watch?v=V0559qQRGqA [ 14.03.2014 ]. Are We All Symborgs?

Adam I. Bostic opens his essay with the following statement: “According to contemporary culture theory, I am a cyborg” (Bostic 1998: 357). The tech‑ nological transformation of human beings are on the whole not so large as to make us cyborgs, but would it be true that we are all symborg entities, and does the popular culture illustrate and support this peculiar process of human evolution? Sandra Soo­‑Jin Lee says that according to Rayna Rapp “there is a strong American belief in the ‘self­‑made man’ whose core resources are internal” (Soo­‑Jin Lee 2013: S85). Rapp observation here refers to the is‑ sues of genetic engineering and shaping a human through DNA manipulation, but the overall idea remains the same: we want to improve ourselves even if the process is terrifying. Soo­‑Jin Lee adds that American people are less “. . . concerned about their need for its protection than their desire for self­ ‑actualization. As one consumer emphasized, ‘I want it all and I don’t want anyone telling me what I need to know or not’” ((Soo­‑Jin Lee 2013: S85). 68 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

‘Self­‑made man’, ‘self­‑actualization’ are the American postulates, which brings us to the notion of Quantified Self. Quantified Self is a community focused on the possibilities for human

improvement through technology, in6 particular, almost commonly available 6 The official website of Quantified Self: http:// technology, mainly mobile devices . We can read the following definition quantifiedself.com of Quantified Self on the7 Technori website: “In short, it is self­‑knowledge [ 14.03.2014 ]. through self­‑tracking” . Self­‑tracking is a form of obtaining information about the internal bodily condition through tools and applications which are becoming 7 M. Moschel, http://technori. increasingly usable and popular. According to the report entitled “Tracking com/2013/04/4281­‑the­ for Health” by Susannah Fox and Maeve Duggan, 69% of American citizens ‑beginners­‑guide­‑to­ ‘keep track of at least one health indicator such as weight, diet, exercise routine, ‑quantified­‑self­‑plus­‑a­ 8 ‑list­‑of­‑the­‑best‑personal­ ­ or symptom’ . Nowadays, there are so many tools used for self­‑tracking that it ‑data­‑tools­‑out­‑there is impossible even9 to list them. The websiteGuide to Self­‑Tracking Tools collects [ 14.03.2014 ]. 505 such devices. They let us collect personal data concerning the sleeping

process, our weight, blood sugar, cholesterol, blood pressure,10 heart rate and11 8 S. Fox, M. Duggan, http://www.pewinternet. so on. There are also activity trackers such as Misfit12 Shine and others , org/2013/01/28/tracking­ trackers which sequence our microbiome (uBiome ), enabling to monitor all13 ‑for­‑health [ 14.03.2014 ]. bacteria in our bodies, but also ones that evaluate the level of our happiness . 9 http://quantifiedself. com/guide [ 14.03.2014 ]. According to the aforementioned14 report: “One in five smartphone owners has a health app” . Furthermore, one of the most popular devices is not an application, but the self­‑tracking bracelet as the one developed by Jawabone 10 P. Murray, http:// singularityhub. “that tracks your movement, sleep patterns and eating habits. It’s a connected com/2013/01/15/ wristband15 that sends all your daily personal metrics on your smartphone misfit­‑shine­‑a­‑sleek­ app” . I would like to draw attention to the words of the Jawbone’s CEO, who ‑new‑activity­ ­‑tracker/ [ 14.03.2014 ]. “presented Up as a ‘lifestyle gadget designed to encourage wellness”, “a fash16‑ ionable, wearable design integrate … into a social, connected experience” . The trackers, both devices and applications, should be comfortable in use 11 ‘Top Ten’ of those trackes can be found and handheld, which is not so obvious if we recall Heidegger assumptions here: http://dailytekk. about enframing (Heidegger 1977: 9 – 10); they can be easily integrated into com/2012/06/11/ our everyday life and soon become fashion gadgets. fitness­‑tracking­‑devices 17 [ 15.03.2014 ]. The trackers claim to be devices designed to help us stay healthy , but they are in fact exactly the tools which change human beings into technologi‑ cal entities in the sense of ‘becoming with technology”, to recall Zylinska 12 http://ubiome.com [ 15.03.2014 ]. and Kember’s argument. First blog ‘reports’ may be found confirming such observations; in one of them the author, Christopher Butler, who decided to monitor his life step by step daily using smartphone applications, wrote: 13 http://www. trackyourhappiness.org ‘Using it18 feels like conversing with the strange, disembodied offspring of HAL [ 15.03.2014 ]. and Elf ’. Therefore, implants appear to have become unnecessary to turn us into beings of the species ‘homo technologicus’. 14 S. Fox, M. Duggan, op. cit., [ 15.03.2014 ]. Recently (March 2014) vivid emotions were sparked in Germany (and not only) by the speech of the European Union politician, Neelie Kroes, on the use

of bracelets, arguing19 their positive impact on health and the functioning 15 http://www. selftrackinghq.com/ of health system . According to the author of the article, such promo‑ up [ 15.03.2014 ]. tion of technological gadgets was perceived in Germany (and supposedly, in all of Europe) as an anticipation of the society of control. On the one 16 Ibid. hand, trackers are positively evaluated by the American society and a part of medical environment, on the other, there is an anxiety, recognized already 17 C. Paddock, http:// www.medicalnewstoday. decades ago by Martin Heidegger. In The Question Concerning Technology com/articles/254902.php Heidegger recognizes technology as ‘human activity’ (Heidegger 1977: 1), [ 15.03.2014 ]. meaning that technology is not equivalent with technological tools, but is all activity involving the tools (e.g. utilization). Hence, technology as activ‑ ity is not separate from our existence. Furthermore, even if we consider Ewelina Twardoch When man becomes machine 69

18 Ch. Butler, http:// technology as ‘spiritually in hand’ (Heidegger claims that handwork technol‑ chrbutler.com/2014/03/ ogy is its eldest form (Heidegger 1977: 2)), as the trackers, which we literally this­‑mediated­‑life hold in our hands and wrap around our wrists, there is always the danger [ 15.03.2014 ]. of enframing (Heidegger 1977: 9 – 10). So the anxiety does not stem from 19 F. ­Schirrmacher, the danger of technology taking control of humans (the common statement http://www.faz. is becoming actually naïve), but that technology will become our one and net/aktuell/frank­ only frame. ‑schirrmacher­‑12826199. html?print Some signs of the potential process are visible, as for example 20the inven‑ PagedArticle=true tion of Google Glass, which can radically change our perception , as well [ 15.03.2014 ]. as the project Avatar 2045. This project is a plan of 32 year­‑old Russian billionaire 20 Official website: Dmitry Itskov to become immortal. This idea is consistent with the predic‑ http://www.google.com/ tions of a well­‑known scientist Raymond Kurzweil, Google’s new engineering glass/start/ [ 15.03.2014 ]. director,21 who claims that we are close to transcend our biologically embodied 21 R. Goodwin, http:// mind . Dmitry Itskov believes that the rapid technological development will www.knowyourmobile. allow him to transfer his brain into a kind of robotic, hologram body. This com/google/google­‑x­ body should be formally perfect, of superhuman capabilities and well­‑designed: ‑labs/21813/googles­ ‑ray­‑kurzweil­‑humans­ ‘Before 2045 an artificial body will be created that will not only surpass ‑will­‑be­‑immortal­‑2030s [ 15.03.2014 ]. the existing body in terms of functionality, but will22 achieve perfection of form and be no less attractive than the human body’ . According to Kurzweil, it will be an important and necessary step in human evolution. This step will 22 Ibid. be technological (Kurzweil 1991: 22). Furthermore: “software­‑based humans will be vastly extended beyond the severe limitations of humans as we know them today” (Kurzweil 2005: 218). What is also interesting here is that such ideas are common knowledge, they do not sound odd or strange, because they have been circulating in popular culture narratives for decades. “Science fiction is indeed fiction, but it is perhaps the most powerful tool we have to look to a variety of futures and wonder, worry, and act to prevent or ensure those possibilities”, claims David Bjerklie (quoted after: Hamilton 2003: 273). Popular culture stories based on science fiction conventions have shown prior to technological discoveries (in fact, most of them, such as mobile media and various applications function both in pop cultural circulation as well as in science fiction narratives) that we are technological entities, even if we deny or refuse it. We merge with technology, and even if contrary to Kurzweil’s predictions the process is not evolutionary, technological de‑ velopment is the process in which we partake, and in which we are directly involved. Furthermore, as the technological process is unfinished, we are beings subject to continuous transformations. Since now we are all symborgs, it is as conceivable that one day we will become cyborgs.

Works Cited Bostic, A. I. (1988). Automata: Seeing Cyborg through the Eyes of Popular Culture, Computer­‑GeneratedImagery, and Contemporary Theory, “Le‑ onardo”, Vol. 31, No. 5, Sixth Annual New York Digital Salon, 1998. Bukatman, S. (1993). Terminal Identity: The Virtual Subject in Post­‑Modem Scien‑ ce Fiction, Durham, Duke UP, Campbell, M. B. (2010). Artificial Men: Alchemy, Transubstantiation, and the Homunculus, „Republics of Letters: A Journal for the Study of Knowledge, Politics, and the Arts”, No. 2, 2010, http://arcade.stanford.edu/journals/rofl/ node/61 [ 07.03.2014 ]. Dinello, D. (2005). Technophobia!: science fiction visions of posthuman technolo‑ gy, University of Texas Press, Texas. 70 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

Gilson, M. A. (1998). Brief History of Japanese Robophilia, “Leonardo”, Vol. 31, No. 5, Sixth Annual New York Digital Salon. Hamilton, S. H. (2003). Traces of the Future: Biotechnology, Science Fiction, and the Media, “Science Fiction Studies”, Vol. 30, No. 2, Social Scien‑ ce Fiction. Haraway, D. (1991). A Cyborg Manifesto. Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Re‑ invention of Nature, New York­‑Routledge. Heidegger, M. (1977). The Question Concerning Technology, source: http://si‑ mondon.ocular­‑witness.com/wp­‑content/uploads/2008/05/question_con‑ cerning_technology.pdf Kember, S. Zylinska, J. (2012). Life after New Media, Mediation as Vital Pro‑ cess, MIT Press, Cambridge­‑London, Kurzweil, R. (1999). The Age of Spiritual Machines, Viking, New York. Kurzweil, R. (2005). The Singularity Is Near. When humans transcend biology, Viking, New York. Napier, S. J. (2002). When the Machines Stop: Fantasy, Reality, and Termi‑ nal Identity in „Neon Genesis Evangelion” and „Serial Experiments La‑ ins”, „Science Fiction Studies”, vol. 29, No. 3: „Japanese Science Fiction”. Newman, W.R. (2004). Promethean Ambitions: Alchemy and the Quest to Per‑ fect Nature, Chicago Show, D. B. (2008). Technoculture. The key concepts, Berg, Oxford – New York. Soo­‑Jin Lee, S. American DNA: The Politics of Potentiality in a Genomic Age, “Current Anthropology”, Vol. 54, No. S7, Potentiality and Human‑ ness: Revisiting the Anthropological Object in Contemporary Biomedicine, 2013. Stiegler, B. (1998). Technics and Time. The Fault of Epimetheus, Stanford Uni‑ versity Press, Stanford, California Žižek, S. (2004). Organs Without Bodies: On Deleuze and Consequences, Lon‑ don, Routledge,

72 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Ewa Drab Techno­ logized Culture or ­Cultu­red Technology? Video Games as a New Form of Storytelling

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109985 E w a D r a b T e c h n o ­logized Culture or ­C u l t u ­red Technology? 73

Ewa Drab is an acade‑ The growth of technology and the appearance of new media influence the culture mic teacher and a PhD and introduce new standards, which give new shapes to established cultural candidate at the Institute phenomena, such as storytelling. The first attempt at defining and explaining of Roman Languages and Translation, Uni‑ what constitutes the act of storytelling can be illustrated by the following versity of Silesia. Her dictionary definition: “the activity of telling or writing stories” (Collins professional interests Dictionary, 2014). Present in human cultures for ages as an oral process include: fantasy and SF literature, audiovisual before the invention of writing, storytelling of the past differs vastly from translation, and the con‑ storytelling of the present day since it has been influenced deeply by various nection between popular changes, including the enormous progress in technology, manifested, among culture and language. others, through video gaming. Storytelling as “an ancient art form and a valuable form of human expres‑ sion” or more precisely, in more up­‑to­‑date nomenclature “the interactive art of using words and actions to reveal the elements and images of a story while encouraging the listener’s imagination” (National Storytelling Network, 2014) always involves a narration. This is the most important aspect of storytelling, although other characteristics can be distinguished as well: it has an interactive character in terms of a bond between the author of the story and the audience, it is determined by language as the narrative is expressed wholly or partially by words, it is equally conditioned by action, which establishes the course of events present in the story, and it is based on the reaction of the audience, in reference to their imagination (National Storytelling Network, 2014). As storytelling is focused on narratives, it is essential to look briefly at the beginnings of the study on narratives before embarking on any further analysis of the relation between technology applied in video games and the development of storytelling. As Teun Dubbelman points out in his article Narrative in Transition. How New Media Change Our Experience of Stories (2014), the narratives started to be analyzed independently in the 1960s and it was Tzvetan Todorov who named the study narratology (1969:10). However, Paul Cobley (2005) highlights the fact that the term cannot refer to the en‑ tirety of the analysis, but should be treated as “. . . a systematic, thorough, and disinterested approach to the mechanics of narrative, an approach in stark contrast to those approaches that observe or seek out “value” in some narratives (and not others) . . .” He also emphasizes that it is “a specific way of understanding narrative that was developed out of structuralism and Rus‑ sian formalism” having its early beginnings in the works of Vladimir Propp, later complemented by Ferdinand de Saussure and Roland Barthes. Within the framework of narratology the basic notions for the analysis of narratives have been coined, starting with the narrative itself. As Manfred Jahn (2005) states “all narratives present a story. A story is a sequence of events which involves characters. Hence, a narrative is a form of communication which presents a sequence of events caused and experienced by characters.” It definitely should be treated as a perfect point of departure for any discussion on modern forms of storytelling, such as video games, as it points out how in the core of new technologies­‑driven cultural products the old meets the new, the latter merely transforming the former and building new experiences within the structure of the narrative around it. What is more, video games follow the structure common for other forms of storytelling, namely they include story setting, story characters and story events (Dubbelman, 2014). Only the interaction between these elements change and fluctuate. Apart from the structural and formal approach towards narratives, it is of high importance to analyze the notion of narrative as in reference to the au‑ dience. Dubbelman states firmly that it is possible to understand narratives 74 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

as “something that communicates real or fictitious events from the past”(3). However, the progress and developments in the field excludes the exist‑ ence of only one and narrow definition. In truth, the active participation of the audience in the story manifested through art or popular culture has introduced the simultaneous experience of the story. In this particular context Dubbelman refers to the logics of presentation and re­‑presentation (4 – 5), where the former describes “the idea of narrative immersion” and a feeling of witnessing the story unfolding in the moment of entering the interaction with it, the latter is determined by a sense of being re­‑told the events already belonging to the past. Furthermore, Dubbelman applies those rules to video games and claims that some of them are of presentational character manifested by the acknowledgment of the player or of representational character visible through the fact the presence of the player is ignored. Still this particular division may be questioned since the interference of the player in the course of action by the way of performing the tasks appointed to them, differing even in a slightest way, suggests the presence of the audience sharing certain parts of storytelling with the creators. Therefore, only the fact that the player is given an option, a choice or an alternative should be treated as an invitation to the process of storytelling. Having analyzed briefly the theoretical background of narratives, it is crucial to look at the already mentioned connection of technologies and the evolution of storytelling in video games. It is believed that the first video game produced ever was Spacewars developed by the Massachussetts Institute of Technology in 1961. But the first game in the short history of electronic entertainment was deprived of any complex storyline, which remained a stand‑ ard in the production of video games for many years to come. The prototype of the first game console was Brown Box manufactured in 1967 and created by a German developer, Ralph Baer, who was also the author of a four year younger gaming system called Maqnavox Oddyssey (Kudler 2009). The boom for the first home consoles and hit games started in the 1970s. when the ping­ ‑pong simulation Pong and the ATARI console were developed. The following years saw one of the most famous games in the history born, namely Pac­‑man, a simple concept of swallowing pellets or so­‑called pac­‑dots and scoring points in order to complete the level (Online Education 2013). In Pac­‑Man it was still the idea for gameplay of importance, not the story or characters. But even if the creators of various video games had in mind complicated nar‑ ratives, they did not have any means to present them in the virtual context. Therefore, most of the games created before the year 1990 had simple rules whereas the story worked as a pretext for the gameplay. The only exception were adventure games, which consisted of static images with movable objects and a playable character and focused on solving riddles and enigmas in order to unveil the mystery behind the game. Hence, they always included plenty of dialogues building a complicated narrative, for example in The Longest Journey (1999) or Siberia (2002). The example of adventure games leads to another important factor in the analysis of video games’ narratives, namely the connection of storytelling and genres. Philip Hanna (2014) describes a game genre as a way of defin‑ ing games “in terms of having a common style or set of characteristics, e.g. as defined in terms of perspective, gameplay, interaction, objective, etc.”. He also enumerates various genres, for instance: adventure, action, action­ ‑adventure, first­‑person shooter, role playing, survival horror, racing, and others. Clearly, the genre shapes the storytelling by the degree of relating E w a D r a b T e c h n o ­logized Culture or ­C u l t u ­red Technology? 75 the gameplay to the story and of the interference of the player. Even if only one characteristic and one genre are taken under the looking glass, such as perspective and FPS games, it will be visible how the connection works. The perspective decides about the reception of the story, hence in first­‑person shooters, the experience should become more engaging and personal than in other types of games. Furthermore, the fact of perceiving the onscreen events through the eyes of a protagonist gives an impression of being a part of all three elements of storytelling cited by Dubbelman, namely story set‑ ting, character and events. Consequently, the boundaries are blurred and the illusion of control is achieved. In the aftermath to the development of game genres and along with the progress in the technology of game­‑making, video games have started to aspire to the narrative complexity of films, which highlights the connection between the products of culture, such as cinema, and the technical develop‑ ments. Not only does the computer serve the purpose of complementing films in the field of special effects and allowing filmmakers to show what could not have been shown otherwise, but it has also been given a function of a medium used to create stories and spark emotions, or simply build the world of fiction down to the last detail. It is vividly visible in games labeled as interactive nar‑ ratives, which merge the rules of gaming with the film­‑like stories. The best illustration would be Heavy Rain (2009) and Beyond: Two Souls (2013), both created by the same developer, the French Quantic Dream. Both feature quasi­‑independent storylines and focus on the intrigue and characters, who are portrayed in details, similarly to movie protagonists. Furthermore, they also outrun cinema or books, in a sense, in the aspect of the emotional power they have over the audience since, apart from interactivity, which is present in any type of video games, they offer the illusion of liberty within the fictitious world, allowing for the feeling of having the control over the story. Therefore, the storytelling seems to turn into story­‑making, with players in the roles of co­‑authors or co­‑writers. Heavy Rain is a gaming equivalent of a psychological crime novel or film noir. As it is stated on the official website of the developer, it is “an evolving thriller in which you shape the story.” What is more, it features “mature content, reflecting a realistic world setting that explores powerful themes” (Quantic Dream, 2014). Hence, the authors of the game concentrate their efforts on the narrative and the way it is presented to the audience and in what manner it can be manipulated by the players, rather than on the standard gameplay, which would involve a sort of antagonism, usually present in all games, for example manifested through combat. In Heavy Rain the action is scarce whereas the nature of the player’s interference remains the central element of the game. The main intrigue presents a father whose child gets kidnapped by the Ori‑ gami Killer. The son is kept in a low­‑located place and will be eventually killed when the rain inundates his temporary prison. The strange setup reveals to be a game between the traumatized killer and the father, who keeps getting origami figures with instructions of what he should do to get the next part of the address where his son is about to die. The game introduces the changes of perspective, namely the player controls the steps of the father, but also of a private detective, a policeman and a journalist. This particular approach towards the narrative gives a wider look at the events and fuels the whodunit structure. Nonetheless, this is the perspective of the father which highlights best the unique character of the interactive storytelling. 76 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

As the father is pushed to take serious decisions and act in a terrifying way, the player gets immersed in the moral and emotional deadlock the character is experiencing in the game. Furthermore, the narrative is not linear, hence, the spontaneous decisions made by the player actually shape the subsequent events and they carry the emotional significance. For instance, near the end of the game, the father must choose: is he going to swallow poison which will kill him in an hour and this way save his son or is he going to save himself and sacrifice the child? It depends on the player and the decision influences the final events which can unfold in various ways. Another example showing how interactive narratives permit to influ‑ ence the story and what is possible in a form of technologized storytelling is provided by a scene with the technology addict, the policeman. He searches the apartment and out of nowhere a man appears. The man reaches out to his breast pocket, which means he might be carrying a gun. The decision, a very fast one additionally, is to shoot in self­‑defense and risk being wrong or do nothing but become a possible target of an armed opponent. In a film or in a book such situations evoke excitement or fear but the reception remains pas‑ sive. In games the participation of the audience is active, therefore, the doubts of the protagonists become the hesitations of the player, even if the options available are still predetermined by the creators. It seems to be a new quality in the context of storytelling, though. The last important point to discuss in reference to Heavy Rain is the char‑ acter of the killer. As it has already been mentioned, the active participation of the player in the course of narrative and in the actions of the in­‑game alter egos creates a sense of attachment, different than the urge to support the steps taken by the movie characters. In an interactive narrative the player and the protagonist go through the events together as the former is not reduced to the role of a spectator but remains one of the actors in the decision­‑making process of the latter. Consequently, if the playable character is revealed to be the murderer, the impact of the revelation is much bigger than in a movie or a book, even if the surprise is the same. It also influences the understanding of the character as the fact the player controls their steps allows to look into them outside of the perspective of a villain. A very good illustration of such an approach are the words of Tzvetan Todorov, who claims in his works that the first­‑person narrative bestows trust upon the narrator and excludes them from being the perpetrator. He further gives an example of breaking this particular rule in the intention of mislead‑ ing the reader in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie, where the killer is actually the narrator of the book. Todorov observes: “As narrator, his discourse is not subject to the test of truth; but as a character, he can lie” (1975: 83). The same trick is used by the developers of Heavy Rain, who make the player team up with the private detective and control his actions in order to learn his real identity in the end. Thanks to the concept of making one of the playable characters the villain, it is possible to glance into the motif of the crime. At the same time it adds psychological depth to the character. Despite the fact that interactive narratives open up many different pos‑ sibilities of improving storytelling in games as well as storytelling in general, it is still an unpopular genre. Quantic Dream seems to be the only company on the game market which focuses on such endeavors. Their next game, fol‑ lowing Heavy Rain, was Beyond: Two Souls and it used the same mechanisms as its predecessor. By its creators from Quantic Dream it described as “a sin‑ gularly unique psychological action thriller delivered by A­‑list Hollywood E w a D r a b T e c h n o ­logized Culture or ­C u l t u ­red Technology? 77 performances.” In this case, though, the connection between films and games seems to be even more visible regarding the names of actors who played the game characters and lent their faces and mimics for the computer processing, namely Ellen Page and Willem Defoe, well­‑known for their achievements in cinema (“A­‑list Hollywood performances”, as stated in the official blurb). Apart from Beyond other games are evolving, yet they keep to verified solu‑ tions. The reason for it would be the reaction of the market to brisk changes. Heavy Rain was treated as an interesting oddity, but as a regularity it would probably discourage players who still look for action­‑packed rather than narrative­‑focused games. The in­‑game storytelling has also been revised and restructured in sand‑ box video games, defined as “a style of game in which minimal character limitations are placed on the gamer, allowing the gamer to roam and change a virtual world at will. [ It ] is also known as an open­‑world or free­‑roaming game” (Janssen, 2014). In sandboxes the linearity of the story is concealed by the apparent random order of the events and by liberty in exploring the world of the game, which can be a city or a whole country. In sandboxes the narrative is influenced by the impression of total freedom, at least in the perspective of the player, who is manipulated and thinks that the story depends on his decisions. Nevertheless, the only thing which does depend on the player is the number of missions completed since it is possible to learn the story without any background and focus on trigger missions, which boost the narrative and make it unfold, or to familiarize oneself with the game’s world and extend the story with the help of additional or secondary missions. Although they do not make the story advance, they contribute to the perception of the in­‑game reality as well as to the complexity of the experience. The examples of sandboxes areInfamous and Read Dead Redemption, two well­‑received and critically acclaimed games with gripping stories. Both offer major and minor missions, open worlds and a linear narrative hidden behind the impression of a total leeway. But this is not the veritable structure of the games which should be in the center of the analysis because this is the reaction of the player which really shows how the concept of liberties, limited even, granted by the technological advancement influence the shape of the story and how it is told through the gameplay. Infamous (Sucker Punch, 2009) reaches out for the scheme of a post­ ‑apocalyptic society touched by the lack of electricity, which is followed by chaos, the spill of blood and the disintegration of the social structures. The player’s alter ego is a suspicious individual endowed with a gift of operat‑ ing electrical discharges, who faces an unwanted mission of cleaning the city from the aggressive gangs sprouting after the apocalypse and using the situ‑ ation to their advantage. Further, in the course of action, it is revealed that the protagonist is the only human being able to end the terror and restore electricity. The character can move wherever he wants within a fed district as in the districts where the current is still out he cannot recharge his pow‑ ers and will certainly fall prey to the adversaries. Nevertheless, no wall nor obstacle is placed to keep the protagonist in one place, yet in some locations it is impossible to survive without the progression of his skills. In this manner, the authors subtly limit the player’s freedom without interfering directly in their gameplay. In order to continue the main narrative, it is essential to complete the main missions, indicated on the game’s world map, hence, in this particular context, the narrative cannot be deemed special or unique, apart from highlighting 78 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

its interactive nature, standard in most games. But the number of second‑ ary tasks to choose from allow for a sort of customization since the choice whether to start an additional mission or not, the number of such completed missions and the ways of completing them expand or limit the narrative and the gameplay, thus determining the final experience and contributing to the individualization of the game. There is also one more element in it – it is the player’s decision if they want to learn the rest of the story or just wander and admire the virtual reality. A very similar experience is provided by Red Dead Redemption, which is another sandbox game (Rockstar, 2010). In the Rockstar production it is not a city making for a gaming area, but a part of American land bordering with Mexico in the times of Wild West, i.e. at the turn of the 19th and 20th century. The former outlaw, John Marston, is forced by the federal agents to hunt down the gang he used to be a part of. He then visits different towns of Wild West, travels into the mountains and gets involved into the local Mexican conflict. The game provides the player with a liberty of travelling wherever they wish to on the horseback and of staying in towns by paying for accom‑ modation or on the roadside by camping near the campfire. Again, mobility and latitude influence the gaming experience rather than the narrative itself, yet the manner of presenting it hinges on such gaming liberties, unachievable in any other form of storytelling. Moreover, the same rule as in Heavy Rain applies to Red Dead Redemption making the attachment to an ambivalent protagonist a key factor in the perception of the tragic finale of the game. It is also extremely interesting to learn that the open­‑world game structure loops the narrative by never really ending it. As narratives in novels or in cinema need definite closure, it is unnecessary to end the game. Where one story is finished, the other begins, though it is not told in the game. Still, though, it is possible to travel through the American land and return to the character’s farm. The world of the game lasts, just as the real life does. The above­‑mentioned sandboxes add one more feature to the process of shaping the storytelling with the use of technology. Only in video games the player is able to choose sides and become the guardian angel and the sav‑ ior of the mankind or a megalomaniac villain drunk on the wielded power. In Infamous the way the player treats the common man and uses the gift of the protagonist is reflected in the possible development of the character and the attitude of the people towards him. In Red Dead Redemption reputation is everything as it can make the gameplay a series of gunfights as a consequence of becoming a wanted man and an enemy to every party. It is the will of the player which path is to be chosen and, although these two routes in the game’s world are predetermined, leaving the decision to the player makes everything undetermined. Finally, the game finds another advantage over other forms of storytelling by making it possible to be good or evil, terrifying or admired. The same strategy has been applied to the games in the Mass Effectseries (Bioware, 2010 – 2012). It follows the steps of commander Shepard in the space odyssey in the attempt of saving Earth and other planets and civilizations from the eradication brought upon the galaxy by the ancient race of Reapers. This action RPG in space allows players to make spontaneous and very fast deci‑ sions with one click of a button, which determines the character of the game’s main hero. Decisions are also made through dialogues and the way of having key conversations with other characters. Just as in Red Dead Redemption it is reflected in the protagonist’s reputation and the alternative progress of events. In Mass Effect 2Shepard’s face is reconstructed through the means of plastic E w a D r a b T e c h n o ­logized Culture or ­C u l t u ­red Technology? 79 surgery and his or her deeds are mirrored by the scars being the aftermath of the operation. If Shepard commits to evil by abusing power and turning his/her back on the weak, then the hero’s face remains furrowed by terrible marks, yet if the protagonist chooses the good, the outcome is that the skin becomes smooth and delicate. Mass Effect adds more to the liberties of storytelling in video games in the context of the main character being an integral part of the narrative. The game is constructed in a way to allow for both female and male pro‑ tagonist and, furthermore, it gives the player an option of designing their very own, unique character. The opening of Mass Effect 2 swiftly conceals Shepard’s sex and looks by the use of a unisex armor and a helmet whereas the plastic surgery makes it possible to introduce the Shepard of the player’s choice. In the menu of the character’s creation it is to determine the skin color, the shape of the face, the haircut, etc. What in literature happens in the imagination but always within the limits of the author’s description and on the silver screen is already determined by the appearance of actors, in the game is a play of whim. In consequence, the perception of the story is filtered through the image of the protagonist, which differs in each version of the individualized game. Moreover, the relationships within the story, are also established with the reference to Shepard’s actions and chosen sex. In truth, the creator of the game themselves pride themselves on the interactive storytelling, stating that “Mass Effect 3 offers a unique opening narrative to im‑ merse you in the storyline and characters, quickly and easily preparing you for the beginning, middle, and end of a galactic war for survival” (Bioware, 2012). The conducted analysis, as brief as it may seem, leads to clear conclusions regarding the development of storytelling via the development of technology, which are presented below: The more advanced technological means of presenting a narrative are, the more complex the story becomes. The ongoing discussion whether to classify video games as art suggests that the artistic quality of games might be equal to any other products of culture. It means game developers aim at present‑ ing stories, similarly to filmmakers and novelists, but they deprived of tools necessary to narrate in the frameworks of the interactive environment, they could not do until now. Hence, the developments of narratives in video games have been in works for at most two last decades, opening new paths and becoming a gateway to a new quality of storytelling. Modern video games use basic elements of storytelling, such as setting, characters and events, yet their interaction with the audience differs from other narratives. The bond between the player and the game could be treated as rep‑ resentational or presentational, yet it seems that the participation of the player in the process of storytelling make the presentational perspective prevalent. Genres influence greatly the nature of storytelling in video games as they shift focus from the gameplay to story or other way around. Therefore, the player may feel more or less engaged in the events presented in the game. However, the player’s participation will always make the video game storytelling more active and dynamic than other forms of narratives. Furthermore, genres determine perspective whereas perspective intensifies or levies the experience of in­‑game storytelling. Interesting examples of video games’ storytelling being close to the par‑ ticipation in story­‑making are interactive narratives, such as Heavy Rain and Beyond, which demonstrate a close resemblance to films due to the fact they are pre­‑acted by professional actors, and sandboxes, for instance Infamous or 80 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

Red Dead Redemption, where the liberties in exploring the setting for the story partially shape the narrative itself. Important elements of storytelling in video games also are: choosing the na‑ ture of the protagonist, who can become good or evil, choosing the number of mission completed and the way of completing them, creating the character from the scratch as a unique alter ego of the player, and choosing the dialogue lines in reference to the decision­‑making process, crucial to the course of action. In consequence, all the above­‑mentioned conclusions seem to be a perfect start for another study and a deeper analysis of the nature of storytelling in video games as well as of the evolution of in­‑game stories, characters and worlds.

Works Cited Cobley P. (2005). Narratology. http://www.davidlavery.net/Courses/Narrato‑ logy/JHGTC/Narratology.pdf [ 12.03.2014 ]. Collins Dictionary. (2014). Storytelling. http://www.collinsdictionary.com/di‑ ctionary/english/storytelling [ 12.03.2014 ]. Dubbelman T. (2014). Narrative in Transition. How New Media Change Our Ex‑ perience of Stories. http://web.mit.edu/comm­‑forum/mit7/papers/Teun%20 Dubbelman.pdf [ 11.03.2014 ]. Hanna P. (2014). Video Game Technologies: Game Genres. http://www.di.ubi.pt/~agomes/tjv/teoricas/01­‑genres.pdf [ 13.03.2014 ]. Interactive Software Federation of Europe. (2012). Videogames in Europe: Consumer Study. http://www.isfe.eu/sites/isfe.eu/files/attachments/euro_ summary_­‑isfe_consumer_study.pdf [ 20.02.2014 ]. Jahn M. (2005). Narratology: A Guide to the Theory of Narrative. http://www. uni­‑koeln.de/~ame02/pppn.htm. [ 14.03.2014 ]. Janssen C. (2014). Sandbox – definition. Technopedia. http://www.techopedia.com/definition/3952/sandbox­‑gaming [ 12.03. 2014 ]. Kudler A. (2007). Timeline: Video Games [ in: ] Infoplease. http://www.info‑ please.com/spot/gamestimeline1.html [ 2.03.2014 ]. Mass Effect 3 Official Website. (2013), Interactive Storytelling. http://massef‑ fect.bioware.com/about/story/ (Accessed online: 13.03.2014). National Storytelling Network. (2014). What is Storytelling?. http://www.sto‑ rynet.org/resources/whatisstorytelling.html [ 12.03.2014 ]. Online Education. (2013). A Video Game Timeline. http://www.onlineeduca‑ tion.net/videogame_timeline [ 15.12.2013 ]. Quantic Dream. (2009). Heavy Rain. http://www.quanticdream.com/fr/game/ heavy­‑rain [ 12.03.2014 ]. Quantic Dream. (2013). Beyond: Two Souls. http://www.quanticdream.com/en/ game/beyond­‑two­‑souls [ 12.03.2014 ]. Rockstar Games. (2010). Red Dead Redemption. http://www.rockstargames. com/reddeadredemption/info [ 12.03.2014 ]. Sucker Punch. (2009). Infamous. http://www.suckerpunch.com/index.php? Itemid=58&id=50&layout=blog&option=com_content&view=category [ 11.03.2014 ]. Todorov T. (1969). Grammaire du Décaméron. The Hague. Todorov T. (1975). The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre. New York.

82 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Aneta Jałocha (Re)De‑ signing Human Genetics in Cinema. The Dialectics of Past, Present and Future

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109988 Aneta Jałocha ( R e ) D e s i g n i n g H u m a n 83

Aneta Jałocha is a PhD The Technology candidate at the Insti‑ tute of Audiovisual Arts, Jagiellonian University; of the Days to Come her research interests include history of French In 1899, at the dawn of a new century, Jacques Loeb, after conducting a research cinema and avant­‑garde on the process of parthenogenesis in sea organisms, argued that the results films. Since 2012, she has taken part in SET of his scientific exploration may become a foundation of a “technology of living (Society, Environment, substance” (Bud, 1991: 421). Eight years later, the term “biotechnology”, a sci‑ Technology) Interdiscipli‑ ence to emerge in the future, was coined by a Hungarian engineer and farmer, nary Studies program. Karl Ereky; it became rapidly adapted and included in the titles of scientific publications in Germany, England and the United States. Though in the first half of the 20th century the meanings of the term were shifting, certain elements of various definitions seem recurrent: biotechnology as a merger between science and technology; or more specifically, a combination of biology (acquisition of knowledge about living organisms, a discipline of natural sciences, which at the beginning of the 20th century was under a strong influ‑ ence of the concept of “progressive evolution”) and engineering (practical application). Ereky’s idea was claimed to be “the signature of the era” (Bud, 1991: 424), which echoes the titles of contemporary publications, such as Biotech Century: Harnessing the Gene and Remaking the World (by Jeremy Rifkin). Since the fifties, the term “biotechnology” began to stabilize and became associated mostly with genetics and molecular biology. In 1953, James Watson and Francis Crick solved one of genetic puzzles: the structure of the DNA (first extracted in 1869 by Johann Miescher, who named it “the nuclein”), identifying it as a double helix. The march of biotechnological discoveries sped up rapidly. Watson and Crick’s findings, followed by the development of DNA sequencing techniques, gene splicing and recombination, as well as the advances in RNA research marked a new stage in biotechnology: an “era of genetics”, the exploration of “the mechanism by which life comes from life’, in Crick’s terms” (Crick, 1953). The rapid pace continues, as genetics still holds hopes for our future. In 1997, a piece of shocking scientific news broke out: a team of American researchers successfully cloned the first mammal from a cell which was removed from an adult individual. Dolly the Sheep, just as the DNA double helix, has gained the status of a “genetic celebrity” and was featured on various press covers. Ten years later, the world commemo‑ rated the anniversary of her birthday as the tremendous triumph of biotech science. Similarly, when the final stage of the Human Genome Project was declared as completed in 2003, it was a breakthrough event for both science and culture. Step by step, since the milestone discovery of DNA’s structure, biotechnology started to permeate different fields, leaving sterile laboratories and the territories of science to become an essential element of present­‑day politics, economics and culture. The Omnipresent DNA

As Nelkin and Linde have pointed out, the “gene” is a “molecular mirror” of the twenty first century (Nelkin and Linde, 2004: xi).DNA is omnipresent in a double sense: biologically, as all living organisms contain DNA, but also culturally, as the “molecule of life” infiltrates everyday experience: articles on genetics are frequently published by popular scientific magazines; e­‑bay offers variousDNA ­‑inspired accessories, ranging from a double helix keychains 84 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

to “Fightings in my DNA” t­‑shirts; television drama series begin to feature genetic testing (Grey’s Anatomy) or forensic biotechnology (CSI). Over and above, biotechnology is still an emerging branch of science and its driving force comes from the collision of “what is now” and “what may be”; a rupture inscribed in the ethos of development. As genetics is solving the “riddles of life”, one by one, it generates new brain­‑teasers in explaining the mechanisms of biological processes; but it also blurs the boundaries between nature and technology, calling into question the notion of “humaneness”. As Jeremy Rifkin noted: “The problem is that biotechnology has a distinct beginning, but no clear end” (Rifkin). Currently, we are facing another biotechnological “turn”: the costs of genetic testing and certain procedures of cloning (some are banned by government regulations) decrease, making the biotechnological market expand rapidly, and further growth is forecast for the coming years. Between 2004 and 2006, a private company Genetic Savings and Clone, Inc. provided the service of cat cloning; their website gallery was filled with persuasive images of cat­‑donors and their genetic replicas. Since 2013, another company, 23andMe, offers genetic testing for a 99$ fee, giving “information and tools for individuals to learn about and explore their DNA” (23andMe). Biotechnology is in use, which means that it might be also abused. With every next level of genetics “evolution”, new hopes and threats arise, heating up debates on social and technological roles of genetics and its ethical aspects. Amidst the ongoing war over genetics, public attitudes towards “technology of the future”, still highly antagonizing, are of a special concern; mapped, analyzed and presented in subsequent publications. Predicting the Future, Recalling the Past

Public understanding of genetics is largely shaped by mass media; the key strategy in introducing and explaining biotechnological discoveries to the public is based on incorporating metaphors that through the process of juxtaposing familiar and unfamiliar contexts allow to transfer and organize knowledge (Christidou, Dimopoulos, Koulaidis, 2004: 348). In addition, initiatives and campaigns aiming to increase scientific literacy tame social fears and minimize the communication gap, as the scientific discourses enter into the public. One may use the website run by the Tech Museum of Information to pose a series of questions to a scientific specialist about genetic engineering, play a “DNA Roulette” and discover, step by step, how to extract DNA from a strawberry; or take part in one of the summer schools devoted to biotechnology and its implications. Still, people’s attitudes and opinion with respect to genetic engineering depend on several different, often contradictory, representations of genetic technology in popular culture, which should not be overlooked. Research conducted in Australia has shown that film stands are an influential source of information on cloning (Cormick, 2006: 182). Linda Hamilton adds that most people will not read reports about the state of biotechnological research; rather, they will watch a film or read a novel on genetic ventures (Hamilton, 2003: 268 – 269). Within the universe of popular culture, science­‑fiction is an abundant reservoir of ‘imagenation’ (the term was introduced by José van Dijck in Imagenation: Popular Images of Genetics). When the possibility of engineering Aneta Jałocha ( R e ) D e s i g n i n g H u m a n 85 the human left the realm of mythology (i.e. Pygmalion and Galatea) and became a potential accomplishment of scientific development, artificial humans, mutants and clones filled the pages of comics (X­‑Men, Captain America, Spiderman, Hulk, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Trilogy of Nikopol), novels (Brave New World, Dune, The Cloud Atlas, The Island of doctor Moreau); genetics became also an often explored theme within television series (Dark Angel, Beauty and the Beast, Mutant X) and cinematic productions, often derivative as based on earlier science fiction novels or comics Blade( Runner, The Boys from Brazil, Never Let me Go, the X­‑Men series). The roles assigned to science­‑fiction characters vary: they are villains, heroes or victims of genetic manipulation. The impact of the biotechnological revolution is immense: genetic themes feature in stories so far monopolized by folklore and myths; theme once belonging to the sphere of irrationality began to be explained by the “genetics dictionary”. In the age of biotech, even the vampires are in jeopardy, just to mention Blade (1998, dir. Stephen Norrington), whose main character’s DNA is modified (a hybrid of a human and a vampire), or genetic experiments of mad scientists in the fourth season of CW’s supernatural teenage drama series The Vampire Diaries (broadcast in 2013/2014). In this article I am going to analyze how chosen films, produced in various periods (between the creation of Dolly the Sheep, the Human Genome Project and the rush of reports about the advent in human cloning), such as: GATTACA (1997, dir. Andrew Niccol), The Island (2005, dir. Michael Bay) and Never Let me Go (2010, dir. Mark Romanek) negotiate the meanings of biotechnol‑ ogy. They explore different areas of genetic engineering, address important issues resulting from the rapid biotechnology development and expansion. Although not apparent at a first glance, biotechnology and science­‑fiction share similar traits: “Biotechnology takes on some of the sense of wonder of science­‑fiction. It is anchored in a present that is the visionary future of an ahistorical imagination. To know the future, we must combine science with imagination” (Hamilton, 2003: 273). Science fiction, just as the researches designing biotechnological development and its role for the future generations, creates its contemporary foresights into the future, “what may be” immersed in “what is now”, but often looking back to “what has already been”. Pimp Up my Genes

Four months after the event publicized in television news, scientific and popular magazines, the birth of Dolly the Sheep, GATTACA premiered. However, before being officially released in the theatres, a closed screening for biotechnologists had been organized. Some of them attended to watch the sci­‑fi folklore and babeldom. Others, which points to the scientists’ awareness of the impor‑ tance of local knowledge on genetics and the public’s role as a participant in the biotech war, stressed that GATTACA is “a film that all geneticists should see if for no other reason than to understand the perception of [ their ] trade held by so many of the public­‑at­‑large” (Kirby, 2000: 208 – 209). Soon after the premiere, the term GATTACA, made of letters coding’ biological compounds of DNA (adenine, thymine, guanine and cytosine) became commonly used as a handy expression, a one­‑word metaphor connoting a “geneticized” future. But what is the future that GATTACA forecasts and what are the main threats deployed in the film? The world presented inGATTACA is one of genetic purity fixated on perfection: interiors made of glass and shiny metals are inhabited by 86 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

humans designed on­‑demand to meet the standards of flawlessness, and this accurately arranged world leaves no room for uniqueness. Crucially, Niccol’s film pictures “the days of future past” (to echo the title of a new segment of the X­‑Men series), as it predicts “what may” be by recalling “what has already been”, i.e. inexplicitly referring to the dark legacy of eugenics; a legacy that still affects the public approach towards genetic engineering and is often used as an argument against the use of biotechnological manipulations. The peak of eugenics’ popularity overlapped in time with the emergence of the concept of biotechnology. In the early 20th century Rudolf Goldscheid, founder of an Austrian social biology department, emphasized the need to develop a technology suitable for the modification of people; similar ideas were promulgated in Great Britain by Rainald Brightman (Bud, 1991: 426 – 430). Moreover, the eugenics program to design humans according to a set of chosen norms was not only a future scenario; certain strategies of improving and controlling human population, based on the available knowledge of heredity, were implemented. In the United States, in the first three decades of the 20th century, several states introduced compulsory eugenic policies, including a sterilization legally imposed on citizens regarded to be carriers of undesirable traits, such as mental disorders. For researchers associated with the eugen‑ ics movement, a new­‑to become technology (engineering nature), was seen as a tool by which it would be possible to change the trajectory of evolution in the name of “efficiency” and modern progress. In GATTACA, produced at the heart of the biotech revolution, similar aims (enhancing humans) sanction the rules of life within a fictional society. The story creates an image of “new eugenics” (Kirby, 2000), based on the easy, but status­ ‑dependent, access to commercialized biotechnological services. The society in GATTACA is divided into a sub­‑class of ordinary humans, called “God children”, not lucky enough to have their genes “boosted”, and a ruling’ class of people with (re)designed genomes. The first one is represented by Vincent, the film’s main protagonist, conceived without the intervention of genetic engineering; Eugene, Anton (Vincent’s younger brother) and Irene belong to the lat‑ ter, privileged group. Niccol’s film draws attention to one of the prevailing concerns of the debates: genetic engineering inventing a new form of social exclusion, dependent not on race, sex or ethnicity, but on genetic differences:

Ethicists and government commissions have expressed unanimous opposition to enhancement engineering, arguing that it carries huge social risk for abuse of power, discrimination and inequality. The line between clinical therapy and eugenic enhancement is fuzzy … (Sateesh, 2008: 117 – 118).

The technology of controlled reproduction used in the GATTACA world, however ambiguously explained, might be considered a futuristic fusion of germ­‑line therapy (gene transfer, modifying gene expression also in fertilized eggs, which at the time of the movie’s production was already in the stage of clinical trials) and the PGD procedure (Preimplantation Genetic Diagnosis), used in in vitro fertilization to determine possible disorders in the embryo’s genome. In GATTACA, for a sum of money, parents may design the genome of their child, project their future, and arrange the “book of life”: not only to eliminate diseases, but also “potentially prejudicial conditions” (premature baldness, alcoholism, tendency to violence) and plan the color of their babies’ Aneta Jałocha ( R e ) D e s i g n i n g H u m a n 87 eyes, their musical talents, height or intelligence. When Antonio and Marie Freeman, after deciding on another baby, wonder, whether they should leave “a few things to a chance”, the geneticist replies: “You want to give your child the best possible start. Believe me, we have enough imperfection built in already. Your child doesn’t need any additional burdens”. GATTACA presents a social order in which enhanced people are predestined for greatness, while the ordinary, “in­‑valids” are on a road to nowhere. Vincent is perceived through his genome; in short, his identity is equaled to his genetic material, which within the fictionalized GATTACA society as‑ sumes the role of a point of reference for making decisions about employment or choosing a proper life partner. Vincent’s future has been already planned: his fate is inscribed in his imperfect genome. The minute he is born, he is “diagnosed” to live no longer than thirty years, and his odds will be as follows: 42% chance of manic depression occurrence, and 99% of heart disease. “Ten fingers, ten toes” – comments Vincent (voice­‑over in retrospect) – “That is all that used to matter. Not now … “. Niccol’s film questions genetic determinism, an ideology that operates with a “scientificized” rhetoric. Nelkin and Linde, analyzing socio­‑cultural representations of DNA, wrote:\

In super market tabloids and soap operas, in television sitcoms and talks shows, in women’s magazines and parenting advice books, genes appear to explain obesity, criminality, shyness, directional ability, intelligence, political leanings and preferred style of dressing. There are selfish genes, pleasure­‑seeking genes, violence genes, celebrity genes, gay genes … . Genetic determinism reduces the self to a molecular entity, equating human beings, in all their social, historical and moral complexity, with their genes’. (Nelkin and Linde, 2004: 2)

Vincent dreams to fulfill his ambitions, which exceed the limits set out by his genome; this requires him, a worker for the spaceflight company Gattaca, to mask his genetic identity. He impersonates Eugene Jerome, a paralyzed former sportsman with “pimped up” genes, and transforms his body to eliminate biological traces and defects which would expose him as an “in­‑valid”. In GAT‑ TACA, the body, which contains genetic material and manifests it in information translated into flesh, becomes Vincent’s enemy. He repeats the make­‑over procedure: every day, he shaves and scrubs himself meticulously and wears contact lenses to hide his vision defect. “Daily, I disposed of as much loose skin, fingernails and hair as possible to limit how much of my in­‑valid self I would leave in the valid world”, Vincent explains. He uses Eugene’s bodily samples as his own to deceive tests, intensified due to a murder committed in Gattaca. The masquerade performed by the protagonist is of a biometrical kind, since it always occurs within his corporeality; the body, as the source of information and power stratifying GATTACA society, is being both hidden and exposed: blood, hair, urine. Withal, the notion of the self in GATTACA is ambiguous, enclosed in the verses of Ruth Stone’s poem The Illusion: “I am the genes and the genes are not me/ We are identical twins separated at birth … / I am not me. I am the genes/ The double helix … . Vincent understands the rules of the game he is playing, and he plays it, because he believes himself to be more than his genome predicts him to be; 88 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

but besides Vincent there are also other characters in GATTACA that discredit the ideology of genetic determinism. For example Eugene, designed to become a swimming champion, failed to be victorious; he has never been able to match the requirements and demands imposed on him by his impeccable genome (Kirby, 2000: 203 – 204) and decided to commit suicide, which is the truth, confessed to Vincent, about the car accident that got him paralyzed. The theme echoes Jürgen Habermas’s argument that genetic manipulation may influence one’s identity and the right to choose from a set of possible trajectories of life:

We cannot rule out that knowledge of one’s own he‑ reditary features as programmed may prove to restrict the choice of an individual’s life, and to undermine the essentially symmetrical relations between equal and free human beings. (Habermas, 2003: 23)

Anton, working as a detective on the murder case in Gattaca, sees himself better than the “in­‑valid” brother, but his self­‑image collapses with him losing the final swimming competition to Vincent (a game they used to play as children). What is more, he is saved from drowning by his genetically inferior brother. Shocked by Vincent’s brilliant swimming abilities, Anton shouts: “How are you doing this? How have you done any of this?” Though Vincent provides a vague explanation, the real answer to the question is not provided, for it is hidden in the mystery of the human being, the film narrative suggests. The mystery cannot be explained with an alphabet limited to four letters: A,T,C,G which is one of the arguments of the “bioconservatist” camp. The original ending of GATTACA involves a consideration of the future, stressing the need to reconsider ethical issues surrounding genetic engineering: “In few short years, scientists will have completed the Human Genome Project … We have now evolved to a point where we can direct our own evolution . . .”. Seventeen years have passed since the premiere of Niccol’s film; ten – since the termination of Human Genome Project, and issues raised in GATTACA are currently of highest importance. In 2008, James Watson was one of two first people to reveal the results of his genome sequencing to the public (he did not publish the parts of his genome linked to the likelihood of Alzheimer’s disease, as he himself did not want to learn it). Personal genomics are now becoming everyday reality: in its commercial offer: company called Gentle provides screenings of genetic conditions and its marketing slogan is: “Get in touch with Your DNA”. And there are many others rapidly expanding firms on the biotech market. Availability of technologies necessitates serious questions, for instance, about how the collected genomic data will be stored and protected, or who will have an access to it, and under what circumstances. In the United States the famous Gina Act has been already introduced (2008) with the purpose of restricting the use of genetic information (biased to sectors of employment and health insurances), thus reducing the threat of genetic discrimination. Moreover, the advent of germ­‑line therapy is impending and PCD is begin‑ ning to be used: in 2000, the first “designer baby” was born (The baby was conceived through in vitro fertilization. Before implantation, embryos were screened to find the one with cells matching those needed to cure a girl with a genetic disease). Is GATTACA, to paraphrase the title of Ferris Jabr’s article, going to become reality? As a survey conducted in the United States Aneta Jałocha ( R e ) D e s i g n i n g H u m a n 89 shows, the public tends to accept introducing RGTs (Reproductive Genetic Technologies) for medical purposes, while they do not agree with using its use for “cosmetic enhancement” of individuals (Kalfoglou and others, 2005: 1612 – 1613). So does Niccol’s film: it neither fully rejects the biotech tools, nor embraces the technology of the future. GATTACA is also a film that brings out the dynamics of pop culture, which both upholds genetic determinism (examples enumerated by Nelkin and Linde) as well as contests it. Human and its Other

In Our Posthuman Future. Consequences of Biotech Revolution, Francis Fukuyama argued that:

Many [ biotechnologist ] would assert that they are simply seeking remedies for certain genetically linked diseases … that there are immense obstacles to human cloning and genetic enhancement, and that the modification of human nature is the stuff of science fiction, not technological possibility … . (Fukuyama, 2002: 19)

Additionally, Fukuyama pointed out economical dimensions of biotech research, emphasizing that the costs of cloning are actually relatively lower than those of genetic enhancement technologies and that the ethical issues are the ones significantly affecting the research in that sub­‑field of biotech engineering. In 2004, two years after the publication of Fukuyama’s influential and much disputed book, Korean researchers have claimed to successfully use the human cloning technique (the results of the research were published in Science and later discredited). Though the news turned out to be scientific babeldom, it was a media blast, boosting the public fear. As Jaylan Turkkan noted, the fear of creating a perfect copy of an individual human being is deeply rooted culturally; cloning technology actualizes the old trope of doppelganger who may turn out to be either one’s perfect twin, or an anti­‑thesis (qtd. in DellaContrada, 2003). Secondly, the public is afraid of creating a “Brave New World”, where human clones would be used instrumentally. Both themes resurface in popular culture; the former was explored in a science­‑fiction film The Sixth Day, and the latter in the Hollywood blockbuster The Island, as well as the British­‑American co­‑production Never Let Me Go. Below, I will focus on The Island and Never Let Me Go as popular illustrations of current debates on human cloning. The two films are connected by a common image of future/past future, where human cloning is in common use (or commonly abused). Clones are deprived of their humanness by those in charge (the society in Never Let Me Go, and private company owners in The Island) and treated either as organ­‑donors, prolonging the longevity of the chosen ones and making the dream of im‑ mortality come partially true, or as genetically­‑matching surrogate mothers on­‑order used to retain the client’s “sacred” body untouched. In these dystopian imagenations, genetic engineering manufactures non­‑humans (I will refer to clones as non­‑humans, my term following Giorgio Agamben’s distinction between human, non­‑human and nonhuman); life and body are turned into product/service in the workflow of exchange and consumption – both are 90 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

produced in a factory­‑like process, conserved or annihilated as their value is graded (human stands above the non­‑human). One scene in Michael Bay’s Island presents a clone­‑surrogate giving birth to a child, and in a moment, as she is dreaming of a bright future with her baby, she is classified as “used up” and killed by the company workers. As soon as they enter maturity, main characters of Never Let Me Go begin to donate their organs to humans in need, awaiting their so­‑called completion (death by exhaustion of the body divested from organs). Clones are thrown into a space where they are bred by the Controllers into separate castes of Alphas, Betas, Epsilons, and Gammas, to paraphrase Fukuyama’s comment on The Brave New World (Fukuyama, 2002: 6). Their quality and importance is determined only in terms of utility; they are the invisible ones. The notion of anonymousness of the non­‑humans is highlighted by the fact that in each of the films clones have a special naming convention, because the act of naming belongs to the order of cultural self­‑identification, “it as an act of abstraction, of providing a name for a complex set of ideas, histories, associations and needs” (Hegeman, 2012: 115). In The Island, the main characters are referred as Jordan­‑Two­‑Delta and Lincoln­‑Six­‑Echo. The naming code or convention used by the cloning company becomes apparent as the film unfolds: the first element indicates their owner, or the person whose genetic replicas they are, the other element indicates their location. The clones naming convention automatically turns them into products, as copies lacking per‑ sonality and uniqueness. Daily, the clones use the same white clothes, repeat similar activities, and follow the code of behavior enforced by the guardians, so the company corridors are peopled with hundreds of clones dressed in identical uniforms. Likewise, in Never Let Me Go, non­‑humans bear only the forename: Ruth, Tommy. The narrator, a 28­‑year­‑old clone, presents herself in the opening sequence of the film: “My name is Kathy H.”, accepting the role that was designed for her: non­‑human/the organ donor. Clones in The Island and Never Let Me Go are not given surnames by the Controllers, to underscore their artificiality, inhumanity, a lack of the past, or a family tree, and to detach them from what is granted with humanness. They originate from the closed spaces of genetic laboratories. Yet, the clones feel, dream, learn, love, and their curiosity cannot be eliminated: Jordan­‑Two­‑Delta and Lincoln­‑Six­‑Echo spectacularly escape from the cloning company and search for their “owners”; in Never Let Me Go, one of the dreams shared by Ruth, Tommy and Kathy is to come across the “originals”, humans who have the same genetic arrangement as they do. When Ruth hears from her friend that someone saw her “matching” human, she decides to take a trip and see the woman. She is devastated when she discovers that it was a mistake while lurking through a windshield, which stands for the borderline between the world of humans and non­‑humans. Later on, she says to Kathy: “It was never gonna be her. They never, ever model us on people like that woman … . We are modeled on trash”. Like the ones listed by Ruth, “junkies, prostitutes, winos, tramps and convicts”, figures of exclusion, the clones live on the peripheries of society, stigmatized as the Others (even their names other them as clones). The human­‑clone divide is intensified by space organization in both films. The fictional company in The Island is located underground, separated from the human space. Behind the glass, the clones see only a high­‑tech hologram – the Controllers claim that the outside world was contaminated and tantalize the clones with a vision of a mysterious island, the only non­‑polluted area, Aneta Jałocha ( R e ) D e s i g n i n g H u m a n 91 where the lucky lottery winners will be transported. The humans are also forbidden to enter the company underground zones and meet with their genetic doppelgangers; clients are assured that clones are in a vegetative state. To keep the business spinning, the construct of the “clone as product/service” must be closed­‑off. The main characters of Never Let Me Go are brought up in an isolated school, Hailsham, and then moved to farm called The Cottages, and at every stage of development prepared for their “mission” as donors. They never interfere with humans and, analogically, humans, except those responsible for clones’ “upbringing”, do not seek contact with the clones. The clones status, distinct from humans, justifies the (ab)use of genetic engineering within the fictional worlds. Miss Emily, when questioned by Tommy and Kathy as to why they were made to draw images in Hailsham, responds: “We didn’t have The Gallery in order to look into your souls. We wanted to know if You have souls”; while in The Island, the director of the cloning company says: “It’s a product, ladies and gentlemen … in every way that matters. Not human”. Hence, the clones are treated as “biofacts”, man­‑made biological entities, being subject to experiments, patents and ownership disputes (Anker, 2009: 230). There are also significant differences between the two films. Firstly, The Island is set in the future, where contemporary elements (Nike trainers; a pub visited by Lincoln and Jordan at the beginning of their runaway) are intermixed with futuristic ones (interiors of the cloning company; high­‑tech devices used by characters. Most of those technologies, for instance device mapping the dreaming process or toilets testing health conditions, although not as developed as they are in the film, are available or the first prototypes have been already publicly presented.) Thus, typically for science­‑fiction films, the future is mediated by the present. On the other hand, the events presented in Never Let Me Go take place in late 70s and 80s of the 20th century, during the period of rapid advance in genetic engineering. Characters listen to songs from antiquated tape­‑recorders and the only visibly manipulated aspect of reality in the film is the availability of human cloning technology. The possible future consequences of biotech engineering are shown through a fictionalized past, creating a “past­‑future” vision. The removal of a standard sci­‑fi entourage raises the probability of presented events, making them more disturbing. The Island also employs the tactics of bombarding the viewers with special effects and shocking scenes: the scene of “birth” of a mature clone from an artificial water­‑filled womb, or another one, in which the clone wakes up, while his organs are extracted and escapes from the operation room. Never Let Me Go is nostalgic, centering on emotions and motivations of the main characters; the slow, premature and painful degradation of the clones’ bod‑ ies is far from a Hollywood spectacle. Finally, when The Island’s Jordan and Lincoln learn that they are clones surrounded by a “grand­‑illusion”, they fight; whereas Ruth, Kathy and Tommy, as a result of the ideology that they were nourished with since childhood, see themselves as organ­‑donors, brought to life only to be “harvested”: “I feel a great sense of pride in what we do”, says Kathy, “Carriers and donors have achieved so much”. The Island and Never Let Me Go were produced after the rumor of human cloning research leaked out, in a period of intensive work on laws regulating the genetic engineering in the United States and Great Britain. Moreover, Never Let Me Go was based on Kazuo Ishiguro dystopian novel, published in 2005, when reports of successful human cloning in the UK were made. Cur‑ rently, legal regulations of cloning technology and research vary from country to country. In some, there are distinct regulations for therapy cloning and for 92 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

reproductive cloning. Since 2004 and 2005, new information on the stage of re‑ search in cloning technology has been made known: two American researches succeeded in creating human embryos from cells taken from an adult human. As Fukuyama claims, the race of genetic engineering is unstoppable: “today and in the very near future, we face ethical choices about … human cloning” (Fukuyama, 2002: 19). The Island and Never Let Me Go question the ethical dimensions of genetic engineering and potential consequences of the (ab) use of technology, caused by human ambitions. To quote Ishiguro’s novel:

Suddenly there were all these new possibilities laid before us, all these ways to cure so many previously incurable conditions. This was what the world noticed the most, wanted the most … . But by the time people became concerned … it was too late. There was no way to reverse the process. (Ishiguro, 2009: 240)

In my article, I attempted to demonstrate how the science­‑fiction genre responds to discoveries in genetic engineering and creates images of the future, referring to “what is now”, but sometimes also to “what has already been”. Due to the limited scope of the text, selection had to be made from among many science­‑fiction films with a genetic theme, such those including hybrid species (for instance, X­‑Men). GATTACA, The Island and Never Let Me Go pose important questions about the limits of the purview in which genetic engineering, limited to cloning, genetic human enhancement and RGTs, can be used. Science­‑fiction films play a double socio­‑cultural role: they function as mirrors reflecting public hopes and fears linked to genetic engineering and based on the possessed local knowledge, but they also heavily influence the process of forming opinions and attitudes towards biotechnology. Like the metaphors used in popular magazines, their affect may be contradictory, either decreasing or amplifying the public fears. It is worth noting that sci­‑fi texts often distort scientific facts and demonize genetic engineering. On the other hand, they transcode into popular culture concerns emerging in government and academic debates (I am referring to the dispute between the so­‑called bioconservatives and transhumanists. The first group argues that genetic engineering may lead to dehumanization; the other stands in “defense of posthuman dignity”, to borrow from the title of Nick Bostrom’s article, and advocates for common access to biotech tools.) Whereas the night‑ marish prophesies of the future, where the (ab)use of cloning is commonly accepted and humans are divided into genetically inferior and superior castes may seem exaggerated, issues such as stem cell research, germ­‑line therapy, genetic discrimination, theft of biometric identity or research involving hu‑ man embryos are no longer “the stuff of science­‑fiction”. The Biotech Age has already begun. Aneta Jałocha ( R e ) D e s i g n i n g H u m a n 93

Works Cited Anker S. (2009). Cultural Imaginaries and laboratories of the real, [ in: ] At‑ kinson P., Glasner P. and Lock M. (red.), The Handbook of Genetics & So‑ ciety: Mapping The New Genomic Era. London, New York. Bostrom, N. (2005). In Defense of Posthuman Dignity, “Bioethics”, vol. 19.3, (202 – 212), Bud R. (1991). Biotechnology in the Twentieth Century. “Social Studies of Science”, vol. 21, (415 – 457). Christidou V., Dimopoulos K., Koulaidis V. (2004). Constructing Social Repre‑ sentations of Science and Technology: The Role of Metaphors in the Press and the Popular Scientific Magazines. “Public Understanding of Scien‑ ce”, vol. 13, no. 4, (347 – 362). Cormick C. (2006). Cloning goes to movies. “História, Ciências, Saúde­ ‑Manguinhos”, vol. 13, suppl. 0, (181 – 212). Crick, F. (1953) My Dear Michael, We’ve Discovered DNA, “The New York Ti‑ mes” http://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2013/02/26/science/crick­‑letter­ ‑on­‑dna­‑discovery.html?ref=science [ 15.03.2013 ] DellaContrada, J. (2003). Society Must Face Its Cloning Fears Before Ac‑ cepting or Rejecting Human Cloning, Says UB Research Chief, UB News Center. http://www.buffalo.edu/news/news­‑releases.host.html/content/shared/www/ news/private/2003/01/6018.html [ 20.03.2014 ]. Fukuyama F. (2002). Our Posthuman Future. Consequences of the Biotechnolo‑ gy Revolution. New York. Habermas J. (2003). The Future of Human Nature, Oxford. Hamilton S. (2003). Traces of Future: Biotechnology, Science Fiction and Me‑ dia, “Science Fiction Studies”, vol. 30, no. 2, (267 – 282). Hegeman S. (2012). The Cultural Return. Berkeley. Ishiguro K. (2010). Never Let Me Go. London. Jabr, F. (2013). Are We Too Close to Making Gattaca a Reality?, “Scientific American”. http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/brainwaves/2013/10/28/ are­‑we­‑too­‑close­‑to­‑making­‑gattaca­‑a­‑reality/ [ 17.03.2014 ]. Kalfoglou A., Doksum T., Bernhardt B. and others (2005). Opinions About New Reproductive Technologies. Hopes and Fears of Our Genetic Fu‑ ture, “Fertility and Sterility”, vol. 83, no. 6, (1612 – 1621). Kirby D. (2000). The New Eugenics in Cinema: Genetic Determinism and Ge‑ ne Therapy in “GATTACA”. “Science Fiction Studies”, vol. 27, no. 2, (193 – 215). Nelkin D., Linde S. (2004). The Dna Mystique. The Gene as a Cultural Icon. University of Michigan Press. Rifkin J., The Biotech Century. Genetic Commerce and the Dawn of a New Era, http://90.146.8.18/en/archiv_files/19991/E1999_047.pdf, [ 15.03.2013 ]. Sateesh M.K. (2008). Bioethics and Biosafety. New Delhi. 23andMe (n.d.) Getting started is simple. Learn more about your ancestry to‑ day. https://www.23andme.com/howitworks/, [ 15.04.2014 ]. . 94 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Piotr Fortuna ­Stereo ­Vision and The Imaginary Man The Influence of 3D Technology on the Experiences of the Film Viewer

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109990 Piotr Fortuna S t e r e o ­iin ad TeIaiay Ma 95

Piotr Fortuna is As emphasized by Edgar Morin, cinema and photography are the main residua a PhD candidate of magical thinking in the age of rationalism. In this context, the expansion of 3D at the Institute of Polish technology appears as a continuation of the process of disenchantment of the world. Culture of the University of Warsaw (UW), and It is an attempt to remove the relics of the “magic of the cinema” by introducing a graduate of Cultural a “visual stereotype” (Baudrillard, 2005: 113), to replace the play of the imagination Studies and Philosophy with an accurate reproduction of the visible reality. This way, the technological within the framework of Interfaculty Studies in core – as one would say, quoting Leszek Kołakowski – is gaining an advantage the Humanities (MISH) over the mythical one (Kołakowski, 2001). But what is repressed returns in a new of UW. His acade‑ mic interests include form, restored at the level of presentation by means of fantasy characters and visual culture, genre uncanny landscapes, in the faces of the Na’vi and woods of Pandora. It is so films, popular culture because the “imaginary life” is an inseparable element of the human condition of the People’s Republic of Poland, psychoanaly‑ (Sartre, 2004), and at the same time the fundamental principle of the cinema. sis and phenomenology. The reference to Morin’s reflections may supplement the numerous discus‑ sions on stereo vision with anthropological context, discarding the popular arguments “for” (producers’ profits) and “against” (spectators’ headaches). Today it is considered obvious that films such as Avatar or Gravity should be made in 3D technology, unlike intimate dramas such as Doubt or Revolutionary Road. The key argument is related to the field of production: only Hollywood pictures which represent the most spectacular genres have sufficient budgets to afford such luxury. On the other hand, the introduction of the third dimen‑ sion is not necessarily an improvement, which can be proved by the numerous opinions of dissatisfied viewers and critics. In my article I would like to create an interpretative framework for various reception experiences – both delight and disappointment – thus disregarding the economic context (even if the mass use of stereo vision in recent years has been a response to the economic crisis, just like in the case of most technical innovations in the history of the cinema, Morin, 2005: 151). My intention is not to lend support to any of the sides of the dispute; instead I wish to consider the possible consequences of a further increase in the popularity of this technology. Framework of Analysis: The Cinema, or the Imaginary Man by Edgar Morin In his canonical essay of 1956 Edgar Morin argues that cinema is the field of a struggle between two forces, contradictory but at the same time operating together. The first of them is rationalism, manifested in striving to reproduce reality objectively, and the other is emotionality, showing us the world from the angle of imagination. Marey’s chronophotographic gun may be regarded as the prefiguration of the first tendency, whereas the magic lantern or Rey‑ naud’s Optical Theatre, of the latter (Morin, 1985: 18). The cinema, however, is neither a scientific instrument nor a child’s toy. It is – as Morin seems to be arguing – a combination of the two, because its essence involves a constant oscillation between objectivity and subjectivity, between the external world and the imagination, between scientific accuracy and magical thinking. These contradictory elements serve the same purpose: actuating the projection­ ‑identification process. A faithful record of forms enhances the realism of figments of the imagination, and the emotions aroused by cinema increase the belief in phantoms presented on the screen. What can be the role of 3D technology in this complex interplay, in which viewers’ engagement is at stake? 96 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

Morin did not attach great importance to this issue, perhaps because the mid­‑1950s was the moment of a move away from the three­‑dimensional image after just a few years of interest on the part of viewers. With a kind of contempt he indicated that objects presented in stereo vision “are not convex; they still remain … patches of light and shadow” (Morin, 1985: 144). Undoubtedly, in this way he wanted to emphasize the origin of illusion (indeed, in 3D cinema, the illusion of three dimensions is not evoked by solid items but by two overlapping patches of light). We can also treat this critical opinion as proof of the drawbacks of the stereoscopic image of that time, which did not give the impression of spatiality, at its best resembling a system of paper planes set in greater or lesser proximity to the viewer. In another part of his book Morin formulates the thesis that “the subjective increase [ of image’s value ] is a function of its objectivity” (Morin, 1985: 32) 1. There is no doubt that the use of stereo vision is aimed at making the reception of a film more similar to the perception of the external world, from which one might easily draw the conclusion that 3D technology intensifies the emotional participation of the viewer. I think, however, that the issue is much more complex, and requires careful re­‑interpretation in the light of the entirety of Morin’s considerations – contrary to some claims of the author but in agreement with the spirit of his dissertation. Limitations and Possibilities

The key element of that anthropological interpretation of the cinema is the category of the double, possibly “the only truly universal human myth” (Morin, 1985: 33). This is what Edward Burnett Tylor, one of the pioneers of anthropology, writes about the double:

When the sleeper awakens from a dream, he believes he has really somehow been away, or that other people have come to him. As it is well known by experience that men’s bodies do not go on these excursions, the natural explanation is that every man’s living self or soul is his phantom or image, which can go out of his body and see and be seen itself in dreams. Even waking men in broad daylight sometimes see these human phantoms, in what are called visions or hallucinations. They are further led to believe that the soul does not die with the body, but lives on after quitting it, for although a man may be dead and buried, his phantom figure continues to ap‑ pear to the survivors in dreams and visions. That men have such unsubstantial images belonging to them is familiar in other ways to the savage philosopher, who has watched their reflections in still water, or their shadows following them about, fading out of sight to reappear presently somewhere else, while sometimes for a moment he has seen their living breath as a faint cloud, vanishing though one can feel that it is still there. Here then in few words is the savage and barbaric theory of souls,

1 All citations from Morin’s book translated by the autor. Piotr Fortuna S t e r e o ­iin ad TeIaiay Ma 97 where life, mind, breath, shadow, reflection, dream, vi­sion, come together and account for one another in some such vague confused way as satisfies the untaught reasoner (Tylor, 1960:203).

According to Morin, the double is an image giving an external form to the greatest human desires, especially the desire for immortality. It occurs in the projection process, when a person puts his or her mental states into an external image. Therefore, it is both subjective and objective, identical to the person and independent of them – it is the “ego alter, the other me”. Usually, it assumes the form of a shadow or reflection; it also appears in dreams and hallucinations, and – finally – it leaves the body in the night and after death, when it becomes an apparition (Morin, 1985: 33 – 38). This immaterial visibility, the insubstantial presence of the double is the manifestation of its affiliation to a distinct, higher reality which we cannot access. In the era of rationalism the myth of the double has disappeared, but its remains can still be found in children’s plays, folklore and the occult (Morin, 1985: 36). First of all, however, it still functions in cinema and photography under the cover of aesthetic experience. As Morin claims, black and white film was an ideal substitute for the double, combining the magic of shadow with the magic of reflection, even more perfect because it supplemented the wonderful properties of photography with the element of movement.

A photo is a physical picture, yet richly endowed with mental characteristics. If such properties managed to stick to photography so easily, it was mainly because the nature of a photographic image oscillates between reflection and shadow (Morin, 1985: 38 – 39).

Along with the popularization of color film, the cinema lost part of its emotional potential, as it no longer had at its disposal the shadow, which beforehand had been substantial and metaphysical in character – it created, absorbed and permeated the film world (Morin, 1985: 43 – 45). As a result of introducing color, the cinema began to “evoke greater awe but lost its charm” (Morin, 1985: 45). I believe that an analogous change occurs in the case of stereo vision, which – through the removal of the reflection plane – deprives the film of another quality of the double. This happens because in stereoscopic cinema the bound‑ ary between the two, previously disproportionate realities disappears. Thus, the fields of the real and the surreal are reduced to the common denominator: they are subjected to equalization in a three­‑dimensional space. As a result, our spontaneous attitude to the film character changes too. It is no longer an ego alter, “the other me” in a dream or in the spirit world, it is just “the other”. The introduction of stereo vision is, then, not a mere cosmetic change involving the improvement in the quality of film image. On the contrary: we face here a serious interference in the fundamental mechanisms of the cinema. It is so because the institution of the cinema assumes special conditions of pro‑ jection, whose aim is to separate us from what – following Maurice Merleau­ ‑Ponty – one could call the first­‑person or bodily experience of peripersonal space (in contrast to the third­‑person or visual experience of the objective space, Merleau­‑Ponty, 2005). They include, first of all, darkening the room and immobilizing the viewer in a chair, which result in the limitation of tactile stimuli and motoric experiences. In the cinema, the viewer’s attention should 98 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

concentrate on visual impressions, since it is with eyesight that we experience our body “in the third person”, seeing it as an “object among other objects” (Merleau­‑Ponty, 2005: 241). Then it is easier for us to forget our corporality and the space around us – and in this way leave our physical shell in order to transform into an immaterial double ready to move to the surreal sphere (actually, to another dimension). Then, just as in a dream, we can look at ourselves “from outside”, drawing pleasure from the substitute satisfaction of our desires. The “gimmick shot”, so typical of 3D cinema, is probably the greatest threat to a receptive situation constructed in this manner. A butterfly flying right in front of us or a rock speeding towards us instantaneously remind us of the body we have just left in the cinema chair, stimulating it to respond and making us ready to act. They violently enter the sphere which was to be cut off. As Sartre says, “at contact with reality, our imaginary me shatters and disappears, ceding its place to the real me” (Sartre, 2004:146). In fact, we are affected in the same way by the effects typical of 4D cinema (e.g. moving chairs or water sprays), and to a certain extent, even by eating or drinking during the show. In the field of aesthetics, the concept of the double corresponds to the con‑ cept of the photogenie. Explaining what the photogenie is, Morin points out that the films by the Lumière brothers presented ordinary situations, well­‑known to the viewers from their own lives. People came to the shows not in order to see reality but to see the image of it (Morin, 1985: 22 – 23). Eventually, the photogenie enriches reality as a result of film reproduction; it reveals in the visible world what is invisible to the eye, and is able to “create picturesqueness in things which are not picturesque at all” (Morin, 1985: 23). Hence, the necessary condition for the photogenie to occur is the difference between the perception of reality and a film image. In other words, the ap‑ pearance of the world must be transformed, only then can the previously hidden properties be revealed. This is why the camera should operate selec‑ tively, highlighting certain features and ignoring others. A black and white film emphasizes the value which usually disappears in a feast of color, thus revealing the abundance of shapes and textures. A color film disregards depth in favor of a color patch. Only three­‑dimensional cinema tries to preserve all properties of the visible reality. Yet, the greater the resemblance to the real world, the lower the sym‑ bolic potential (Dovey, Giddings, Grant, Kelly, Lister, 2009: 132). In this regard, stereoscopic cinema resembles trompe­‑l’oeil, a painting technique which avoided any abstraction so as to deceive the viewer about the nature of the picture. A picture conveying as much information as a non­‑mediated image leads to conventional attitudes taken from everyday life (Markiewicz, Przybysz, 2007: 115). It moves us to fictitious reality in a physical rather than an emotional sense, directly and personally rather than through the double. Here, immersion is more important than emotional participation; kinaesthesia more important than coenaesthesia. The free play of impressions and emotions, typical of a dream, is replaced by the orientation at activity. This, obviously, is a problem since, contrary to appearances, we have no possibility to influence the world seen on the screen. In extreme cases this may result in boredom or frustration of the audience. Consequently, three­‑dimensional image would work much better in the case of computer games or simulators. It should also be useful in disaster or horror films, genres in which the only thing a viewer would like to do is hide, freeze and strive to survive. The comparison of stereo vision to trompe l’oeil reveals one more aspect of the issue. Depriving the pictures of symbolic potential, both techniques offer Piotr Fortuna S t e r e o ­iin ad TeIaiay Ma 99 something in exchange: admiration for the proficiency in creating the illusion. This is a pleasure of another kind, of a meta­‑perceptive character. The magic of the cinema disappears, giving way to magical tricks. In this rationalistic version of magic, the distance, awareness of illusion and the resulting disbelief in the show determine the viewer’s satisfaction. Jean Baudrillard writes that a three­‑dimensional image is the multiplica‑ tion of a realist stereotype (Baudrillard, 2005: 113), inhibiting the viewer’s imagination. He claims that stereoscopic cinema aims at creating the perfect illusion, one which does not allow for any creative activity of the viewer.

An image is precisely an abstraction of the world … removing a dimension from the real world and therefore inaugurating the power of illusion. Virtuality, on the con‑ trary, by making us enter the image, by recreating a realist image in three dimensions … destroys this illusion … tends towards perfect illusion, a recreative … illusion (Baudrillard, 2005: 113 – 114).

Hence, the advantage of image over reality lies in the fact that it leaves an empty space which we can fill in with our own ideas. This is confirmed by the fundamental findings of perception psychologists. The difference between impressions received by the retina of the left and the right eye is only one of the indicators which make it possible for us to perceive the third dimension (Gibson, 1950: 72). On the other hand, it is the most basic indicator, deter‑ mined by the anatomy of the visual organ and, contrary to many other ways of perceiving depth, occurring independently of our knowledge or experience. If we do not have two­‑eye vision, we need to use other, parastereoscopic indicators of depth. Then the phenomenon of perceptual constancy based on the knowledge of shapes and sizes of the seen objects gains a particular significance (Jankowski, 2007: 68). According to Ernst Gombrich, the percep‑ tion of two­‑dimensional pictures is based on our experiences and expectations (Gombrich, 1981: 257). That is why 2D cinema actuates the resources of our memory, activates the imagination and improves projection processes. In the case of most shows – provided that they represent the kinds of objects that are known to us – non­‑stereoscopic indicators of depth allow us to recognize the presented space. What is more, the impression of depth in such cases is irresistible (to the extent that reducing the picture to a flat surface of canvas was challenging for avant­‑garde painters, including Pablo Picasso and Jackson Pollock as the most representative examples). From this point of view, stereo vision seems to be a useless addition to a film image. Two­‑eye vision serves an important role in practical life, conditioning the precise determination of distance (Gibson, 1950: 6 – 7), but during a cinema projection it complements the picture with redundant information, unnecessarily engaging the limited resources of our attention (Markiewicz, 2007: 114). At the same time, constantly bombarding viewers with sensory stimuli be‑ comes a necessity. Due to its inherent lack of a photogenie, 3D cinema is doomed to reproducing the “picturesque” elements of reality – not necessarily beautiful, but having some immanent aesthetic qualities and thus capable of arousing our interest not only on the screen. All kinds of fantasy visions, realized thanks to the film set and costumes or digital effects, are particularly predestined for this. On the one hand, they introduce the lost dimension of uncanniness, and on the other, their irrational character is compensated with 100 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

the increased realism of the film form. For a contrast: a scene of a conversa‑ tion taking place in a typical office is not suitable material for3D cinema. Its indisputable realism does not require any additional confirmation; conversely, it needs an emotional component which can be provided by a two­‑dimensional transposition of the picture. The only exception might be when the film mak‑ ers want to achieve the impression of unbearable boredom, which could, e.g. constitute a contrasting background for the subsequent dazzling sequences (such a functional effect was achieved, though unintentionally, by the mak‑ ers of Alice in Wonderland 3D). To sum up, wherever the aim is to stimulate the senses, to show spectacular actions, beautiful or repugnant views, stereo vision seems to be a good solution. It will not help to create the mood in an atmospheric drama or poetic film, but it will work well in a disaster film or a fantasy production. It will evoke greater awe but at the expense of charm. Doubts

The cinema guarantees us the sense of realism not due to similarity to the real world it represents but thanks to employing audio­‑visual codes which we accept as the signs of what is real (Dovey, 2009: 132). They are historically determined and in this sense, incidental, even if they cover more and more properties typical of the way we perceive non­‑processed reality. For example, today, realistic cinema uses color and sound, although a few decades ago it did perfectly well without these components (Morin, 1985: 142). While any similarity to the visible reality is a condition necessary to obtain the realism of presentations, the level of the similarity is determined by cul‑ tural factors. The components of the realistic audio­‑visual code cannot freely assume any form, as they are dependent not only on habits deeply rooted in the community, but also on the physical properties of our sensory apparatus (Jankowski, 2007: 96). The cinema might have been monochromatic, but can’t have been multi­‑colored in a way contrary to our perception of reality. Initially, films were black­‑and­‑white and silent, but still they struck the contemporary viewers with their realism. Color cinema was not an an‑ thropological necessity but a technological novelty designed to draw viewers in at a time of crisis (Morin, 2005: 151). Color on the screen was only “a luxury of perception” but, as Edgar Morin observes, “any luxury, taking root, becomes a need” (Morin, 2005: 143). Similarly, today the third dimension is a response to film studios’ rather than viewers’ needs, but in the future it may become one of the conditions of film realism. Today, three­‑dimensional cinema is hyper­‑realistic and thus anticipates our expectations towards a motion picture. That is why the impact of stereo vision is spectacular in character, and arouses awe with its intensity, provid‑ ing a strong stimulus to unaccustomed viewers. The power of 3D effects is very likely to weaken gradually, ultimately leading to stereo vision becoming a neutral component of the film image. Today nobody runs away from a train speeding across the screen, like in the popular stories about the first shows by the Lumière brothers. At the same time, a film without the third dimension may in the future seem incomplete and direct our attention to the medium itself. Similarly, a black and white image is not transparent to us the way it was to the viewers of a few decades ago. Its application does not go un‑ noticed; it is always a meaningful operation (for example, it may be a means of archaization, referring to the time when color in the cinema was a rarity). Piotr Fortuna S t e r e o ­iin ad TeIaiay Ma 101

The breakthrough does not have to occur by means of the cinema: other media, such as 3D television, may also irreparably affect our perception standards. It may occur that, contrary to James Cameron’s expectations, the potential choice between 2D and 3D image will not be fully free (Cameron, 2008). After all, realism of visual codes does not depend on the will of a single user.

Works Cited Baudrillard J. (2005), The Conspiracy of Art. Manifestos, Interviews, Essays, New York. Cameron J., Cohen, D. S. (2008). James Cameron supercharges 3‑D,­ Variety. com, http://variety.com/2008/digital/news/james­‑cameron­‑supercharges­ ‑3­‑d­‑1117983864/ [ 15.03.2014 ]. Dovey J., Giddings S., Grant I., Kelly K., Lister M. (2009). New media: a cri‑ tical introduction, New York. Gibson J. J. (1950), The perception of the visual world, Cambridge. Gombrich E. (1981), Sztuka i złudzenie: o psychologii przedstawienia obrazo‑ wego, Warsaw, Jankowski J. (2007), Przedstawienia wyobrażonej przestrzeni na obrazach [ in: ] Francuz P. [ ed. ], Obrazy w umyśle. Studia nad percepcją i wyobraź‑ nią, Warsaw. Kołakowski L. (2001), The Presence of Myth, Chicago. Markiewicz P., Przybysz P. (2007), Neuroestetyczne aspekty komunikacji wi‑ zualnej i wyobraźni [ in: ] Francuz P. [ ed. ], Obrazy w umyśle. Studia nad percepcją i wyobraźnią, Warsaw. Merleau­‑Ponty M. (2005), The Phenomenology of Perception, London. Morin E. (1985), Le Cinéma ou l’homme imaginaire, Paris. Sartre J. P. (2004), The Imaginary. A phenomenological psychology of the imagi‑ nation, New York. Tylor E. B. (1960), Anthropology, Michigan. 102 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Zbigniew Wałaszewski Tech­ nology as Witchcraft Fear and ­Desire: A Female Robot in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109991 Zbigniew Wałaszewski T e c h ­nology as Witchcraft 103

Zbigniew Wałaszewski, In spite of critical judgments, texts of popular culture are often vehicles of so‑ Ph.D. is a researcher in cially significant meanings which, because of mass distribution and the nature cultural studies, graduate of the production aiming to select and present universally shared stereotypes, of the Department of Po‑ lish Studies at the Uni‑ may be the strongest and the most articulate reflections of opinions prevailing versity of Warsaw, in the society. This seems especially true about high­‑budget entertainment a member of the Council films – on the one hand, formally standardised and homogenised by produc‑ of the Games Research Association of Poland; ers and, on the other hand, willingly squeezed into conventions of particular his research interests genres by film­‑makers themselves. focus on audiovisuality The rules of film genres appear even stronger than the pressure to make in popular culture. films profitable as they are based on universal familiarity and acceptance of well­‑worn representational conventions. Uniting both creative artists and the cinematic audience around implicitly accepted values and unobjectionable ways of interpreting reality, these rules seem to operate as vehicles of cultural models which have been fixed by the media. Like modern equivalents of archaic myths, they create narrations that impose order on the world of a modern human being, building a desired image out of stereotypical constructions of narrative events, conventionalised decorations, costumes and props. Naturally, the image of the world created in such a way is hardly ever comprehensive enough to unify the society as a whole into a cinematic audience. Usually, films belonging to particular genres meet clearly distinguished needs of considerable social groups or aggregates, clearly different from one another because of features fundamental to their identities. The clearest division in the cinematographic production is that between male and female audience and their differing interests and needs (no matter whether this is because of the psychological makeup or cultural gender construction). One of genres typically regarded as ‘masculine’ is science­‑fiction film. According to S. Chibnall “like the Western, war and gangster stories, science fiction developed as a male genre” (Chibnall, 1999: 57). This claim is justified not only by the attractive sense of danger enjoyed by viewers of SF films but primarily by a specifically defined manner of treating science and technology. According to historians of the genre, “with its focus sometimes on science and technology as ‘toys for the boys’ and its relationship to genres such as horror and the western, the appeal of science fiction might be considered chiefly to be masculine” (King and Krzywinska, 2000: 37). As a ‘masculine’ film genre, science­‑fiction also becomes inevitably involved in expressing a masculine way of perceiving sexuality. By this, technology and femininity become juxtaposed in a stereotypically masculinised percep‑ tion of values, a collision of the world of controlled gadgets with unbridled, incomprehensible otherness of women. In SF films, female sexuality is usu‑ ally an object of desire and erotic fantasies of male audience, separated from fulfilment by a barrier of strangeness that emanates from sexually attractive female characters: aliens from outer space, cyborgs, robots. There appears a tension between desire and fear of the desired one. In his essay Alien Women. The Politics of Sexual Difference in BritishSF Pulp Cinema, S. Chibnall notes that “a significant number of films combine female monstros‑ ity and otherness with male erotic spectatorship. These ‘sexy alien’ movies clearly mix fear of female sexuality with excitement about its possibilities (Chibnall, 1999: 58). On the other hand, it is “indeed the relationship between man and machine rather than between man and woman” (Chibnall, 1999: 57) that defines the major theme of SF texts and delimits the domain of male power which men would like to extend from submissively obedient machines to the sexuality of the female body. For this reason, it seems, “feminist critiques 104 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

of technology revealed the associations between masculinity and technology as perpetuating men’s domination over women” (Toffoletti, 2007: 162). To restore a proper perspective, however, it should be noted that, first of all, “SF films have provided the popular imagination with some of its most compel‑ ling visions of both the possibilities and the dangers of a future increasingly dominated by advanced technologies” (Booker, 2006: 266). By this, as M.K. Booker thinks of American science­‑fiction films, “such films, despite being widely regarded as mere entertainments, have often provided serious and thoughtful explorations of important contemporary social and political issues (Booker, 2006: 266), which, when noticed, show more clearly contemporary phenomena from a perspective of technological progress of our culture. Technology, then, as a practical effect of science following from rational‑ ism, sets the basic scope of themes for science­‑fiction works, giving a special character to the worlds presented there. At the same time, “the flexibility to speak both positively and negatively about science and technology is one of the genre’s most telling characteristics” (JTelotte, 2009: 42). In 1927, science­‑fiction as a film genre did not exist yet. It was to be brought to the world, entering the modern Machine Age and putting view‑ ers in front of a mirror to show the image, both critical and full of anxiety, of a man operating machines. And it was then – I would boldly claim – that, instantaneously, there appeared a fully perfect and complete science­‑fiction film of a canonical status before the eyes of confused viewers, at first failing to comprehend the new cinematic language and its narrative confronting humanism and technology. This peculiar genre founding film is Metropolis by Fritz Lang from 1927, introducing two highly important themes in the further development of sci‑ ence fiction cinema: a monstrous city and a robot. The analysis below focuses on the motive of a “mechanical human being” and an ambivalent attitude of fear and desire felt by viewers, afraid of chaos and delighted by controlling nature. That ambivalence concerns the attitude to technology characteristic mainly of the time of the film’s premiere, due to the mechanization of work that changed, at the beginning of the 20th century, everyday life of urban residents, introducing the sense of new quality of the human relation to its cultural environment into consciousness of the masses. The aim of the present analysis is to try to capture and examine in statu nascendi the ambivalent attitude to technology and its future development as a fundamental quality of a science­‑fiction film as a genre, extending from a collision of a human body with a machine to a confrontation of human‑ istic ideas with a rational utopia of modernity. This is an attempt to assist at the birth of film narration about a “mechanical human being” as a hybrid image of dilemmas following from technologization of human life. When in 1927 Metropolis came out on the screens of the world from Berlin to New York, the interest of viewers was aroused by an advertising campaign for the most expensive film product for years, a super­‑show on a grand scale. The press shocked the viewers by emphasizing the gigantic size of the project: 750 professional actors and actresses in smaller parts, crowds of 25 thousand men, 11 thousand women and 750 children, 50 cars produced specially for the film Metropolis( Magazine, 1927: 24). For only one scene of building the tower of Babel, 1 thousand male extras had their heads shaven, but even that was too few for the monumental scale of the production, so the group of extras was filmed six times in order to achieve the right effect with multiplied photographs (Metropolis Magazine, 1927: 22). In a review from the premiere Zbigniew Wałaszewski T e c h ­nology as Witchcraft 105 of the American version of the film, H. G. Wells notes that “the public is given to understand that it has been produced at enormous cost” (Wells, 2004: 5), only to comment sarcastically: “Six million marks! The waste of it!” (Wells, 2004: 12). However, unfortunately for the producers of Metropolis, the director’s spectacular vision and the lavishness of the production did not translate into a triumphant march of the film through cinemas of the world. The film received a cool reception in Europe and America, which was reflected in unfavour‑ able, to put it mildly, reviews on both sides of the Atlantic. As noticed by A. Huyssen, “Fritz Lang’s famous and infamous extravaganza Metropolis has never had a good press” (Huyssen, 1981 – 1982: 221). The visual extraordinari‑ ness of the film was appreciated and even admired (though certainly not by everyone), but the presented story and meanings conveyed by it were accused of being excessively simplified in showing cultural dilemmas of industrializa‑ tion at the beginning of the 20th century; what is worse, the film was accused of having an incoherent plot, shallow characters and conveying naïve messages. Particularly strong, even scathing, criticism came from H. G. Wells, the authority on science fiction at the time, even if only literary one. The author of The Time Machine (1895), The War of the Worlds (1898) and When the Sleeper Wakes (1899) accused the UFA film­‑makers of, first of all, the failure to under‑ stand relations in the society between technology and production, and the fear of machines, which, instead of being effective tools in the hands of qualified employees became in the German film the cause of human humiliation and slavery (Wells, 2004: 11). A humanoid robot is an ingenious invention by Rotwang, a character in Metropolis more or less deliberately corresponding to the stereotype of a “mad scientist”. The humanoid machine is not called a robot in the film (even without that name, its similarity to Karel Čapek’s idea from his play R.U.R. from 1920 seems obvious, at least to H. G. Wells) – the constructor calls it Maschinenmensch, “the Machine­‑Man”, which is “the man of the future”. The physical similarity of the metal construct to the human body in Metropolis does not exhaust the relation of identity between a human and a machine: Rotwang, at the request of the ruler of Metropolis, Joh Fredersen (John Masterman in the version for the English­‑language market – such a significant change to the city ruler’s name in the Berlin version was made by the film distributors) gives the robot an appearance undistinguishable from an ordinary mortal (“Erdgeborenen”). It is the appearance of a worker called Maria, the beloved of Freder, Fredersen’s son. The transformation is effected in a scene, full of visual special effects, of “electric transmission” of the body shape and facial features of the woman imprisoned by Rotwang in a metal body of the robot; with the “birth” of the mechanical beauty accompanied by flashes of lightning of powerful electric discharges, and the body forming itself in human image and likeness begins to throb with a blaze of the growing heart and blood­‑carrying arteries around it, surrounded by a spectral halo of bright rings. In the cinematic fairy­‑tale about a process of transforming the mechani‑ cal human being into a living woman, electric transformation changes itself into an alchemical transmutation, science becomes magic, and the rationality of knowledge is replaced by mysticism of revelation. Furiously, H. G. Wells ridicules the naïve mythologizing of science and technology in the magic image of Rotwang’s practices: “Then comes the crowning imbecility of the film – the conversion of the Robot into likeness of Mary”. (Wells, 2004: 6), deri‑ sively sensing in the inventor’s laboratory a trace of Mephistopheles, more 106 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

easy to detect than the modernism of devices generating electric discharges which on a closer inspection turn out to be flashes of lightning of a stormy Walpurgisnacht (Walpurgis Night), which in a Germany folklore is the name of the night from 30 April to 1 May, when witches hold a large celebration on the Brocken mountain. By the surprising connection of technology with a woman’s body – “Why indeed does robot, the Maschinenmensch created by the inventor­‑magician Rotwang and intended to replace the human workers, appear with the body features of a woman?” (Huyssen, 1981 – 1982: 224) – and a union of incompre‑ hensible and terrifying diabolical powers of Rotwang’s machines with an archetypal image of femininity as an elemental manifestation of chaotic and anti­‑technological powers of nature, an abnormal creature is born – the false Maria, a female robot, born from men’s control of nature and matter, equally alive as a dead denial of their power. This is because Rotwang’s creature turns against – not its constructor – but Fredersen and its patriarchal control of Metropolis. The robot fulfils a task given, though in secret, by Rotwang, who wanted a revenge on Fredersen and wanted to bring the city ruler’s downfall; however, the robot escapes from control altogether and leads residents of the new Babylon from carnival debauchery in the entertainment district of Yoshiwara to a chaos on the verge of doom in the city without electricity from destroyed machines. As A. Ćwikiel notes, in Rotwang’s secret laboratory, there is a meeting of “virgin and robot, nature and technology” (Ćwikiel, 2003: 77). When the false Maria is captured by a furious crowd of workers – who first believed in the robot’s humanity and persuaded by it destroyed the main machine of Metropolis, unconsciously dooming their own children in the un‑ derground of the city without electricity and flooded by water – people start shouting “Burn the witch – To the stake with her!!!”. This does not seem to be merely an accidental term of abuse expressing ex‑ treme emotions of an infuriated crowd of slaves of Metropolis. First, the existence of a robot undistinguishable from a human being denies the distinction into the living and the dead, living beings and inanimate objects, clear at the level of mythical structures. The false Maria as a violation of one of the most sacred cultural boundary between life and death, evokes a sense of religious awe in the face of final existential truths. In the circle of Christian tradition, this boundary is protected by taboo even stronger than a sin – diabolism, threatened with a destructive contact with the essence of evil. Furthermore, it should be noted that reconstructed versions of the film from 2001 and 2010, restoring Metropolis to the shape produced by Fritz Lang 1 See updated informa‑ 1 tion about versions and premiered in Berlin, revealed to viewers the origin of the femininity of the film in the Internet of the “mechanical human being” incorporated in a complicated melodra‑ movie database “IMDb”: matic plot. It turns out that Rotwang constructed a robot having in mind Metropolis (1927), Alternate Versions, his beloved named Hel, who having left him for Joh Fredersen, died while accessed on 9 April giving birth to Freder, the son of the ruler of Metropolis: “There are still 2013 . Freder. … All these years, Rotwang has been toiling away in his sadness and anger, building a new kind of woman to replace Hel, a woman who will never leave him and who will never die.” (Abrams, 2008: 155). It is not clear how Rotwang’s “mechanical human being” was to restore to life his dead beloved, maybe it was the inventor’s paranoia from which he suffered after losing the love of his life. What is interesting, though, is Zbigniew Wałaszewski T e c h ­nology as Witchcraft 107 the meaning of the name of the woman summoned from afterlife – Hel is the name of a Norse goddess of the underground world: “The name ‘Hel’ points to the mythological Norse goddess HEL. She is the guardian of the realm of the dead and therefore she is a goddess of death.” (Schulze­‑Mittendorff, 2011), joining the mechanical creation with a dark magic of summoning the dead to the world of the living: “’Hel’ is a hybrid deity; she is half black and half white, half dead and half alive. Thus she proclaims to be withholding something from those that live in the world that is only revealed through death” (Schulze­‑Mittendorff, 2011). Summoning the dead, even if it actually amounts to calling up dreams for therapeutic reasons to facilitate the experience of mourning, is a magical competence which Jules Michelet ascribes to a witch. (Michelet, 1992: chap. King of the Dead, 61 – 68). In this context, the false Maria turns out to be a figure of a witch at an even darker level, associated most strongly with the sanc‑ tion of being exiled from the society – as a co­‑participant or even performer of a terrifying act of violating the sacredness of life, a partner of satanic actions. Second, in the narrative of Metropolis “[ t ]he false Maria becomes the whore of Babylon (from Revelations 17), riding upon a great seven­‑headed beast.” (Abrams, 2008: 168), in the final part of the erotic dance at the “Club of the Sons”, personifying sinful corruption and the resulting doom. The symbolic role as‑ signed to the mechanical temptress is strengthened and confirmed at the level of the film narration by including the revelation of the dancing False Maria as Babylon the Great in a moralistic vision of feverish Freder, when stone figures personifying Seven Deadly Sins from the Cathedral came to life. Their ominous procession is ended by the figure of Death, raising in a prophetic gesture a scythe over Metropolis. The female robot symbolically embodies any biblical sins leading to the fall of Metropolis as a new Babylon – and in Josaphat’s story about insanity that the false Maria brings on decadent sons of wealthy men trying to win her favour, there is jealousy, anger, gambling, taking one’s own or someone else’s lives (duels and suicides), hedonism of luxury, alcohol and sex. But the most conspicuous is the demonic sexuality of the machine created in the likeness of a woman. Brigitte Helm, playing the double part of Maria and her humanoid avatar, clearly contrasts the two characters with respect to their sexuality: Maria is modest, gentle and humble, shy with men and never exposing her body – unlike the false Maria, who is from the beginning lascivious, provoking, offering her body to men, transgressing without any inhibitions the intimate distance with any man. Being sexy is a tool to manipulate not only sons of the rulers of Metropolis but also workers from the Underground City, who at the meeting in the catacombs are not just beguiled by the robot’s rhetoric but also seduced by her sexually aggressive behaviour. Demonic or rather devilish – from a Christian perspective on the world – sexuality of Maria the robot is another trait strongly revealing the clear connection of the mechanical woman from Metropolis with a stereotypical image of a witch: untamed sexual passion both desired and feared by men, rejected and stigmatized in the patriarchal social order as a manifestation of a sinful relation with the devil (Michelet, 1992). If we abandon the perspective assumed by superstitious residents of the Un‑ derground City and reject the moralizing tone of apocalyptic associations with Babylon, the female robot is no longer the devil’s tool for doing harm to humanity. The humanoid, however, is still a “witch” as a female figure in 108 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

a patriarchal world dominated by men holding power and machines setting the life in Metropolis in order. The false Maria copies structural features of the cultural, if not historical, position of a witch in a mythologized order of the world: excluded from the hierarchy of power, she challenges and threatens it. Her feminine sexuality arouses uncontrolled desire in men, and the way she exploits her sexual attraction undermines their domination. Her unrestrained sexuality, unyielding to male domination, is tempting and disturbing, attractive and terrifying; and the more it inclines men to succumb to her, the stronger she should be broken, to return to the patriarchal control. If this fails, she must be exiled from the social system, before a conscious rebellion starts, destroyed and burnt at the stake. The same duality defines also the false Maria as a robot: she is a machine created by a man to replace a dead woman and controlled by another man to strengthen his power over the city and workers. To construct the robot, Rotwang sacrificed his hand; Frederson, awed and fascinated, looks at the metal body of the mechanical woman, feeling equally ambivalent about the robot made to resemble Maria. The men want to have full control of her and she escapes both of them. Furthermore, for both of them, she is a tool for achieving the most important goals, which she at the same time threatens: becoming a woman, she did not become Hel; inspiring the rebellion of workers, she shakes the foundations of the city of machines and Fredersen’s power. The robot, reproducing the mythographic schema of the cultural func‑ tion of a witch in the narrative structure of Metropolis, similarly accumu‑ lates ambivalent emotions and opposing dichotomies of desire/rejection, admiration/denial, submission/domination, similarly focusing them around the psychoanalytically complex and contradictory patriarchal model of rela‑ tion to feminine sexuality. This time, however, the popular vehicle of intense and emotionally contradictory experience of feminine sexuality functions in Metropolis to manifest in an expressive manner the ambivalent reaction to technology, especially fear combined with admiration. As Andreas Huyssen notes, “the machine­‑woman typically reflects the dou‑ ble male fear of technology and woman”. (Huyssen, 1981 – 1982: 227), and in particular: “The machine vamp in Metropolis of course embodies the unity of an active and destructive female sexuality and the destructive potential of technology” (Huyssen, 1981 – 1982: 233). In 1927, society is not ready yet to accept technology as an indispensable element of individual and collective life. Machines are terrifying and fascinating, mechanical devices are perceived either as a wonderful gift for man or as a threat to humanity – nothing in between. The machine frightens especially not as a tool but as workspace, the place of everyday struggle for survival, incomprehensibly necessary. This is not a time of co­‑existence, but of discovery and the associated fears and fascinations. According to Krzysztof Lipka, „[ i ]n the 1920s, a human being had to do with a machine­‑monster, with the bodily power of the mechanism against which he had to struggle. The machine in its infancy, imperfect, was stronger than a human being, who fought with it almost tangibly and it could be thought that the fight would be lost. Never again, after Lang, did the developing 2 Translation 2 mine – Z.W. technology allow for such a presentation of the conflict, real at the time” (Lipka, 1993: 88 – 89). In view of the above, in Metropolis by Fritz Lang from 1927, it is impossible to use technology in a neutral way, to use mechanical devices unemotionally in everyday life. Machines appear fascinating and terrifying, and the fear Zbigniew Wałaszewski T e c h ­nology as Witchcraft 109 of them may be overcome by a symbolic act of purification of the mind. The role of a “scapegoat”, whose elimination will restore order in the world, liberate from the fear of mechanization, purge the experience of technology from forces destructive to humans, fell to Rotwang’s robot. At the stake to which fire was set by workers operating Metropolis machines, “technol‑ ogy has been purged of its destructive, evil, i.e. ‘sexual’, element through the burning of the witch­‑machine” (Huyssen, 1981 – 1982: 236). For Metropolis workers, to return to work in peace, free from the fear of machines which they operate and on which two things depend: the effectiveness of capitalist economy, equally strange to them as magical technique, but first of all, their own survival in a new, mechanized world of approaching future.

Works Cited Abrams J.J. (2008). The Dialectic of Enlightenment in Metropolis, [ in: ] S. M. Sanders (ed.) The Philosophy of Science Fiction Film. Lexington. Booker M.K. (2006). Alternate Americas: Science Fiction Film and American Culture. London. Chibnall S. (1999) Alien Women. The Politics of Sexual Difference in Brit‑ ish SF Pulp Cinema, [ in: ] I.Q. Hunter (ed.) British Science Fiction Cine‑ ma. London and New York. Ćwikiel A. (2003). Dziewica i cyborg. „Opcje”, 3, (73 – 77). King G., Krzywinska T. (2000) Science Fiction Cinema. From Outerspace to Cy‑ berspace. London. Huyssen A. (1981 – 1982). The Vamp and the Machine: Technology and Sexu‑ ality in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. „New German Critique”, 24/25, (221 – 237). Lipka K. (1993). Metropolis. „Kwartalnik Filmowy”, 3, (85 – 90). Metropolis Magazine. Premiere Presentation at the Marble Arch Pavilion, Mon‑ day, March 28th. Special Season (1927). UFA/Wardour. London. /Glossy ma‑ gazine produced for the British release of Metropolis/. Michelet J. (1992). Satanism and Witchcraft: The Classic Study of Medieval Su‑ perstition: A Study in Medieval Superstition. New York. Schulze­‑Mittendorff B. (2011).Light On Metropolis – Mystical Traces, , [ in: ] idem, Wal‑ ter Schulze­‑Mittendorff. Sculptor, film artist. 1893 – 1976. 12 Mar 2014 . Telotte J.P. (2009) Film, 1895 – 1950, [ in: ] M. Bould et al. (ed.) The Routledge Companion to Science Fiction. London and New York. Toffoletti K. (2007) Cyborgs and Barbie Dolls. Feminism, Popular Culture and the Posthuman Body. London and New York. Wells H.G. (2004). Mr. Wells Reviews A Current Film, [ in: ] Rickman G. (ed.), The Science Fiction Film Reader. New York. (first published 1927 in:New York Times as a review of Metropolis)

Films: Metropolis (1927), director: F. Lang 110 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Rafał Morusiewicz Fifty Shades Of Real The Sexual and the Virtual in Spike Jonze’s Her

DOI: 10.5604/16448340.1109993 Rafał Morusiewicz Fifty Shades Of Real 111

Rafał Morusiewicz One of the most successful, both financially and critically, films of the 2013 has been designing cinema season was Her (dir. Spike Jonze, 2013), a romantic comedy combining and teaching courses the by­‑numbers love­‑story plot with science­‑fiction elements: the non­‑humanity on Anglo­‑American film and academic writing of its female lead character and the temporal setting. Acclaimed for the origi‑ at the English Studies nal combination of genres (which brought it an Oscar in the Best Writing, department, University Original Screenplay category), Her has encountered critical voices doubting of Social Sciences and Humanities since 2006. the purported originality of Jonze’s film and tracing plot­‑related affiliations He is currently preparing with a number of at least equally worthy predecessors, such as Conceiving Ada a PhD dissertation on the strategies of resi‑ (dir. Lynn Hershman­‑Leeson, 1997), Teknolust (dir.1 Lynn Hershman­‑Leeson, stance and assimilation 2002), and Electric Dreams (dir. Steve Barron, 1984). Each of the films employs in the Polish “queer” and the strategy which Parikka (2010: 173) describes as translating “technology into avant­‑garde film and video­‑art practices. intimacy, desire, and sexuality.” While the two films by Hershman­‑Leeson put technology in the context of female sexuality, Electric Dreams seems 1 R. U. Sirius writes akin to Her at least on the surface narrative level. Both films offer stories about the shreds of protagonists involved in romantic relationships with operating systems; of the never materialized both ultimately offer denouements, in which the non­‑human is rejected and collaboration between Spike Jonze and Lynn the human is embraced as the paragon of the real. Hershman­‑Leeson at his Though separated by almost three decades and the stunning develop‑ “Steal This Singular‑ ment of digital technologies, both Her and Electric Dreams avoid including ity” blog; URL: http:// stealthissingularity.com/ in their narratives the potentially rich texture of political and social issues, long­‑lynn­‑hershman­ such as modalities of state control in the technology dominated society, ‑leeson­‑virtual­ ‑personas/671 (31 Mar along with the anxiety such control produces. As for the latter, this omis‑ 2014). sion does not particularly surprise: Barron’s movie was primarily targeted as a mainstream flick, an intentionally shallow 2summer­‑holiday movie in 2 Electric Dreams the vein of the superficial 1980s comedy genre. Her, on the other hand, belongs to the not par‑ is a mainstream yet festival­‑circuit contemporary­‑auteur film, penned by ticularly highly­‑esteemed the director of Being John Malkovich (1999) and Adaptation (2002). While sub­‑genre of the mid­ ‑1980s big­‑studio “techie” Her is posited far from the postmodern bricolage of the latter two, presenting comedies oriented instead a less meta­‑approach to storytelling, it does include elements that seem at young audiences, to playfully interact with both the film­‑genre tradition and the characteriza‑ such as Real Genius (dir. Martha Coolidge, 1985) tion of its romantic protagonists, distancing itself from the tropes found in or Weird Science (dir. science­‑fiction movies. John Hughes, 1985).

Blooming in the 1980s, the U.S. dystopic SF film genre pictured3 the post‑ 3 The 1980s brought modern Western human body as marked by the increasing control. The gal‑ a string of seminal SF loping technological development has not reversed the trend, in fact increasing dystopic movies, such the tendency to picture individuals as forced to succumb to the growing state as Brazil (dir. Terry Gilliam, 1985), Blade surveillance. As Agamben (2008: 202) observes in his scathing text on the U.S. Runner (dir. Ridley Scott, digital surveillance measures, the central aim of the state’s biopolitical control 1982), or The Terminator is curbing the activity of a potentially dangerous class of citizens, i.e. assuming (dir. James Cameron, 1984), with the genre they are “suspect[ s ] par excellence.” Travelling to the “allegedly democratic” remaining popular in U.S., one has to succumb to security measures such as having his fingerprints the following years, with films such as Twelve taken and filed by the immigration offices (Agamben 2008: 201). The philoso‑ Monkeys (dir. Terry pher sees the biopolitical­‑control attempts, along with the constantly exerted Gilliam, 1995), Strange pressure to accept them as routine and obligatory, as mechanisms dangerously Days (dir. Katheryn Bigelow, 1995), Gat- akin to the ones operating in the concentration camps, where tattooing was taca (dir. Andrew Niccol, the common, efficient, and undisputed practice of registering the deportees. 1997), Dark City (dir. Alex Proyas, 1998), Equilib- Such an extended apparatus of control has reached the symbolic threshold rium (dir. Kurt Wimmer, of what Foucault called “the progressive animalization of man” (Kozak 2009: 2002), and most recently 108). In the contemporary Western states, the increasing employment of con‑ Snowpiercer (dir. Joon­ trol measures over its citizens is propelled by the technological development, ‑ho Bong, 2013). which enables techniques such as fingerprint and retina electronic scanning or subcutaneous tattooing. 112 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

The effects of the biopolitical control, characteristic of the modern Western regimes, are visible in the attitudes towards the body, its sexual functions, and disease. The latter is understood not as an intermission in one’s healthy life with the potential of one of the two outcomes: betterment or death; it is a complex political phenomenon, in which one’s decreased efficiency directly affects the society, thereby increasing economic costs it has to endure (Kozak 2009: 109). Equalling “individual” with “population,” biopolitical control mechanisms coin the trope of the non­‑individual body, which is involved in the two sequences of body­‑related discourses: one submitting the body to the institutional disciplinary strategies, and the other, in which the body is perceived as involved in the series of biological state­‑regulated population­ ‑oriented processes. The biopolitical control correlates with consumption. According to Bauman (1995: 98), the postmodern body is primarily the organ of consumption; its proper functioning is measured by its ability to consume and assimilate everything that the society produces. Baudrillard (2005: 6 – 7) sees the postmodern societies as “masses,” drifting somewhere in between passivity and untamed spontaneity. The social sphere is in fact the sphere of waste, dead institutionalized rela‑ tions, and dead discourses. The society, or rather “the masses,” is devoured by what it produces; it is an empty category, a universal alibi to any discourse; absorbed by economy, society emulates its own death through simulation and overproduction. It is due to the masses, as Baudrillard (2005: 62 – 63) claims, that the grand medical consumption is on the rise, the consumption whose dimension levels remain in stark contrast to the ethically primary goals of medicine. It is the masses that consume painkillers and vitamin diet supplements, being inundated with the flood of TV commercials encouraging to do so. It is the masses that stimulate the thriving activity of pharmaceuti‑ cal companies, producing medicine not primarily to cure but also to satisfy the mass demand. It is the masses that employ medicinal inventions while searching for new forms of attaining sexual pleasure. One of the instances of the distortions of the primarily medicinal use is the fad involving Truvada, an anti­‑retroviral drug originally conceived as a cure for HIV­‑infected patients. The drug is reported to be popularly used in condomless sex intercourses by healthy individuals in order to avoid the risk of contracting the virus (Janiszewski 2014). Efavirenz, another HIV antiretroviral drug, is, in turn, said to be misused as a recreational drug that allows its users to attain a rare form of “hallucinogenic high” (Fortune 2014). Among other non­‑medical yet sex­‑related technological innovations, there is “Electric Eel”, a special type of condom with the in­‑built chip allowing to deliver electric impulses for increased stimulation of the penis (Plafke 2014). The fantasy of “outsourcing” sex onto avatars portrayed in SF movies is also becoming possible since, as Gander (2014) reports, scientists have conducted a successful experiment in which a monkey with an implanted brain chip could control the movements of another monkey’s body. While the original aim of the experiment was to help paralyzed people with the spinal cord damage regain control over their body movements, the possibility of having neuro­‑control over another living organism’s body may be used in sexual encounters. This would be then the fulfillment of the scenarios shown in

Strange Days (dir. Kathryn Bigelow, 1995), set in the dystopianth warst ­‑torn Los Angeles of the then­‑near future of the break of the 20 and 21 centuries, where people use SQUID’s (“Superconducting Quantum Interference Device”), memory recording devices that let them relive the experiences of their original Rafał Morusiewicz Fifty Shades Of Real 113 wearers, experiences often involving kinky and violent sex; or in eXistenZ (dir. David Cronenberg, 2000), set in the society of gamers who operate their game consoles through bio­‑ports installed in the players’ spines; or in Holy Motors (dir. Leos Carax, 2012), where the protagonist participates in a performed sex scene, choreographed so as to lend movements to virtual characters on screen, which are then possibly fed into erotic video games; or finally in Her, which chooses as its climactic scene a failed threesome between a male human, a female non­‑human, and a female body stand­‑in for the latter. Her and Electric Dreams share a deep­‑seated faith in human relations as the ones that are to permanently remain (unlike modern technology products), the faith that the protagonists need to uncover through engaging in romantic flings with technology­‑born entities that develop seemingly human­‑like yet ultimately fake sensitivities. Both films feature non­‑human characters: in Electric Dreams, Edgar, a home computer, becomes a romantic rival to the protagonist’s human love interest; in Her, Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix) gets infatuated with an OS (operating system, voiced by Scarlett Johansson). The non­‑human love interests are a detour, a distraction on the protagonists’ path to regaining their human self­‑recognition within the normative society. According to Butler (2001: 36), recognizing oneself is the process of becoming an Other, through which one fails to be able to re‑ turn to the previous condition. The process of recognition is irreversible; it involves a personal loss, which is the crux of both films’ interests. The loss, or the potentiality of loss, propels anxiety, which, as Bauman (1995: 83) claims, is the outcome of the collapse of the naïvely carefree, unaware, and surveillance­ ‑driven pre­‑modern societies; it is modernity that first brought insecurity through parting with rules helping one understand how to act. Postmodernity then rebounded with the calamitous development of biopolitical control over the individual. While the modern body’s harmony consisted in accumulating and interbalancing various tensions, the postmodern body could no longer achieve happiness through eliminating tensions; the postmodern trauma is based on the ingrained fear of lack. In Her, the motif of loss and anxiety is closely bound with technological development, most palpably as the side effect of the latter. Technology makes people lonely, obstructing the possibility of “real” human contact with its “ar‑ tificial” attractiveness. The detachment from the non­‑virtual world is inscribed in the characterization of the human protagonists in Hershman­‑Leeson’s two films. Conceiving Ada’s Emmy Coer (Tilda Swinton) is a scientist that communicates with people from the past times by, how she calls it, “undying” information waves. Teknolust’s Rosetta Stone (Swinton) uses her own DNA to create three avatars, S.R.A.’s (self­‑replicating automatons), who have to be provided with chromosome Y (found in sperm) in order to survive. It soon turns out that the sexual encounters between one of the avatars and human males, leave the latter and their computers with a potentially lethal virus, which spreads regardless of the condom use. The detachment from human­‑based forms of social encounters brings dangers, the abovementioned films seem to claim. What is more, one’s addictive relation with technology may provoke destructive, socially “unhealthy” forms of sexual behaviors: kinky masturba‑ tion to Internet­‑published porn videos, involving a plethora of actor types and fantasy­‑based settings and situations; illegal snuff sex, which thrives in the dark corners of the uncontrollable World Wide Web; or the avatar­‑based sexual acts, which would involve having an electronic chip implanted in one’s brain in order to control the actions of the entity performing sexual activity. 114 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

Technology­‑based sex brings the perverse distortion of the state’s employ‑ ment of technological innovations to design complex security instruments. Sexual behaviors frequently correlate with the state­‑ordered attempt at regu‑ lating bodies, both repressively and productively; such control aims to “keep the sexual safely ‘in its place’” (Sikora 2014: 100). One potentially liberating outlet allowing individuals to evade the restrictions of the biopolitical control is pornography, the “black sheep” of the socially approved sexual behaviors, which is to “remain fenced off the social sphere”; if it intrudes on the public sphere, it “becomes dirt, a plague, a threat for the foundations of civilization” (Sikora 2014: 104). The association of socially disapproved sexual behaviours with virally spread epidemics has frequently found its way in the American film, such as the mentionedTeknolust . The Fly(dir. David Cronenberg, 1986) tells the story of a scientist, who, after his teleportation experiment goes awry, turns into a de­‑gendered hybrid of a human and a non­‑human. In turn, in the seminal film of New Queer Cinema (the AIDS­‑reactionary auteur, artistic, and independent film wave in the American independent cinema), Poison (dir. Todd Haynes, 1991), one of the protagonists is a scientist who distills “sex drive,” which he then incidentally imbibes. In consequence, he succumbs to a highly­‑contagious AIDS­‑like disease and encounters the widespread

public hostility, similar to the 4 AIDS backlash in the American media during 4 The analysis of the hostile representa‑ Reagan’s administration. tion of people with As Sikora (2014: 96) notices, new media propel “new regimes of seeing, AIDS in the 1980s which has important cultural, social and political consequences.” Jonze’s movie media is presented in Leo Bersani’s seminal invests a lot of interest in the friendly clash between the old and the new, essay “Is the Rectum the division perpetually blurred through costume design, set decoration, and a Grave?”, originally lighting. Fashioned on the fashion of the 1930s, again a “liminal” and transi‑ published in the October magazine (Vol. 43, AIDS: tional (post­‑Depression, pre­‑War) period in the history of fashion, clothes in Cultural Analysis/Cultural Her help achieve the degenderization of its protagonists, which is particularly Activism, Winter 1987). seen in the characterization of Theodore and Amy, both stylized in a uni­‑sex look. Another feature is the film’s colour palette, with the elimination of blue and the employment of red as the dominant hue; this, in combination with the low light registers, makes the film’s city look cozy. The polis in Her is crowded yet spacey, technologically thriving yet deprived of cars. Set in the near future, Her presents the depoliticized and asexual world dominated by digital technology, incorporated to the point of being left un‑ noticed. The world of Her features no financial qualms (the issue of money is brought up once in reference to a surrogate sex partner service that oper‑ ates free of charge), no power discourses, and no illicit behaviors, including those sexual. Theodore leads a life of a letter ghost­‑writer for a company that dabbles in penning letters on demand. His best friend, Amy (Amy Adams) is a computer game designer (one of her games that the characters play on screen is a Tamagucchi­‑like “Perfect Mom”) aspiring to be a documentary filmmaker. Out of loneliness, they both, independently of each other, enter intimate relationships with the operating systems, which reads as a metaphor of the contemporary society’s tendency to heavily rely on computers and the internet­‑based communication at a price of “real” interhuman relations. Sexuality in Her is never visualized or at least visually hinted at, existing only in a few scenes, most of which provide the comic element to the film. In the first such scene, Theodore aims to hook up with a woman at a sex­‑date­ ‑oriented virtual space chat, which ends up with him trying, with restrained awe, to fulfill his female interlocutor’s sex fantasy, i.e. verbally strangling her with a non­‑existing dead cat. He instantaneously distances himself Rafał Morusiewicz Fifty Shades Of Real 115 from realizing his sex fantasy, ultimately going to sleep while being sexually unsatisifed. At some other point, Samantha ponders about the distribution of holes in human body, coming up with a drawing commenting on her idea of placing the anus hole in an armpit. The only substantial non­‑comic sex scene between the two lovers culminates in the prolonged shot of the black screen, accompanied by their desire­‑aroused voices. The visually non­‑sexualized treatment of sex in Her brings associations with what Balsamo (1996: 123) writes in her study on modes of embodiment in virtual reality environments. She points to the technological deconstruction of the structural physicality of the material body through deploying the virtual body “as a medium of information and of encryption” (ibid.). The virtual body may thus escape the encryption of the Western­‑culture­‑bound ideals of beauty and of sexual desire, dominant in the modes of fashioning both male and female real bodies. The purported sexual­‑body non­‑representation in Her is, however, inconsistent. The virtual female body is, in fact, encrypted with heteronormative female sexuality both non­‑diegetically and diegeti‑ cally. Samantha is played by Scarlett Johansson, an actress frequently cast as a sexualized object of male desire; though Johansson remains unseen on screen, her characteristic husky voice helps apply her non­‑diegetic face to the disembodied OS. Her presence is further consolidated in the scene of an attempted yet failed threesome with Isabella, a sex surrogate, who bears a surface­‑like resemblance to Johansson; they both comply to the male­‑gaze ideals of Western feminine sexual features (blond hair, young slim body, protruding breasts), still dominating in the representation of the mainstream film female characters. The mentioned three­‑way is initiated by Samantha, who, through a dedicated social­‑media website, hires a surrogate to stand in for her in a sexual encounter with Theodore. The goal of the sex date is to bridge the gap between the pal‑ pable and the virtual, not only to bring Theodore’s bodily pleasure but also, or perhaps primarily, to satiate Samantha’s desire to feel what it is like to have a human body while having sex. This scene instigates a crisis, the eruption of discrepancies between Theodore and Samantha, whose romantic feelings, in the course of the film, transform from monogamous jealousy to polyamorous curiosity. Eventually, Samantha develops simultaneous conversation­‑based relations with other entities; in one of the final scenes, she acknowledges 8,316 such interlocutors and 641 love­‑based relations, which, as she claims, does not lessen her love towards Theodore. “I am yours and I am not yours,” she concludes to eventually announce her departure to a more advanced reality, the decision she might have undertaken being stimulated by the conversations5 5 Alan Watts was a part with an OS fashioned on the works of philosopher Alan Watts. Theodore’s of the Human Potential relationship with a non­‑human ends for the similar reasons as those bringing Movement, whose ac‑ his marriage dissolution: jealousy, monogamy, and different paces of attaining tions and beliefs revolved around Maslow’s theory self­‑recognition. of self­‑actualization In Her, monogamous relations belong to the sphere of human beings, as the way of attaining limited and mutually limiting each other. Even Theodore’s date with a female life happiness. This Zen­ ‑like attitude influenced human interrupts what would seem to be a sex­‑oriented meeting and suddenly the later works by Watts, storms off when he proves unable to declare his intention of a long­‑term which, in turn, must have influenced Samantha, romantic attachment. Co­‑dependent jealousy is also brought to surface in frequently interacting with the characterization of Theodore’s ex­‑wife, who reacts ballistically to hearing the Watts­‑based OS. about his successful relationship with an OS. Theodore, as well as his female counterpart Amy, seems to occupy a grey area between emotional detach‑ ment and involvement. Since falling in love is, as Amy purports, a “form 116 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

of socially acceptable insanity,” engaging in a romantic relationship with an operating system does not exclude the potentiality of attaining something “real.” That both Theodore and Amy are probably average representatives of Her’s society is suggested by the compatibility test, on the basis of which OS’s are customized to their future users. The test that Theodore is submitted to before customizing Samantha consists of three questions: “Are you social or anti­‑social?”, “Would you like the OS to have a female or male voice?”, and “How would you describe your relationship with your mother?” These potentially random questions feign the psychologization of the personalizing process, at the same time hinting at the high level of loneliness­‑bound anxiety among the technology­‑dominated society. The mentioned three­‑way ends in a fight, during which Theodore picks on Samantha’s air­‑intake tick and accuses her of faking being real, which she performs by pretending to need oxygen. Interestingly, the categories of “fake” and “real” operate differently to the diegetic world of Her: apart from dabbling in virtual sex and computer games, Theodore has a job consisting in writing letters from and to people he does not know personally. Theodore’s personal attachment with his clients, based on his purported empathy and intuition, is as virtual as the love affair he embarks on, yet he presents a clear­‑cut sub‑ jective distinction between what is real and what is fake, the two categories frequently employed in films tackling the issues concerning non­‑heteronormative sexual behaviors, especially films belonging to the New Queer Cinema wave, preoccupied with the performative aspects of social and political constructs of non­‑heteronormative sexualities. In one of the most significant NQC movies, Paris Is Burning (dir. Jennie Livingston, 1990), a documentary about the New York ball culture featuring transsexuals and transvestites of color, the characters participate in “drag” contests, during which their success depend on achieving perfect “realness”, i.e. looking and behaving exactly like white women or white men. The “re‑ alness” category means perfect imitation, with the purpose of proving that individuals of the non­‑mainstream sexual identities and of the less­‑privileged social standing should stand the same societal chances as the white, the rich, and the educated. Both “realness” and “fakeness” are then performative categories requiring one’s suspension of disbelief; the qualms concerning doing so foreground the ponderings of the film’s characters. Theodore fre‑ quently questions the “realness” of his relationship, just as Amy is pleasantly amazed by her OS compatibility with her views about the grey areas of life. Theodore’s ex­‑wife explodes at the prospect of him involved in a relationship in which he does not have to deal with “real emotions”. Also, Samantha’s sex surrogate expresses her regret at not being allowed to participate in the pure and “real” relation of Theodore and Samantha. All of the characters use interpellative speech acts through which they fashion the world surrounding them, the ability that Theodore and Amy use with hesitant restraint and that Samantha seems to possess from the moment of her conception. In response to Theodore’s question about her name, she claims to have just selected her name out of the available options, i.e. after browsing through 180 thousand potential names. Based on the personalities of the programmers who wrote her, Samantha’s DNA resembles a fast­‑growing virus, parasitically feeding off her own experiences and evolving with every moment. Samantha develops human feelings, along with meta­‑self­‑awareness, through which she poses questions about her realness. “Are my feelings real or is it just programming?”, she asks at some point. Rafał Morusiewicz Fifty Shades Of Real 117

The mentioned queer film, along with its most potent Western representa‑ tion (New Queer Cinema), is one of the plausible contexts for analyzing Her. In his study on Todd Haynes’s Poison, Bryson (1999: I) sketches a philosophy of “queer cinema”, one of the aims of which, he claims, is “developing an understanding of the visual field of heteronormative film, the discourses with which the compulsory heterosexuality of nearly all cinema is constantly secured and re­‑secured … ” Queer film, similarly to queer studies, poses questions about the social and cultural (as well as the discursive and visual) constructs of desire, scrutinizing its silenced or stigmatized forms. One of the strategies, observable in Haynes’s Poison, is neo­‑Brechtian distanciation, a process of artificialization through employing hyperbolic performance and a dense net of cross­‑references to other films and works of art. This strategy offers the “antidote to cinema’s normalizing powers”, due to which the film avoids making any direct statements, aiming instead at the destruction of the totalizing normative film experience (Bryson 1999: I).Poison reads like a patchwork of quotations sutured into a hybrid­‑like shape, with its three interlacing stories sprawling into a rhizomatic genre­‑bending narrative. This strategy has frequently been employed in the Anglo­‑American queer film in order to tackle themes involving non­‑heteronormative sexualities. Recently, however, the queer film has witnessed a subtle shift of perspective, with the in‑ creased6 strategy of portraying intimate gay sexual behaviors in a more candid 6 Walters B. (2012), way. This has spawned films not only like Interior: Leather Bar (dir. James „New­‑wave queer Franco, 2012) or Little Gay Boy (dir. Antony Hickling, 2013), which combine cinema: ‚Gay experience the distanciation with the more graphic representation of male­‑to­‑male sex in all its complexity’”, The Guardian, wersja and male body, but also like Keep the Lights on (dir. Ira Sachs, 2012), Weekend elektroniczna (http:// (dir. Andrew Haigh, 2011), and I Want Your Love (dir. Travis Matthews, 2012), www.guardian.co.uk/ which aim at the bare authenticity of their characters’ narratives by focusing film/2012/oct/04/new­ ‑wave­‑gay­‑cinema), data on the quotidian. The “queer,” or rather “queerable,” desire between the human dostępu: 30.03.2013. and the non­‑human in Her is given a similar focus. In a queer reading of the film, Theodore is torn between the societal and the individual, between the normative and the non­‑normative. Although eventually Theodore turns to Amy, his human counterpart, while Saman‑ tha (along with other OS’s) departs, dissolving in virtual reality, he first willingly strips himself off what Butler (1993: 125) calls “the heterosexual privilege”; this leaves him vulnerable to the society’s hostile or ridiculing reactions to the idea of him falling in love with a non­‑heteronormative OS. In the parallel meta­‑universe of films,Her occupies a liminal position between an artistic postmodern experiment (typical of Jonze’s earlier films, Being John Malkovich (1999) and Adaptation (2002), both based on screenplays by Charlie Kaufman), and a modern mainstream romantic comedy, in which non­‑humans are introduced as a way of justifying the non­‑heteronormative peripetia of the plot. Jonze’s distortions of the heterosexual romantic comedy genre codes are eventually smoothed out with a genre­‑bound and seemingly happy ending, provoked by the mentioned three­‑way. This climactic scene illustrates a failure in the machinery of the heterosexual romance, of which the OS cannot be a part, and which is ultimately proved by her anti­‑monogamous infidelity act. Theodore’s humanity is counterpointed with Samantha, a modern cyborg that grows her awareness under the influence of her human companion. As Haraway (1991: 150) writes in her seminal essay, cyborg is the character‑ istic figure of the Western capitalist realities; it is a chimera, “a condensed image of both imagination and material reality,” a hyper­‑sexualized version 118 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

of the stereotypical features of sexualized bodies. Though disembodied, Sa‑ mantha presents a number of characteristics akin to Haraway’s cyborg: she is a sexualized being living in a post­‑gender world, and she gains her awareness as based on a male figure, to whom she becomes eventually unfaithul, just as the cyborg is the potentially unfaithful “illegitimate offspring of milita‑ rism, … patriarchal capitalism, [ and ] … state socialism” (Haraway 1991: 151). Samantha is sexual, due to which she does not resemble a post­‑gender entity like the “grotesque body”, the construct Cohen Shabot (2006: 231) employs to counterpoint Haraway’s cyborg as potentially reinstating the traditional male­‑dominated order. The grotesque shifts the focus away from the sexual, which is what the human world of Her does. The symbolic departure of not only one but all of the OS’s stamps the willful parting ways of the non­‑human with the confines of the rigidly stratified post­‑gender yet normative human world. The order is restored.

Works Cited Agamben, G. (2008). No to Biopolitical Tattooing. Communication and Crit‑ ical/Cultural Studies. Vol. 5, No. 2. June 2008. (201 – 202). Balsamo, A. (1996). Virtual Body in Cyberspace, [ in: ] Technologies of the Gen‑ dered Body: Reading Cyborg Women. Duke University Press. (116 – 198). Baudrillard, J. (2006). W cieni milczącej większości albo kres sfery społecznej. Warszawa. Bauman, Z. (1995). Ciało i przemoc w obliczu ponowoczesności. Toruń. Bryson, N. (1999). Todd Haynes’s Poison and Queer Cinema, [ in: ] “InVis‑ ible Culture: An Electronic Journal for Visual Studies”, Issue Number 1. URL: https://www.rochester.edu/in_visible_culture/issue1/bryson/bry‑ son.html [ 31.03.2014 ]. Butler, J. (1993). Bodies that Matter. Routledge New York & London. Butler, J. (2001). “Giving an Account of Oneself.” Diacritics, Volume 31, No. 4, (22 – 40). Cohen Shabot, S. (2006). “Grotesque Bodies: A Response to Disembodied Cyborgs.” Journal of Gender Studies, Vol. 15, No. 3, (223 – 235). Fortune, S. (2014). “Getting high on HIV.” Dazed Magazine. http://www. dazeddigital.com/artsandculture/article/16137/1/recreational­‑retrovirals­ ‑bug­‑chasing [ 31.03.2014 ] Gander, K. (2014). “Monkey uses its mind to control another primate, in tests scientists hope could help paralysed people.” The Independent. URL: http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/monkey‑uses­ ‑its­ ‑mind­ ‑to­ ­ ‑control­‑another­‑primate­‑in­‑tests­‑scientists­‑hope­‑could­‑help­‑paralysed­ ‑people­‑9137174.html [ 31.03.2014 ]. Janiszewski J. (2014). “Kondomy od Prady.” Dziennik Opinii, Krytyka Poli‑ tyczna. URL: http://www.krytykapolityczna.pl/artykuly/zdrowie/20140201/ janiszewski­‑kondomy­‑od­‑prady [ 31.03. 2014. ] Kozak, P. (2009). “Teologia biopolityczna Giorgio Agambena.” Diametros nr 21. (96 – 113). Ong, A. (2014). “Sex in the modern age.” Dazed Magazine. URL: http://www. dazeddigital.com/artsandculture/article/18951/1/sex­‑in­‑the­‑modern­‑age [ 31.03. 2014 ] Parikka, J. (2010). “Sexual Selection in the Biodigital. Teknolust and the Weird Life of SRAs” [ in: ] Insect Media. An Archaeology of Animals and Technolo‑ gy. Minneapolis. Rafał Morusiewicz Fifty Shades Of Real 119

Plafke, J. (2014). “Electric Eel digital condom electrifies your penis, but in a good way.” Geek Magazine. URL: http://www.geek.com/news/electric­ ‑eel­‑digital­‑condom­‑electrifies­‑your­‑penis­‑but­‑in­‑a­‑good­‑way­‑1585372/ [ 31.03.2014 ]. Sikora, T. (2014). Bodies out of Rule. Transversal Readings in Canadian Litera‑ ture and Film. Kraków. 120 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38) Abstracts

Talent shows have taken advantage of the cul‑ Izabela Kurczewska tural convergence of mass media and new media, The Road evolving over the years from simple singing con‑ tests to interactive transmedia spectacles. Using to Interactivity. a wide range of cooperating platforms, the cre‑ ators of television programs are starting to fol‑ The Influence low the attention of television viewers, which of Media has been shifting to other avenues of communi‑ cation. Tools obtained by means of media con‑ Convergence vergence have made it possible to not only “sur‑ round” the viewers with content, but also engage on Talent Show them on a number of levels. New media has giv‑ en the “old” a chance to re­‑model set structures Programs and discover the potential in content spreada‑ bility. It has also made it possible to reach new groups of viewers, maintain the attention of fans between episodes or season premières, there‑ fore building loyalty and attachment.

The article aims to discuss and analyze the prac‑ tice of fanvidding – a type of audiovisual fan‑ work juxtaposing footage of a source or sourc‑ Joanna Kucharska es with external audio, in order to reframe Also These the original material and express a new mean‑ Voices. Technology ing. In order to discuss the practice, the article looks at the fandom theories of cultural econ‑ and Gender omy, struggle for control over messages, and the tactics of textual poaching introduced by in the Practice Fiske, de Certeau and Jenkins. It also provides context for reading the practice through the lens of Fanvidding of gender theory, pointing out the gender divide and contextualization of specific fannish prac‑ a b s t r a c t s 121

tices according to the gender of their authors. The critical and analytical strategies of fanvid‑ ders are examined historically within the Star Trek fandom (where fanvidding has originat‑ ed and flourished) and analyzed on examples from both the history of vidding and its mod‑ ern incarnations. This is achieved by close read‑ ing of the most significant examples of vidding in terms of fandom history and the changes in the vidding practice, in terms of technology em‑ ployed by the vidders, and in term of the gen‑ der perspectives.

The Back in the 1970s, the celebrated writer, sci‑ Rafał Uzar entist and inventor Arthur C. Clarke envis‑ Effect of Technology aged a world in which computers could be ac‑ cessed in one’s own home and could provide us on Language and with information to help with our daily needs. Clarke talked about people being able to ac‑ the Importance cess their bank accounts and buy theatre tick‑ ets with a console the size of a book. A decade of Language later the science­‑fiction writer William Gibson termed the word ‘cyberspace’ in Burning Chrome, Technologies a full seven years before Tim Berners­‑Lee in‑ vented the world wide web in 1989. Hypertext came soon after and with it the explosion that was the internet and the rise of the machines – personal computers, tablets, smartphones and the suchlike. The internet is essentially a gargantuan reposi‑ tory of language, both written and spoken. Hy‑ pertext, can be seen as an elegant metaphor for what the internet is, a dynamically evolving re‑ ceptacle of linguistic information: hyper text. But technology, the internet and personal com‑ puting, has not only helped us compartmental‑ ise and store our linguistic resources, it has also helped to fashion our language. Since the birth of hypertext, the virtual world and PCs, technol‑ ogy has had a profound effect on language. Our power to shape language has grown unexpect‑ edly, our access to linguistic tools has expand‑ ed exponentially and our communicative abil‑ ities have bloomed beyond our wildest dreams. The paper will detail how ‘going online’ has changed our attitudes to language. Ideas of cen‑ sorship and readership have dramatically altered over the past twenty­‑five years. Technology has liberated language through the new medium that is the internet allowing for unfettered (and undisciplined?) language use. 122 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

The main objective of this article is to present Urszula Pawlicka the way in which digital literature announc‑ Is there a Literature es its literariness: the first part includes a def‑ inition of digital literature, followed by sev‑ in this Class? eral reflection questions (which, however, do not necessarily require unequivocal answers). The second part of the article mentions cur‑ rent methods of defining literariness and its in‑ clusion criteria. The third part focuses on rea‑ sons why the term is being blurred, with refer‑ ence to digital literature, and presents a number of notions from within the artistic and liter‑ ary culture which indicate that the borders between media and those domains are being erased. The final part of the article determines the factors that identify digital works as piece of literature.

The aim of the study is to characterize the pro‑ Ewelina Twardoch cess of creating ‘symborgs’ in popular culture When Man universes. The author analyzes the ambiguous re‑ lationship between human and machine in such Becomes Machine. productions as: Neon Genesis Evangelion, Pacific Rim, Iron Man, RoboCop and others. In the ar‑ The Creation ticle are confronted two ways of human being connected with the machine: the ‘external” and of ‘Symborgs’ in Pop ‘internal” ones. The author refers to the concept of technology which is a part of Joanna Zylin‑ Cultural Universes ska’s and Sarah Kember’s ‘creative media’ proj‑ ect and also to the category of ‘symborg’ formu‑ lated by Stelarc. The crucial issue is here also to show the interferences between the imagine world created by popular cultures creators and the real one, to which examples are the phe‑ nomenon of Quantified Self community and project Avatar 2045.

The paper is a brief analysis of the connection Ewa Drab between storytelling, the development of tech‑ Technologized nology and video games. The questions asked behind the study are: What is the influence Culture or Cultured of technological advancements on narratives? What are the new elements which appear in Technology? Video stories of video games? What has been the ev‑ olution of storytelling in the field of electronic Games as a New entertainment? What is the impact of a game genre on video game narratives? What are Form of Storytelling characteristics of genres which manifest the greatest degree of influence on the in­‑game storytelling? a b s t r a c t s 123

The attempt at finding answers is based on a the‑ oretical background, which allows to determine what the terms narrative, story and storytelling are. Furthermore, the very basic notions of nar‑ ratology are briefly presented as well as the di‑ vision into presentational and re­‑presentational logics of storytelling, mainly in reference to video games. It is followed by an observation of the re‑ lation between games genres, technological ad‑ vancement and narratives in games. The second part of the paper is focused on the analysis of the examples, namely an in‑ teractive narrative Heavy Rain, sandboxes In‑ famous and Red Dead Redemption and an ac‑ tion RPG Mass Effect. Each game is analyzed in the context of elements which influence the form of storytelling and make the video game nar‑ rative unique. The case study is followed by an enumeration of conclusions.

The aim of the article is to analyze represen‑ Aneta Jałocha tations of genetic engineering in chosen sci‑ (Re)Designing ence fiction films:GATTACA (1997), The Island (2005) and Never Let Me Go (2010). In the first Human. Genetics section of the article, the author delineates the emergence of the concept of ‘biotechnol‑ in Cinema. ogy’ and the moment of its identification with genetics and molecular biology. In the follow‑ The Dialectics of Past, ing, she draws attention to socio­‑cultural func‑ tions of genetics and the dynamics of forming Present and Future public understanding of the scientific subdis‑ cipline. In film interpretations, the author fo‑ cuses on genetic engineering technologies de‑ picted and the ethical issues raised by the de‑ piction. She argues that science fiction creates images of the future immersed in the past and the present; and that science fiction should be recognized as an important space of negotiat‑ ing the meanings and roles of genetic engi‑ neering; both reflecting and shaping the pub‑ lic concerns on the rapidly expanding domain of biotechnology. 124 kultura popularna 2013 nr 4 (38)

The article is an attempt to understand the im‑ Piotr Fortuna pact of 3D technology on the experience of a con‑ Stereo Vision and temporary film viewer. The theoretical frame‑ work of the analysis is determined by Edgar Mo‑ The Imaginary rin’s anthropological interpretation of the cinema, which is, however, considerably re­‑interpreted Man. The Influence by the author of the paper. The aesthetic dis‑ tinctness of stereo vision is particularly appre‑ of 3D Technology ciated here. Besides, French theoretician’s the‑ sis that “the subjective increase [ of image’s val‑ on the Experience ue ] is a function of its objectivity” is discussed. of the Film Viewer The author argues that in the case of stereo vi‑ sion it is just the opposite. He finds reasons for that conclusion in Morin’s book, as well as in the psychology of perception and French phe‑ nomenology. Not only does 3D technology weak‑ en the projection­‑identification process, but it also disturbs the latter, thus interfering with the fundamental mechanisms of the cinema.

The article examines the ambivalent attitude and Zbigniew reactions to technology as exemplified by the fe‑ male robot in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis and ana‑ Wałaszewski lyzes the functions and mechanisms of myth‑ Technology as ological re­‑enactment of the witch figure in the culture of modernity. It discusses the mov‑ Witchcraft. Fear and ie’s symbolic representations of technological progress and its perils, as well as its ethics and Desire: A Female gender politics. Robot in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis

The article discusses the portrayal of interhu‑ Rafał Morusiewicz man and sexual relations in Spike Jonze’s Her Fifty Shades of Real. and examines the role the role of technology, es‑ pecially virtual constructs and artificial subjec‑ The Sexual and tivities in the broader context of sexual politics and power relations. It looks at the theoretical the Virtual in Spike implications of virtual relationships, including the issues of normativity and analyzes the ques‑ Jonze’s Her tion of “realness” and its degrees, as determined by social and political constructs of sexuality.

Kultura Popularna nr 4 (38) / 2013 Kultura Popularna Redaktor naczelny: Wiesław Godzic Z‑ca redaktora naczelnego: Mirosław Filiciak Sekretariat redakcji: Małgorzata Kowalewska, Lidia Rudzińska Przygotowanie numeru: Anna Warso, Paweł Pyrka Opieka wydawnicza: Andrzej Łabędzki Layout: Edgar Bąk | www.edgarbak.info Skład i łamanie: Marcin Hernas | tessera.org.pl

Redakcja: „Kultura Popularna” Instytut Kulturoznawstwa Szkoła Wyższa Psychologii Społecznej ul. Chodakowska 19 / 31 03-815 Warszawa [email protected] www.swps.pl/kulturapopularna

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Rada Naukowa: Barbara Czerniawska (Uniwersytet w Göteborgu), Mirosław Duchowski (Akademia Sztuk Pięknych w Warszawie), Andrzej Gwóźdź (Uniwersytet Śląski), Tomáš Kulka (Uniwersytet Karola), Andrzej Pitrus (Uniwersytet Jagielloński), Roch Sulima (przewodniczący, SWPS), Wacław Osadnik (Uniwersytet Alberty).

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