Of Muses and Darkness: The Poetics of Writing

Image: Frakieleon, 'True Colours', 2009, Flickr/Creative Commons

It has been almost three decades since the publication of Clifford and Marcus’ Writing Culture: The Poetics & Politics of Ethnography. Yet, the volume’s statement on interdisciplinarity as not just the act of ‘picking a theme or a subject’ but the decision of ‘creating a new object that belongs to no one’ (p. 1) still retains its relevance across the social sciences. Although Clifford is talking about ethnography and the ethics of partial truth excavation in scholarship, his observations certainly apply to writing as a form of agency upon the social in broader terms to date. His decision to expand on writing as a metaphor of ‘pilgrimage’ in Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late 20th Century (1997) shifted debates on movement in phenomenological and interactive terms. In Returns: Becoming Indigenous in the Twenty First Century (2013) he also suggested that collective and individual subjectivities are processual and emergent; that we all are overdetermined in some respects by the presence of an interconnected network of cultures – so much so, that our own (auto)biographic rootings remain ever-shifting and malleable.

The lengthy reference to the politics and poetics of writing makes sense in the contemporary context of Western academia as this undergoes ideological changes due to the invasion of unregulated market ideologies in its informal ways of ‘doing things’. Looking past this polemics – possibly, also past any ‘publish or perish’ ultimatums (Colquhoun, 5 September 2011) – one discovers a world of barely visible networks of people striving to articulate what matters to them nd not for the sake of a Research Excellence Framework. With all the hassles of the academic job, putting an idea into words, shaping up an argument (or more than one) persist as values referring back to other values – amongst them the assaulted freedom of expression.

Writing is a dangerous act: not only does it release feelings and notions the author never manages to fully tame into texts – for, meaning always exceeds its original articulation – it puts us into indirect contact with other voices. My mental closets are full of significant others who fade or return in my desktop every time I type up a new idea. If, as de Certeau (1986) noted, spatial trajectories find a way to project their creators’ psychic world, then it is true that writing will always invoke and release some form of darkness. And by ‘darkness’ I refer to the innermost recesses of our intellect and heart, not to a chiaroscuro artistic exercise. As Neil Gaiman recently said, our stories should openly ‘[ask] whether any fictions should in fact be “safe places”, or whether their purpose should instead be to “hurt in ways that make [one] think and grow and change”’ (Kennedy, 25 October 2015).

A retired now colleague used to classify us into 'talkers, doers and writers'...

Photo: Aria Ziai, Flickr/Creative Commons

Scholarly writing in particular encompasses both the politics of friendship and the poetics of love. Friendship follows a code of paradigm affiliation, which binds scholars into the same dark space, coerces them to fumble their way around for the right words and to provide mutual support via all sorts of direct and indirect exchange. Here ‘exchange’ becomes interchangeable with ‘reciprocity’, as writers are supposed to be bound by a norm of mutual acknowledgment of sharing in intellectual projects. Where this is absent, the relationship dies before it grows into a stable and more permanent friendship. I am constantly engaging in such precarious exchanges, often guessing the identities of those who proclaim solidarity, retreating in disappointment for broken links with others, or building new unexpected connections. ‘Muses’ assume different form, context and content in my writing ventures, often via faint and fleeting interactions, indirect communications or textual sites I discover during searches. In such complex and interconnected virtual and terrestrial encounters, belonging remains emergent much like Clifford’s politics of belonging.

My sanity is dependent on my interlocutors's intellectual maturity

Image: Denise Krebbs, 'A Writing Six-Word Story', 2013, Flickr/Creative Commons

Nevertheless, there is also another side to this shared darkness that leads one down a more dangerous path and straight into the poetics of love. To explain, I refer again to Clifford’s original point about interdisciplinary writing (the decision of ‘creating a new object that belongs to no one’), which links to a direct quote from Roland Barthes’ work. Clifford is less interested in Barthes' interdisciplinarity however than in making a point about the interpretative nature of fieldwork in Malinowski’s ethnographic journeys. It is this bringing together of Barthes with Malinowski in Writing Culture’s introductory chapter that allowed Clifford to make an enduring ethical statement on authorial violence, creative representation and partial truth-making. Would the two scholars ever had looked eye to eye, if they had been brought together? Such synthetic referencing always involves the effacement of one’s original inspiration, even though the source’s acknowledgment is an act of love. Such violence might also creep up aposteriori, when manuscripts have already been published –especially when stylistic similarities or intellectual compatibilities eventually prompt new source-searching and writing. These occurrences are not uncommon in scholarly networks and coerce authors to readjust their cognitive panoramas, resort to accepting new significant others into their own dark field, or even explore new collective or individual opportunities of articulation. Ironically then, though the poetics of authorial love are dedicated to humanising ideas, they may have to resort to some dehumanising techniques, to objectify those we cite or acknowledge in our writings.   

References

Clifford, J. & Marcus, G. (eds.) (1986) Writing Culture: The Poetics and Politics of Ethnography, Berkeley and Los Angeles, California: University of California Press.

Clifford, J. (1997) Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late 20th Century, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Clifford, J. (2013) Returns: Becoming Indigenous in the Twenty First Century, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Colquhoun, D. (5 September 2011) ‘Pressure on scientists to publish has led to a situation where any paper, however bad, can now be printed in a journal that claims to be peer-reviewed’, The Guardian.

de Certeau, M. (1986) Heterologies, Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Feminist Media Studio (2013) James Clifford discusses his new book 'Returns: Becoming Indigenous in the Twenty-First Century' with Trish Audette, doctoral student in Communication Studies, at the Feminist Media Studio, Concordia University, October 2013.

Kennedy, L. (25 October 2015) ‘Trigger Warning by Neil Gaiman review – nasty surprises and bold recastings’, The Observer.

Book Launch, 06 October 2015, Social Sciences 12.25, University of Leeds

Mobility, Modernity and the Slum: The Real and Virtual Journeys of Slumdog Millionaire, Abingdon: Routledge.

Book Launch, 06 October 2015, Social Sciences 12.25, University of Leeds

Routledge link here

£34.99 eBook available for individual purchasers, which can be ordered through VitalSource in November.

There is also currently a £41.99 Kindle version on Amazon.

I started writing this book as a contribution to the way different mobilities intersect behind a movie. My focus was Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire, a highly successful enterprise created by an international community of artists spanning continents and cultures. The film is a straightforward story of a youth from the slums of Mumbai, his struggle to earn a living, self-educate, win back his childhood love and finally make it out of poverty. Thanks to his knowledge on facts based on personal experiences of exclusion, ethnic persecution and inequality, he wins on a quiz show and becomes a millionaire.

The film weaves a rich intertextual web of cinematic narratives from different eras, thus serving as a scholarly spyglass into the ways the city of Mumbai and India struggled through modernisation. However, as I researched more into the film, its production, reception and reproduction in other cultural circuits controlled by the Indian state as well as global media and tourist networks, the film itself became more a cosmetic starting point, albeit an important one. Note that the book’s summary stresses that the film became tangled in many controversies around India’s destiny in the world: it inserted Mumbai into various financial, political and artistic scenes, increased tourism in its filmed slums, and brought about charity projects in which celebrities and tourist businesses were involved. As such, it served as a global example of a ‘developing country’s’ uneven but unique modernisation according to Western standards.

The presence of Western standards in the whole cycle of Slumdog Millionaire’s inception, production and reception suggested that I don’t deal just with a piece of art but with a controversial case of invisible colonisation. That the application of Western representational methods for the city of Mumbai and its histories of ethnic integration and conflict in its slums presents us with an example of what decolonial theorists call ‘the captive mind’. This impossibility to narrate the past of a culture and imagine its futures outside Western modernity and modernisation was shared to a great extent by the makers of Slumdog Millionaire and their represented cultures, the slumdwellers. With all their good intentions to support India’s disenfranchised groups, the makers of SM were also trapped into their old roles as invisible colonists. They contributed to reproductions of the captive mind, willingly as philanthropists or volunteers and unwillingly as artmakers on whose work tourist business capitalised to sell Indian slum tourism. As much as their activist spirit produced a vision of Mumbai as a city of slums, a city of ruins, a dark city, the happy ending of the film also suggested alternate futures. But not outside capitalism and neoliberal policy-making. And not completely outside the histories of slum tourism and its beginnings in European industrial urbanisation, the tourist flanerie of journalists and philanthropists in shantytowns as well as its coincidence with colonial racism and domestic debates on welfare policies on poverty. Slumdog Millonaire’s visions of modernity simply excluded alternative knowledge systems from representations of Indian culture in film, e-tourism and on-site tourism in its filmed slums.

Was this a problem or a solution for the already excluded slumdwellers in India? Was it that bad to have someone interested in their fates from the West? The book does not offer straightforward answers, only different interpretations of harm, charity and benevolence. Reminding us that racism, exclusion and trafficking are also in the eye of the beholder, that victims can be perpetrators of inequality; that our scholarly interpretations contribute to the production of socio-cultural identities.

In short then, this book is about the ways different media regimes, including those of film and digital tourist industries shape the image of places. As what we call ‘worldmaking agents’ the original makers of such images do not necessarily hold control over these representations which enter global capitalist circuits, may instigate nationalist reactions even by the very disenfranchised they support or end up serving the political interests suspect interest groups. As such, the book aspires to advance debates on representations of place in the context of an all-consuming Western modernity, which constantly excludes consideration of intersectional inequalities based on race, gender, class and status as malleable conditions. Bringing together state-of-the-art tourism theory, work on professional migration flows and debates on decolonisation it suggests that mobilities continue to operate on the logic of Western knowledge systems for better or worse. 

Slumming through recession: Grexit scenarios of tourism

The result of the recent referendum in Greece over its – depending on whom you ask – future in the Eurozone has shaken most natives, confused diasporic Greeks who could not vote from abroad and angered those less sympathetic to the Greek cause. I think that there is enough to-ing and fro-ing in the cybersphere on the so-called ‘Grexit’ these days, so I will not add further comments. My observations relate to a lateral issue: it concerns what glocal responses (as in Robertson 1995) to troika policies did to alter the country’s image as a tourist destination (for critics of such market policies, it helps to remember that as is the case with other island states, the Greek economy depends on tourist flows to the date). Connected to this question is how foreigners came to view the country as a ‘host’ more generally over the last two years or so.

Like most, I too remain confused. One of my latest Facebook travels revealed a link to a video in which Greek students from Birmingham dance in the rhythms of Zorba the Greek on campus – a rather bizarre reaction to the definitive ‘No’ that the ‘Greek people’ had delivered to its ‘EU oppressors’ only a few hours ago (the actual video dated from 2012 and was posted on You Tube on the Greek Independence Day– see Mack, 25 March 2012). I compared this to the dancing and celebration scenes at Exarchia when the first referendum voting results were announced (No Comment TV, 06 July), and wondered how the coupling of such desperate defiance with performances of the most touristified Greek music would appear to a visitor’s eyes. The surrealist gusto Greeks display has various, unseen at this point, consequences, possibly exacerbating stereotypical conceptions of Greek habitus and streamlining those back into a rejuvenated, if not radically redefined tourist market.

Let me backtrack a bit to explain this potentially surreal effect: I am sure most of us remember the political background of 2008 (see Wikipedia, undated on ‘Ta Dekemvriana’, including Greek anti-government protests after Nea Dimokratia’s failure to restructure the country’s labour markets (Papadimitriou 2009: 51-2; Tzanelli 2011: chapter 6) – further challenged from 2010, when the Greek economy experienced another dip that would push the country to borrow more, accumulate a debt impossible to repay and, finally, under a left-wing government, respond to its debtors’ threats with proposals to exit the common EU currency and the EU itself. There is so much media talk about the proliferation of disorder and fostering of all sorts of terrorism in the country; booking your package holiday to a Greek island is a de facto bad idea. To mobilities academics like myself this might suggest that we have eventually reached the ‘end of tourism’ as a political reality. Public frustration has proceeded to remove the glossy veneer from the country’s cosmetic cosmopolitanism (Nederveen Pieterse 2006) – a veneer in earnest also necessary for engaging with other cultures, including the alleged ‘superficiality’ of touring and media arts – leaving its ‘skin’ blemished by centuries of foreign interference, ‘bare’, like the lives of its disposed citizenry. So, the neoliberal cage seems to have been exchanged with one of sheer terror. 

If not cautiously unpacked, such statements merely reverse Fukuyama’s (1992) reflections in the End of History, the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government that shunts radical alternatives in a conservative deadlock: either our history terminates in evolutionary terms, or extremism terminates its industrial human capital. There are other voices that argue that tourism has ended in new global environments of mobilities in the sense that we cannot separate it from other forms of spatio-temporal and functionally differentiated movements, such as migration, business travel, technological services, skills and the like – that we live in the age of nomadology (Hannam 2008; Hannam et.al. 2006). Unfortunately, observations that tourism ends where terrorism and other forms of social conflict thrive (Korstanje and Clayton 2012) are very close to contemporary Greek realities.

From the start of the global recession the end of Greek tourism manifested itself in bundles of endogenous (strikes and protests against cuts, welfare retrenchment and poverty-induced troika policies as well as rising levels of xenophobia against both tourists and migrants) but also exogenous (terrorism allegedly exclusively of alien origins) mobilities. All of them retain the nomadological attributes of strangeness – referring to both privileged and disenfranchised aliens. Gone were the peace of some island beaches, upon which tourists would now increasingly find migrants (alive or dead) washed ashore (usually from Greece’s archenemy-state, Turkey) (Bearden, 29 May 2015); Acropolis tours for cultural tourists, who would be blocked by labour strikers and protesters against heritage privatisation (see Smith, 27 January 2011 and 16 March 2014); and luxury urban tourisms that hordes of homeless beggars and emergency food provision stalls would disrupt with invocations of consumerist guilt. Contemporary Greek social landscapes tend to be at odds with otherwise persistent tourism trends in the country (beach and heritage holidays), when one thing is sure: the clash is here to stay. The (justified) fear is that Greece might enjoy short tourism renaissances (Lowen, 25 June 2014), but its slide into a ‘Third World’ purgatory will eventually coerce it to redefine its global market presence. And given constant invocations of Second World War ‘debts’ (that Germany refuses to discharge) by both the country’s leadership and common folk, it seems that recession promoted a resentful retrenchment into past suffering that matches so well its contemporary landscapes of homelessness and poverty.  

Let me be clear: I have no interest in contributing in post-neoliberal redefinitions of Greek tourism, but plenty in providing glimpses at alarming prognostics. The aforementioned performative protests already sit comfortably at a crossroads between dark (of war, famine and suffering) and slum (poverty and normally urban) tourisms in that they have become the country’s enduring representational core in global media platforms (Gopal, 31 March 2015). In many ways, global audiences have already become ‘trained’ to gaze on Greek poverty, with all the ethical issues this may provoke (Baptista 2012; Tzanelli 2015). It feels as if global reporting on the crisis portrays a society at its final gasp, ready to be sacralised in marketable images of begging, death and ‘endemic’ terrorism. But do global audiences really care? Bauman’s (2007) argument that any attempt to sacralise dying as a spectacle is the prelude to the represented tragedy’s neglect, should prompt a response from the Greek governing centre. But what sort of response – and can this escape capitalist exploitation? There could be coordinated efforts to connect such spectacles of poverty (the ‘staple’ of global press reporting) to progressive trends of social tourism – to employ the poor to engage with visitors. But currently, there is no such thing in Greece. What would also be absent from such an ‘exercise’ would be globally coordinated volunteer tourist education - or, more correctly, ethical political consumption, given that volunteerism is as problematic as its slum tourism counterpart. Of course, the post-neoliberal frame in which Greece is asked to operate in market networks does not necessarily accommodate ethical terms on consumption of such ‘spectacles’ – in any case, a controversial move.  The very premise that the poor can benefit from work in tourism is so tightly associated with experiences of (neo-) liberal rhetoric and capitalist exploitation that radical movements such as those promoted by Syriza would shy away from it. Others may rightly point out that any sort of ‘touristification’ would not support dewesternising, decolonising projects, only strengthen the EU bondage (Mignolo 2000). And what about alternative voices?  It is additionally questionable if the current budding of urban and rural cooperatives (Nasioulas 2012) as well as a promising solidarity movement in Greece (Henley, 23 January 2015) can find profitable and fair introduction in local tourism, or support nation-wide policies of self-government in the Zapatistas model of development.

Self-governance is a scarce resource that has to be earned – in the Zapatistas’ case, with revolution that is not always peaceful or contextually advisable. But social tourism has to be for the poor and not poor in cultural resources - otherwise those in poverty join racist value hierarchies from the back door. In addition, tourism is often consigned to inessential policy prerogatives in (non)developing economies and ‘Third World’ experimentation focuses on hard industries and policies instead. But is this restructuring of local markets perhaps a partial solution - or have social and geographical inequalities in Greece deepened, irrevocably tying the mobility of its social landscapes to nodes of business and governance managed only from afar?

References

Baptista, J.A. (2012) ‘Tourism of poverty: The value of being poor in the non-governmental order’, in F. Frenzel, K. Koens and M. Steinbrink (eds) Slum Tourism. London: Routledge, 125-143.

Bauman, Z. (2007) Consuming Life. Cambridge: Polity.

Bearden, L. (29 May 2015) ‘British tourists complain that impoverished boat migrants are making holidays “awkward” in Kos’, The Independent. Available from http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/british-tourists-complain-impoverished-boat-migrants-are-making-holidays-awkward-in-kos-10281398.html (accessed: 23 June 2015).

Fukuyama, F. (1992) The End of History and the Last Man. New York: Free Press.

Gopal, A. (31 March 2015) ‘What austerity looks like inside Greece’, The New Yorker. Available from http://www.newyorker.com/business/currency/what-austerity-looks-like-inside-greece (accessed 23 June 2015).

Hannam, K. (2008) ‘The end of tourism? Nomadology and the mobilities paradigm’, in J. Tribe (ed.) Philosophical Issues in Tourism. Clevedon: Channel View.

Hannam, K., Sheller, M. and Urry, J., 2006. Editorial: Mobilities, immobilites and moorings. Mobilities, 1 (1), 1-22.

Henley, J. (23 January 2015) ‘Greece’s solidarity movement: “it’s a whole new model – and it’s working”’, The Guardian. Available from http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/jan/23/greece-solidarity-movement-cooperatives-syriza (accessed 23 June 2015).

Korstanje, M.E. and Clayton, A. (2012) ‘Tourism and terrorism: conflicts and commonalities’, Worldwide Hospitality and Tourism Themes, 4 (1): 8 – 25.

Lowen, K. (25 June 2014) ‘Tourists return as austerity-hit Greece emerges from crisis’, BBC News. Available from http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-27989995 (accessed 23 June 2015).

Mack, N. (25 March 2012) ‘Birmingham Zorba's Flashmob - Official Video’. Available from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1U2bdXZzel0 (accessed 08 July 2015).

            Mignolo, W.D.  (2000) Local Histories/Global Designs: Coloniality, Subaltern Knowledges and Border Thinking. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.      

Nasioulas, I. (2012) ‘Social cooperatives in Greece: Introducing new forms of social economy and entrepreneurship’, International Review of Social Research, 2 (2): 141-61.

Nederveen Pieterse, J. (2006b) ‘Emancipatory cosmopolitanism: Towards an agenda’, Development and Change, 37(6): 1247-57.

No Comment TV (06 July 2015) ‘Greek referendum: “No” supporters celebrate in Athens’ streets - no comment’. Available from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WtxIq2dyiDU (accessed 08 July 2015).

Robertson, R. (1995) ‘Glocalization: time-space and homogeneity-heterogeneity’, in M. Featherstone, S. Lash and R. Robertson (eds) Global Modernities. London: Sage.

Smith, H. (27 January 2011) ‘Greek communists storm the Acropolis in bailout protest’, The Guardian. Available from http://www.theguardian.com/business/2011/jun/27/greek-communists-storm-acropolis-bailout (accessed 23 July 2015).

Tzanelli, R. (2011) Cosmopolitan Memory in Europe’s ‘Backwaters’: Rethinking Civility. Abingdon & New York: Routledge.

Tzanelli, R. (2015) Mobility, Modernity and the Slum: The Real and Virtual Journeys of Slumdog Millionaire. New York & Abingdon: Routledge.

Wikipedia (undated) ‘Ta Dekemvriana’. Available from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2008_Greek_riots#Criticism_of_the_Government (accessed 08 July 2015).

Rodanthi is currently co-authoring an article with Maximiliano Korstanje on the effects of troika policies on Greek epistemologies of well-being.

What is 'cinematic tourism'? A mock undergraduate essay-definition

This draft has been created for my SLSP2160 (Tourism & Culture) undergraduate students as a sample answer to part of an essay question. It can also be treated as a Wikipedia-style entry, which has nevertheless (openly) been created by an academic expert in the field. If you use it in your own essay or academic work, please note that its discourse is by no means exhaustive of the (rapidly growing) literature in the field.

Cinematic tourism: Definitions

It has been noted that especially over the last couple of decades, an increasing number of tourists began to visit destinations featured through films or TV series which are not directly related to tourism promotion campaigns. Many tourists also began to form tourist fan communities online and in filmed locations. This mass phenomenon is known by different terms, including ‘cinematic tourism’, ‘film-induced tourism’, or ‘movie-induced tourism’. All these terms forge links between tourism in new blended forms (e.g. visiting filmed locations to experience the cinematic story and to learn about the filmed location and its culture, or simultaneously engage in other types of tourism) and a particular medium (cinema and film).

Cinematic and film/movie-induced tourism are both interdisciplinary academic subjects and emerging agendas for business and policy-making concerning the management if tourist destination images and reputations. Although film-induced tourism is more connected to business studies rather than social science theory, it is by no means conceptually irrelevant to sociologists and tourist theorists. By the same token, although cinematic tourism traces its roots in social and cultural theory, it is practically applicable in business and management studies and state policies. Both terms, and especially that of cinematic tourism, are concerned with contemporaneous types of tourism we associate with the dawn of the 21^st century and are connected to advanced forms of technology such as cinema and the Internet. Their chronological anchoring presents cinematic and film-induced tourism as part of late modernisation processes and the era of late modernity or postmodernity.

Cinematic tourism is a phenomenon connected to globalisation: not only does it presuppose particular forms of technological advancement (in old and new media), it also promotes tourist connectedness, cultural hybridisation as well as economic mergers and development. (Post)modernisation processes (including industrialisation, technological progress, automobilisation and urbanisation) enabled the growth of entertainment industry and international travel (Hudson & Ritchie, 2006b). At the same time, they suggested the convergence of tourist and media businesses located in different parts of the world and operating independently from each other. Let us not forget that not only do cinematic narratives tend to romanticise communities and landscapes, they are also themselves industrial products of the city, which is a major outcome of late modernity. Cinematic tourism builds on such romanticisations, disseminating particular ideas and practices to every part of the world.

Scholarly debates

As noted above, terminological precision determines emphasis in the content of academic studies. For example, Tzanelli (2004, 2007, 2013) prefers the term ‘cinematic tourism’ and ‘cinematic tourist’, arguing that these

Are not uniform conceptual tools, but theoretical models internally differentiated by the moves and motions of travel through and after film, as well as the cinematic production of travel and tourism.The Hollywood model of the tourist exists within cinematic texts, in the movies that we watch: it suggests ways of consuming places, enjoying and “investing in” (for educational purposes) our holiday time. At the same time, touring through cinematic images produces a second type of tourist who uses the power of imagination to explore the world. This version of the tourist corresponds to the movie viewer, who “reads” and consumes film. The surplus meaning of a film enables audiences to travel virtually, to experience the filmed locations at a distance: thus the impulse to visit these locations originates in the imaginary journey on the screen. A third version of the ‘cinematic tourist’ is created when a tourist industry is established in filmed locations, through the products that tourist industries offer when they exploit the film’s potential to induce tourism. There is also a fourth type of cinematic tourist that completes the imagined journey of movie watchers. This is the tourist in the flesh, who visits places because they appeared in films, and whose experience of travel may be influenced by film and the attractions that the tourist industry has to offer. The interdependency of these types is not fixed: filmed locations are also visited by tourists who never watched movies and watching a movie will not necessarily result in visiting the filmed place’ (Tzanelli 2007/2010: 2-3).

Tzanelli therefore builds a theoretical and analytical model that includes a variety of cinematic tourists such as

1. Cinematic actors/agents

2. Film characters

3. Film audiences

4. Web surfers of cinematic stories (for example, users and visitors of official film websites but also users of other tourist websites linked to the film that inspired tourist visits)

5. Visitors of filmed locations

She further explains that different types of tourism and tourists are condensed in ‘cinematic tourism’, and that not all of them are covered by the ‘film-induced tourism’ model.

•       Representations and simulations of tourist mobilities within cinematic texts (heroes in film as tourists)

•       The act and performance of film viewing and interpretation (by audiences)

•       Virtual travels and constructions of ‘tourist’ online (web surfers for relevant films, Internet business)

•       Film viewing that transforms into embodied visits of the cinematic stage (fans visiting filmed sites)

•       Film acting and directing as part of model (location-hunting, embodied presence in filmed sites) (Tzanelli, Tourism and Culture SLSP2160, 2012)

This typology highlights the complexity of global cultural industries and the ways in which different industries (tourism, media and film) may converge. Such contingent, loose connections are termed ‘sign industries’ (Tzanelli 2004, 2007/2010) – that is, industries promoting business through groups of signs that acquire the same meaning  (e.g. The Lord of the Rings (2001-3) cinematic trilogy or the Harry Potter Films) are connected and marketed in relation to particular places (New Zealand, England) and foster particular tourist rituals (e.g. visiting filmed sites, buying film and music products, or the original literature on which films are based as part of the cinematic myth). Hence, sign industries participate in the creation and modification of collective and individual imaginations (of film audiences and tourists, but also the filmed localities, nations and nation-states).

Tzanelli’s models of cinematic tourism and the sign industries are connected to John Urry’s (2002; Urry and Larsen 2011) conception of the ‘tourist gaze’, which is by turn inspired by Michel Foucault’s poststructuralism. For Urry there are systematic ways of ‘seeing’ tourist destinations that are rooted in Western occulocentric (= visually centred) practices, and which produce discourses of modernity. Hence, visual culture is for Urry essential for the construction of the tourist experience as much as it contributes to the maintenance and expansion of tourism as an organized system of leisure. Though Tzanelli regards the visual as essential component of cinematic tourist imaginations she also stresses the significance of other senses in the production of film (audiences and fans), virtual (web surfers) and actual (visitors of filmed locations) tourisms (see Tzanelli 2013).Her other emphasis on hyperreality, which is borrowed by Baudrillard’s conception of simulacra and simulation, is also shared with other sociologically orientated scholars, such as Stijn Reijnders (2011a & 2011b), who studied the multimedia character of tourism connected to blockbusters and popular films and TV series such as Inspector Morse, Dracula, The Lord of the Rings or The Da Vinci Code.  

Other new research on cinematic or media tourism suggests that tourism institutions connected to national centres or regional and global business networks must pay closer attention to the rituals and practices of cinematic tourists: Peaslee (2010, 2011) investigated the experience of visitors to the ‘Hobbiton’ (Matamata) location site in New Zealand that was included in the production of The Lord of the Rings films. Peaslee, who stands between Tzanelli’s emphasis on media structures and tourist agency and Reijnder’s emphasis on tourist experiences, developed a thesis from Couldy’s (2003) work on media centres and bounded spaces that he applied to his fieldwork in New Zealand. After participant observation of several tours of the Hobbiton attraction and in-depth interviews with visitors and guides, he concluded that attitudes toward and behaviours within this tourist attraction are indicative of an embodied assent to a particular kind of media power. Tourists and tourist hosts in Hobbiton (Matamata) must be examined as actors responding to a repeating discursive structure that, by creating boundaries and sanctifying spaces, canalizes attitudes, behaviour, and movement.

‘Film-induced tourism’ demarcates a narrower subject area than ‘cinematic tourism’. Beeton’s (2005: 5-8) definition refers to the ways historically tourism borrowed from artistic uses of the picturesque (an idea originating in Seaton’s [1998] analysis of visual media and tourism) and contemporary creation of tourist markers for the development of tourism in filmed sites (a comment originating in MacCannell’s [1989] consideration of staged authenticity in tourist settings). Beeton is concerned about the impact of tourism can have on localities. She argues that ‘tourism carries with it the seeds of its own destruction’ (Beeton 2005: 12) because it can lead to environmental degradation and community disintegration. Debating the problem from a destination-marketing point of view, Beeton argues for organized and sustainable development strategies These preliminary observations are also relevant to Tzanelli’s ‘cinematic tourism’ model, but their empirical analyses differ, with Beeton being more geared towards marketing imperatives and less on critical theory. All the same, the study of both concepts is compatible rather than adversarial.

An example of film-induced tourism would be travelling to New Zealand because of the desire to see the movie sets and landscapes featured in The Lord of the Rings movies (Tzanelli 2004; Beeton 2005; Roesch 2009).Though early studies of this phenomenon highlighted the enhancement of memories of location and film experiences through associations with the films’ actors, events and setting (Riley & Van Doren, 1992), scholars did not examine actors and directors as ‘tourists’. Film-induced tourism was defined solely in terms of tourist visits to destination featured on television, video, or films (Beeton, 2005; Hudson & Ritchie, 2006a).  Otherwise put, travellers in search of filmed sights are film-induced tourists (Butler, 1990; Busby & Klug, 2001). Butler (1990) suggested that ‘films can influence the travel preference of those who expose to the destination attributes and create a favourable destination image through their representation’ (Rewtrakunphaiboon, 2009: 2). Hence, film-induced tourism tends to focus on the ways marketing efforts and previous travel influence destination choice by rationalising individual decision-making processes (Iwashita, 2003; Iwashita, 2006). It is not coincidental that film-induced tourism is methodologically connected to social disciplines such as psychology that measure decision-making variables of less importance in disciplines such as sociology and anthropology, which focus on collective action.

Impacts, benefits and consequences

There is a stream of film-induced tourism studies that ascertain the impact of cinematic and digital cultures on people’s perceptions of place and culture. For example, O’Connor (2010) argues that since young people spend much of their leisure time watching TV or surfing the Internet, this exposure will have an impact on their perception of certain destinations. Sellgren (2011) also claimed that the movie Lost in Translation led to a positive image of Japan in the minds of the students who had participated in a discussion round about this movie. Such studies connect to earlier media theory that infers consequences from supposed causes (e.g. hypodermic model). In any case, they contribute less to understandings of collective social action and to tourism theory. A more amenable example is provided by Croy’s (2011) investigation of the role of film in broader tourist decision making, and the influence and management of this process. Croy (2011) highlights the use of film images to align potential tourists to the destination’s ideal image. Like others, he argues that films influence activities and routes when at the destination (Macionis and Sparks, 2009). Whereas he claims that films are incidental in the production of tourist industries, they are a tourist activity and contribute to regional economies (Croy and Buchmann, 2009).

The impact on regional and national economies and cultures is significant. As Tzanelli (2004; 2007: chapter 3; 2013: chapter 2) explains, not only did The Lord of the Rings revamp New Zealand’s cultural profile as the ‘New Middle Earth’ (rather than a peasant country, it also generated urban tourist and media traffic from the U.S. and the U.K. while strengthening the ties between New Zealand’s  artistic leadership (LOTR director Peter Jackson) and other transnational artists (e.g. Guillermo del Toro’s involvement in the Hobbit trilogy) and creative urban centres (e.g. LA acting as a Hobbit media hub). In addition, (hosted) journalists’ reports on filming locations, and the well-known actors and directors prompted to report on their location experiences (Croy, 2011: 162). Generally, film-induced and cinematic tourism can revitalise regional/rural communities and increase tourism to urban centres, with Auckland as an example in point (Beeton 2005). An interest in the nation and its positive image can eventually lead to an actual visit to the country as is the case with the increased Japanese interest in touring the UK (Iwashita, 2006). In addition one may argue that cinematic tourism has become one of the all-weather attractions that counter problems of seasonality in the tourism industry, as is the case with some filmed Australian rural areas (Beeton, 2004).

The environmental benefits and problems connected to cinematic tourism are many. There is no doubt that film can act as a sort of knowledge repository for certain aspects of the country such as nature: the natural beauty of filmed landscapes increases the cultural value for the film location. However, especially protected natural destinations can be damaged by filming or be deemed to be ‘in danger’ of destruction. Whereas such fears are not always true, they can act as activist trigger that obstructs both the development of the filmed region and the reputation of the state to which this belongs. One such example is the film The Beach (2000, director Danny Boyle), which was used by Internet tourist providers for the promotion of Thailand as a travel destination. Various environmentalist groups highlighted that the adaptation became complicit in the advertising of the country as an ‘Edenic destination’ for

Westerners. This was achieved through the organisation of protests when 20th Century Fox

decided to ‘conform’ the area in which the movie was filmed (Phi Phi Leh of Krabi area) to

images of tropical tourist paradises. What was obscured in this case was the problematic political environment in which film industries had to operate: coerced to negotiate with a state that invited foreign capital but paid little attention to local development, not aware of the areas’ racist histories of migration, and assuming the role of stereotypical Western outsiders, resulted in their scapegoating by activists (Tzanelli, 2006). The events seemed to have acted as a learning experience for the artistic contingent, with Boyle especially becoming implicated in beneficial community development projects in the context of his later film, Slumdog Millionaire (2009).

It must be noted that, increasingly, artistic communities become implicated in such projects even independently from – if not against - any tourist imperatives. In search of interesting locales to photograph for the forthcoming film Avatar (2009, director James Cameron), computer generating image professionals stumbled upon the tribes of the Amazonian rainforest whose culture and livelihood face extinction due to a government-backed multibillion project to build the Belo Monte Dam. ‘Director Cameron, producer Jon Landau, and the crew joined forces with anthropologists, tribesmen, regional, and (trans)national activists to cancel these plans. […] Cameron himself appears in one open-access video —promotional of his relevant documentary—confessing that he always wanted to travel to Brazil’s virgin territories (A Message from Pandora, n.d.). Elsewhere, he is depicted amongst indigenous populations like Avatar’s soldier Jake or an ethnographic traveller-investigator, uncovering evidence of coordinated crimes against localities. Avatar actor Sigourney Weaver’s video adopts a humanitarian style (Amazon Watch, 2011), prompting viewers to sympathize with the cause.’ (Tzanelli 2013b: 2). Such initiatives clash with tourist growth of regions in the name of humanitarian or environmental causes – only this time, the architects are not the localities but artistic leaders.

Film tourism is a medium that communicates a wide range of cultural meanings and values tied to filmed lands and venerated national artefacts. There is no doubt that heritage sites serving as film locations gain popularity after the film (Busby & Klug, 2001). However, once a heritage site becomes part of the cinematic and tourist imaginary, conflicts may arise. ‘Heritage sites’ incorporated in films, include both tangible (architecture, monuments and museum artefacts) and intangible tokens (histories, literatures and ideas). Again, both localities and nation-states may react to such cultural ‘intrusions’ in varied ways. For example, the cinematic adaptation (2001) of Captain Corelli’sMandolin, a novel by Louis de Bernières, was met with various responses in the filmed places of the Greek island of Kefalonia (Tzanelli 2003; Tzanelli 2007/2010: chapter 4). Like the novel, the film was set against the historical background of the Greece’s Axis Occupation, ‘the operation of Greek Resistance, and civil strife between the Greek communist fighters of EAM/ELAS (National Liberation Front/Greek People’s Liberation Army) and anti-communist forces’ (Tzanelli 2003: 220). While generating instant tourist traffic, with Hollywood fans flocking in to see the filming and the actors, and also subsequent tourist visits to its beaches, its natural areas and the Second World War Memorial to the fallen Italian soldiers, local communist veterans felt offended by this commercialisation and the town of Sami responded negatively to the culture industry with protests and supplications to human rights institutions to ban this ‘plundering’ of heritage (also Tzanelli 2007/2010: chapter 4).

The response was different when My Life in Ruins/Driving Aphrodite (2009, director Donald Petrie) was shot in the Acropolis. ‘The idea of “hard bargaining” defined the actions of Greece’s powerful Archaeological Council (KAS) in 2006-7, when Greek-Canadian actress Vardalos managed to obtain permission to shoot her new comedy […] Since the 1960s, when the The Guns of Navarone and Zorba the Greek used Rhodes and Crete as backdrops, no major film was shot in the country. The fact that recent Hollywood blockbusters Troy, Alexander the Great and 300 (all related to Hellenic history) were filmed elsewhere has to do with Greek anti-Americanism dating back to the junta (1967-74) and the lack of tax alleviations the government was prepared to give to filmmakers. Yet, […] despite Greek warnings that no ancient stone should be moved and no cinematic enhancement should be made to the archaeological site, Vardalos’ enterprise was supported by the Ministers of Culture and Tourism and the Greek Film Centre whose website today proudly hosts photos of the shooting (see H.F.C.O. website)’ (Tzanelli, 2008; Tzanelli, 2013a: chapter 4).

The uses of tangible and intangible heritage in films that induce tourism inevitably tap on questions of propriety or even public morality, as is the case with The Da Vinci Code cinematic adaptation (2006, director Ron Howard) of Dan Brown’s novel. The film came to operate as a ‘node’ for European capitalist networks of corporeal and virtual travel, assisting in the production of a new type of commercialised ‘pilgrim’ that democratised tourism to old heritage sites in Europe (Tzanelli, 2010). There were however reactions to such trends both by the French public and even Catholic constituencies that objected to the uses of religion in the story (Tzanelli, 2013a: 63-93). Therefore, careful planning is necessary both for the selection of projected filmed landscapes and the granting of permissions to film them. The same caution applies to tourism business that capitalises on sich commercialised pilgrimages: for example, an ethnographic study of James Bond tourism by Reijnders (2010) suggests that such consumptions of cinematic plots might become interwoven with patriarchal notions of masculinity, as visiting filmed sites allows fans to embody glamorised understandings of manliness.

Sociological and anthropological studies of this intersection between tourism and cinema are work in progress. Graml (2004) has shown for example that the budding Sound of Music tourism in Austria in places such as Salzburg is treated with suspicion by locals who dissuade visitors from joining independent tours to filmed locations when in America Austrianness is defined by such films. While most Austrians presumably concede that Sound of Music tourism is important for the country’s GDP, they consider the film to be a typical product of Hollywood cinema that, unfortunately, manages to drown out the real Austrian heritage embodied by Mozart. In the Greek island of Skiathos that served together with the neighbouring Skopelos as the cinematic stage for the musical Mama Mia! (2008), there is an uneasy coexistence of local and national traditions and the tourism that is attached to them on the one hand, and postmodern simulations of the musical’s story on the other. Tzanelli (2011) suggests that this informs generational dissonance (with younger entrepreneurs more amenable to cinematic tourism) but also the ubiquitous disconnection of peripheral areas from the national centre that for structural reasons fails to support local development, allowing regional rivalries to grow. In this respect, ‘cinematic tourism’ is never limited to academic and scholarly scrutiny but informs practices and policies of national and transnational institutions such as UNESCO.

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