Summary Dismissal of Mark Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1250 words

Summary Dismissal of Mark - Essay Example In the case of Mark, the employer had some grounds which could warrant for summary dismissal and he went ahead to dismiss him. From the point of view of Mark, the action of the employer is unlawful and as such it constitutes an unfair dismissal. The grievances of Mark presented in the case study are true and they form a ground upon which he can appeal against the termination of his contract. In this regards, I will argue that wrongful dismissal and violation of his rights as the basis upon which he can appeal against the dismissal. In summary dismissal, there has to be a proof of gross misconduct. In this case, Mark disobeyed a direct disorder from his superior.However, the manner in which it was carried out was not procedural. First off, the dismissal was not in tandem with the usual meaning of this type of dismissal which is instant.The case states clearly that Mark had been asked to work overtime which he refused and a fierce confrontation ensued.Although arguing with superiors is wrong especially in front of other employees, it does not warrant summary dismissal. He was allowed to go home and the next day after he had reported for work; he was given his marching orders after starting his work for the day. In this regards, if indeed summary dismissal was the case, it should have been done the previous day and not the next day after working for some time. ... In Marks case, it appears that the employer was trying to coerce him to fore gore his own commitments for the company’s sake. Such an unprecedented step to coerce an employee to work overtime constitutes violation of an employee’s rights2. Mark is therefore entitled to appeal his summary dismissal on the basis of gross violation of his employee rights. Dismissal of Simon Redundancy is major factor that is considered by employers when they are dismissing their employees. For dismissal on redundancy ground to be fair, the employer must be able to show consistent statistics in terms of underlying problem that led to the dismissal. To give more credence to redundancy dismissal, the employer must consult widely with other stakeholders as well as the concerned employee. However, regardless of whatever method is used to dismiss an employee, the employer must have a formal meeting with the earmarked employee for dismissal. In this meeting, the employee is given an explanation a s to why the employer is terminating the employment contract3. In the case of Simon, the employer used laid down procedures of the company to come up with a trumped charge of poor performance as the basis of his dismissal. First off, this is not a case of poor performance because the underlying problem is change of system from manual to a computerised system. Regardless of human learning capabilities and ingenuity, it is utterly impossible for one to learn new systems in under a month. When the company (Fit & Well Co. Ltd.) was instituting changes, it did not warn the employees to make the necessary preparations to adapt to changes in the work place. Similarly, after making changes in the

Research Paper Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 1250 words - 2

Research Paper Example Likewise, information contained in â€Å"Today’s Job Seeker Report† published by Simply Hired (2012) revealed that from among the American job seekers surveyed, 70% revealed that they use mobile technology to search for job opportunities (Simply Hired, 2012, p. 5). Also, other relevant information disclosed was that 40% of companies rely on social networking sites, particularly Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and even MySpace for recruitment purposes (Kwoh, 2012). A much higher rate of 60% in 2012, as compared to 54% in 2011 was actually reported by Simply Hired (2012) for job seekers to have resorted to social networks. Regardless of the accurate figure, it is evident that job seekers have significantly relied on social networking sites as potential sources of employment; and employers have likewise sought information from these sites to gain more information about prospective applicants and candidates. The currrent discourse hereby aims to present the benefits and costs of using social media during job search. The next section provides relevant and crucial statistical information that identifies the use of specifically identified social networking sites and the users that rely on these for employment. Subsequently, the benefits and disadvantages of using social media would be presented in detail prior to a recommendation and concluding portion. Statistics Use of Social Media in Job Search The information revealed by the Pew Research Center in 2012 has disclosed that the general profile and landscape of social networking site users fall under the following gender and age categories, shown as Table 1, below: Table 1: Profile and Landscape of Social Networking Site Users Social Networking Sites Percentage of Internet Users Demographic Profile Facebook 67% Women, 18 to 29 years old Twitter 16 African Americans, urban residents, 18-29 years old Pinterest 15 Women, white, under 50 years old Instagram 13 African Americans and Latinos, women, urban residen ts, 18 to 29 years old Tumblr 6 Adults 18 to 29 years old Source: Duggan & Brenner, 2013, p. 2 The percentage of internet users identified to be using social networking sites are shown below: Figure 1: Percent of Social Networking Site Users As noted above, both potential applicants and employers utilize these sites for employment purposes. Since Facebook leads in social networking site users, it was reported in the Huffington Post (2012) that â€Å"a survey commissioned by the online employment website CareerBuilder has found that 37 percent of hiring managers use social networking sites to research job applicants, with over 65 percent of that group using Facebook as their primary resource† (37 Percent Of Employers Use Facebook To Pre-Screen Applicants, New Study Says, 2012, par. 1). More interesting are the findings from a survey conducted by the Corporate Executive Board cited by Kwoh (2012) that provided explicit insights from the perspectives of employers which revealed that since employers are making their respective research on potential candidates for employment, those who apparently lie on their resume, provide fake references, and seek unrealistic salaries were found to be the top three pitfalls that should

Women in the American Revolution Essay Example for Free

Women in the American Revolution Essay As had been the pattern in Europe over the centuries, women in early America were not supposed to play any political role in society. Following the ideas and values brought here from the Old World, colonial leaders decided that womens main place was in the home, centered around conventional activities for example housework, cooking, cleaning, as well as childrearing. Besides taking care of the household, it was accepted; women could partake in some phases of the religious life of the community. However a sharp difference was drawn between religion and politics. When the question arose in early Massachusetts regarding possibly permitting all church members a political voice irrespective of their other status, Puritan minister John Cotton argued that merely independent adult men had the essential qualifications to act sensibly in the political sphere. Women and Servants, he said, are not reckoned â€Å"capable of voting in the choice of Magistrates, though they may be and are, church members. †1 Cotton and others felt that women may exercise some decision-making authority within the family, however in society at large men alone could be rulers. Certainly, not all men in early America had access to the political realm. As noted in Reverend Cottons remarks, bound servants were to be excluded. Furthermore, religious dissenters, white men without property and, certainly, black slaves were generally barred from any form of political participation. Members of these groups, along with women, had been conventionally looked upon as lacking the independence and personal qualities believed essential for becoming a voter or officeholder. Thus far women were obviously a special case, which is perhaps why it ultimately took longer for them to lawfully get political rights. Perhaps, too, it elucidates why in colonial times few theorists even measured the prospect of women having any sort of political role. In the second half of the 18th century, certain writers elaborated further as to why women did not belong in the political ground. A foremost advice book of the time, The Polite Lady, published in England however extensively read in America, stated that womens natural abilities were not equal to such a difficult task as politics. Female education, as currently conducted, said the author, was too slight and superficial to allow women to be competent judges of such matters. Just before the colonists stated their independence, Massachusetts lawyer and emerging statesman John Adams reiterated some of these views. Like the previous writer, Adams did not assert that women lacked any intellectual capacity. To a certain extent, he thought that they were unsuited both by temperament as well as training for such a worldly pursuit as politics. â€Å"Their delicacy, Adams insisted, renders them unfit for practice and experience in the great business of life, and hardly enterprises of war, as well as the arduous cares of state. Besides, their attention is so much engaged with the necessary nurture of their children, that nature has made them fittest for domestic cares. †2 Women in the Patriot Cause: These few instances of female participation despite, the foregoing criticism reveals the fact that women were not seen as having a justifiable place in the political community. The passage of time had brought much development to the colonies however none concerning any institutionalized political role for women. That women should have no business dealing with matters of state was an approach maintained not merely by notable men in America but as well among the great minds of the late 18th century European Enlightenment. Outside of the French philosopher Condorcet, no intellectual of the period seriously thought that women belonged in the public sphere. Though, the American Revolution would force as a minimum some rethinking of womens connection to the political realm here in the New World. Even though no formal context existed for women entering the civil polity, they would in several ways become attached to the movement looking for political independence from England. As historian Linda Kerber has noted, womens services turned out to be highly sought after either for the army or on the home front. Consequently, women were challenged to commit themselves politically and then validate their allegiance. In a little while the age-old question was raised: could a woman be a loyalist, an essentially political person, and, if so, what form would it take? The issue, as Kerber indicates, never achieved full resolution. However without doubt many women, at least for a time, went beyond their conventional roles and started engaging in some kinds of public activity.

Analysis of JFK (1991) and Thin Blue Line

Analysis of JFK (1991) and Thin Blue Line Both films, for example, pore over minutae that may or may not be significant (umbrellas opening in JFK, a dropped thickshake in The Thin Blue Line) to draw the viewer ever more deeply into the world of the crime scene. Yet neither film stops at a simple recitation of facts: both look at the States role in events and suggest an explanation for the alleged cover up. In JFK, this is Stones highly controversial suggestion that the CIA and the military-industrial complex had a vested interest in seeing President Kennedy dead because he was shortly to scale down Americas involvement in Vietnam. In The Thin Blue Line, two related theories are suggested for the official insistence on trying Randall Adams: firstly, that David Harris account had the advantage of providing the police with an eye-witness, while if Harris was himself the murderer, no reliable witness existed; and secondly, that Harris could not be tried as an adult, thus robbing the District Attorney of the much-sought death sentence for the murder of a policeman. These theories are communicated through devices commonly associated with fictional narratives, such as a highly evocative musical score (Phillip Glass music for The Thin Blue Line invokes a melancholy sense of helplessness, while John Williams score for JFK has a more urgent tone, suggestive of furtive conspiracies and forces careening out of control). And both counterpoint different modes of filmmaking as they do so, contrasting invented material filmed in a classical Hollywood style with documentary or faux-documentary footage. The similarity in effect of the two films fast-paced juxtaposition of styles is striking, and suggests Stones approach may have been influenced by Morris work. Yet while both films have an over-riding concern with the filmmaker uncovering facts, that might be called the outer narrative, each constructs a contrasting relationship between the narrative and documentary elements within the text. In JFK, Stone uses an interior narrative of Jim Garrison (Kevin Costner) investigating the case. While Garrison is essentially a surrogate for the filmmaker, so that the film cannot be considered as the story of Jim Garrison,3 this narrative is provided moments that function simply as character drama with little or no relationship to the larger argument (such as Garrisons arguments and reconciliation with his wife, or a Norman Rockwell moment4 with his children). This, then, is an example of classical Hollywood-style fictional filmmaking. This is then ruptured by the moments of documentary and faux-documentary that expand on Stones argument as it is being expressed by Garrison. This includes what we might call genuine documentary material: the Zapruder film of the assassination and archival photographs (such as of Kennedys autopsy, or the photograph of Lee Harvey Oswald holding the rifle). It also includes a large number of re-enactments, which are very often presented in a simulated documentary style (grainy or black and white film stock, hand-held cameras). This faux-documentary material is often juxtaposed with the genuine documentary material in a manner that blends the two together (the Zapruder footage is matched by staged footage using similar film stock, and the autopsy photographs are intercut with shots of a wax dummy of Kennedy). The Thin Blue Line shares the same outer narrative (filmmaker investigating), but the inner narrative (the story of Randall Adams) is not constructed in a classical Hollywood style. Instead, it is told through one of the standard modes of documentary filmmaking identified by Bill Nichols5: direct address by participants in an interview format (with the interviewer removed through editing). As with Stones film, this inner narrative is supported by evidence, but again the mode of presentation is reversed: the principal method used to support the witnesses testimony is through reconstructions of the crime scene that, while stylized and fragmented, are constructed as a miniature classically constructed narrative. This nesting of different modes might be tabulated as follows: My point, however, is that the films differ in mode, but use mirror-image forms of the same structure. JFK is primarily a fictional film, which employs a documentary style when re-enacting speculated events. The Thin Blue Line is primarily a documentary, but employs a style borrowed from fictional films in its re-enactments. If the two films share so much in common, and slide so fluidly from documentary to fictional modes so quickly, does this suggest the difference in the two forms might be largely cosmetic? Fiction can be used to express truths about the real world, and the documentary is can be used in ways that obscure the truth or construct falsehoods. If the fundamental difference between fiction and non-fiction is taken as the link to the real, and it is shown that documentaries and fictions share similar relationships to the real, then the two forms start to look more alike: not the same, exactly, but similar. JFK and The Thin Blue Line, by this way of thinking, are then only superficially different types of movies. They share the same structure and the fiction versus documentary dichotomy is more like a difference in genre than a fundamental distinction. This is not to invest the superficial crossover of techniques between the two forms with a significance it does not posses. Documentaries are not fictions just because The Blair Witch Project (1999) does such a good job of pretending to be a real document, or even because Rats in the Ranks (1996) works so well as a narrative. Rather, the downplaying of the documentary / fiction division is based upon a deep-seated cynicism about claims to truth in documentary. That there is such reluctance to accept truth at face value in documentary should not be surprising. Early or classic film studies was based largely on arguments about the relationships between film and reality. While this debate is too detailed to fully explore, it is important to touch upon briefly because much writing upon documentary echoes the arguments of these early writers. The direct link to reality might be seen as a defining feature of the documentary, but it was also seen in the first half of the century as one of the defining features of the film medium itself. The cinema appeared to be an even more perfect method for mechanically reproducing reality than the still photographs that preceded it. This added urgency to arguments of aesthetics that centred on whether the role of the artist was to attempt to recreate the real world, or rather to interpret or even transcend the real.6 These arguments were therefore central to classic film theory and resolved into two broad strands of argument that echo the aesthetic positions described. Thus writers such as Siegfried Kraceur and Andre Bazin had approaches that emphasised films role as a mirror to the real. Of more interest to the current discussion, however, are early anti-realists such as Rudolf Arnheim. In his Film as Art, his defence for cinemas status as serious artistic medium (rather than a mechanical process) is built a round a series of explanations of the way in which film differs from the real.7 Three dimensional surfaces are projected on a plane surface. Perception of depth is lost. In the black and white cinema with reference to which Arnheim formulated his thesis, colour is eliminated. Lighting distorts. Editing interrupts the flow of time and creates artistic possibilities through the use of montage. Non-visual stimulus is absent (or, after the coming of sound, limited), and even the visual world is limited by the edge of the screen. This catalogue of distortions is, for Arnheim, the very basis for the creation of aesthetic systems by which films can signify meanings. After establishing the above points, he sets about demonstrating how each of these limitations in depicting the real is used as a method of artistic expression8. Subsequent film theory moved beyond Arnheims formulations, but has tended to take them as a given in the sense that few would still argue that the central project of film is limited to the reproduction or reflection of reality. Given that such formulations are at the foundation of later film theory, it should not be surprising that they were echoed when subsequent theorists turned their minds to issues regarding documentary, and particularly its relation to the real. Noà «l Carroll attributes much of this writing to a backlash against premature claims by proponents of direct cinema that their method of cinema provided unmitigated access to the real.9 These documentarists attempted to avoid the filmmakers intervention and interpretation, reacting to the overt imposition of a viewpoint present in traditional Griersonian forms of documentary. However, as Carroll puts it, [d]irect cinema opened a can of worms and then got eaten by them.10 It was quickly argued that direct cinema was every bit as interpretive as Griersonian documentaries. For the distortions of reality that were identified by Arnheim are equally present in documentary cinema, but with different implications. Instead of being the unambiguously positive means to artistic expression, every limitation of the medium is instead a problematic point of mediation by the filmmaker. The limitations of the film frame, for example, force choices upon even the most non-interventionist direct cinema filmmaker. And with every choice the filmmaker is placing the film at a greater distance from reality. Carroll quotes Eric Barnouw making this point: To be sure, some documentarists claim to be objective a term that seems to renounce an interpretive role. The claim may be strategic, but it is surely meaningless. The documentarist, like any communicator in any medium, makes endless choices. He [sic] selects topics, people, vistas, angles, lens, juxtapositions, sounds, words. Each selection is an expression of his point of view, whether he is aware of it or not, whether he acknowledges it or not. Even behind the first step, selection of a topic, there is a motive It is in selecting and arranging his findings that he expresses himself; these choices are, in effect, comments. And whether he adopts the stance of observer, or chronicler or whatever, he cannot escape his subjectivity. He presents his version of the world.11 Such an argument certainly seems to cast doubt over the potential for objectivity in documentary cinema. Carried to an extreme, it is the presentation of a version of the world rather than the world itself that can be seen as rendering documentary a form of fiction. Either way, the prospects for documentary truth in such a model seem grim indeed. It should be noted that Carroll puts little faith in such an approach to documentary, and his counter-argument will be returned to. Before doing so, however, it is worth noting that more recently, Carroll has drawn the distinction between what he calls the selectivity argument (recited above) and more global postmodern scepticism of claims to truth.12 The latter is based not in the assumptions of classical film studies, but rather the wider discussions about the way any human discourse imposes meaning and structure on real events. For example, historical accounts impose a narrative structure onto events to make them intelligible, and a distinction must be drawn between the real events (which actually occurred) and the account (which lacks an independent historical existence): The states of affairs and events the historian alludes to do have a basis in historical reality, and the historians claims about those states of affairs and events can be literally true or false. But the narratives in which those states of affairs and events figure are inventions, constructions, indeed, fictions. The narrative structure in the historical recounting is not true or false; it is fictional.13 This point of such an observation may seem a little obscure. If the narrative structure imposed in a historical account is considered independently of the statements of historical fact that it is used to explain, then of course it must be considered fictional. If, however, a documentary text is considered in its entirety, then it is open to questioning about the validity of the historians factual claims (including analysis as to whether the narrative structure is an accurate or fair way of interpreting the real events) in a way that fiction is not. Certainly the argument is here being posed by Carroll (albeit following Michael Renov and Hayden White) as a prelude to arguing that it is unsupportable14. However, Carroll also refers to an alternative model for looking at the link between non-fiction and fiction, mounted by Bill Nichols in his book Representing Reality, which is more subtle and worth dealing with directly. Nichols, unlike the other theorists alluded to by Carroll, does not argue that documentaries must be considered fiction. He recognises that the existence of an external, real-world referent is an important distinction that cannot be dismissed as irrelevant. The world of a fiction film is a unique, imaginary domain, but the world of documentary is different: Instead of a world, we are offered access to the world.15 This claim to representation of the real means that documentaries are not simply narratives: they are also argumentative, if only in the sense that they make claims (even if only implicitly) about what is true. They are therefore a fiction (un)like any other.16 However, Nichols remains troubled by these claims to truth. While the documentary is distinguished from fiction by its links to the real, this representation is rendered problematic by the apparent impossibility of rendering truth objectively. Documentaries, while not fiction, share with fiction those very qualities that thoroughly compromise any rigorous objectivity, if they dont make it impossible Objectivity has been under no less siege than realism, and for many of the same reasons. It, too, is a way of representing the world that denies its own processes of construction and their formative effect. Any given standard for objectivity will have embedded political assumptions In documentary, these assumptions might include belief in the self-evident nature of facts, in rhetorical persuasion as a necessary and appropriate part of representation, and in the capacity of the documentary text to affect its audience through its implicit or explicit claim of This is so, isnt it?17 Nichols argument is reminiscent of those strands of theoretical thought that view ideology as an inescapable and all pervasive force. Documentaries do make claims about the truth that are open to evaluation, but unfortunately, according to Nichols, our institutional mechanisms for assessing such claims are themselves suspect. If such an approach is accepted, evaluation of the arguments made by Oliver Stone and Errol Morris might be highly problematic. Carroll, however, is not willing to concede that any of these arguments establish either that non-fiction is a form of fiction, or that objectivity is impossible. Firstly, he argues that the cinema does not posses any unique tendency towards bias compared to other media. The same arguments about selectivity that Barnouw raises with respect to film are equally applicable to other media and fields of enquiry.18 The particular causes of distortion may be different, but any historian for example may select, manipulate, interpret or emphasise aspects of their material just as a documentary maker can. Thus if non-fiction film is said to be subjective due to its selectivity, so must any field of human enquiry, such as history and science. In the earlier of the two articles I have discussed (written in 1983), Carroll is confident that such a wide-ranging scepticism would not be seriously proposed.19 As we have seen, by 1996 that was exactly the argument Carroll was responding to. Nevertheless, in 1983 his defence against the selectivity argument is based upon the notion of objectivity. In any given field of argument, at any given time, there are patterns of reasoning, standards for observation, and methods for assessing evidence which are used for getting to the truth.20 A piece of research is considered objective insofar as it abides by these norms. Likewise, non-fiction films may be assessed against similar codes, and will be considered biased or subjective if they fail to meet them. That selectivity may make bias possible, or even likely, does not preclude the possibility of a film according with established standards of objectivity. The obvious differences between the real world and the filmed presentation prevent film from substituting for lived experience, but they do not prevent documentaries from being objective. This central assumption of this argument that there are standards of objectivity that can be used to judge the truth is exactly the assumption that we have seen Bill Nichols question. Carroll, however, disputes all of Nichols contentions that are cited above. Firstly, he does not accept that objectivity demands that a film call attention to its processes of construction. After all, the fact that a non-fiction film is constructed is understood by any audience and does not need to be spelt out. Self-reflexive analyses of the filmmaking process or the authors own subjectivity might be a feature of many recent documentaries, but for Carrol this is an artistic device, rather than a necessary benchmark for objectivity. Nor does he accept that any standard for objectivity has embedded political assumptions, even accepting Nichols very broad definitions (outlined above) of what constitutes a political assumption. A belief in the self-evident nature of facts, for example, might be a political assumption when the facts being presented are politically charged falsehoods. Yet the acceptance that some claims of self-evident truth are suspect does not mean that there can be no self-evident facts. With regards to rhetorical persuasion, he argues that films can either eschew such devices altogether (he cites nature documentaries as an example),21 or employ rhetorical structures in the service of objective discourse. Similarly, he regards the implicit claim that this is so, isnt it as present in virtually any assertion and hence neither a political assumption nor a barrier to objectivity. Carrolls approach to these arguments about the prospects for truth or objectivity in documentary is often to return to examples where the truth claimed by the documentary seems clear and uncontentious (as with his common use of nature documentaries as discussion points). The linking thread of the arguments he presents is that the theorists he criticises have mistaken the difficulty in presenting objective truth for an impossibility, often by focussing on exactly the texts where the truth is most problematic.22 It is worth returning to The Thin Blue Line and JFK at this point, since these films both explore events that are subject to considerable conjecture. Neither could be accused of assuming the truth about these events is self-evident (quite the opposite), yet both nevertheless ultimately make vital factual claims. As noted already, these claims question state-sanctioned verdicts, and both films led to a public discussion that forced official re-examination of the cases: The Thin Blue Line forced the retrial of Randall Adams, while JFK contributed to the passing of the President John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Collection Act of 1992, which appointed an Assassination Records Review Board (AARB) to re-examine unreleased information about the assassination.23 More than a decade later, with Randall Adams freed from jail, it seems fair to say that Morris case has been widely accepted as true. Oliver Stone, too, has been partially vindicated by subsequent re-examination of the case, with records released by the AARB that support some of his allegations (such as tampering with records of Kennedys autopsy).24 Yet, despite such small victories, and acceptance by many filmgoers of Stones theory of the assassination, JFK remains subject to fierce scholarly criticism of both its methods and conclusions that stands in contrast to the reception of The Thin Blue Line. Linda Williams, in her discussion of the two films, dismisses JFK as paranoid fiction,25 and the widespread condemnation of Stones film by both popular and academic press is well documented.26 Clearly this has much to do with the nature of the case Stone discusses. The Kennedy assassination, for obvious reasons, is a much more familiar event and one that had been the subject of considerably more public discussion than the Randall Adams prosecution. Furthermore, while The Thin Blue Line avoids underlining the political implications of its own conclusions, JFK is explicitly critical of the government and media, calling the assassination a coup detat and coming very close to suggesting former president Lyndon Johnson was involved.27 However, the difference in the reception of the two films cannot be explained simply through reference to the argument each presents. Within the very similar structures outlined at the start of this essay, there are also crucial differences that also explain much of the negative response to Stones film compared to Morris. In his consideration of JFK, Robert Rosenstone notes that there are considerable constraints over the depiction of historical events on the screen.28 In particular, he sees the need to invent detail and compress events to shape a narrative as a limitation that must be negotiated by any historical film. While he is referring to narrative features such as JFK, his argument is equally applicable to the summaries of and suppositions regarding events in The Thin Blue Line. This argument has clear overtones of the discussions of documentaries distortions of truth through selectivity that have already been cited. Like Carroll, Rosenstone argues that when a historical filmmaker such as Stone invents or compresses events, he or she is exercising the same type of discretion that the author of any written history must.29 Such inventions can be considered true (at least to a point) in the sense that they can be verified, documented, or reasonably argued. The problem, notes Rosenstone, is that the verification must occur outside the world of the film. When Stone argues in JFK that President Kennedy was about to withdraw troops from Vietnam, the information is justified by reference to a real memorandum (National Security Action Memo 263), but a fictitious character makes the reference. Assuming no foreknowledge of the case, the audience has no way while watching the film of even knowing that the memorandum really existed, let alone being sure that it supports the conclusion Stone draws. If Stones conclusion is to be examined, the audience must go beyond viewing and read the relevant documents (or scholarly discussion of them) for themselves. If they do so, they will, as Rosenstone states, be undertaking the same kind of critique and review that a work of written history is subjected to. This process of measuring a film against standards of objectivity is exactly that which Carroll highlights as the means of linking non-fiction films to the truth. Stone has actively sought to enter into such debates, mounting extensive defences of the historical accuracy of JFK and his other works.30 That JFK was so controversial was perhaps partly due to the fact that audiences do not necessarily judge films within such evaluative frameworks: unlike the target audience for written history, they may assume that what they see is true and not enter into the debates as to the films veracity. Even assuming an engaged, sceptical audience, however, it is also the case that Stones film does not make the separation of truth from fiction a straightforward task. I have already suggested that the film possesses three layers of exposition: an outer narrative (Stones case), an inner narrative (Garrisons story), and evidence (presented as documentary material and re-enactments). The inner narrative story of Jim Garrison (which is likely to be understood by most audiences as at least partially fictional and not taken as literally true) is often weaved seamlessly in with the evidence (more likely to be seen as Stones presentation of true material). Garrison, for example, meets the mysterious Mr X (Donald Sutherland) in Washington, who outlines a hypothesis about who killed Kennedy and why. This calls forth a series of re-enactments of high level discussions between officials that are weaved into Mr Xs account. The narrative is calling forth evidence, but the difficulty with this sequence is in separating what material is a fictional narrative device, what is speculated, and what is documented truth. For example, are we to accept that Garrison really did meet an anonymous official who told him this information, and take that as evidence that Stones case is true? Or are we to take this as simply part of the inner narrative, a method of presenting evidence? As mentioned, Mr X talks in detail of a real memorandum in order to put Stones case that Kennedy wished to withdraw from Vietnam. An audience might correctly surmise that the existence of such a memo (putting aside its meaning) is a documented fact. However, this quickly leads into discussions of the reaction to this memo within high levels of the government, and the point at which history slides into speculation in this sequence is by no means readily apparent. The re-enactment portions of the sequence are presented in a stylised style using black and white photography, but this does not flag them as conjectural, since Stone switches between film stocks throughout the film without drawing such distinctions. (Elsewhere in the film, for example, the Zapruder film of the assassination, is alternated with simulated footage shot in the same style.) The effect of these aesthetic decisions by Stone is to confuse the boundaries between non-fiction and fiction in a way that makes application of objective standards for assessing truth difficult. The audience can only infer which sections of the film are intended to be read as non-fiction and subject to such examination. Written in October 2001 for the Melbourne University subject Ethnographic and Documentary Cinema. Notes 1. This is the concluding sentence of Eric Barnouw, Documentary: A History of the Non-Fiction Film, (Oxford University Press, New York Oxford, 1993, 2nd Revised Edition), p. 349. 2. The list of similarities between the two films that follows draws partly on Linda Williams, Mirrors without Memories: Truth, History and The Thin Blue Line in Barry Keith Grant Jeanette Sloniowski (eds), Documenting the Documentary: Close Readings of Documentary Film and Video (Wayne State UP, Detroit, 1998), p 381. 3. The films Garrison, for example, has access to information the real Garrison did not, in order to allow Stone to communicate it to audiences. For example, In the movie we attributed to Garrison the information about Shaws background but in real life Jim did not have access to that information at that time. (Oliver Stone audio commentary, JFK DVD, Region 4 Special Edition Directors Cut release, Warner Brothers, 1 hour 28 mins approx.) 4. This phrase is Stones own: JFK audio commentary, op. cit., 2 hours 10 mins approx. While these scenes are also used to communicate information about the larger case, this is an example of narrative efficiency, and does not contradict my point that they do contain aspects (such as the melodromatic touch of Garrisons children asking Dont you love us any more?) which function simply as domestic drama, with no relation to the case against Clay Shaw. 5. Nichols has revisited and slightly reformulated these modes over time, but they can be summarised as expository (ie voice-of-God documentaries that use direct address to tell the audience a truth), observational (cinema verite style films that aim to observe events without participating), interactive (interview based films that allows for direct address by participants, while allowing for filmmakers interaction through questioning), reflexive (films that draw attention to the documentarys own methods), and performative (stressing an individual, subjective position, while downplaying objective or referential aspects). See Bill Nichols: The Voice of Documentary, Film Quarterly 36, no 3 (Spring 1983); Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary (1991, Indiana University Press, Bloomington and Indianapolis), Chapter 2; and (for the perfomative mode) Performing Documentary, Blurred Boundaries: Questions of Meaning in Contemporary Culture (c. 1994, Indiana UP, Bloomington), pp 92-106. 6. This point and the subsequent discussion of classical film theory draw on the discussions in the anthologies Gerald Mast et al. (eds.), Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings, (Oxford University Press, New York and Oxford, 1992), pp. 3-7, and Antony Easthorpe, Contemporary Film Theory (Longman, London New York, 1993), pp. 2-5. 7. Rudolf Arnheim, Film as Art (Faber Faber, London, 1958), esp. pp. 17-37. 8. Ibid., p. 37-114. 9. Noà «l Carroll, From Real to Reel: Entangled in Nonfiction film, in Noà «l Carroll, Theorizing the Moving Image (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996), p. 224-252. (Originally published in Philosophic Exchange in 1983, and will be cited in future as Carroll (1996/1983) to distinguish it from his piece in Post-Theory cited below). Reference to direct cinema is p. 225. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., p. 226. Carroll is quoting from the first edition of Barnouws Documentary, citing p. 287-288 of that edition (Oxford University Press, New York, 1974). The nearest equivalent to this quote I can find in the third edition (op. cit.) is at p. 344. 12. Noà «l Carroll, Nonfiction films and Postmodernist Skepticism in Noà «l Carrol David Bordwell (eds.), Post-Theory: Reconstructing Film Studies, (University of Wisconsin Press, Madison, 1996), pp. 283-306. 13. Ibid., p. 288. Emphasis is Carrolls. 14. Carroll is frequently belligerent about the texts he discusses but is particularly so about Renovs Theorizing Documentary, describing it as a state of the art compendium of received thinking about the documentary film, and dismissing Renovs argument as a red herring. Ibid., p. 285 291. 15. Both quotes Nichols, 1991, op. cit., p. 109. Emphasis is Nichols. 16. This is the title of the second part of Nichols book. How helpful this argumentative nature is as a distinction between fiction and documentary (and how unlike any other form of fiction documentary can be said to be) is debatable given that fiction can be every bit as argumentative as documentary (as JFK demonstrates). 17. Ibid., p. 195. 18. Carroll (1996/1983), op. cit., p. 226. 19. Carroll: I mention this because I do not think that commentators who conclude that the nonfiction film is subjective intend their remarks as a mere gloss on the notion that everything is subjective. But that, I fear, is the untoward implication of their attack. Ibid., p. 226. 20. Ibid., p. 230. See also Carroll, 1996, op. cit. pp. 283-285. 21. Carroll, 1996, p. 294. 22. See, for example, Ibid., p. 293, regarding film scholars focus on art-documentary. 23. Michael L. Kurtz, Oliver Stone, JFK, and History, in Robert Brent Toplin (ed), Oliver Analysis of JFK (1991) and Thin Blue Line Analysis of JFK (1991) and Thin Blue Line Both films, for example, pore over minutae that may or may not be significant (umbrellas opening in JFK, a dropped thickshake in The Thin Blue Line) to draw the viewer ever more deeply into the world of the crime scene. Yet neither film stops at a simple recitation of facts: both look at the States role in events and suggest an explanation for the alleged cover up. In JFK, this is Stones highly controversial suggestion that the CIA and the military-industrial complex had a vested interest in seeing President Kennedy dead because he was shortly to scale down Americas involvement in Vietnam. In The Thin Blue Line, two related theories are suggested for the official insistence on trying Randall Adams: firstly, that David Harris account had the advantage of providing the police with an eye-witness, while if Harris was himself the murderer, no reliable witness existed; and secondly, that Harris could not be tried as an adult, thus robbing the District Attorney of the much-sought death sentence for the murder of a policeman. These theories are communicated through devices commonly associated with fictional narratives, such as a highly evocative musical score (Phillip Glass music for The Thin Blue Line invokes a melancholy sense of helplessness, while John Williams score for JFK has a more urgent tone, suggestive of furtive conspiracies and forces careening out of control). And both counterpoint different modes of filmmaking as they do so, contrasting invented material filmed in a classical Hollywood style with documentary or faux-documentary footage. The similarity in effect of the two films fast-paced juxtaposition of styles is striking, and suggests Stones approach may have been influenced by Morris work. Yet while both films have an over-riding concern with the filmmaker uncovering facts, that might be called the outer narrative, each constructs a contrasting relationship between the narrative and documentary elements within the text. In JFK, Stone uses an interior narrative of Jim Garrison (Kevin Costner) investigating the case. While Garrison is essentially a surrogate for the filmmaker, so that the film cannot be considered as the story of Jim Garrison,3 this narrative is provided moments that function simply as character drama with little or no relationship to the larger argument (such as Garrisons arguments and reconciliation with his wife, or a Norman Rockwell moment4 with his children). This, then, is an example of classical Hollywood-style fictional filmmaking. This is then ruptured by the moments of documentary and faux-documentary that expand on Stones argument as it is being expressed by Garrison. This includes what we might call genuine documentary material: the Zapruder film of the assassination and archival photographs (such as of Kennedys autopsy, or the photograph of Lee Harvey Oswald holding the rifle). It also includes a large number of re-enactments, which are very often presented in a simulated documentary style (grainy or black and white film stock, hand-held cameras). This faux-documentary material is often juxtaposed with the genuine documentary material in a manner that blends the two together (the Zapruder footage is matched by staged footage using similar film stock, and the autopsy photographs are intercut with shots of a wax dummy of Kennedy). The Thin Blue Line shares the same outer narrative (filmmaker investigating), but the inner narrative (the story of Randall Adams) is not constructed in a classical Hollywood style. Instead, it is told through one of the standard modes of documentary filmmaking identified by Bill Nichols5: direct address by participants in an interview format (with the interviewer removed through editing). As with Stones film, this inner narrative is supported by evidence, but again the mode of presentation is reversed: the principal method used to support the witnesses testimony is through reconstructions of the crime scene that, while stylized and fragmented, are constructed as a miniature classically constructed narrative. This nesting of different modes might be tabulated as follows: My point, however, is that the films differ in mode, but use mirror-image forms of the same structure. JFK is primarily a fictional film, which employs a documentary style when re-enacting speculated events. The Thin Blue Line is primarily a documentary, but employs a style borrowed from fictional films in its re-enactments. If the two films share so much in common, and slide so fluidly from documentary to fictional modes so quickly, does this suggest the difference in the two forms might be largely cosmetic? Fiction can be used to express truths about the real world, and the documentary is can be used in ways that obscure the truth or construct falsehoods. If the fundamental difference between fiction and non-fiction is taken as the link to the real, and it is shown that documentaries and fictions share similar relationships to the real, then the two forms start to look more alike: not the same, exactly, but similar. JFK and The Thin Blue Line, by this way of thinking, are then only superficially different types of movies. They share the same structure and the fiction versus documentary dichotomy is more like a difference in genre than a fundamental distinction. This is not to invest the superficial crossover of techniques between the two forms with a significance it does not posses. Documentaries are not fictions just because The Blair Witch Project (1999) does such a good job of pretending to be a real document, or even because Rats in the Ranks (1996) works so well as a narrative. Rather, the downplaying of the documentary / fiction division is based upon a deep-seated cynicism about claims to truth in documentary. That there is such reluctance to accept truth at face value in documentary should not be surprising. Early or classic film studies was based largely on arguments about the relationships between film and reality. While this debate is too detailed to fully explore, it is important to touch upon briefly because much writing upon documentary echoes the arguments of these early writers. The direct link to reality might be seen as a defining feature of the documentary, but it was also seen in the first half of the century as one of the defining features of the film medium itself. The cinema appeared to be an even more perfect method for mechanically reproducing reality than the still photographs that preceded it. This added urgency to arguments of aesthetics that centred on whether the role of the artist was to attempt to recreate the real world, or rather to interpret or even transcend the real.6 These arguments were therefore central to classic film theory and resolved into two broad strands of argument that echo the aesthetic positions described. Thus writers such as Siegfried Kraceur and Andre Bazin had approaches that emphasised films role as a mirror to the real. Of more interest to the current discussion, however, are early anti-realists such as Rudolf Arnheim. In his Film as Art, his defence for cinemas status as serious artistic medium (rather than a mechanical process) is built a round a series of explanations of the way in which film differs from the real.7 Three dimensional surfaces are projected on a plane surface. Perception of depth is lost. In the black and white cinema with reference to which Arnheim formulated his thesis, colour is eliminated. Lighting distorts. Editing interrupts the flow of time and creates artistic possibilities through the use of montage. Non-visual stimulus is absent (or, after the coming of sound, limited), and even the visual world is limited by the edge of the screen. This catalogue of distortions is, for Arnheim, the very basis for the creation of aesthetic systems by which films can signify meanings. After establishing the above points, he sets about demonstrating how each of these limitations in depicting the real is used as a method of artistic expression8. Subsequent film theory moved beyond Arnheims formulations, but has tended to take them as a given in the sense that few would still argue that the central project of film is limited to the reproduction or reflection of reality. Given that such formulations are at the foundation of later film theory, it should not be surprising that they were echoed when subsequent theorists turned their minds to issues regarding documentary, and particularly its relation to the real. Noà «l Carroll attributes much of this writing to a backlash against premature claims by proponents of direct cinema that their method of cinema provided unmitigated access to the real.9 These documentarists attempted to avoid the filmmakers intervention and interpretation, reacting to the overt imposition of a viewpoint present in traditional Griersonian forms of documentary. However, as Carroll puts it, [d]irect cinema opened a can of worms and then got eaten by them.10 It was quickly argued that direct cinema was every bit as interpretive as Griersonian documentaries. For the distortions of reality that were identified by Arnheim are equally present in documentary cinema, but with different implications. Instead of being the unambiguously positive means to artistic expression, every limitation of the medium is instead a problematic point of mediation by the filmmaker. The limitations of the film frame, for example, force choices upon even the most non-interventionist direct cinema filmmaker. And with every choice the filmmaker is placing the film at a greater distance from reality. Carroll quotes Eric Barnouw making this point: To be sure, some documentarists claim to be objective a term that seems to renounce an interpretive role. The claim may be strategic, but it is surely meaningless. The documentarist, like any communicator in any medium, makes endless choices. He [sic] selects topics, people, vistas, angles, lens, juxtapositions, sounds, words. Each selection is an expression of his point of view, whether he is aware of it or not, whether he acknowledges it or not. Even behind the first step, selection of a topic, there is a motive It is in selecting and arranging his findings that he expresses himself; these choices are, in effect, comments. And whether he adopts the stance of observer, or chronicler or whatever, he cannot escape his subjectivity. He presents his version of the world.11 Such an argument certainly seems to cast doubt over the potential for objectivity in documentary cinema. Carried to an extreme, it is the presentation of a version of the world rather than the world itself that can be seen as rendering documentary a form of fiction. Either way, the prospects for documentary truth in such a model seem grim indeed. It should be noted that Carroll puts little faith in such an approach to documentary, and his counter-argument will be returned to. Before doing so, however, it is worth noting that more recently, Carroll has drawn the distinction between what he calls the selectivity argument (recited above) and more global postmodern scepticism of claims to truth.12 The latter is based not in the assumptions of classical film studies, but rather the wider discussions about the way any human discourse imposes meaning and structure on real events. For example, historical accounts impose a narrative structure onto events to make them intelligible, and a distinction must be drawn between the real events (which actually occurred) and the account (which lacks an independent historical existence): The states of affairs and events the historian alludes to do have a basis in historical reality, and the historians claims about those states of affairs and events can be literally true or false. But the narratives in which those states of affairs and events figure are inventions, constructions, indeed, fictions. The narrative structure in the historical recounting is not true or false; it is fictional.13 This point of such an observation may seem a little obscure. If the narrative structure imposed in a historical account is considered independently of the statements of historical fact that it is used to explain, then of course it must be considered fictional. If, however, a documentary text is considered in its entirety, then it is open to questioning about the validity of the historians factual claims (including analysis as to whether the narrative structure is an accurate or fair way of interpreting the real events) in a way that fiction is not. Certainly the argument is here being posed by Carroll (albeit following Michael Renov and Hayden White) as a prelude to arguing that it is unsupportable14. However, Carroll also refers to an alternative model for looking at the link between non-fiction and fiction, mounted by Bill Nichols in his book Representing Reality, which is more subtle and worth dealing with directly. Nichols, unlike the other theorists alluded to by Carroll, does not argue that documentaries must be considered fiction. He recognises that the existence of an external, real-world referent is an important distinction that cannot be dismissed as irrelevant. The world of a fiction film is a unique, imaginary domain, but the world of documentary is different: Instead of a world, we are offered access to the world.15 This claim to representation of the real means that documentaries are not simply narratives: they are also argumentative, if only in the sense that they make claims (even if only implicitly) about what is true. They are therefore a fiction (un)like any other.16 However, Nichols remains troubled by these claims to truth. While the documentary is distinguished from fiction by its links to the real, this representation is rendered problematic by the apparent impossibility of rendering truth objectively. Documentaries, while not fiction, share with fiction those very qualities that thoroughly compromise any rigorous objectivity, if they dont make it impossible Objectivity has been under no less siege than realism, and for many of the same reasons. It, too, is a way of representing the world that denies its own processes of construction and their formative effect. Any given standard for objectivity will have embedded political assumptions In documentary, these assumptions might include belief in the self-evident nature of facts, in rhetorical persuasion as a necessary and appropriate part of representation, and in the capacity of the documentary text to affect its audience through its implicit or explicit claim of This is so, isnt it?17 Nichols argument is reminiscent of those strands of theoretical thought that view ideology as an inescapable and all pervasive force. Documentaries do make claims about the truth that are open to evaluation, but unfortunately, according to Nichols, our institutional mechanisms for assessing such claims are themselves suspect. If such an approach is accepted, evaluation of the arguments made by Oliver Stone and Errol Morris might be highly problematic. Carroll, however, is not willing to concede that any of these arguments establish either that non-fiction is a form of fiction, or that objectivity is impossible. Firstly, he argues that the cinema does not posses any unique tendency towards bias compared to other media. The same arguments about selectivity that Barnouw raises with respect to film are equally applicable to other media and fields of enquiry.18 The particular causes of distortion may be different, but any historian for example may select, manipulate, interpret or emphasise aspects of their material just as a documentary maker can. Thus if non-fiction film is said to be subjective due to its selectivity, so must any field of human enquiry, such as history and science. In the earlier of the two articles I have discussed (written in 1983), Carroll is confident that such a wide-ranging scepticism would not be seriously proposed.19 As we have seen, by 1996 that was exactly the argument Carroll was responding to. Nevertheless, in 1983 his defence against the selectivity argument is based upon the notion of objectivity. In any given field of argument, at any given time, there are patterns of reasoning, standards for observation, and methods for assessing evidence which are used for getting to the truth.20 A piece of research is considered objective insofar as it abides by these norms. Likewise, non-fiction films may be assessed against similar codes, and will be considered biased or subjective if they fail to meet them. That selectivity may make bias possible, or even likely, does not preclude the possibility of a film according with established standards of objectivity. The obvious differences between the real world and the filmed presentation prevent film from substituting for lived experience, but they do not prevent documentaries from being objective. This central assumption of this argument that there are standards of objectivity that can be used to judge the truth is exactly the assumption that we have seen Bill Nichols question. Carroll, however, disputes all of Nichols contentions that are cited above. Firstly, he does not accept that objectivity demands that a film call attention to its processes of construction. After all, the fact that a non-fiction film is constructed is understood by any audience and does not need to be spelt out. Self-reflexive analyses of the filmmaking process or the authors own subjectivity might be a feature of many recent documentaries, but for Carrol this is an artistic device, rather than a necessary benchmark for objectivity. Nor does he accept that any standard for objectivity has embedded political assumptions, even accepting Nichols very broad definitions (outlined above) of what constitutes a political assumption. A belief in the self-evident nature of facts, for example, might be a political assumption when the facts being presented are politically charged falsehoods. Yet the acceptance that some claims of self-evident truth are suspect does not mean that there can be no self-evident facts. With regards to rhetorical persuasion, he argues that films can either eschew such devices altogether (he cites nature documentaries as an example),21 or employ rhetorical structures in the service of objective discourse. Similarly, he regards the implicit claim that this is so, isnt it as present in virtually any assertion and hence neither a political assumption nor a barrier to objectivity. Carrolls approach to these arguments about the prospects for truth or objectivity in documentary is often to return to examples where the truth claimed by the documentary seems clear and uncontentious (as with his common use of nature documentaries as discussion points). The linking thread of the arguments he presents is that the theorists he criticises have mistaken the difficulty in presenting objective truth for an impossibility, often by focussing on exactly the texts where the truth is most problematic.22 It is worth returning to The Thin Blue Line and JFK at this point, since these films both explore events that are subject to considerable conjecture. Neither could be accused of assuming the truth about these events is self-evident (quite the opposite), yet both nevertheless ultimately make vital factual claims. As noted already, these claims question state-sanctioned verdicts, and both films led to a public discussion that forced official re-examination of the cases: The Thin Blue Line forced the retrial of Randall Adams, while JFK contributed to the passing of the President John F. Kennedy Assassination Records Collection Act of 1992, which appointed an Assassination Records Review Board (AARB) to re-examine unreleased information about the assassination.23 More than a decade later, with Randall Adams freed from jail, it seems fair to say that Morris case has been widely accepted as true. Oliver Stone, too, has been partially vindicated by subsequent re-examination of the case, with records released by the AARB that support some of his allegations (such as tampering with records of Kennedys autopsy).24 Yet, despite such small victories, and acceptance by many filmgoers of Stones theory of the assassination, JFK remains subject to fierce scholarly criticism of both its methods and conclusions that stands in contrast to the reception of The Thin Blue Line. Linda Williams, in her discussion of the two films, dismisses JFK as paranoid fiction,25 and the widespread condemnation of Stones film by both popular and academic press is well documented.26 Clearly this has much to do with the nature of the case Stone discusses. The Kennedy assassination, for obvious reasons, is a much more familiar event and one that had been the subject of considerably more public discussion than the Randall Adams prosecution. Furthermore, while The Thin Blue Line avoids underlining the political implications of its own conclusions, JFK is explicitly critical of the government and media, calling the assassination a coup detat and coming very close to suggesting former president Lyndon Johnson was involved.27 However, the difference in the reception of the two films cannot be explained simply through reference to the argument each presents. Within the very similar structures outlined at the start of this essay, there are also crucial differences that also explain much of the negative response to Stones film compared to Morris. In his consideration of JFK, Robert Rosenstone notes that there are considerable constraints over the depiction of historical events on the screen.28 In particular, he sees the need to invent detail and compress events to shape a narrative as a limitation that must be negotiated by any historical film. While he is referring to narrative features such as JFK, his argument is equally applicable to the summaries of and suppositions regarding events in The Thin Blue Line. This argument has clear overtones of the discussions of documentaries distortions of truth through selectivity that have already been cited. Like Carroll, Rosenstone argues that when a historical filmmaker such as Stone invents or compresses events, he or she is exercising the same type of discretion that the author of any written history must.29 Such inventions can be considered true (at least to a point) in the sense that they can be verified, documented, or reasonably argued. The problem, notes Rosenstone, is that the verification must occur outside the world of the film. When Stone argues in JFK that President Kennedy was about to withdraw troops from Vietnam, the information is justified by reference to a real memorandum (National Security Action Memo 263), but a fictitious character makes the reference. Assuming no foreknowledge of the case, the audience has no way while watching the film of even knowing that the memorandum really existed, let alone being sure that it supports the conclusion Stone draws. If Stones conclusion is to be examined, the audience must go beyond viewing and read the relevant documents (or scholarly discussion of them) for themselves. If they do so, they will, as Rosenstone states, be undertaking the same kind of critique and review that a work of written history is subjected to. This process of measuring a film against standards of objectivity is exactly that which Carroll highlights as the means of linking non-fiction films to the truth. Stone has actively sought to enter into such debates, mounting extensive defences of the historical accuracy of JFK and his other works.30 That JFK was so controversial was perhaps partly due to the fact that audiences do not necessarily judge films within such evaluative frameworks: unlike the target audience for written history, they may assume that what they see is true and not enter into the debates as to the films veracity. Even assuming an engaged, sceptical audience, however, it is also the case that Stones film does not make the separation of truth from fiction a straightforward task. I have already suggested that the film possesses three layers of exposition: an outer narrative (Stones case), an inner narrative (Garrisons story), and evidence (presented as documentary material and re-enactments). The inner narrative story of Jim Garrison (which is likely to be understood by most audiences as at least partially fictional and not taken as literally true) is often weaved seamlessly in with the evidence (more likely to be seen as Stones presentation of true material). Garrison, for example, meets the mysterious Mr X (Donald Sutherland) in Washington, who outlines a hypothesis about who killed Kennedy and why. This calls forth a series of re-enactments of high level discussions between officials that are weaved into Mr Xs account. The narrative is calling forth evidence, but the difficulty with this sequence is in separating what material is a fictional narrative device, what is speculated, and what is documented truth. For example, are we to accept that Garrison really did meet an anonymous official who told him this information, and take that as evidence that Stones case is true? Or are we to take this as simply part of the inner narrative, a method of presenting evidence? As mentioned, Mr X talks in detail of a real memorandum in order to put Stones case that Kennedy wished to withdraw from Vietnam. An audience might correctly surmise that the existence of such a memo (putting aside its meaning) is a documented fact. However, this quickly leads into discussions of the reaction to this memo within high levels of the government, and the point at which history slides into speculation in this sequence is by no means readily apparent. The re-enactment portions of the sequence are presented in a stylised style using black and white photography, but this does not flag them as conjectural, since Stone switches between film stocks throughout the film without drawing such distinctions. (Elsewhere in the film, for example, the Zapruder film of the assassination, is alternated with simulated footage shot in the same style.) The effect of these aesthetic decisions by Stone is to confuse the boundaries between non-fiction and fiction in a way that makes application of objective standards for assessing truth difficult. The audience can only infer which sections of the film are intended to be read as non-fiction and subject to such examination. Written in October 2001 for the Melbourne University subject Ethnographic and Documentary Cinema. Notes 1. This is the concluding sentence of Eric Barnouw, Documentary: A History of the Non-Fiction Film, (Oxford University Press, New York Oxford, 1993, 2nd Revised Edition), p. 349. 2. The list of similarities between the two films that follows draws partly on Linda Williams, Mirrors without Memories: Truth, History and The Thin Blue Line in Barry Keith Grant Jeanette Sloniowski (eds), Documenting the Documentary: Close Readings of Documentary Film and Video (Wayne State UP, Detroit, 1998), p 381. 3. The films Garrison, for example, has access to information the real Garrison did not, in order to allow Stone to communicate it to audiences. For example, In the movie we attributed to Garrison the information about Shaws background but in real life Jim did not have access to that information at that time. (Oliver Stone audio commentary, JFK DVD, Region 4 Special Edition Directors Cut release, Warner Brothers, 1 hour 28 mins approx.) 4. This phrase is Stones own: JFK audio commentary, op. cit., 2 hours 10 mins approx. While these scenes are also used to communicate information about the larger case, this is an example of narrative efficiency, and does not contradict my point that they do contain aspects (such as the melodromatic touch of Garrisons children asking Dont you love us any more?) which function simply as domestic drama, with no relation to the case against Clay Shaw. 5. Nichols has revisited and slightly reformulated these modes over time, but they can be summarised as expository (ie voice-of-God documentaries that use direct address to tell the audience a truth), observational (cinema verite style films that aim to observe events without participating), interactive (interview based films that allows for direct address by participants, while allowing for filmmakers interaction through questioning), reflexive (films that draw attention to the documentarys own methods), and performative (stressing an individual, subjective position, while downplaying objective or referential aspects). See Bill Nichols: The Voice of Documentary, Film Quarterly 36, no 3 (Spring 1983); Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary (1991, Indiana University Press, Bloomington and Indianapolis), Chapter 2; and (for the perfomative mode) Performing Documentary, Blurred Boundaries: Questions of Meaning in Contemporary Culture (c. 1994, Indiana UP, Bloomington), pp 92-106. 6. This point and the subsequent discussion of classical film theory draw on the discussions in the anthologies Gerald Mast et al. (eds.), Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings, (Oxford University Press, New York and Oxford, 1992), pp. 3-7, and Antony Easthorpe, Contemporary Film Theory (Longman, London New York, 1993), pp. 2-5. 7. Rudolf Arnheim, Film as Art (Faber Faber, London, 1958), esp. pp. 17-37. 8. Ibid., p. 37-114. 9. Noà «l Carroll, From Real to Reel: Entangled in Nonfiction film, in Noà «l Carroll, Theorizing the Moving Image (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1996), p. 224-252. (Originally published in Philosophic Exchange in 1983, and will be cited in future as Carroll (1996/1983) to distinguish it from his piece in Post-Theory cited below). Reference to direct cinema is p. 225. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., p. 226. Carroll is quoting from the first edition of Barnouws Documentary, citing p. 287-288 of that edition (Oxford University Press, New York, 1974). The nearest equivalent to this quote I can find in the third edition (op. cit.) is at p. 344. 12. Noà «l Carroll, Nonfiction films and Postmodernist Skepticism in Noà «l Carrol David Bordwell (eds.), Post-Theory: Reconstructing Film Studies, (University of Wisconsin Press, Madison, 1996), pp. 283-306. 13. Ibid., p. 288. Emphasis is Carrolls. 14. Carroll is frequently belligerent about the texts he discusses but is particularly so about Renovs Theorizing Documentary, describing it as a state of the art compendium of received thinking about the documentary film, and dismissing Renovs argument as a red herring. Ibid., p. 285 291. 15. Both quotes Nichols, 1991, op. cit., p. 109. Emphasis is Nichols. 16. This is the title of the second part of Nichols book. How helpful this argumentative nature is as a distinction between fiction and documentary (and how unlike any other form of fiction documentary can be said to be) is debatable given that fiction can be every bit as argumentative as documentary (as JFK demonstrates). 17. Ibid., p. 195. 18. Carroll (1996/1983), op. cit., p. 226. 19. Carroll: I mention this because I do not think that commentators who conclude that the nonfiction film is subjective intend their remarks as a mere gloss on the notion that everything is subjective. But that, I fear, is the untoward implication of their attack. Ibid., p. 226. 20. Ibid., p. 230. See also Carroll, 1996, op. cit. pp. 283-285. 21. Carroll, 1996, p. 294. 22. See, for example, Ibid., p. 293, regarding film scholars focus on art-documentary. 23. Michael L. Kurtz, Oliver Stone, JFK, and History, in Robert Brent Toplin (ed), Oliver

The Context and Contents of Priscianus of Lydias Solutionum ad Chosroem :: Philosophy Philosophical Essays

The Context and Contents of Priscianus of Lydia's Solutionum ad Chosroem ABSTRACT: Priscianus of Lydia’s Solutionum ad Chosroem is a series of answers to questions asked at a philosophical debate held at the Sasanian court c. 530 CE. Priscianus of Lydia was one of seven non-Christian philosophers from the Byzantine Empire who journeyed to the Sasanian Empire to take part in the debate. Long overlooked in the history of philosophy, Priscianus of Lydia’s text represents a branch of Neoplatonism that survived for centuries uninfluenced by the official Christianization of the Roman Empire. Priscianus of Lydia was one of the last remaining representatives of non-Christian Neoplatonism in Late Antiquity. Solutionum ad Chosroem provides a record of the world of Neoplatonism shortly before it disappeared under a tide of officially Christian philosophy and theology. I discusses the context of Priscianus’ work and its relation to activities in the Byzantine Empire, such as Emperor Justinian’s suppression of paganism and the closing of th e Academy in Athens in 529 CE. I also discuss the specific contents of the Solutionum ad Chosroem, including questions on first principles, generation, natural history, and the relationship between the soul and the body. The Neoplatonic philosopher Priscianus of Lydia would have had an unremarkable career had he not been mentioned by the early Byzantine historian Agathias as one of seven Hellenic (non-Christian) philosophers who journeyed to the Sasanian court at Seleucia-Ctesiphon early in the reign of the Byzantine emperor Justinian (527-565).(1) These philosophers felt compelled to leave the Byzantine Empire because "they did not share the view of God prevailing among the Romans and thought that the Persian state was far better."(2) Although the Hellenic philosophers decided to return to Byzantine territory after a relatively brief sojourn at the Sasanian court, the philosophers did participate in at least one debate on philosophical questions attended by the shah himself and some higher ranking members of the Zoroastrian clergy. Priscianus of Lydia's contribution to this debate, Solutionum ad Chosroem, has survived in an edition edited by Ingram Bywater in 1886 and now difficult of access.(3) Bef ore considering the specific contents of Priscianus' surviving work, an examination of the historical context in which the work was written is necessary. The Context of Priscianus of Lydia's Solutionum ad Chosroem Agathias states that Priscianus and the other Hellenic philosophers travelled to the Sasanian Empire partly for religious reasons. Being pagans in an increasingly officially Christian empire had rendered their teaching positions more and more vulnerable.

Poes Theory and Practice Reflected in The Cask of Amontillado Essay

Poe's Theory and Practice Reflected in The Cask of Amontillado Edgar Allan Poe, author of "brilliant reviews, poems, and stories," was born in 1809, and sadly died, a young man, in 1849 (665). To truly understand Poe, one must note the time period in which he wrote. It was an age of Literary Realism and Dark Romanticism, which was Poe's arena. The concept of "New Literary Criticism" was not yet mainstream. However, Poe was a critic as well as an acclaimed author. By observing the talents that Poe admired in the writings of others, one may better understand the inner workings of Poe's infamous short stories. In 1854, Poe wrote a review of the works of Nathaniel Hawthorne entitled "The Importance of the Single Effect in a Prose Tale" (854). In this essay I will compare the strengths Poe champions in Hawthorne's works with those that accentuate Poe's well known short story "The Cask of Amontillado." According to Poe, "Truth is often . . . the aim of the tale" (855). Perhaps this is why Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado" borrows its premise from an allegedly factual incident that took place while Poe was stationed at Boston Harbor. After unjustly killing a young lieutenant in a duel, a Captain Green was incited, by his men, into drinking a great deal. He was then buried alive under the floorboards. (Agatucci) Similarly, the unfortunate Fortunato meets his doom while the warmth of liquor soothes his inhibitions. Also like Captain Green, Fortunato was not depicted as an innocent. Universal truth is considered to be one facet of Literary Realism, or as Shakespeare stated "a mirror held up to [human] nature." There is hardly an emotion more natural than the need for revenge. While the appearance of forgivenes... ...ins at once by addressing the reader as a friend: "You, who so well know the nature of my soul" (666). He then proceeds to enlighten the reader as to the unspeakable act he has committed. Poe does this in a demeanor that rests somewhere between bragging and remorse. The regret, however, is not clear until late in the story with the line "My heart grew sick..." (670). We then realize the dreadful deed was committed some 50 years earlier (671). This leads the reader to a discovered sense of urgency in Montresor's confession. Perhaps he is on his own deathbed, one can only guess. This lends itself to Atwood's idea that "This is the story [Montresor] must tell, this is the story [we] must hear" (Agatucci). In other words, the reader must commit to Poe as he has to his reader. "The Cask of Amontillado" is more than a story; it is an insightful experience.

Biographical Analysis of John Mcwhorter

Han Bin Kim Comp II, Class B Assignment 2, Draft 1 February 23, 2013 John McWhorter Interview Over the years I have interviewed a good number of people, but there has never been anyone quite like John McWhorter. Upon reading the article â€Å"The Cosmopolitan Tongue: The Universality of English† as published in the 2009 Fall edition of World Affairs, I found myself delighted by the mellow but powerful tone and the writer who could use it with such ease. Here was a man with brains, consideration, and humor.Lost in my reveries about what McWhorter would be like, I didn’t quite realize that I had somehow dialed his office number until a deep voice filtered through the receiver. â€Å"Yes? McWhorter speaking. † With a tingling sense of nervousness I had forgotten since my rookie days, I introduced myself and asked if he could spare time for a brief interview. He replied, â€Å"Interviews, my dear sir, are rarely brief,† and I could almost hear his smile. There was that brilliant wit which had inspired him to state that there were â€Å"no feminine-gendered tables that talk like Penelope Cruz. (McWhorter, 251) After a turn or two of friendly wrangling, he gently suggested meeting Saturday afternoon at a quiet cafe we both knew. I agreed to the designated rendezvous and, unable to control the temptation, asked, â€Å"How long have you said cafe like that? † The way McWhorter pronounced the word was this: the ‘c’ was sweeter and lighter, in the way Italians and Spaniards speak, and the ‘f’ was said like a soft ‘p’—sounding simply foreign. He said simply, â€Å"Since I was very young. I already knew that he had â€Å"taught himself languages as a hobby since childhood† (McWhorter, 247), and unsatisfied as I was with his answer, I vowed that Saturday would be a new day. On Saturday afternoon I drove down a peaceful country road and walked silently into the cafe. A tall man stood wi th his back to me, gazing out the large French window, and without prologue asked, â€Å"Isn’t that a beautiful poem right in front of us? Anne Shirley said it a century ago, but I’ll take the liberty to repeat it.The lines and verses are only the outward garments of the poem; the real poem is the soul within them†¦ and that beautiful scene is the soul of an unwritten poem. † I smiled quietly at his analytical but sensitive analogy, reminded immediately of his description of the word ‘al— â€Å"an evergreen branch, a word whose final sound is a whistling past the sides of the tongue that sounds like wind passing through just such a branch. † (McWhorter, 247) I later asked him what his childhood nickname had been, and laughing, he confessed that he had most often been called â€Å"poet†.Small wonder for a man who could condense a long, everyday sentence—say, for example, â€Å"there are an innumerable number of books that c ould have summed up to no mean weight†Ã¢â‚¬â€into three pithy, creative, imagery-filled words: â€Å"Bookstore shelves groan. † (McWhorter, 247) He folded his long self into the armchair, crossing his legs, and leaning slightly forward he told me to sit down. As I sat, I remarked, â€Å"You look a great deal like I imagined you to be. † His quiet question and intelligent gaze compelled me to elucidate.I had gathered much of the premises from his writing. The contrasting thoughts â€Å"I hardly rejoice when a language dies† (McWhorter, 247) and â€Å"Would it be inherently evil if there were not 6,000 spoken languages but one? † (McWhorter, 252) could hardly have revealed themselves in a single piece of writing unless the writer was a man of exceptionally precise, cold logic. Thus I had already envisioned the deep-set, handsome eyes that flashed fire from under his brow, and the firmly set mouth. I had also imagined him to be a handsome man, and he was that, too.Humor saved the chin from tapering too sharply, the mouth from being dour: â€Å"Spanish speakers do not go about routinely imagining tables as cooing in feminine tones. † (McWhorter, 249) McWhorter laughed at my analysis, wryly telling me that I should have gone out for professional work in physiognomy, and handed me the menu which the waitress had left by his side. These little considerate actions which I had noticed during the phone call and the three minutes I had met him, inspired me to ask if he had always been so considerate. He looked surprised. I have never thought myself considerate,† he said slowly, â€Å"I am often told that I am too frank with my words. Before I make my opinion on something, I look at it from all perspectives to check that it is perfectly reasonable and logical. But once I make it, I say it without stopping to think if people who think otherwise will be hurt by my words. † I protested. I had already known that he was a considerate person just by reading his article; namely, the welcoming way with which he drew his readers in: â€Å"Most Americans pronounce disgusting as â€Å"diss-kusting† with a k sound. Try it—you probably do too. )† (McWhorter, 248) The tall man leaned back in the armchair and laughed. â€Å"My dear friend, every writer is obligated to welcome his readers. Readers are the laziest species that ever drew breath, and if they don’t feel welcomed, they won’t read. As for being patient in littler things—well, I don’t know if this is very relevant or not, but I read five versions of the Talmud, each one progressively harder, when I was in middle school. I’m pretty sure junior high was when my interest in Hebrew peaked.The Talmud was a pretty good source of linguistic and cultural knowledge, and some of the moral standards made pretty logical sense, so I adopted them as my own. † It was relevant. Being considerate in a gent lemanly way, however, was different from the deferential attitude that McWhorter always took on when dealing with other cultures. More curious was how completely he seemed to understand each language, from its origin to how the people felt about it—â€Å"Native American groups would bristle at the idea that they are no longer meaningfully â€Å"Indian† simply because they no longer speak their ancestral language. (McWhorter, 249) McWhorter looked a trifle annoyed at first, but gradually his well-shaped face took on more complacent, amused lines. â€Å"I am a writer, and I am a linguist,† he said. â€Å"Both have to do with words—their denotation, connotation, nuance, and power. Knowing the power each word can wield automatically inspires you to feel a certain reverence for the English vocabulary in general—I’m sure you’ll agree with me there, sir—and knowing the power each language can wield brings you on your knees before th e altar of all languages. † â€Å"But you don’t worship something you know absolutely nothing about,† he aid, gazing out at the sunlit scene again. â€Å"You first make sure that whatever it is, it is something that deserves to be worshipped. So you study the language. From then on, it’s rather like jumping into a river. Jump into the heart of the current, and you will be swept away like a stray autumn leaf. If you give yourself wholeheartedly up for the language to mold, the culture starts to mold you too. And as for the fact that I feel this way towards all languages,† and here a small frown creased his brow as he turned to me again, â€Å"well, it is a shame that this should be surprising, that is all.Each language has a rich legacy, albeit a legacy very different from our own, and they should be respected. † McWhorter’s eloquence touched me, and we talked for two more hours, vacillating from common everyday things I caught glimpses of from his article to fascinating facts I had never dreamed about him. I learned that he had mastered Socrates’ syllogisms at the age of six and Hegelian dialectics at the age of twelve, and that the value he respected most in humanity was its reason.Judging by the cold shoulder he gave his so beloved minority languages in his concluding paragraph—â€Å"We must consider the question in its pure, logical essence† (McWhorter, 252)—it was hardly surprising. More interesting was the fact that he had no less than four dogs at home, each named after a rare language he had specially enjoyed. The latest addition to the family was a darling slender little Chihuahua named Ket, with triple the uncertain grace of awkwardness found in dogs of his species. In the middle of hearing about Ket’s antics, I asked rather abruptly, â€Å"What art form is your favorite?Modernist? † McWhorter looked at me, surprised. â€Å"How did you guess? † I laughed. McWhorter, for a man of such clear-cut logic, enjoyed impossibilities as far as reality allowed— â€Å"The Ket language of Siberia is so awesomely irregular as to seem a work of art. † (McWhorter, 250) It was only natural that he should enjoy Picasso, whose pictures showed sharper intellectual insight, over David or Michelangelo, whose works were but excellent facsimiles of life’s appearance copied onto canvas and marble.Four hours passed by in the blink of an eye and time came for McWhorter to leave. He stood up and cordially shook my hand. â€Å"It was an honor meeting you, sir, though I dare say the interview was not short. † I shook my head. â€Å"No, it was an excellent interview. Thank you very much, Mr. McWhorter. † â€Å"Please, John,† McWhorter smilingly said. â€Å"If there’s one thing I learned from studying languages, it is that names are the essence of culture. I’ve seen many languages that are creative and fiendi shly difficult and random—but no language is ever simpler than the other.Each has rich names for the things they treasure most. Native Americans sometimes have odd names; did you know that they have to earn it? But in our culture, we place identification foremost—and thanks be, my name is John McWhorter; John for friends and Mr. McWhorter for editors who don’t like my articles. † â€Å"Aren’t there many Johns here? † I teased, laughing, as I pulled on my coat. McWhorter shook his head. â€Å"None like me, John McWhorter,† he smiled, and treaded lightly out the door.