Global Fandom: Simone Driessen (The Netherlands)

What does it mean to be a fan in the Netherlands? That is a challenging question to answer: in our global world today, is fandom not inherently a part of globalization? And do local traditions or cultural elements still matter to (young) fans? In this statement and discussion, I look forward to exploring these subjects through the lens of music fandom in the Netherlands. I wish to argue that being a fan in the Netherlands is both a global and local experience. 

The Netherlands is a small country with a population of about 17 million people. Despite a flourishing film/TV- and music industry, much of the media entertainment content consumed is American or British. Additionally, with a high level of internet penetration (about 95%), the Dutch know how to find their way around online. They are avid users of Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok. So, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that fandom in the Netherlands isn’t tied to its local borders. To better understand fandom in the Netherlands it is key to understand the roles of globalization and language in Dutch culture. Although I will examine these factors more in-depth by using music fandom as an example, drawing on my own research into long-term music fans, let me start with a recent anecdote about Dutch sports fandom. 

            When thinking about ‘fandom in the Netherlands, the first thing that popped up in my mind was orange, the color. In September 2021, the global Formula 1 (F1) Grand Prix took place on the racing track in Dutch beach town Zandvoort. With the Dutch soccer team not performing very well for the past few years, many sports fans found a new favorite pastime in watching F1, particularly with the young successful Dutch driver, Max Verstappen, taking part in the race. Despite the global pandemic, thousands of visitors were allowed on the track. So, the “Orange Army” showed up: dressed in orange – the ‘national’ color of the Netherlands, or with a Dutch flag to show their support for Verstappen. Imagine a sea of orange shirts, orange wigs, orange smoke bombs, etcetera. Now, the Dutch idiom of ‘doe maar normal dan doe je al gek genoeg’ (‘just act normal, that’s already crazy enough’) didn’t apply for the duration of the race! It was a remarkable sight to see this expressive crowd, dressed up in their national color, and attending the race in these pandemic times. Of course, this example resonates with other events in sports fandoms: think of World Championships where people also dress in their country’s colors to support their team. Although this tradition is not unique, it is telling of how fandom reflects localness while simultaneously expressing a sense of being part of ‘the global’ (i.e., a sports competition, or the community of football or racing fans at large).

Dutch Backstreet Boys fans, waiting to enter for the band's concert held in 2015, in one of the bigger music venues in The Netherlands called Ahoy (in the city of Rotterdam)

To dive a little deeper into the complexities of the local and global in Dutch fandom I turn to my own turf: music fandom. My research examines how Dutch music fans become and remain fans of (inter)national musicians. For example, I interviewed (now adult) fans of the Backstreet Boys, who have been fans of the boy band since their early success in the 1990s. When most of these fans became fans, they were in their late childhood or early teens (aged somewhere between 8 and 16). During the Backstreet Boys heydays, the band regularly appeared on Dutch (children’s) TV and was often featured in Dutch pop magazines. Now, one might wonder: how were these young fans able to follow this American, English-speaking and -singing band when the fans’ main language was Dutch? Moreover, why was this American group so successful in a small country like the Netherlands? By answering these questions, I aim to illustrate how Dutch music fandom is influenced by the process of globalization. Yet, also how it shaped by social and cultural practices in the Netherlands. 
            Let me start with clarifying the second question, before returning to the first. While much of the media entertainment broadcasted in the Netherlands is ‘Dutch’ – spoken and produced locally, foreign media content is highly popular too. Particularly media products from the United States and United Kingdom. As media scholar Jaap Kooijman described in his 2013 book ‘Fabricating the Absolute Fake: America in Contemporary Pop Culture’, the Netherlands always had a special connection to the US. Like many Europeans, the Dutch grew up with Disney movies, Hollywood productions, and American music – like that of the Backstreet Boys. This popularity of American pop culture offers a shared point of reference for many people. That was also the case for these very young teens who witnessed the band’s performances in popular (children’s) TV shows or heard them on the radio. In a way this signals the influence of globalization, but perhaps even more so the process of Americanization in the Netherlands.

             Now, to return to that first question I posited, ‘how were these young fans able to follow an international band (or media product) when the fans’ main language was Dutch’? Unlike neighboring country Germany (or nearby country France) where foreign media content is dubbed, in the Netherlands media products are broadcasted in their original language. They do receive subtitles. Through this cultural (and somewhat economic) practice young children learn English at a young age. They also officially already acquire a basic level of English at elementary school. During the interviews I conducted with Dutch fans of the Backstreet Boys fans often spoke about how becoming proficient in English at such a young age mattered greatly to their long-term fandom. They considered it very helpful to understand the band’s lyrics, but this also allowed them to read about the band or watch short interviews on television. Some of the fans who were in their ‘older teens’ in the 1990s (14-15 years old) indicated they for example translated English material from the band’s original website for other fans. One of the interviewees fans even started her own Dutch fan forum, to make information about the band accessible to fellow fans in the Netherlands. Other fans talked about becoming members of global forums, which led to creating friendships across the world. And many of those friendships remained for life: some of these interviewees mentioned meeting up with those international friends (in their now adult years) at one of the Backstreet Boys cruises and concerts abroad. So, this emphasis on language demonstrates how the practice of learning a new language (because of the local practice of not dubbing content too!) can potentially increase one’s fandom experience.

Now, these are just a few, very brief observations about fandom in the Netherlands. These examples offer an insight into how local and global elements play a role in Dutch music fandom. I have briefly reviewed how American pop-culture influences Dutch fandom and how local practices and language are key features in the music fandoms that I studied. I am curious to learn of comparable or contradicting practices elsewhere (e.g., what is the influence of language elsewhere?). Of course, there is much more to discuss and share about Dutch fandom too (e.g., Dutch music fans like to travel because artists don’t always visit the country, how is that for fans in other countries?). Furthermore, I look forward to reviewing the position of Fan Studies in the Netherlands (often part of Media & Communication Studies programs) and compare this to other countries.  

Simone Driessen, Ph.D. is a senior lecturer and researcher in Media and Communication at Erasmus University Rotterdam, in the Netherlands. In her PhD she examined how and why fans remained fans over time and publishedthese findings in multiple journals and books. In addition to exploring why fans continue their fandom, Simone currently researches why fans discontinue their fandom. 

Global Fandom: Aianne Amado (Brazil)

I am not saying that there is a competition for the most enthusiastic fans... but if there were, I am willing to bet Brazil would be at the top of the podium. As a Brazilian fan myself, of course I am not exactly impartial, but you do not have to take my word for that: the main recipient of such passion, the idols, say so themselves — like in this speech from Katy Perry, where she says to her audience in Rio “You guys have fire! You guys have passion; you have something that I have never seen and I've been all over the world and it is totally different here!”; or Nickelback’s Chad Kroeger declaring that “anytime we get to come to a new country for the first time we have no idea what to expect... except this country (...) because everybody tells us it’s gonna be crazy and the fans here are more passionate than just about anywhere in the world”; or even TV’s favorite vampire brothers, Ian Somerhalder and Paul Wesley, saying during the Vampire Attraction convention that “I've never seen or felt or heard more passion and love... it's unbelievable” and “definitely the most enthusiastic fans of any country we've ever visited. It's crazy!”.

Brazil is also responsible for breaking a few records like the world’s biggest Comic Con, with over 280 thousand fans in the last edition, and the largest concert audience ever, for when Rod Stewart played for 4.2 million people in Copacabana’s New Year’s Eve in 1994. Some of the most famous musicians, such as Paul McCartney, Queen, and The Rolling Stones, also have Brazil as home of their largest concert attendance.

And then there is the “please come to Brazil” meme. Probably any pop culture lover with internet access has read hundreds of comments from fans begging their idols to visit us. According to Feldman, the joke started as a genuine claim for more international tours, but soon evolved into a symbol of Brazil’s online engagement, published on the comment section of any post, regardless of the content or even what celebrities like actors or reality tv personalities would do once they got here. Even Beyoncé’s family members were receiving those messages. Youtuber Kaleb Nation facetiously tweeted that “a celeb’s relevance can be accurately measured by how many ‘come to Brazil!!!!!’ tweets they get a day”.

That doesn’t mean that Brazilians forget about national texts. We have our own superstars, with legions of fans that cause just as much of a frenzy; our media texts, notably the telenovelas, with gigantic ratings from Mondays to Saturdays and even stopping the country during their finale; and we should never forget about the soccer fans. Yet, the interest for social capital provided by the international approval remains, and many fandoms try to validate their idols or texts by promoting them abroad — a more recent and remarkable case

was when Anitta’s fans changed their IP to american ones to call a Miami radio and ask for her songs.

As illustrated by the examples above, we can observe that there are evident aspects of Brazilian fan culture that differ from other countries. Jokes and rivalries aside, I do not believe the way we show affection for pop culture is necessarily better or worse (as it also causes many problems, specially concerning fans and idol’s safeties), but it is certainly veryBrazillian. In order to understand what is the Brazilian way to be a fan and how it came to be, we need to look at the big picture, which means to consider social, economic and historical aspects and singularities.

Yet, a review of Fan Studies in Brazil (Amado, 2019) shows that the field is still far from this panorama. In the early 2000, the subject was highly marginalized in the Communication and Media schools, being better received only by those who studied new technologies. Therefore, not only did the first researchers “import” fan theories already circulating in Anglo-Saxon countries, but they also had as main references international authors used by the Digital Communication Studies. This is a problem since the approaches, concepts, and methods present in those are related to the social conditions of the countries that their authors are part of, which are quite different from the dependent economy and high social inequality seen in Brazil. For example, the first Brazilian papers about fans had to focus on online fandoms, which created a pattern still prevalent, even though a significant part of the population does not have internet access or literacy.

Since 2010, the number of studies with fans and fandoms as scientific objects has grown swiftly in Brazil, creating a broad literature with various approaches and from different areas, like Education, Administration and Linguistics. Nonetheless, we still fail to quote ourselves, with international authors prevailing amongst our citations. In addition, another issue identified is that most studies focus only on fandoms from Rio de Janeiro and/or São Paulo, neglecting many groups from a continental country.

Aiming to remedy those liabilities, I examined and traced a social profile of Brazil’s transcultural fans by thematically analysing all 39 theses and dissertations published in the country with them as objects (Amado, 2020). The results show a clear historical, economic, and political impact on fandom activities. Latin-American countries have what Canclini (1997) calls “hybrid cultures”, marked by our highly exploratory colonization process, constantly mixing autochthonous and enslaved traditions with the ways of life of European

colonizers. Our national identities were then shaped by a development strongly based on external influences. Moreover, in 1808, escaping Napoleon’s attack, Portugal’s Royal Family sailed to Brazil, where they lived until 1820 (just two years before our independence), making us the only colony in the continent where the European crown lived. Historians believe that having the Portuguese court in our land defined how we view and value transnational cultures, especially the ones from countries with superior economies. For example, former Minister of Culture Celso Furtado (1984, p. 39) affirms that “the visit of a European theater company to a Brazilian city could be the defining cultural event in the life of an entire generation”. This, tied with the still current lack of public policies that encourage local cultural production, made our population view international cultures as a symbol of social capital (Hollanda, 2010). After the Second War, that focus changed from Europe to the USA, the nation abroad where most transcultural texts in Brazil come from. The second place belongs to Japan, also associated with our historical process, with strong imigration politics encouraging Japanese to live over here (nowadays, Brazil is the country with the largest population of Japanese origin outside of Japan and Otakus are fairly common amongst our subcultures).

Social capital has a fundamental part in Brazilian fan culture. We pride ourselves for (supposedly) being the best in the world, making comparisons and even virtual wars. But the status is disputed inside the fandoms as well: there is an evident hierarchical structure in our fandoms, which can be defined by longevity in the group, knowledge about the text or fanactivities. People at the “bottom” of that structure seek for prestige to climb and, in some cases, a member can become so popular that it gets its own fans.

That hierarchy helps with what I believe is our main distinction: the high level of organization. The fandoms have strict rules (ex: some prohibit the discussion of politics and nudity posts) and divisions of tasks (moderator, manager, director etc.) to create a healthy environment — which is crucial since many fans use fandoms as a “safe space” to be themselves. This system was originally created because of how long it usually took for the texts to be made available here and how the industries would overlook Brazil when planning tours or press conferences. This led to groups organizing themselves into what is better described as a more simplified fordist system. To this day, that structure is used to produce subtitles, scanlations, podcasts, fansites and fan events. Almost all of those are voluntary, free, steady and nearly flawless.

The intensity of our fandoms are reshaping how the whole population consumes media. Phenomena like Big Brother Brasil’s Juliette and comedian Whinderson Nunes proves that a good social media strategy, associated with popular verbiage and humor, can rapidly lead to fame and social relevance. Such strategies have been mimicked by various sectors, most notably by politicians, adding to the worldwide political polarization when creating an extreme rivalry between current president and extreme-rightist Bolsonaro and former president and leftist Lula — each one with an uncritical base, much more like fans than voters.

To study fandom is now a necessity in the Brazilian Social Science field. And, albeit the subject is finally gaining recognition — with dedicated discussion groups in national events and special issues in scientific journals — we are ready to grow from the researches that focuses on isolated fandoms and start theorizing on their place in the current state of our nation.

CITATIONS

Amado, Aianne. (2019, may). Tendências e Lacunas dos Estudos de Fãs no Brasil e no Mundo: uma Revisão do Campo. Congresso de Ciências da Comunicação na Região Nordeste - Intercom Nordeste. Belém, Pará, Brasil, n. 21.

Amado, Aianne. (2020). Please come to Brazil: uma análise crítica dos fãs brasileiros como apreciadores de objetos culturais internacionais. Dissertation, Federal University of Sergipe, São Cristóvão, Sergipe, Brasil. Available: https://ri.ufs.br/handle/riufs/13403

Canclini, Néstor G. (1997). Culturas Híbridas y estratégias comunicacionales. Estudios sobre las Culturas Contemporáneas, 3 (5), pp. 109 - 128.

Furtado, Celso. (1984). Que somos?. In D’Aguiar, Rosa F. (2012). Ensaios sobre cultura e o Ministério da Cultura (pp. 29-42). Rio de Janeiro, RJ: Contraponto, Centro Internacional.

Holanda, Sérgio B. (2010). Raízes do Brasil. São Paulo, SP: Companhia das Letras.

Aianne Amado is a PhD candidate at University of São Paulo and has a Master’s degree from University of Sergipe, both in Communication Science. She researches Pop Culture and Fan Studies toward the lens of the Latin-American approach of Political Economy of Communication and Culture. Is a member of study groups OBSCOM/CEPOS and CETVN.

Global Fandom Jamboree: Enrique Uribe-Jongbloed (Colombia). and Olivier Tchouaffe (Cameroon) (Part Two)

Black Panther: Fandom and the Glocal?

by Tchouaffe Olivier (Cameroon)

Black Panther, a Marvel production enjoyed worldwide success two years ago and including Africa. The success of Black Panther on the African continent was underwritten by the feeling of “locality” to the point that most people did not even know that it was a Marvel and a Hollywood production. Black Panther, however, was suited to the local level, as opposed to a globalized scale. 

This means thinking about what the Glocal means in this context and what does that suggest about how people think of fandom outside of these so-called idealized and rarefied "centers" for this artistic practice?

This is a long-overdue spotlight on the robust community of fans outside of the west and a deeper conversation about how major institutions, such as Hollywood and Marvel superheroes are investing in ecosystems and fan-led organizations outside of the West and the ways we relate to each other and see ourselves in larger social frameworks.

These internal and societal shifts caused these institutions, like many others, to confront which superheroes they had historically shown and why they were selected. Perhaps more importantly, they were also prompted to address which communities had been excluded from these opportunities in the first place. The success of comic superheroes outside of traditional centers generated strong feelings among comic creators and Hollywood to produce works that specifically served these non-white communities to become really strongly rooted in the local community, to the same degree that it has been functioning on a national and international scale

In the case of Black Panther and Africa, moreover, how issues of needs and rights are located and folded into superheroes’ discourses to generate productive opportunities. This kind of politics merges with Black Panther with conversations about the restitution of stolen African art. In the movie, the son of Prince N’Jobu, Killmonger, and nemesis of Black Panther, organizes a heist in a London museum to recover a legendary weapon from Wakanda. If this African country is imaginary, and the stage too, the fiction on the other hand reflected a very real debate on the restitution of works.

Emblematic in this respect, Black Panther, first, demonstrates that flow of circulation of commodities between Africa and the world was never interrupted. Second, How Black Panther is a matrical foundational work embedded in a web of elemental materials and a mythological well and the need to evaluate original work as work in progress. Thus, how chef d’oeuvres are always almost unfinished and incomplete. In practice, how created logic production is usually bifurcated and inprevisible.

Hence, the movie engages the still unresolved issues of the restitution of African works, but also those of the conflicting memory of slavery and colonization, which fall on a much more physical terrain. What Black Panther had somehow anticipated and staged.

Furthermore, Marvel's Black Panther isn't just the political "blockbuster" the public has been waiting for. It is a historic event in intellectual life that goes beyond the American threshold and gives rise to genuine exegesis in the social sciences.

The film responded to the #OscarSoWhite movement that forced Hollywood to realize the near absence of African Americans in its nominations. Moreover, Black Panther provides proof that African-American narratives can generate profits from all audiences and puts an end to a myth in the film industry.

Thus, more than a movie, Black Panther is a vehicle of thought. A true intellectual synthesis. It is no coincidence that a few months before the film's release, the writing of the new adventures of the Black Panther was entrusted to writer Ta-Nehisi Coates, author of the bestseller Between the World and Me. It is no coincidence that activist writer Roxane Gay, author of another bestseller Bad Feminist was also involved in the writing of this comic book. The "Black Panther" phenomenon is well and truly placed under the sign of an era of "Black Lights". Sociologists, historians, and thinkers seize hold of it.

One of the greatest African intellectuals, the Cameroonian philosopher Achille Mbembé analyzed it thus "for those who know how to read between the images, for those who know how to listen to the rhythms and embrace the pulse of the story, the threads are there, manifest, and behind the 'one or the other sequence hovers a thousand shadows and a thousand currents of thought - from Marcus Garvey to Cheikh Anta Diop, from negritude to Afrocentrism, from Afropolitanism to Afrofuturism ”. According to Achille Mbembé, “Black Panther” is the showcase of ideas and efforts developed over decades to get out of “the big night”.

Also, "Black Panther", it is this Africa to which one would not have denied its ancient past and its History (because yes African man has already entered history), this Africa idealized because not colonized. and futuristic, but also and quite simply this possible Africa. And with it, as well as the model of civilization it will draw, a revolution of thought is playing out.

Response by Enrique Uribe-Jongbloed (Colombia)

Here, I would like to bring two things into play, that relate to the way you approach Black Panther. 

On the one hand, we have a set of comic book heroes that were of great importance in Colombia: Kalimán, Fantomas, and Aguilar Solitaria (Lonely Eagle). They were all comics created and developed in Mexico and sold between the mid-1960s and early-1990s in Colombia. We all grew up with those as our comic book heroes, alongside Batman, Superman and Spider-man. Funnily enough, Kalimán is a psychic with Egyptian origins, Fantomas is a French dilettante and masked hero, and Aguila Solitaria is a Native American, but from the US side, and with mostly US located storylines. Their only homebrew hero of recognition was El Santo, the masked wrestler, but he was not as successful in comics in Colombia as the other three. There was even a comic book when Fantomas came to Colombia to deal with some criminals stealing emeralds from an indigenous community near the Venezuelan border.

In 1967, a group of Colombian comic book artists who had worked for the Mexican publishers tried to come up with Colombian masked superheroes and thus El Dago and Makú were created. The former was akin to The Spirit, whereas the latter had a similar storyline to Tarzan. They both only had one appearance in comic books, not gathering enough attention and disappearing from our comic book kiosks after only one outing.

Despite this mishap, Jorge Peña, the creator of Makú, managed to get another White-turned-indigenous hero into national circulation almost uninterrupted between 1980 and 1990 in the Sunday Funnies, under the name Tukano. Again, the story, like Makú, was that of a White kid from Bogotá who ended up being raised by the Tukano tribe, with whom he learned to muster the power of the Jaguar. Most of his adventures were in the jungle setting, against witch doctors, evil indigenous peoples or White poachers.

Only recently did we experience a resurgence of Colombian-made comic books superheroes, starting in 2010 with Zambo Dendé. But that is for another discussion.

The other aspect that relates to your piece on Black Panther is the impact that a movie like Avatar (Cameron, 2010) has had for indigenous peoples in the (South)American continent. It is interesting to see how many indigenous activists have taken Avatar to represent exactly how they feel when facing White, corporate interests in their territories. It is interesting to see a US blockbuster becoming part of the cultural repository of indigenous movements. Much like the restitution issues that arise with African dispossession in Black Panther, Avatar represents the exploitation scenario indigenous people of the Americans feel under. The way it has been interpreted and used in Latin America as a representation of indigenous struggle does resonate in opposition to how the earlier comics presented the heroes as always stemming from the White majority or some other exotic location.

Now, this brief exploration brings us back to Dorfmann and Mattelart’s reading of Donald Duck, and how through these comics, whether willingly or unaware, some Western, capitalist visions of the world were being spread. Much like Tintin, or even our own Kalimán, Fantomas, El Dago, Makú and Tukano, the ideals of the time reproduced the Western, White-savior ideology, presenting the heroes as coming always from the outside, from the place where heroes could “actually come from”. But as seen in Black Panther, for the African case, the appropriation of Avatar by indigenous leaders, and our new Colombian-based comics (see Espectaculares Héroes Colombianos), there is a change in the trend. 

Newer comic book fans in Colombia consume much Marvel/DC, manga and the likes of Asterix, Mortadelo y Filemón, and Tintin, but they also consume more national and regional comics than before. Although we will not be back to the heyday of Mexican comics that we had in the 1970s, there are more items to chose from, and new comic book creators are now able to make their own superhero comics have a local flair.

Felipe Ossa, a famous collector and editor of the Sunday funnies for one of the major national newspapers, has mentioned recently that he sees the last ten years as the boom of Colombian comics production. We will see if that remains the case.  

Responses from Olivier Tchouaffe on Comics and local fandom and Sympathy

This globalized and transnational conversations on comics, in this case Colombia and Cameroon, highlight how comics are indigenized to fulfill a need and to play a role in local politics as we emphasize, particularly, with Black Panther and Avatar. Hence, as always, a second project emerges in the background of these superheroes comics which is the evocation of the avatars of current African or Latin American societies. If the action takes place in Cameroon, it could as well be in France, United States, Mexico or Colombia.  As with Black Panther or Avatar, we always end up looking the problems in the face and confronting family or societal failures. For lack of being able to repair them, at least these films instill as much as possible the possible beginnings of reflection or even debate.

In addition, how this also complicated the dichotomy between the global and the local and the narratives how the global as the site of progress while the local is mired in backwardness.  

Consequently, these comics are always powerful, especially, when they land at an opportune moment in the backdrop of national conflicts and issues of social justice that need urgent resolution. Hence, how comics, by definition, is the power to transcend cultural context and participating in giving a voice and a presence to the local fans striving to make themselves heard. 

 In doing so, the knowledge local fans deal with a much more complicated reality and the necessary epistemological rupture from the ways that they might be known or seen as simply infantilized receptacles of foreign media and controlled through soulless consumption of fetichized commodities and probably dupes of the global cultural industry. 

This involves deconstructing the stereotypes embedded in the idea that local fans are not creative but the receptacle of creativity and the consenting spectators of images produced by others. 

Thus, the necessity to interrogate images produced for local fans and how these images become normative while totaling advancing the knowledge that local fans are more than capable to have their own subjective experiences and psychological and emotional maturation to become responsible adults and citizens moving away from infantile narcissism. Thus, products of both scientific and psychological processes embedded in productive living and logics of contribution.

This calls for new ways to complicate notions of sympathy and moral judgement. In practice, how the reception of these comics is not simply a matter of emotion, gut instinct or pleasure but the imaginative power of projection to expand our inner circle into the richness of a diverse multicultural world. It goes at the heart of universal cosmopolitan enlightenment values and engagement with urgent issues in the world such as social justice informing on local resources, strength and resilience. How we commit to these values and how we can get there.

As a consequence, the comics superheroes today are universal emblematic of freedom, meritocracy and self-reliance and tales of empowerment that can no longer be overlooked and how the status quo is constantly being challenged in countries receiving these cultural constructs.  This is a testimony to what Henri Bergson called the “Élan Vital “which represents the creative force within an organism that is responsible for growth, change, and necessary or desirable adaptations. In ways, these comics authors are equally greatly influenced by Henri Bergson and his term élan vital as they seek to make such universal harmonies, and this urge for growth and renewal, visible in their work.

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversations: Enrique Uribe-Jongbloed (Colombia) and Tchouaffe Olivier (Cameroon) (Part One)

Conversations on Comics: On Cultural Effraction and the Feedback Loop

by Tchouaffe Olivier (Cameroon)

The things I find remarkable about the comics is how they entered our consciousness by effraction. Indeed, we were not the intended original audience but happened to be an audience by effraction. Many of these comics, such as Blek Le Roc and Lucky Luke, were themselves examples of idiosyncratic cultural borrowing responding to the American’s invasion of films and comics in Europe and are, consequently, themselves derivative of the Hollywood Western and the myth of manifest destiny and the last frontier embedded in the mythology of the west and all the cultural bagages we have now come to recognize. Comics like Tintin, likewise, emanates from a cultural Belgian milieu that was very catholic, reactionary and colonialist. 

Indeed, can we completely free Tintin from its anchoring in the past century? The first album "Tintin in the land of the Soviets" was indeed responsible for portraying the worst mistakes of the Soviet Union. The controversies over its racism and colonialism arise when it is a question of republishing "Tintin in the Congo". Finally, how can we fail to notice the absence of a female character with the exception of the Castafiore?

First, the demonstration that what is considered culturally appropriate or politically correct change overtime. Second, without parents, without a past other than his tribulations, without a girlfriend or boyfriend, globally without attachment and without accountability to anyone, without sex and almost without a face: Tintin is an autonomous individual, scientifically skilled with an agency of his own. Thus, it is Tintin’s abstraction that makes up his modernity and legitimacy as an icon of freedom, self-reliance and technological ingenuity that appeal with an audience dealing with a world that is becoming more complex by the days.

Thus, Tintin still seems so alive in the 21st century. Like a character of the present, with a contemporary reading that forgets its anachronism.

What is spectacular, however, it is how these comics have managed to spread all over the world, as a form of subaltern culture, and came back to Hollywood’s mainstream moviemaking.

It is clear that Steven Spielberg who made a movie about Hergé’s Tintin (2011) and realistically followed Herge’s visual genius and erudition with his own visual imagination and performance capture prowess with the ambition to rival with movies such as James Cameron’s Avatar. However, rather than Hollywoodized it, Spielberg keeps the spirit of Tintin to become the first to globalized Tintin in films, rather, that a European filmmaker. Spielberg took a big chance on a comic that was pretty much unknown in the United States.

In addition, Spielberg was also inspired, with Georges Lucas, by Hugo Pratt’s Colto Maltese for Indiana Jones.[1]

Furthermore, as with the Hong Kong Martial Art films, the Samurai movies of Akira Kurosawa and the Western Spaghetti of Sergio Leone also make their ways back into Hollywood and are openly claimed by movie directors, such as, Quentin Tarantino.

What becomes important here, however, is that the nature of the narrative itself changes. There is no longer such as thing as a progression to the west with a beginning, middle and the end to the last frontier but a narrative of revelation bounded with seriality which means that we do not even need to know how the story started, we are embarked into a moving train and its spirit of adventure.

Thus, narratives unfold less according to a classical logic of development of sequences than of rampant compilation and short-circuits of technological challenges. The speed of the linking of the actions, their extreme compression, thus prevents the emergence of the feeling of a time that disappears to be replace by the magic on the page and the magic of technologies on the screens. Taken together, the anticipation of an idealized forms of futuristic technologies.

In all, how personal taste and opinions preempts official critics by mobilizing some forms of universal mythologies.Hence, for example, when Elon Musk unveiled the design of his new “Starship” lunar rocket, it took exactly the shape of the Tintin one in “Objectif Lune”, minus the red and white checkerboard! A tribute to the Hergé reporter claimed by the boss of Space X. But why did the American Elon Musk take inspiration from the Belgian designer rather than from Star Wars ships?

As with all his toys, such as, helicopter, plane, rocket, submarine, outboard boat, and many vehicles, Tintin has always seized, as if by magic and without a license, all the toys of technical progress. In fact, he walked on the moon as early as 1953, sixteen years before Neil Armstrong! He is a character of speed and action, of perpetual motion. He is only defined by his actions, and his interventions are always those that move the adventure forward, where the secondary characters delay the pace. Between a Captain Haddock who swears by a trillion thousand ports and a frankly tough professor Tournesol.

This is all because Tintin is both a vehicle of universal and timeless identification, but also a figure of pure freedom and self-reliance, as if spared by reality. An over-child myth that speaks to all generations of readers including space entrepreneur Elon Musk! After the "Secret of the Unicorn", the duo Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson are reforming for an adaptation of the Temple of the Sun, announced for 2021.

Taken together, in a world that is getting hyperconnected but precarious, in many parts, these figures become the vector of a moral economy driven by technological creativity.

Response by Enrique Uribe-Jongbloed (Colombia)

It is funny that you bring up Tintin. When I was a kid in a private catholic school in Bogotá, Colombia, we were invited once a month to a “slideshow”. One of the priests at the school, an old Frenchman of the Assumptionist order, would present to us a series of Tintin slides in French, which he would then translate and act out in his accented Spanish. It was fun to hear him shout out mild curses when taking on the role of Captain Haddock. Although there were other slides in the slideshow, mostly catholic stories, we were always thrilled to get Tintin. There was adventure and excitement, and particularly for an all-boys catholic school, a role model which was, as you described, uninterested in women, ready for adventure, and with no other commitments beyond his dog, Milú.

Tintin was also part of the Sunday Funnies, a whole page on the back, and those whose families could afford it, would try to get the comic books at Libreria Francesa (French Bookstore). They were very expensive, maybe only to be expected as a lavish Christmas or birthday gift. We used to meet at the homes of those friends who possessed the Tintin books and proceed to binge-read them. They were so precious at the time, that getting a friend of you to lend on of them to you, was a proof of friendship and trust.

Of course, looking through an adult critical lens, it strikes me how those comic books always showed us Western and Eurocentric views as ideal. In that sense, it was exactly like our school curriculum and basically most media output: Westernized to the core. If they were in anyway counterhegemonic in relation to US comic book production, they remained very hegemonic from our perspective.

Obviously, despite the criticism that I might levy upon Tintin, it still holds a very important place in my heart. The only Latin American comic strip that might get close to evoking such fond memories of my childhood would be Condorito, the Chilean character, which my grandfather used to buy for me at the local Kiosk, and which is, by and large, the most famous comic book figure in the country, at least for those in my generation.

Thus, when the Tintin film came out it was almost a requirement to go watch it, more because of nostalgia than anything else. And although it was sufficiently entertaining, it was certainly not the same as remembering the old priest making up watered-down vocabulary for every “@*-!!!” uttered.

[1] Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson played the Dupond and Dupont, in a short film, to greet visitors to the Angoulême festival and present the filming of the adaptation of "Secret of the Unicorn", on January 29, 2009

Global Fandom: Olivier J. Tchouaffe (Cameroon)

I came to understand the modality of the cultural production of comics and the popularity of fandom in Africa as the power of art to create agency, cultural unity and reconciliation on a global scale. Which brings us, first, to how we found cultural validity amidst the so-called commodification of marginal aesthetic products and a circuit of transmission dominated by consumers dupes. 

Consequently, products consider by conventional artistic standards as trash but found a home with us to become mainstream and a powerful matrix of our imaginary demonstrating the power of stylized original forms that turned into support of our collective imagination. Particularly, creating real needs for the use values of these industrial products that defied its initial reception and calculation.  All this bring to mind the bridge between high and low art to build upon these categories the status of artistic authorship to cartoons and comic books producers through Walter Benjamin’s notion of aura and the democratization of artistic meaning through the formation of a global participatory culture. [1]

Second, to consider broader dynamics such as fandom as a complex literal and metaphorical journey mixing together modern science and mass culture. This work traces fandom as part of  liminal geographies that synthesizes original aesthetic experiences with exercises of maturation embedded in the nexus of inter-evolution of sovereign entities emanating from the cultural force and the symbolic power of African totems mashing together shape-shifting practices, forms of self-description and self-narration which are rituals incarnation derived from the natural world, myths and stories and spanning generations of traditional practices and constant generative possibilities through processes of reinterpretive practices , contextualization and reconfigurative positionalities embedded in these rituals with the urgency of modern life and un-colonized forms of imagination and visual sovereignty which, however, reflect universal cognitive processes..

Precisely, how African culture synthesizes proper development within a relational practice of inter-evolution where real authenticity and individual sovereignty is achieved through a synthesis between an individual and his totemic or post-human power that ordinary Africans perceived as extension of themselves. This can explain, for instance, the success of Marvel’s Black Panther on the continent where, beyond special effects, is the reclaiming of the totemic power of the black panther as it relates to the fluidity of African cosmologies which translate as the fluidity between the organic and the inorganic , humans and other living entities and the beliefs in living worlds beyond human perception, therefore, a continent embedded in Afrofuturistic imaginaries, visual sovereignty and the production of African’s homegrown emancipatory knowledge and practices embedded in a long history of global transmedia stream that reconcile organic political tools with the supercharged global speed of things and reconciling technological changes with the permanence of the local indigenous communities and emphasizing the staying power of oral cultures.[2]

Native Context

While in a discussion of fandom in Africa, I would like now to look at my own family, which owned movie theaters and helped produce films in the West African countries of Cameroon. In addition, I would like to discuss my mother, Marie-Claire Tchouaffe, an executive in the country’s largest distributor of books, newspapers and magazines who made me highly popular in the neighborhood and turned me into a one-man library of sorts by regularly bringing home the cartoons of Superman, Batman, and Spiderman, Mandrake the Magician, Tarzan, Akim, Zembla, and Flash Gordon that we claim as our own indigenous tropes because we did not see any forms of epistemological rupture with our own cosmological universe and therefore could locate our own proper lineage through these figures and entities. 

In addition to others impersonating Americans and almost unknown in the US, including, Blek the Trapper and Lucky Luke that I now regularly lend to my American friends for a unique view of their own culture from an outside creative and eclectic perspective.

SUPERMAN

Hence, being a fan is about pushing the boundaries of what is humanly possible. Heroes whether Superman, Batman or even the anthological Prometheus can be seen as redefining the limits of human potential since they are breaking into the final frontier, and in so doing, enlarging the scope of human knowledge and abilities. Perhaps, the most interesting thing about fandom is that it involves a mixture of technology, mythology, fantasy, and the drive to transcend borders. Which is what had led me to Texas in the early 1990s, a place that in the eyes of my family was still very much like the Wild West, and where many of my future American friends supposed I still had zebras, tigers and lions trotting around my backyard.

BATMAN

Knowing the details and profound logic of Batman or Superman, moreover, is a science and a language in of itself where notions of space and time, tradition and modernity are constantly intertwined and overlapping. Part of the core message is the love of seriality and the pleasure of anticipation. These different systems of writings and performance have something in common which at the core was the idea that the world of tomorrow will be a better and more tolerant place because the actions of these heroes increase scientific knowledge. Hence, fandom for me always was about open and unlimited spaces of possibilities where the grandeurs of human potential always asserted itself. Reading about Batman and Superman allow me to revel in all kinds of scientific absurdities while also allowing me better sense of the political and cultural environment of my own country Cameroon while growing up in the country under a dictatorship. It opened my eyes providing me with a way to circumvent the mind-numbing local political propaganda by inventing an alternative world of unlimited possibilities.

 As I continue to take note of the ongoing transformation of Superman and Batman, I am still baffled by cartoons like Blek the Trapper and Lucky Luke, the man who shoots faster than his shadow. [3] How both were representing respectively the tale of the struggle for American independence and the taming of the American wild West, as seen through the eyes of Italian and Belgian artists. These hand me down cartoons were sold to us in Cameroon as quintessential American stories and reveal how multi-layered complicated notions of fandom can seem since with these cartoons, we have an Italian or Belgian perspective of American history recapitulated and passed on as a hybrid-sort of fandom to share with Africans. I always found it interesting that my American friends had never even heard of the characters who are supposed to be a great part of their stories, thereby, illustrating my point about complex layers of fandom.

 Blek Le Roc and Lucky Luke

To clarify, Blek, the Trapper and Lucky Luke represent a view of America refracted and reflected through European eyes, which as with the Spaghetti Western of Sergio Leone, reveal the worldwide appeal of myths involving the American West which itself can be seen as a substitute for a kind of eternal wild frontier. It is equally interesting while revisiting Lucky Luke to examine the debate about ethics around fandom. My enthusiasm nowadays is tempered by the clichés and stereotypes embedded in the cartoons even if they were created in good humor. While the description of colonial Brits in Blek the Trapper as “Red Lobsters,” might cause to ponder about the origin of the famous seafood chain, the recurrence of Chinese as cunning and sneaky and of Mexicans as lazy and irresponsible. More, the Blacks as darkies are unequivocally racist in nature, even though Lucky Luke as a defender of the vulnerable offsets them. 

Thus, the grotesque depiction of minorities allows us to make a moral judgment about the relationship between representation and reality. These cartoons hero’s depiction therefore even though they did not look like us, or move like us, and did not come from our culture but they did talk like us, and they were always defending of the hopeless and the oppressed. You can feel the desire for justice and to make the world a better place by fighting evil on all fronts with the power of human potential. Thus, even though it was all fantasy, and we knew all the codes, it was a convention we were happy to live by since it gave us hope. 

This idea of fandom here functions as a powerful link through a nebulous context driven by science fiction, superhero movies/fantasy and a new form of postcolonial ethic. Taken together, to unravel conventional ideological practices as they appear in visual culture to challenge the excesses of neoliberal capitalism and its catalogue of oppression. The aim is to take established fan bases to re-examines ideological practices that naturalize and moralize along conventional constructions of gender, sexuality, race, ethnicity, and geography. The goal is the idea that we were able to experience critical distance to entities and objects we related to in order to exploit the concept of transgression or presenting camp pastiches that illuminate the construction and the fragility of these structures and how new forms of knowing is mapped into all aspects of the body, performance, and the narrative in ways that polymorphically do not, oftentimes, adhere to conventional description of modes of beings and knowing.  

Olivier J. Tchouaffe is a film and media scholar. He is originally from Cameroon and received all his degrees from the University of Texas at Austin in Radio-Television and Film. Dr. Tchouaffe is specialized in African cinema and affiliated with Southwestern University. Besides many journal articles and book chapters, Dr. Tchouaffe is the author of Passion of the Reel (2015); Varieties of Literature in Cameroon (2016) the Cinematic Experiences of Abderrahmane Sissako (2017) and Citizen Colt: Transnational Commercial Cinemas, Coffee and the Poetic of Homes (2020)

[1] Benjamin, Walter. “The Work of  Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” Illuminations, Schocken Books, 1969, pp. 217–51.

[2] Cameroonian UFC champion, Francis Nganou has been named one of 'Marvel’s Earth’s Mightiest Athletes'. 

He was accorded the recognition at the 2021 ESPN Sports Humanitarian Awards.

"Just 8 years ago I was crossing the Mediterranean to make it from Africa to Europe then I was homeless in Paris, sleeping in the streets. I just had a dream to become something..." Ngannou says.

[3] Moving to Texas, some scenes from Lucky Luke took another dimension. For instance, Lucky Luke as a bounty hunter taking Billy the Kid into custody and stopping in a Mexican taqueria for Tacos and Tamales to have Billy the Kid going crazy with the Tabasco sauce to the point of spending days later with his head in the bucket trying to deal with the aftermath of a “Tabasco overdose.” More, the Lucky Luke and the ballad of the Dalton Brothers. The Dalton Brothers were originally introduced in Lucky Luke #6 and modeled after the real Dalton Brothers: Bob, Grat, Bill and Emmett. The Daltons were killed in the end of that story, but since they proved very popular by readers, writer/artist Morris introduced their cousins Joe, William, Jack and Averell in issue #12. They have the same appearance as the original Dalton brothers, but are less dangerous

Global Fandom: Daniel Aguilar and Enrique Uribe-Jongbloed (Colom

Comics and fandom (studies) in Colombia

Daniel Aguilar and Enrique Uribe-Jongbloed, researchers of the GRIC at Universidad Externado de Colombia, have dedicated our efforts in studying a variety of different media and participation activities and scenarios. Based on our own experience, we have studied the way in which comics, rock music, role-playing games and television have created an environment of participants in different times of our media history in Colombia.

Rock music, which could be considered one of the prime examples of an expanding global phenomenon, can be traced back as one of the main areas where fandom turned into tribute and then into the formation of a very own local scene. We have studied the social formation of rock bands, particularly in Bogotá, and how that generated a space for social and political participation.

We have also studied comics, drawing from our experience and from interviews with collectors, comic buffs and artists, to try to map out the growth in comics consumption in the 1970s, the development of the magazine kiosks as sites of exchange, the traditional neighborhood garages that were turned into comic dens, where the social activity of renting comics to be read sitting on the sidewalk became an experience. Based on oral histories of our contemporaries, we have explored how comics consumers expressed their fandom. As there are new spaces (events, fairs, groups and associations) that have started to appear in the last 20 years, we have also started to undertake participatory observations in those events, to see how Colombians engage currently with their interests by the means of forums, debates, cosplay, collecting material and producing fan fiction/fan art.

Undoubtedly, in Colombia some of the strongest fan activities have been developed around Japanese Anime and Manga. This interest started in the1980s thanks to the increasing TV presence of Anime shows in Colombian television as evidence of global consumption of animation from Japan. It extended into the 1990s as a circuit of exchange and informal commerce and emulation that brought people together to acquire derivative products, whether officially imported or locally produced by fans, and the creating of videoclubs that used to showcase some of the most renowned works in improvised theatres for a small fee.

Although Colombian television series and telenovelas of the 1980s managed to have some cult following, this situation never reached heights of recognizable fandom. Perhaps the only exception could be seen in the costumes that most kids would wear around Halloween, which oftentimes included a couple of characters from local comedy series or telenovelas. The main case of a cult-telenovela in the late 1980s is, perhaps, “Calamar” (Caracol, 1989), which included an animatronic character “Guri-Guri”, which could be acquired as a toy, as the cover of notebooks, and as a small toy-present in a variety of consumer products (e.g. bags of chips). Guri-Guri is, thus, the only national case of a TV show turning into ancillary products, expanding the Telenovela spectatorship into fans. However, the hit Mexican TV sitcoms El Chavo and El chapulín Colorado, which have played on Colombian television since the 1970s to date, could also be deemed as carrying the example of fandom, including ancillary products and enough Halloween costumes. 

There is evidence of both a globalized expansion of fandom, such as the case of Anime and Manga fans, comics books consumers (which could either be fans of American Marvel/DC comics and Garfield, European larger formats, such as Tintin, Asterix, Mortadelo y Filemón, or Corto Maltés, Mexican comics like Fantomas, Calimán and Memín, Condorito from Chile or Mafalda from Argentina), as there is from Rock music from EEUU and the UK, at the same time as a growth of Latin American Rock bands or the growing internationalization of participation in global videogames, and also the consumption and fan development of local products, although in a more limited extension, which only seems to express itself in certain smaller scale events.

A typical comic from the 1970s (this a Mexican comic, but the setting was Colombia)

The division of consumption of comics books in the 1980s and 1990s can be traced to the cultural capital and economic background of the consumers and fans. Most comics in the 1980s were published in Spanish, distributed as small (half letter-size page) magazines published on newspaper-quality paper, with a very low price, which expanded their consumption. By the 1990s, the disappearance of the magazine kiosks and the bankruptcy of the distribution companies, led to the comics moving only into the specialized bookstore, often exclusively in English or their original language (French, in the cases of Tintin and Asterix), and becoming available only to those with more disposable income, cultural capital, and language abilities, which then becomes a middle- or upper-class activity. Recently, local comics have started to gather a new readership and a small-scale fandom, with a low price and easy accessibility such as the cases of Bogotá Masacre Zombie and Saic (see more about the comic scenario in Colombia in Uribe-Jongbloed and Aguilar-Rodríguez, 2020).

Whereas the informal or small-scale stores of Anime and Manga products became a staple of middle and working class neighborhoods –alongside the videogame parlors where you could rent a Nintendo to play for periods of 30-minutes–, the specialist store or Hobby shop appeared in the Bogotá under Libreria Francesa (The French Bookshop), opening up to four shops in the height of their business in the late 1990s. Libreria Francesa’s Hobby Center was the place where Role-Playing games, collectible card games, comics, miniatures and toys could be acquired. They catered for a more exclusive upper and upper-middle class, with English or French language skills and more disposable income. The tabletop RPG boom of the late 1990s and early 2000s sparked the creation of local clubs and guilds at the various public and private universities and saw the creation of independent gaming clubs, none of which lasted a decade (for more on RPGs in Colombia, see Uribe-Jongbloed, 2020). By the 2010s the various book and entertainment fairs (SOFA, FILBO, COMIC-CON, among others) became the gathering place for comics collectors, cosplayers and RPG aficionados, local libraries offered comics reading groups, and Entreviñetas became a staple yearly event for people interested in a more academic take on comics, at the same time as the Cali Shinanime became the main meeting point for Anime and Manga fans.

Through this general perspective of Colombian fandom, mainly focused in Bogotá and side-stepping videogameas, we hope to have given you a quick view of how fandom’s interconnected cultural links have taken shape in the last decades. The political change brough about by the 1991 Constitution which opened up the national market to foreign investment and acquisitions, increased competition and limited market protectionism, can be seen to underscore the wane of the comics boom of the 1980s and their cultural structures, at the same time as providing entry to other media products –such as Anime, Manga, figurines and miniatures, RPGs–. The 1990s also saw the appearance of cable television and increased competition to the two national broadcasters, which until then provided a unified audiovisual culture to the country. Cultural capital, in terms of linguistic skills in foreign languages, and increasing disposable income, became two of the main driving forces for the development of a more active fan culture base, and provided the original boost for a more global concept of fandom. The 1993 Book Law which made books tax-free, classified comics in the same line of pornographic magazines as objects of no cultural value and responsible for full Value Added Tax, making comics expensive to produce and acquire, driving the last nail in their coffin. The 20 years it took to repeal that classification, and provide comics with the value and tax-free status of cultural products, saw the extinction of all but the staunchest comic book fans, which became a cultural elite very distant from the more popular comics consumers of the previous decades. 

Although more widespread today, fandom in general is often restricted to middle and upper-class highly educated strata, although at least it is now no longer as male-dominant as it was in the early 1990s, joining a more international trend in that aspect. Despite some local products receiving some attention, it is still well below the fan interest brought about by the largest international film, TV, videogame and comics franchises.

FICCO (Independent Colombian Comic Festival)

Contemporary Comics from FICCO

As academics and activists in favor of local comics we also participate as collectors and supporters of nationally produced comics and initiatives, including FICCO, and supporting fellow academics in comics, such as María Camila Núñez and her Youtube vlog “Los comics son buenos”. Fandom studies has not become an academic trend as such in Colombia, but it is clearly on the rise as fandom becomes a more socially recognized topic.

Daniel Aguilar-Rodríguez

Rock and roll drummer, vinyl collector, Gaphic novels and comics lover, Sci-Fi literature enthusiast, DnD Player and Star Wars freak. Probably what you would call a nerdDoctor in Sociology, from Kansas State University, Magister in Sociology from Univesidad Nacional de Colombia and Bachelor in mass communication from Universidad Externado de Colombia, where he currently works as lecturer and researcher, and as head of the research group GRIC.

Enrique Uribe-Jongbloed

Writer of the comic book Doppler. Founding member of El Cómic en Línea and Escrol. DM, boardgame and Sci-Fi enthusiast. Supporter of FICCO.

PhD from Aberystwyth University (Media Studies), MA in World Heritage Studies BTU-Cottbus and BA in Film and Television Studies from Universidad Nacional de Colombia. Lecturer and researcher at the School of Social Communication and Journalism, member of the GRIC research group, Universidad Externado de Colombia.

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversations: Lisa Duggan (Norway) and Akiko Sugawa-Shimada (Part Two)

AK: Thank you for your answers.  It's just a pleasurable interplay between fans and "characters" (staff)! Here in Japan, too, fans understand that anime characters never post their comments (I mean they know staff post and reply to fans), but they enjoy virtual correspondence and posted pictures.

 nterestingly, the (voice) actors who play the role of the anime character often treat the anime character as their "friend".  So, birthday celebration for the anime character posted by the actors is quite popular. Fans react to it by saying "Happy birthday! we can cerebrate together!"

 As for the issues on sexualities, I think it depends on voice actors and theater actors.  For instance, if a voice actor get married or maybe confesses his/her identity, it would not very much impact the anime character he/she plays. However, if a theater actor reveals his sexual identity, for instance, he/she is LGBTQ+, some heterosexual fans can be disappointed.  Some fans often say, "we don't care about your sexuality. Just don't make it open. Just make us keep dreaming."

 Like you mentioned that it's more accepted in Norway than in the US, here it's almost same culturally. But in reality, legislation has still a long way to go. Japan doesn't accept same-sex marriage,  a system of optional separate surnames for married couples, etc.  I'm sorry I'm not familiar with legislation in Norway, but I guess Northern European countries have established the systems to protect rights for married and non-married couples; I mean the government supports non-married couples and their children.  (please correct if I'm wrong.)

 JD: I must admit, I am quite curious about the similarities and differences between European, American, and Asian fan studies. You mention, for example, that celebrities’ open heterosexuality is more accepted than open homosexuality amongst fans in Japan, but I am curious to know how you feel that "boys' love" fandoms have affected or may affect such attitudes.

 I would also love to know more about the intersection of girlhood studies/women's studies and fandom, as you have mentioned in your starting statement this is a growing area of interest in Japanese fan studies. Most of what I have read about Japanese fandom has focused on women, but this is likely because women have been the focus of American and European fan studies for so long, so what filters through appears to align with the focus of study in the US and Europe rather than with the focus of study in Japan. Is that correct? Could you tell me a little bit more about the gendered dynamic of fan studies in Japan (including more on "otaku")?

AK: Thank you for your questions.

 I am curious to know how you feel that "boys' love" fandoms have affected or may affect such attitudes.

Actually, there are lots of "boys' love" (BL) anime and even TV dramas which depict love between men. It is tricky, though, that protagonists (at least one of the protagonists) are not necessarily homosexual. It means that they are basically heterosexual, but once they meet, they stop liking each other.  Such discourses are more accepted than a story about born homosexuals.

 For instance, a mega hit anime (comedy/romance) "Junjo Romantica" depicts heterosexual guys who accept love from their male tutor, friend, and nephew etc.  A TV drama (comedy) "Ossan's love" (Love of a middle-aged man)  was so popular that many audiences enjoyed it partly because very popular actors played the main leads. Although these "BL" anime and dramas illustrate idealized or fantasized male homosexual romance, young (female) audiences actually got interested in LGBTQ+ problems because of these popular culture.

 Could you tell me a little bit more about the gendered dynamic of fan studies in Japan (including more on "otaku")?

Since I focus on female fandom from gender perspectives, I just explained female fandoms here.  But actually in Japanese scholarship on anime/manga/game fandom, most of the works have focused on (male) otaku by male scholars (Otsuka Eiji, Azuma Hiroki, Saito Tamaki, Uno Tsunehiro etc.) since the 1980s.  (Anime, manga, and games were not taken as academic agendas until in the 1990s when America and European countries "discovered" Japanese anime as "cool".) However, quite recently, probably because many universities began to offer gender and popular culture classes, more female scholars have had papers and books published in academia, and BL anime/drama aired in nationwide TV networks are getting popular, female fan studies have been accepted as gender studies, women's studies, and girls' studies. (By the way, Japanese BL manga/anime impacted South East Asian countries. For instance, Thai BL TV dramas used a Japanese BL framework and gained much popularity in Asia and even Japan.  It can be analyzed in area studies, post-colonialism, media studies etc.)

 An interesting point, though, is a gap between fans and scholars.  Although most BL scholars are fans (aca-fans), when a book (anthology) "Textbook on BL" was out last year, quite a few BL fans criticized the authors, saying "Don't make our "hidden pleasure" open!" or "Leave us alone!"   It is very intriguing that finally an introductory academic textbook on BL was published, aiming at students and fans, but BL fans refused to be examined.

 In Japan, academic journals or associations about fan studies exclusively are few unlike in English speaking countries. This is one of the issues to be solved too. How about in Norway? Maybe because of SKAM, many students have got interested in studying gender, immigrants, religious, social issues at schools and colleges?

JD: SKAM definitely made certain studies more popular, and it quickly made its way onto syllabi in gender, religious, and media studies (e.g., Sivertsen & Mordt, 2017). It also made Norwegian a popular language to learn outside of Norway (e.g., Framtida, 2018; Uksnøy, 2016).

 As regards gender, it is important to note that the series also led to many important discussions outside of formal learning spaces. The SKAM blog provided space for the audiences’ “unfiltered, knee-jerk reactions” and “all possible feelings, including politically incorrect ones,” with the aim that “the audience [could] work through these feelings by itself” (Krüger & Rustad, 2019, p. 89). Audiences publicly debated topics brought up by the show, such as the illegality of taking and spreading naked images of minors, the politics of abuse and harassment, and whether “party rapes are really just girls regretting they haad sex afterwards”—a comment vehemently opposed by numerous other fans (Krüger & Rustad, 2019, p. 89). Indeed, Krüger and Rustad (2018) argue that the show, thorugh both its transmedia engulfment of its audience and its content (which, per the show’s title, often focuses on feelings of shame), purposefully “hands over the task of negotiating social reality and its moral groundings to media users” (p. 90).

 However, the fervor surrounding the series has now died off. As in Japan, there are few official academic journals or associations exclusively focused on fan studies—although it must be said that the overwhelming majority of Norwegian scholarship is now published in English (Bye, 2021). This is in part because fan studies is less established here and in part because our research milieu is small—and as a result, fan scholars here tend to focus on international research networks, research groups, and channels for publication. I don’t necessarily see the lack of local groups and publication channels as limiting, although I must admit that it would be nice to have access to a local fan studies–focused research group. I do sometimes feel that fan studies is dominated by very specific perspectives and that these do not always match up with local experiences or discourses, but I suspect that this is nearly always the case outside of North America.

 References:

Bye, K. (2021, June 29). Mer engelsk og mindre norsk når forkerne publiserer.—Ikke overrasket, sier rektor. Khrono. https://khrono.no/mer-engelsk-og-mindre-norsk-nar-forskerne-publiserer--ikke-overrasket-sier-rektor/590422.

Framtida. (2018, March 14). Skam-fans lærer norsk. Framtida.no. https://framtida.no/2018/03/14/skam-fans-laerar-norsk. 

Sivertsen, E. V., & Mordt, H. (2017, March 16). Skam på pesnum. NRK. https://www.nrk.no/kultur/skam-pa-pensum-1.13430052.

Uksnøy, E. U. (2016, October 21). «Skam» har gjørt norsk kult på Island. NRK. https://www.nrk.no/kultur/_skam_-har-gjort-norsk-kult-pa-island-1.13189750. 

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversations: Jennifer Duggan (Norway) and Akiko Sugawa-Shimada (Japan) (Part One)

Image by permission of NRK

Akiko Sugawa-Shimada [AS]: Jennifer, thank you so much for sharing your research. SKAM was a hot topic here in Japan too, although I think it's not accessible in the same way you do there in Norway, of course.  It's just like a concept of "2.5-D" that I have conceptualized and am doing research on. I'm interested in the use of media. I wonder if what platforms do fans of SKAM usually use to post their fanfic. And are there any difference between generations (groups of people by age differences)?

Jennifer Duggan [JD]: Thank you, Akiko. I am really interested in your concept of 2.5-D fandom—that is, linking fictional worlds to real life in productive and entertaining ways. I think that fiction always has a great impact on reality but that we are seeing its impact more often and more profoundly now. Or perhaps, we are paying closer attention to the implications of the interplay between fiction and reality now. But that isn’t to say that these convergences weren’t visible in the past: I came to fandom studies by way of Victorian studies and am fascinated by, for instance, the celebrity fan cultures surrounding canine actors from Victorian dog dramas (Featherstone, 2016) and the material fan cultures of works of literature that resulted in the creation and sale of literary merchandise. For example, Wilkie Collins’s 1859 novel The Woman in White was merchandised due to its popularity: one could buy Woman in White hats, clothing, and perfumes (Wynne, 2001). And Victorian fans enjoyed performative fan cultures of their own, such as Londoners’ mass protest over the death of the fictional character Sherlock Holmes, during which they wore mourning bands, penned and published obituaries, and gave up their subscriptions to Strand Magazine in an effort to pressure Conan Doyle into resurrecting their favourite fictional hero. The impulse to express ourselves through fandom, then, and together with other fans seems to be an impulse shared across genres, geographies, and generations.

 As for the platforms that SKAM fans have used, there were a wide variety: the official website was popular, as were social media sites like Tumblr, Facebook, Instagram, and Youtube, in addition to fandom-associate sites like AO3. It was popular across age groups, in part because it combined a transmedia, innovative format, intended to engage youth, with a more traditional “summary” episode every week, which engaged older audiences.  Vilde Schanke Sundet has published a number of articles on SKAM and its spread (e.g., Sundet, 2019) if you are interested in reading more. I cannot see that there was too much of a difference between where fans of various generations posted their SKAM fan fiction, but that is not something I have focused on in my research.

I think SKAM does have some interesting implications for your interest in the interplay between real and fictional spaces, because it worked so hard to appear ‘real.’ This meant that fans of the series visited the very real school the series’ characters attended, for example, and were able to follow the characters social media accounts and comment on their posts, which blurred the boundaries between what was fiction and what was not (e.g., Duggan, 2020). The series’ success also hints at the mainstreaming of yaoi/slash, because the most popular season, season 3, focused on a male–male romance. Certainly, the show was very popular in local and international LGBTQ+ circles across generations and has been regarded in Norway as an important step towards normalizing nonheteronormative desire.

  I’ll stop here before I begin to ramble too much....

References:

Duggan, J. (2020) Revitalizing seriality: Social media, spreadabilty, and SKAM’s success beyond Scandinavia.Journal of Popular Cultures, 53(5), 1004–1022.

Featherstone, A. (2016, July 15). Sagacious canines and brave brutes: Re-discovering the Victorian dog-drama [Keynote presentation]. Victorian Authenticity and Artifice, 7th Annual Conference of the Victorian Popular Fiction Association Conference, University of London.

Sundet, V. A. (2019). From ‘secret’ online teen drama to international cult phenomenon: The global expansion of SKAM and its public service mission. Critical studies in television, 15(1), 69–90.

Wynne, D. (2001). Wilkie Collins’s The woman in white in All the year round. In The sensation novel and the Victorian family magazine (pp. 38–59). Palgrave Macmillan.

AS: I think the case you told about SKAM can be taken as the 2.5D, although the 2.5D I have examined is almost always anime/manga/game characters involved.

 I’m especially curious about what you said “This meant that fans of the series visited the very real school the series’ characters attended, for example, and were able to follow the characters social media accounts and comment on their posts, which blurred the boundaries between what was fiction.”  So, fans could visit actual schools they saw in SKAM, which we calls “contents tourism” (Seaton et al, 2017).  It is also interesting that the characters have social media accounts. I wonder if those who make comments on fans’ posts are staff of SKAM, not actors, right?  Here in the 2.5-D culture I mentioned, anime characters often have their social media accounts, too. But those who post and replay are, of course, staff of the programs. In the 2.5D theaters, it’s being a bit complicated: the actors who play roles of anime characters sometimes post messages through their social media as the characters, and sometimes post messages as actors themselves.  Those interplay between characters (fiction) and actors (reality) also appeals to fans, although it means the reality intervenes in the fiction and vice versa.

 I wonder how the actors/actresses of SKAM use their social media. They comment on the role they play from the third party’s view?  Or they avoid doing it?  It particularly matters when the actors play the roles of homosexual characters that you mentioned.  If they are heterosexual in real life, are there any conflicts or debate going on?  (I’m afraid I cannot get access to SKAM yet, which only one platform dominantly offers. I don’t subscribe it.)

References:

Seaton et.al, 2017. Contents Tourism in Japan: Pilgrimages to Sacred Sites of Popular Culture. London: Cambria Press.

JD: Yes, the comments were posted by staff, not actors, to the best of my knowledge. But those who commented on the posts were both “other characters” (aka staff) and fans, and the “characters” (staff) would sometimes reply to and interact with fans, so it really blurred the boundary between the real and the pretend. This was certainly appealing to fans, and they increased fan-“character” (staff) interactions in later iterations of SKAM, such as the German version, Druck.

 There has not been too much debate or commentary about the actors in Norway aside from happiness over an increase in visibility for LGBTQ+ characters, but in other countries, fans did comment on the actors’ sexualities. I think it is more accepted in Norway that actors play roles across a variety of identities than it is, for example, in the US.

Is this topic one of debate in Japan?

Global Fandom: Akiko Sugawa-Shimada (Japan)

My research started with one about female viewership of TV anime for girls, namely, the “Magical Girl” genre within the framework of Audience Studies. I have then expanded my research to female anime/manga comics/videogame (ACG) fans and fandoms in Japan, Asia, North America, and Europe. Currently, I’ve been working on “2.5-Dimensional (2.5-D) culture” fandom. 

The term “2.5-D” was coined by anime fans in Japan in the 1980s to refer to anime’s voice actors, but in the 2000s it began to refer to some cultural practices exercised in a space between 2-D fiction and 3-D reality. Thus, the “2.5-D” culture is “cultural practices which produce the fictional space of contemporary popular cultural products (such as manga, anime, and videogames) along with the fans’ interplay between the real and fictional spaces” (Sugawa-Shimada, 2020: 125). Its examples are: 2.5-D theaters (theatrical adaptation of anime, manga, and videogames), cosplay, contents tourism (pop-culture-induced tourism), character/voice actor concerts (ex. concerts of Love Live! and Ensemble Stars, etc.), ōenjoei (a cheer-a-long style of movie screening), and V-tubers (virtual YouTubers). What matters in these cultural products are active interactions between the “reality” of characters of anime/manga/videogames and the “virtuality” of the human bodies of practitioners (actors and fans). As in Henry Jenkin’s “convergence culture” (2006), 2.5-D culture is generated across multiple transmedia platforms, cooperation of multiple media industries, and fans’ migratory behaviors. Fans actively migrate among “the fictional, cyber, and physical worlds” (Okamoto, 2015).

In this section, I will focus on some traits of the 2.5-D theater and its fandom. The 2.5-D theater is basically a theatrical adaptation of anime/manga/videogames. But it is distinctive from Disney’s musical adaptation of its animation films such as Lion King and Beauty and the Beast, etc., and Broadway musicals based on American comics such as Spider-man in terms of the thorough copy of the appearances and characterization of fictional characters, and the performing style. One of the typical examples is Musical Prince of Tennis (2003-ongoing) based on Konomi Takeshi’s popular manga Prince of Tennis (1999-ongoing). It’s about a genius 13-year-old male tennis player and his colleagues in junior high school in Japan. All the actors of Musical Prince of Tennis are selected by auditions if they have “the character’s seed” rather than if they have acting and singing skills (Sugawa-Shimada, 2021: 123). When a fan of Prince of Tennis (anime and/or manga) saw Musical Prince of Tennis in the early 2000s, she expressed in her blog that “the characters just like popped up from the 2-dimentional. It’s truly 2.5-D!” Since then, the 2.5-D genre has grown rapidly. The total sales in 2018 is approximately 22.6 billion yen (about 205 million dollars). The performance structure is similar to anime series; one performance covers a set of the episodes, followed by another set of the episodes as a continuity. 

In general, actors of 2.5-D theaters who play the role of anime/manga characters immediately gain popularity among the youth with the help of the characters. Most of them are equivalent to aidoru (idols). Aidoru in Japanese popular culture means relatively young, “highly produced and promoted singers, models, and media personalities” (Galbraith and Karlin 2012: 2). Thus, 2.5-D fandoms are formed in a nodal point of ACG culture, Idol culture, and theater culture. The fans are actively producing derivative works such as dojinshi (fans’ self-published comics, novels, illustrations etc.), creating fan communities, and communicating both in cyber and physical worlds (that is, 2.5-D worlds) using fictional characters. 

     My foci of research by using qualitative research methodology are how female fans utilize 2.5-D culture as a tool to form intercultural fandoms, solve their personal problems, and empower women in cyber and physical worlds, and how 2.5-D culture contributes to facilitating intercultural understanding through their affect/preferences (oshi) towards characters and actors as characters.

ACG fan studies in Japan

Studies about anime/manga/videogame fan in Japan have been conducted as otaku studies within the frameworks of mainly psychology, sociology, and Cultural Studies. Although Japanese scholarship on anime/manga/videogame otaku[i]has mostly focused on male otaku done by male scholars for long, gender and ethnic perspectives have been introduced to otaku studies recently. 

Since male scholars in this field are quite well-known such as Okada Toshio, Otsuka Eiji, Azuma Hiroki, and Patrick Galbraith etc., I will briefly introduce Japanese scholarship on female otaku. In the 1990s, Nakajima Azusa, a female critic and novelist, argued that otaku are incapable of communicating with other people. She calls its tendency “dis-communication syndrome” (1991). She examined female otaku who love JUNE (which means yaoi and Boys’ Love). Although her arguments on otaku from a pathological viewpoint were later criticized, she was probably the first critic that discussed female otaku as yaoi fans. From 1992 to 1995, the “yaoi controversy” continued between gay critics and female feminist critics. Female yaoifans (otaku) were seen as problematic. However, yaoi and yaoi fans (BL otaku) have been examined as an academic subject since the 2000s. It is one of the most important topics in gender and sexuality studies. 

Studies of non-yaoi female fans are not as large in number as scholarship about female BL fans. Some important scholarship about female anime and 2.5-D culture fandoms are: Akiko Sugawa-Shimada’s Girls and Magic (2013) about TV viewership of female fans of Magical Girl, Eureka’s special issue about female otaku (2020), Sasaki Hiroshi and Ikegami Satoru’s article in Sociology of Anime (2020), and Akiko Sugawa-Shimada’s 2.5-dimentional Culture (2021).  

References

Eureka, special issue: onna otaku: oshi to watashi [female otaku: my favorite and me]. September, 2020.

Galbraith, Patrick W., and Jason G. Karlin. 2012. Introduction: The Mirror of Idols and Celebrity. In Idols and Celebrity in Japanese Media Culture, ed. Patrick W. Galbraith and Jason G. Karlin, 1–32. Palgrave

Jenkins, Henry. 2006. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. NYU Press.

Nakajima, Azusa. 1991. Komyunikeshon fuzen shōkōgun [Dis-communication Syndrome]. Chikumashobō.

Okamoto, Takeshi. 2015. “Kontentsu tsurizumu no kukan.[Spaces of contents tourism]”  Kontents tsurizum kenkyu: Joho shakai no kanko kodou to chiiki Shinko, Takeshi Okamoto ed. 50-51. Fukumura shuppan.

Sasaki, Hiroshi, and Satoru Ikegami. 2020. “Anime ni tsuite kataru koto [About talking on anime].” Daisuke Nagata and Shintarōeds., Anime no shakaigaku: anime fan to anime seisakusha tachi no bunka sangyo ron [Sociology of Anime: Cultural Industry on anime fan and anime creators]. Nakanishiya shuppan: 2-22.

Sugawa-Shimada, Akiko. Shōjo to mahō: Girl hero wa naze juyo saretanoka [Girls and magic: how girl heroes have been accepted]. NTT shuppan.

-----. 2020. “Emerging “2.5-dimensional” Culture: Character-oriented Cultural Practices and “Community of Preferences” as a New Fandom in Japan and Beyond.” Mechademia: Second Arc. 12(2):124-137.

-----. 2021.2.5 jigen bunka ron: Butai, kyarakuta, fandamu[2.5-D Culture: Theaters, characters, and fandom]. Seikyusha

[i] Otaku in Japanese context is used as an umbrella term to mean fans who have deep knowledge about an object they morbidly love and actively express their enthusiasm, although otaku originally referred to anime/manga/videogame/computer fans in the 1980s. So, it is often used with the name of the object: anime otaku, train otaku, idol otaku, Disney otaku and so on. This usage is different from “otaku” overseas, where “otaku” most likely refers to enthusiastic fans of Japanese or Japanese-style anime, manga, and videogames.

Akiko Sugawa-Shimada, PhD, is a professor in Graduate School of Urban Innovation, Yokohama National University, Japan. Dr. Sugawa-Shimada is the author of a number of books and articles on anime, manga, and Cultural Studies, including Girls and Magic: How Have Girl Heroes Been Accepted? (2013, Won the 2014 Japan Society of Animation Studies Award, in Japanese), 2.5-dimentional Culture: Stages, Characters, Fandom (2021, in Japanese), chapters in the books Japanese Animation: East Asian Perspectives (2013), Introduction to Anime Studies (2014, in Japanese, co-edited), Teaching Japanese Popular Culture (2016),Cultural Sociology of Post-kawaii (2017, in Japanese), Shojo Across Media (2019), Women’s Manga in Asia and Beyond (2019), 55 Keywords for Animation Culture (2019, in Japanese, co-edited), Contents Tourism and Pop Culture Fandom (2020), Animating the Spiritual (2020), and “Emerging “2.5-dimensional” Culture: Character-oriented Cultural Practices and “Community of Preferences” as a New Fandom in Japan and Beyond.” In Mechademia: Second Arc, 12(2), (2020). Her website is: akikosugawa.2-d.jp

Global Fandom: Jennifer Duggan (Norway)

Image reproduced by permission of NRK

Hello, everyone! My name is Jenny (Jennifer Duggan). I am a dual Canadian and British citizen, and I work at the University of South-Eastern Norway. I am particularly interested in the juncture between alterity and fandom, and as such, my published work has drawn on masculinity studies, trans studies, queer studies, multilingualism, and childhood studies' focus on age-related alterity. My research is therefore located at the intersection of childhood studies, children's and young adult literary and media studies, cultural studies, and fan studies. It has been published in, amongst other venues, Television and New Media, Transformative Works and Cultures, Children's Literature in Education, International Research in Children's Literature, Bookbird, and Journal of Popular Culture. My research has focused on two fandoms: Harry Potter and the cult Norwegian transmedia youth series SKAM (2015–2017), produced by NRK (Norsk rikskringkasting, known as the Norwegian Broadcasting Corporation in English).

Contributors to this blog discussion have been asked to comment on the push–pull of global and local factors on fandom in our research contexts. I would argue that fandom in Norway is global in that many of the biggest fandoms are familiar fiction franchises, like Harry Potter, Star Wars, He Man, or Marvel, as well as Japanese anime and manga, video games, bands like One Direction, and European football (soccer) clubs. Many fan activities take place in English for this reason. Certainly, there are also many families with children who travel to Norway because of its association with Disney's Frozen. (When I lived in Bergen in 2013, I could not escape "Let It Go," which seemed to be the only song on the radio other than Ylvis's "What Does the Fox Say?") Nonetheless, there is also great investment in local, Scandinavian/Nordic, and European fandoms. Melodi Grand Prix and Eurovision are extremely popular, for example, as are Nordic noir series, whether Norwegian or not. In fact, crime as a genre is so popular here that there is a tradition every year at the Easter for book publishers and TV companies to publish various "Påskekrim" (Easter crime) novels and series.

As I am not (yet) Norwegian myself and have only lived here for eight years, I felt it necessary to confirm my impressions of fandom in Norway for this commentary by doing a small-scale quantitative study of the Norwegian-language fanfics on AO3. If we take AO3 as a microcosm of Norwegian fandom, we can see that there are some noticeable patterns in language use. There are, admittedly, only 461 Norwegian-language stories on AO3, which I quantified for this introduction as a small-scale study. The results are not definitive, but they do point to tends in language choice:

Very few stories linked to global franchises, series, etc., like Harry Potter, Supernatural, Marvel, One Direction, are published in Norwegian. Meanwhile, 76% of the Norwegian-language fanfics on AO3 are related to the Norwegian cult hit SKAM. While the show did eventually gain a global following, it nonetheless enjoyed a large local following and Norwegian ability conferred significant cultural capital within the fandom (see Duggan & Dahl, 2019). The children's franchise Kaptein Sabeltann is the second-most popular Norwegian-language fandom on AO3 (7% of fanfics in Norwegian). Other franchises, books, and shows written about in Norwegian include Zombie Lars, various Norwegian crime and detective novels, Norwegian bands such as Ylvis (known globally for the aforementioned song "What Does the Fox Say?"), NRK (the Norwegian national broadcaster) television series like the political satire Nytt på nytt, and so forth. This suggests that fans in Norway make purposeful choices about their language use based on the assumed reach of the fandoms in which they participate.

However, the use of language by Norwegians participating in fandom is complicated. This is particularly true for Norwegian fandoms that have become global, such as the SKAM fandom. SKAM was a truly transmedia series spread between a dedicated website, characters' social media accounts, and other media. Moreover, although a summary episode was published once a week on Friday's, the series was in fact published in small pieces throughout the week: a video might be published on the official website at 1:08 a.m. on Wednesday and be followed the next morning by social media posts by characters and screenshots of their text conversations. This made the series particularly "spreadable" (Jenkins, Green, & Ford, 2013), as I and others have argued (e.g., Andersen & Tanderup Linkis, 2019; Duggan, 2020). The global success of the series was due largely to fans' translating and sharing it via online networks such as Tumblr and YouTube, but while its global success would not have been popular without English, the series prompted a great deal of interest in Norwegian fluency in which came to have significant cultural capital in the online fandom (Duggan & Dahl, 2019a). Nonetheless, there were arguments within the fandom, particularly visible on the official website, about language use. The success of the series inspired pride in its Norwegian viewers, and this prompted a linguistic and cultural nationalism that at times created conflicts, as some fans considered their fellow fans' use of English a betrayal of the local fan community (Dugan & Dahl, 2019a, 2019b).

The discussions fans had about language closely mirrored academic and popular discourses regarding the threats and affordances of English use in Norway, and in particular, the worry expressed by Språkrådet (the Norwegian Language Council) that Norwegian is losing ground to English in Norway. I find it quite interesting how a single fandom, like the SKAM fandom, can become a microcosm of wider sociopolitical concerns over local versus English language use, as I have just discussed; globalized popular culture versus locally produced cultural artefacts, as we can see, for example, in the Norwegian government's desire that Netflix produce and stream more Norwegian content (Drabløs); and other similar concerns. I am sure this is the case in many other countries and contexts. 

References:

Andersen, T. R., & Tanderup Linkis, S. (2019). As we speak: Concurrent narration and participation in the serial narrative "@I_Bombadil" and Skam. Narrative, 27(1), 83–106.https://doi.org/10.1353/nar.2019.0005.

Drabløs, Ø. T. (2019, October 7). Staten vil tvinge Netflix til å lage flere norske tv-serier [The state wants to force Netflix to make more Norwegian TV series]. NRK. https://www.nrk.no/kultur/staten-vil-tvinge-netflix-til-a-lage-flere-norske-tv-serier-1.14729822.

Duggan, J. (2020). Revitalizing seriality: Social media, spreadability, and SKAM's success beyond Scandinavia. Journal of Popular Culture, 53(5), 1004–1022. https://doi.org/10.1111/jpcu.12954.

Duggan, J., & Dahl, A. (2019a). Fan translations of SKAM: Challenging Anglo linguistic and popular cultural hegemony in a transnational fandom. Scandinavian Studies in Language, 10(2), 6–29. https://doi.org/10.7146/sss.v10i2.115610.

Duggan, J., & Dahl, A. (2019b). A challenge to Anglo pop-cultural hegemony in the era of multicompetence: SKAM fans, translation, identity, and power [Conference paper]. Digital Diasporas: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, University of London, London, England.

Jenkins, H., Green, J., & Ford, S. (2013). Spreadable media: Creating value and meaning in a networked culture. NYU Press.

Jennifer Duggan is Associate Professor of English at the University of South-Eastern Norway. She is one of the editors of Jeunesse: Young People, Texts, Cultures and copyedits for Transformative Works and Cultures. Her research interests include reader response and reception theory, fandom and popular culture, and children's and young adult literature, media, and cultures. Her work has appeared in various venues, including Television and New Media, Transformative Works and Cultures, Children's Literature in Education, International Research in Children's Literature, Bookbird, and Journal of Popular Culture.

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversations (Round Six): Naja Later (Australia) and Jenessa Williams (UK)

Naja Later, Australia

Doing fandom online was absolutely a windfall for me! As a teen getting into alternative music, I lived in a small town where my classmates thought the Foo Fighters were obscure and alienating. I should mention that fandom was also part of me discovering queer identity and community—something which felt impossible to acknowledge in my real-world environment. There’s a parallel with the idea of being too into something (or someone), where an online group of like-minded people can be both an outlet and a retreat. Twitter and Reddit didn’t hit my radar until I was in my 20s, much more secure in both a fan identity and a queer identity: I really benefited from the smaller environments of message boards and mailing groups. To this day, I tend to keep to smaller platforms for a lot of my fanning: as you say, I find it so enriching to have different people and spaces—private and public, online and offline, academic and creative. Knowing where to share those easter eggs is an art!

To talk about comic club and the different tone of conversations: there were so many great conversations over the years, big and small! Sometimes it felt like a tutorial, prompting discussion question about our set text to critically analyse it. It was often really liberating to not like a book, and find that others have their own nuanced critique of it. Being able to constructively critique what I wanted in a story with each other was such a helpful process. Beyond the book club element of it, being able to fangirl in person was a rare treat: a great icebreaker idea one of the organisers had was to make name stickers that said ‘Hello my name is ___ and I like ___.’ You’d see someone you know was also playing Breath of the Wild or watching Money Heist, or someone you’d never met was also really into Pretty Deadly, and start a conversation. I think for a lot of women in comic shops, there’s pressure not just to like the right texts but to like them the right way. Unpacking and articulating the problems you had with Wytches is just as valuable as the chance to squee about Ms Marvel.

As for community members staying in touch, I know some have their own established friendships outside the club that are thriving! The store itself has done great work shifting to mailing comics and keeping up a sense of community. I’m also active in local zinemaking culture, which has plenty of events between our prolonged lockdowns. One of the major shifts for me recently has been from teaching and discussing comics to making them myself. It’s very cool to be able to apply everything I’ve absorbed and share that!

I’m definitely one of the people who slipped into comfort zones in the pandemic. Looking at my pattern, it tends to be a season of more challenging new media and then something more cozy—still new, but a genre I know will be easy to devour. One of my favourite things to do as a fan/scholar is dig up a (literally) cancelled TV show that had an active fandom: Leverage, Merlin, White Collar, The Musketeers; all stuff I was peripherally aware of at the time. I find it quite comforting to know there’s a complete narrative ready to watch, and lots of fan material to devour afterwards and nostalgic friends to talk with. Sometimes just a few years’ hindsight can make the problematic elements feel archaeological: the implicit faith procedural shows have in law enforcement, for example, is tinted differently in hindsight.

I love the way you frame it: If a cancelled tree falls in the woods and twitter isn't around to hear it, has any further harm really been served? I think it speaks to the value of consuming things privately, and enjoying them for yourself. Having close friends who know that you’re listening to Michael Jackson (because you enjoy pop music and there’s no collaborative text that’s untouched by people-who-have-behaved-badly) is going to be different to an acquaintance seeing your public Spotify activity and sees it as endorsement of his behaviour. It feels like a very tired adage to say not everything you do has to be public or online, and I can see how the tension of lockdown meaning you have no public life offline, making it even more tempting to reach out to people by sharing what media you’re consuming. You’re absolutely right about how you broadcast those actions, and I want to play with that metaphor some more in a post-broadcast world! I’m wondering if we could embrace personal narrowcasting when it comes to conspicuous consumption. Does everyone need to know what you’re watching/listening to/playing/reading all the time?

To hopefully not-too-clunkily segue into talking about food, that idea of public/conspicuous consumption definitely feeds this problem of self-identification through consumption and the implicit moral worth of it. It’s like how restaurants are pressured to create visually-appealing, Instagrammable food at the expense of taste, and to counter it there’s an ‘ugly’ food movement. Sometimes, our favourite artist is a box of mac and cheese, or chocolate produced ny child labour. Or we’re warming up leftovers in tupperware, or we tweet about what we had for lunch even when it’s just an egg sandwich. What we consume, and how we communicate what we consume, and whether we’re also consuming moral values in that process—we’re going to hit the word limit before we untangle that.

Finally, to address the question of streaming and getting releases a day early: I don’t think so! Usually if it’s something streaming, we get it at an unusual time of day to match the American launch hour. I know with some Disney/Netflix shows, episodes appear very conveniently around dinnertime for a Californian midnight. Sometimes the seasonal divide feels stark, though: as a horror fan I love celebrating Halloween, despite it being completely abstract. Really, though, I think a lot of it is what we bring when we engage with a text, especially music. Lorde obtains that synaesthetic summer-ness (maybe she composed it in NZ summer?) because that’s where you were when the album found you. Maybe it will hit home differently with southern-hemisphere audiences come December. It’s something I love about being a fan: letting something find you when it finds you, and as many of us are doing at the moment, coming back to a story when you need it again.

Jenessa Williams, UK

I think you touch on something really interesting when you talk about the relationship between the value of queer and minoritized readings and fangirling in person. This idea of using social media to try out identities that maybe don’t quite feel fully comfortable in offline spaces just yet is so important – I know that I definitely benefitted from this in my mid-to-late teens, coming to terms with my mixed-race identity and beginning to properly embrace my heritage through exposure to intersectional feminist theory and black musicianship on twitter and Tumblr. Pop culture was a huge vessel for that, and The global element of fandom is so important here too – in my little pocket of predominantly white England, who knows how long this journey might have taken me without the multi-cultural world I carried around on my phone in my back pocket? 

I full relate to the joy of discovering things that are already complete too, especially with TV. Being out of the loop in that way definitely takes the pressure off of having a hot take - we academics and journalists are so used to consuming things through an analytical lens that I think it’s easy to forget to be a fan for the sheer pleasure of it. No consumption is ever entirely passive, of course, but I can tell you that when this teaching term is over, I look forward to embracing some seriously low-brain impact fandoms! I’ve never been much of a gamer, but Animal Crossing New Horizons has been my saving grace during this pandemic. A low-stakes world with little to no peril, a string of repetitive tasks and creativity as complex as you want to make it…it felt utterly meditative when the news was at its worst. Watching the way that that game has united so many demographics of fandom has been so wonderful to see, and a keen reminder not to dismiss certain texts because they feel ‘lightweight’ in their field. Without the pandemic, who knows if I ever would have made the time for that kind of simple joy?  Now that I have, I really hope to protect that as a fandom that I keep purely for myself. 

I think we’re definitely similar in our interest in the pressure of having to ‘perform’ the things you like, as you say, and having to make those pleasures palatable. There is a real fulfillment that comes from sharing your interests and talking about them online in order to connect with your community, but my thoughts return to that of guilty pleasures. ‘ I know this person is problematic but’…”I know I shouldn’t like this anymore but”…are phrases that I often see on my timeline, presumably from people who enjoy sharing but also worry that people might misinterpret enjoyment as total endorsement. I completely understand that impulse and desire to explain, and yet it must be tiring trying to add this context every time, to perform a sense of morality and knowledge instead of maybe just quietly consuming the thing instead? I think you’re onto something with personal narrowcasting, but I don’t know which is better – it’s jarring to think that somebody might be tweeting for transgender rights while simultaneously extolling the virtues of JK Rowling’s wonderful storytelling in their personal life. But then again, we also can’t pretend that those texts immediately die just because of our opinions of their creator. Which all serves to bring us all the way back to the top of this never-ending soul-searching cycle!   

Maybe this is an interesting way to think about our host’s theory of textual poaching – leaving the problematic elements aside, poaching the bits you like, coming back and forth as and when you need it. Being okay with that nuance in yourself, and leaving room for others to find their own balance feels like a way through, even if it isn’t always entirely comfortable. We do still need to deeply address the various injustices that occur in entertainments industries, and work together to demonstrate how those communities can learn to become safer spaces for us all. In terms of my own fan practice, I’m still not sure how I feel personally about consuming art by problematic people - at current, I err on the side of not wanting to financially contribute to them any further, and a great deal of music I once loved has simply lost its listening appeal given that I can’t not think about what they have done. Nonetheless, I consistently try to remind myself that there are many different degrees of ‘wrong’ out there, just as there are many different types of way to perceive art. It’s not a conversation I suspect will yield definitive answers soon, but I’m learning so much in the process of trying and talking and realising just what fandom means to different people. Isn’t that what all of this academic fun is about? 

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversation (Round Six): Naja Later (Australia) and Jenessa Williams (UK) (Part One)

Naja Later, Australia 

This is such a fascinating and timely project. There’s so many details I want to comb over, so I’ll try to limit myself to a few. I know I didn’t mention my own myspace-teen-to-feminist-twitter-adult pipeline, but it’s great to discover we have it in common!

A problem you mention that’s really captured my attention lately is that of ‘parasocial relationships’ and ‘problematic fandom’: it seems to speak to a wider movement of fans carefully enforcing norms around how to be a proper fan, and the appropriate distance to maintain from the object of one’s fandom (especially if the creator behaved problematically). How much have you found that fans of ‘cancelled’ creators are grappling with expectations of other fans to correctly break up that parasocial relationship? How much do the lines between enthusiasm and endorsement blur, especially as the divisions between public and private enjoyment become stark? I’ve certainly felt that disappointment and guilt at discovering an artist I enjoy has behaved awfully in private: it’s a heartbreaking moment when those songs no longer bring any pleasure without misery hanging over it, compounded by the guilt at knowing royalties will go to an artist with every listen, and algorithms will be encouraged to promote this work to others.

It’s an area I’ve only just started looking at, but I’m really curious about the overlaps between fandom, especially fan cultures that centre on women, and food politics. A lot of the policing reminds me of how women are expected to treat food: you should only consume healthy content, and you must carefully select nourishing, homemade content even it’s not to your taste initially. We see this in the language of ‘bingeing’ and the description of certain media as ‘unhealthy’: in the case of enjoyment-as-endorsement, an echo of ‘you are what you eat.’ Of course, a real creator’s behaviour and challenging fictional/lyrical content makes the ethics consumption has entirely different context. I’d love to see how this links back to the idea of ‘guilty pleasures’—distinct from a genuine guilty displeasure when we break up with a creator (which feels to me more like your favourite food going rotten)—being such a core theme in your work.

Finally, a more silly aside on the subject of music fandom: when American and British bands tour Australia, the tour merchandise tends to be designed with lots of touristic imagery: kangaroos, beer, and down under jokes. Of course, the central novelty to the band is being-in-Australia, but to a fan, it’s not novel at all. It can feel bizarre to represent an international band with imagery of borderline-nationalist Australiana. It’s a particularly minor example of what you mention: suddenly becoming aware of your perceived otherness as Australian, despite identifying yourself through fandom before nationality. That, along with the rarity and price of women’s-fit shirts, is probably why I got so into making my own patches and tees.

Jenessa Williams, UK

I find such a relatability in feeling like your fandom is primarily online. I am so fortunate to have friends (and a fiancé) who care about music just as much as I do, but who maybe don’t share my tendency to fixate on analysis of lyrics or setlists or interviews. I am immensely grateful to the Internet for that; Twitter and reddit can sometimes feel like very hostile places, but there is always someone out there who cares about a band more than you do or has some special easter-egg insight that can enrich your own.

 All of that said, your in-person comic fandom meet-up sounds so wonderful. Did you find that the tone or range of conversation differs significantly in these spaces? I’m glad you’ve been able to take what sounds like an extremely well-earnt break, but how have community members stayed in touch/ related to comics during this time? I have found something interesting in thinking about how the pandemic has helped us to slide into certain comforts; re-consuming childhood shows instead of always seeking out new ones, maybe deciding to revisit the familiarities of that ‘cancelled’ artist or text you thought you’d sworn off years ago. For many of my PhD interviewees, the overwhelmingly mortality and fear of Covid-19 has served to put some things into a kind of personal perspective; if bringing out that old Michael Jackson vinyl or JK Rowling book serves you a private comfort in your own home in the midst of seeing apocalypse, is it really akin to support? If a cancelled tree falls in the woods and twitter isn't around to hear it, has any further harm really been served?

Bad jokes aside, I think it definitely speaks to your point about whether fans are placing expectations on each other for the ‘right’ thing to do. You can definitely see that tension play out in online spaces, varying from artist to artist, case to case. The reasons for this I’m still figuring out (and I doubt if there will be ever be a hard-and-fast blueprint), but it does seems to me to have something to do with the nature of what has been said or done, and the timespan in which it occurred. An allegation of recent violent sexual misconduct will understandably cause more uproar than an uneducated tweet dug up from years prior, but the end result of ‘cancellation’ are very often the same. And what does ‘cancellation’ actually mean? We all have a right to decide that we no longer want to consume an artist’s work, and that isn’t necessarily akin to personally making it our business to ensure that a disgraced artist should never be allowed to make a piece of art again. Perhaps it comes down to the nature of how your broadcast those actions; the difference between quietly continuing to listen to a CD that you already own, and vocally using your online platform to suggest that others should do the same. Deplatforming, and ‘cancellation’, I feel, are not necessarily the exact same thing, but tend to get weaponised as such.

Food is not something I have ever really thought about academically, but I love the way you’re thinking about it; the idea that we have ‘’low’ and highbrow culture, important cultural texts and ‘trash’ pleasures. I’m really interested in how feminist methods and scholarship have changed over the years to try and move away from this mode of denigrating certain media texts as inherently bad, or in telling audiences what is worthwhile for them to like. It’s something I try to be mindful of as a researcher; not assuming that I  understand why a participant likes what they like before I give them the opportunity to tell me for themselves.

To think about your edible metaphor even more, something else I am really interested is the financial and cultural value of the food, the supermarket experience of consuming music. I am keenly following the work being done by Professor David Hesmondhalgh at my home university about digital economies in the streaming age, exploring the ways that we have come to treat music as total commodity. Being in Australia, does streaming now mean that you get global album releases a day early? From a fan perspective I hope that that is some kind of small consolation to the years that you have felt distanced or dismissed as a fan, but I do think the pittance paid for music has definitely contributed to a feeling of powerlessness when it comes to cancellation or even some cases of full fan embodiment, the feeling that buying music is maybe less of an emotional engagement point than it once was.

The point you make about geographical ‘novelty’ is really poignant too - I absolutely know the exact kind of merch you mean! Reaching Australia feels like such a distant achievement for a lot of UK/US bands that I understand the desire to mark it in some way, but I think it also speaks to the way that so much of UK/US culture treats music and popular culture as if it solely belongs to us, with everyone/everything else being niche or ‘other’ in some way. Things are getting better slowly; increasingly scholarship on K-Pop, for example, or on Brazilian music culture, a fanbase who have historically been maligned or mocked for their culture of fannish enthusiasms (‘Come To Brazil!’ memes etc.), but there is still a long way to go. Have you read any interesting things on the topic of non-UK/US music fandom lately? As another aside entirely, but speaking as someone in Australia, do you think the seasonal difference ever affects the way you consume the art? I think for instance about an artist like New Zealand’s Lorde; her latest record ‘Solar Power’ seemed perfectly timed for a northern hemisphere summer, perhaps at the expense of her own home audience. How do we relate culturally to a ‘summer’ record in winter, or a fall record in spring? Obviously we can and do all listen to all sorts of music all year round, but does the idea of seasonal mis-step ever contribute to that feeling, as you put it, as if your national identity is an inconvenience to being a fan? I hope that makes sense — so many different thoughts all at once! 

Global Fandom Jamboree: Jenessa Williams (UK)

My name is Jenessa (she/her) and I’m based in Leeds, United Kingdom. The easiest way to introduce myself is to say that I’m a bit of a hybrid worker; part freelance Music Journalist, part PhD Student, and a full-time enthusiast of trying to unravel the messy business of fandom, socio-political identity, race, gender and music, particularly with regards to the way that online discussion spaces help us to make sense of it. In that sense, my work isn’t strictly linked to the UK, but rather the geography of the wider Internet community of music fans, all bringing their own perspectives and cultural contexts.

As an enthusiastic participant in the musical-MySpace-preteen to feminist-Twitter-adult pipeline, I have always been fascinated by the identities that we build for ourselves online and the way that we forge bonds with other fans, amplifying or downplaying certain aspects of ourselves in order to consolidate a sense of belonging, cultural capital and knowledge. As a mixed-race woman, I’m often most compelled to study and write about fans who have had to fight against the stereotypical convention in order to be seen; female music writers in an overtly masculine space (guilty), POC emo and indie-rock fans in an overtly white space (guilty), right-wing or conservative music fans in an overtly leftist space (not guilty myself, but certainly something I’m incredibly intrigued by).

Speaking somewhat facetiously of guilt, the very notion of the ‘guilty pleasure’ is also central to my work. My PhD research is an exploration of what happens when music fandom becomes complicated, or, to use the more popular phrase, ‘problematic’. Against the backdrop of #MeToo and the socio-political climate of #BlackLivesMatter, the pandemic and Trump-era polarisation, there has been no shortage of public figures (fan objects) whose controversial and/or inherently harmful actions, words and behaviours have been called out, often causing disappointment and dilemma within their fanbase. 

Within a similar timespan, we have come to view our interests and consumer behaviours as a more intrinsic expression of our identity politics than ever before, consequently, to consider how what we fan over, amplify and engage with online might play a role in indicating our own moral compass to others. With regards to music, listening to and vocally loving a band is no longer as simple as liking the songs — was it ever? — but rather the question of what using social media to engage with discussion around those artists might signal to the world about our sociopolitical stance. 

Linking to #MeToo specifically, I am interested in questioning how far music fans might go to excuse or re-contextualise the fallible – even deeply repugnant behaviours - of artists that they once resonated with. At the time of writing this, I have recently completed the main data collection phase of my research; video calls with fans from right across the world, discussing their feelings towards a range of artists who have been accused of some form of sexual misconduct. 

Somewhat surprisingly, I feel my work has been aided by the pandemic. With people stuck at home and the rising availability of Zoom, I have been able to connect with fans from a wide variety of cultural and political backgrounds, and have been consistently bowled over with the degree of candour that fans will share when contextualising, reflecting and in some cases, defending the details of both their intimate relationship with music and its role in their identity formation. As somebody who has first-hand experience of this very specific type of fan disappointment, I’m not sure I have necessarily changed my own perception of the ‘separate art from artist’ debate, but I have certainly become more knowledgeable, more understanding, and ultimately more accepting of why other fans might see it differently. 

At the risk of pre-emptively patting myself on the back, I think my participants have gotten something out of it too. Many have expressed gratitude at the opportunity to work through their dilemmas in a 1-on-1 environment, more informed and  ‘less judgemental’ than the polarised debates they’ve been entering on social media. We speak a lot about ‘cancel culture’ in the UK and US, and I have felt from my participants both a sense of fatigue for the term, and the very real desire to avoid such ‘cancellation’ themselves, often going to quite some lengths to obscure biases and hypocrisies in their online expression - those aforementioned ‘guilty pleasures’. 

When I began this project, I knew I was entering a complex conversation, one where I would have to reflect the ever-evolving nature of both digital fandom discussion and allegations while also showing all-important respect and sensitivity to the very real emotions and people involved. In sourcing and talking with my participants, I have been reminded how much more space needs to be held in fandom studies to both recognise and legitimise experiences of casual fandom as well as committed ‘Stan’ activity, and how care needs to be taken to thoughtfully contextualise race, gender, class and accessibility, both when we collect data and when we analyse it. With such an emotionally-loaded topic especially, I am adamant that I represent the fact that fans — like all people —are neither exclusively right or wrong, selfish or selfless, but rather occupying a position somewhere along a complicated spectrum, informed by our own circumstance.  

The case studies I am dealing with have coincidentally centred around US artists, but with the advent of both streaming and online fan community, music fandom is more global than ever, and indeed many of my participants have been incredibly thoughtful in reflections of how the cultural, societal or technological environment of their upbringing might have played a part in their consumer habits, their learned understandings of gender relations, or the degree to which they can societally afford to be knowledgeable and vocal about misogyny and gender-based violence as it relates to their interactions with entertainment. 

I am relatively new to academia as a career, but I suspect that these are the sort of questions and responsibilities that will occupy my mind as I move forward. ‘Parasocial relationships’ and ‘problematic fandom’ have become trending topics within both our field and wider pop-culture, and there is seemingly no industry in which allegations of sexual misconduct have not caused ripples of harm. It would be crude to imply that the suffering of fans and victim-survivors are one and the same, but the decisions that consumers face when dealing with problematic art(ists) can and do cause significant emotional wrangling, with knock-on effects for wider understandings of celebrity, responsibility and the ‘right’ to a platform. As we continue to hold such timely conversations of entertainment reckoning, ‘cancellation’ and ultimately — hopefully —reform, these are no longer matters that exist with the geographical boundaries of any one music ‘scene’ — they are a complex global debate. 

Jenessa Williams (she/her) is a Media & Communications PhD Researcher, a Freelance Music and Lifestyle Journalist, and the Founder-Editor of Pennycress, a magazine that seeks to champion Creatives of Colour in the North of England. Her work has been published by the likes of The Guardian, NME, Gal-Dem, DIY and more. She is based in Leeds, UK and can be found tweeting at @jnessr.

Global Fandom: Naja Later (Australia)

I am writing from Narrm, also known as Melbourne, in so-called Australia. I live on Kulin Nations land, where sovereignty was never ceded. This always was, and always will be, Aboriginal land. I am part of a settler culture writing about my transnational fan experiences: my identity and community are strongly linked to British and American cultures through ongoing processes of imperialism. When I have been welcomed to country as a fan scholar, it has been through a shared love of storytelling, and understanding how stories create joy, a sense of connection, a continued history and maps of the future. In Wurundjeri tradition, songlines https://www.deadlystory.com/page/culture/Life_Lore/Songlines are maps rendered in song: a map is a song, and a song is a story, and a story is shared. Deadly Story explains: ‘Songlines are the singing celebration of Country, a cultural passport when walking on the lands of neighbouring Nations and a way to acknowledge the great Creator Spirits and their footprints in the land.’ Fandom is a celebration of stories, and communities formed around those stories. It’s an honour to live somewhere with such a strong connection between place and storytelling, where stories are part of how we travel between nations.

My fannishness began, and continues to be, primarily online. In some ways, the illusion of placelessness in virtual communities allows me to skirt the uncomfortable history and awkward geography of Australia, connecting me to fans and discovering new fandoms through international communities. In my early days of fandom, national identity was little more than an inconvenience. Being Australian meant a poor internet connection, a six-to-eighteen month wait for new seasons of television—if we got it at all—expensive concert tickets, delayed release of films, and a sparse community with loci in steeply-priced conventions and snobbish specialty shops. Meeting Aussies on forums was an opportunity for commiseration, the solidarity of being stuck on a continent as distant from each other as the British users were from New Yorkers. There were in-jokes about drop bears and ambassadorial exchanges involving Vegemite.

These days, my online fandom friends are mostly North American, British, and European: the media we fan over tends to be American or British: easy journeys from the literal south to the global north. Social media allows us to overlook a sense of place: excepting a reluctant acknowledgment of time zones, we celebrate the myth that our community is unconfined by borders and places. The servers that host our blogs and groupchats; the factories that built the devices we use to access media; even the locations where our favourite films were shot: we don’t have to acknowledge the global networks that make it seem simple. For me, the escapist joy of fandom is in part an escape from nationality: it makes this piece surprisingly hard to write.

I met my spouse through a fan community. I moved to England and lived with them for a year, though we both decided we preferred Australia. We travel as fans, going to concerts, exhibitions, and locations that relate our fannish interests. A clerk at the Alexandre Dumas’ chateau is delighted that The Three Musketeers are popular in Australia. A mother in Maranouchi is as excited by a display of vintage Star Wars toys as we are. I discover while in Tokyo that Tataouine is a real place in Tunisia. I write fanfiction where Tusken Raiders use Australian sign language (Auslan is as different from American Sign Language as English is from French). My friend in Argentina leaves kudos on it. The narrative picks up all these pieces on its journey around the world. I don’t know a lot about songlines, but I understand how a story can carry you somewhere. Some of the people I meet along the way are friends for a minute, and some I’ll keep for a lifetime. It’s like Kelly Sue Deconnick said: “You don't get that tattoo because you are a fan of something in the book. You get that tattoo because that book is a fan of something in you.” So we meet as fans of Bitch Planet, but we end up being fans of each other.

But I suspect the reason I was asked to write this piece was because I’m a founder of the All Star Women’s Comic Book Club. For six years we ran monthly meetings here in Melbourne: our well-earned break happened to time up with the pandemic. When we first started, we promised ourselves that if it were just five of us—five entire women, reading comics, just in our city! It seemed too marvellous to be true—it would be more than enough. As it turned out, our smallest meetings were 20 members. The biggest ran up into the 80s. Every month there would be regulars who’d come along just to see each other, and newcomers who’d never met another comic reader in their city. To have a place, and real people coming together, sharing food and hugging and flicking through the book of the month, is unbelievably special. It was a fan community that didn’t need to be transnational to exist.

In the comic club meetings, I was the committee’s academic: I took point running discussions for the book of the month. The actual ‘book club’ element is a small part of what we do: crafting, baking, and cosplay are other ways we celebrate fandom (and gendered expressions of fandom) in the group. As aca-fans most of us know what it’s like to wear multiple hats. Running a book club is not unlike running a tutorial, though it’s a lot more social. Considered in the context of borders and fandom, the role I’ve shared in the comic club and in university is canon-setting. The comic club’s books were predominantly published in the USA—reflecting our host store All Star Comics’ stock—although the creators hail from around the globe. In the class I teach on comics, I’ve been consciously expanding our reading list, sometimes taking books I’ve discovered through the club. We read Saga, yes, and Maus: but my students read Korean webtoons and My Hero Academia more prolifically than anything American. They stumble across bandes-dessinés and adore Moomins: they discover Qahera and are fondly familiar with Footrot Flats. We’re exploring the difference between a mythical ‘universal’ language of comics and the highly specialised set of formal conventions that feel universal. Some of them will create comics that they’ll be able to sell at zine fairs and All Star Comics. I get to be their first fan as they become part of the Australian comics scene.

In some ways, the pandemic has made even the local communities feel remote, and the remote friends feel closer: in others, my sense of place is stronger than ever. I have been restricted to a 10km circle for eight weeks. I have never been more in this place. My home is already transnational, because it is in the Australian, Wurundjeri, and Boon Wurrung nations. Today, I’m watching the orchid season Guling change into the tadpole season of Poorneet. The friend who taught me the names of local seasons also recommended me a novel. I can’t wait to message them when I’m finished the last chapter. I’m packing up some video games for my neighbour, whom I didn’t know until we were stuck in our building together. I have a fresh parcel of zines from a friend one postcode away. It’s been too easy, in the past, for me to overlook transnational aspects of fandom. I said that was escapist, but when I return to the idea, I think escapism is also a journey home.

Naja Later is an Academic Tutor at Swinburne University of Technology. She studies intersections between pop culture and politics, with a focus on superhero and horror genres. She has published papers in the Quarterly Review of Film and Video and Participations: Journal of Audience & Reception Studies, and chapters with Rutgers University Press, University of Mississippi Press and McFarland.

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversations (Round Five): Julián de la Fuente (Spain) and Ellen Kirkpatrick (Ireland) (Part Two)

Riverdance—Flamenco

[JDFP] I think we have both identified two key trends within fandom in our respective countries. In both cases, they are marked by conflicts that have led to a certain cultural sectarianism, but at least in the case of Spain, it has not led to a clear territorial division. The case of flamenco music is a clear example of traditional fandom that despite its Andalusian origin, has been able to achieve fame and followers beyond regional and even national borders. Some of these regional fandoms also allow immigrants within the country or abroad to maintain the heritage of their local traditions. As with Punk in Ireland, these fan communities have structured their identity as a minority and served to disseminate and visualize their culture.

Regarding international media fandom, I think they are globalizing phenomena whose reception can be interpreted as a reaction to the more traditional cultures. But we must not forget that sometimes they also become a vehicle to spread this local culture. I have already mentioned television shows like “Money Heist” that would never have achieved the impact obtained without the presence of international fandom powered by Netflix. Actually, they are still very much minority fan communities that would hardly achieve notice if they were not organized internationally. Returning to the case of Flamenco, the community of fans of this music could be considered a minority in many places in Spain (as in the rest of the world), if it did not have a connection with the local community from which it originated. I think something similar happens with fan tourism. Without an international contribution they could not be considered remarkable fandoms.

So, I wonder to what extent is it the media that really shapes these fan phenomena? Obviously, it is part of local cultures, but what is it that allows the tourist fan to be so important in Ireland and go unnoticed in Spain? Or in the musical case, that traditional Irish and Spanish groups obtain worldwide recognition?

[EK] You raise some interesting points here in terms of the multidirectional flow of not just cultural phenomena but fandoms. Human migration sees publics (as fans) take beloved cultural texts and practices with them as a way of making strange new lands feel a little more like home. In terms of the Irish diaspora (historically coupled to the “famine and the crown”), this is perhaps most evident in traditional Irish folk music and dancing, but also ball games. It’s not an exaggeration to say that traditional Irish music is one of Ireland’s greatest exports. And as you observe regarding flamenco music fandom, traditional cultural phenomena and fandoms can move beyond regional and national borders, particularly with help from national/regional governments and culture industries. (A connection you neatly demonstrate in your discussion of “Money Heist”.) Similarly, fans of traditional Irish cultural phenomena are not just people from within the Irish diaspora but those adjacent to it and oriented towards it. I think these factors go some way towards answering your question as to why Irish and Spanish traditional music, for example, have global reach. 

As is well observed within fan scholarship, cultural fandom offers a way to connect, celebrate, signal, and buttress a sense of national and cultural identity for those parted, for whatever reason, from their homelands. Moreover, it creates the possibility for immigrant communities to if not quite transform their new locales, then to at least impact them culturally. A cultural flow that sometimes comes full circle. North America, South America and Australasia are just a few places with strong Irish folk music traditions. Moreover, this music genre has not only taken root worldwide but developed emergent expressions, often secured via international industry/media support. (A cross-cultural diffusion assisted by evolutions in digital technologies and social media as much as human migration and international travel.) Celtic music fusions include, for example, American roots music (such as, bluegrass, old-time), Celtic hip hop, Celtic Reggae, and Celtic Punk. Bluegrass music is particularly interesting in the context of our discussion because it perfectly illustrates the idea that cultural/media phenomena not only inform but are informed by the events, communities, and worlds around and adjacent to them. Irish and Scottish immigrants, for example, organically created—incorporating African American blues and jazz traditions too—a new soundscape for a new socio-cultural experience. And today, centuries later, this once emergent, highly localized music form is celebrated and enjoyed back, as the original immigrants might have put it, in the Old Country, and beyond. (The large number of bluegrass and country music festivals demonstrate how popular these music genres are in Ireland, such as Ballydehob’s “Heart and Home” festival.) It is also worth noting that technological advances in the early to mid-1900s, such as the gramophone and the radio, carried this music down from the seclusion of the mountains and into the public domain, inside the US and beyond.

We see this transformational promise in men’s ball games too. Irish immigrants, for example, brought Gaelic football and hurling to Argentina, North America, and Australia amongst other countries. Outside Ireland, however, these Celtic ball games still occupy a marginal status. But Australian rules football—aka “Aussie Rules”—illustrates transcultural processes arising from human migration and colonization. Aussie Rules football developed from a mix of Anglo and Celtic ball games—such as Caid (an early form of Gaelic football)—brought to Australia by Irish and British immigrants in the early part of the nineteenth century. Aussie Rules is a hugely popular national game—highest attendance for any sport in Australia—and illustrates the flow of one cultural phenomenon to another territory, a transformative process that sees the source material adapted and ultimately, though not necessarily, becoming something new and distinctive. Sometimes this emergent form migrates to new territories too. Aussie Rules football is played in New Zealand, for example, and attempts have been made—mostly by Australian emigrants—to bring the game to Ireland and the UK. Media coverage (and thus advertising), of course, plays a huge role in the mainstreaming and internationalization of traditional/local sports. 

Irish dancing too whilst popular at home and within the Irish diaspora saw a national and global boost in response to a performance of step dance—a form of Irish dance—during an interval of the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest, an event hosted that year by Ireland. A seven-minute performance spawning the stage show known as Riverdance. This phenomenally popular show not only changed the nature of Irish dancing but liberated it from its Irish moorings (island and diaspora). “Riverdance”, as Breandán de Gallaí—a lead dancer—commented, “has changed dancing forever. It brought it to the world.”[1] But it also helped change, or better rehabilitate, the idea of “Irishness” both on and beyond the island. (It drew attention away from, for instance, reductive international Irish stereotypes—such as the idea of the “Fighting Irish” (a widespread cliché still, for example, providing the prejudicial name and logo for the University of Notre Dame’s football team, the “Notre Dame Fighting Irish”) or Ireland as a land full of riotously-mournful hard drinkers—and towards the idea of the Irish as “lively, fun loving, innovative people”.[2] Alongside rapid social and economic change (i.e., the “Celtic Tiger” economy of the mid-1990s-late 2000s), Riverdance was critical to national attempts to reposition “Ireland globally and culturally, representing a contemporary Irish identity to both the Irish themselves and to the world.”[3] A clear example here of media/culture industries and a national government working to build and wield cultural and imagological soft power.

Much like K-Pop fandom today, Riverdance’s fandom was, and still is, transnational and transcultural, as is the show itself. Whilst currently diminished, at its peak, the show toured consecutively for 15 years throughout 32 countries; its global TV—and later DVD and later still online—audience was even wider.[4] A recently released animated film, Riverdance: The Animated Adventure (2021), centering an Irish boy and a Spanish girl discovering the power of Irish dance, might reignite the fannish flame, however. Moreover, the film’s characterization evidences (an industrial awareness of) Riverdance’s transnational and transcultural dimensions. For example, featuring over two thousand dancers from around the world, including America, China, Russia, and Spain, Riverdance’s dancers were, and are, specialists in a variety of international dance styles, such as renowned flamenco dancer and choreographer, María Pagés. (Borders between fan/performer can also collapse as when fans become “real” Riverdance performers.[5])

Furthermore, Riverdance fan activities commonly stretch to include embodied practices whereby fans worldwide seek to learn Irish dancing and/or musicianship and costuming style and so forth. Dancing-fans may also incorporate dance styles local to their region into their Irish dancing performances thereby appropriating not only Riverdance but Irish dancing itself, a transformative process allowing them to, as with Bluegrass music and Aussie Rules football, make something quite new. And as another quick example of multidirectional transcultural engagement and flow, Riverdance itself incorporates international dance styles on stage, including Russian folk, American tap, and the aforementioned Spanish flamenco. “Official” recognition of Riverdance’s transnational and transcultural dimensions is significant for several reasons not least because of its suggestion that the “powers that be” do not wish to enforce national and cultural borders but to instead work with a more expansive, global idea of Irish dance and perhaps even “Irishness” itself, a particularly heartening development given Ireland’s increasingly diverse population. 

But we should remember that not all transnational fandom is transcultural, and vice versa. Moreover, and evoking the debate around the value of the idea of “transnational” fandom (e.g., see Chin and Morimoto 2013 and the trio of opening statements and discussion kicking off this “Global Fandom” series) it’s not always useful to distinguish fan practices in relation to geographical border-crossings. For instance, regarding transcultural fandom, non-Irish Irish dancers do not always wish to enfold or combine local/national/regional elements into their Irish dancing/Riverdance performances or vice versa, nor indeed to suggest a sense of “Irishness”. As with much worldwide K-Pop fandom, many of these fan-dancers wish to merely signal an enjoyment, or passion, for the cultural phenomenon in question, be it Riverdance or Irish dancing (or both). 

Similarly, although speaking with reference to fannish nationalistic displays, when American fans of Niall Horan, an unabashed Irish folk-pop singer, united at a concert in Cleveland, Ohio to create a shimmering Irish tricolor (Ireland’s national flag) with their mobile phones they were not displaying the flag to signal Irish identity—though some may claim Irish heritage—nor to, momentarily, transform their national identity but to welcome, celebrate, and connect with Horan. As one fan said, “He loves his country so He will definitely appreciate it.” Yet when music fans within the Irish diaspora display Irish tricolor flags at “rebel” music events they do so to actively signal and reconfirm their Irishness, to themselves, to each other, and to the world at large. So, when The Wolfe Tones—a hugely popular “rebel” group—play venues around the world and fans bring out their Irish tricolours (and wear their Celtic football jerseys) they are doing a little more than welcoming and connecting with the band; their displays (are meant to) indicate, to celebrate, an Irish identity and a direct connection to Ireland. Further complicating our understanding of fannish nationalistic and cultural displays—flags, jerseys, and so forth—are the intergenerational fannish practices performed by Irish Nationalists in the North of Ireland. For example, at a recent Wolfe Tones concert in West Belfast fans donned Celtic football jerseys and flourished Irish tricolours, much like diasporic Wolfe Tone fans around the world. And yet these nationalistic displays were performed by Irish people on the island of Ireland, albeit a highly contested territory, one still under British colonial rule. And herein lies an example of the curiosity and complexity of thinking about fandoms viz. transnational (and transcultural) qualities in conflicted, divided territories with disputed borders, that is in places, such as Ireland, where borders often lie only in the eyes of the beholders. As we see here, Horan fans and Wolfe Tone fans use flag displays and so forth to publicly connect with their fan objects, but—by also signaling a national/cultural identity—those within the Irish diaspora and in the North of Ireland—are doing a little bit more.

As we see, studying fandom in (and orientated towards) territories marked by historical political conflict and contested national or regional borders, as in Spain and Ireland, proves a particularly rich pursuit, and like all good discussion, ours has raised more questions than it answered. 

[JDFP} I think the debate has been very fruitful and has allowed us to present a large number of representative examples from both countries, as well as many common fan phenomena. Both Spain and Ireland are two peripheral countries with significant cultural heritage that perhaps does not correspond to their media presence. Undoubtedly the migrant fan communities have helped to make these traditions visible throughout the world. However, as Ellen points out, “not all transnational fandom is transcultural, and vice versa”. That is why I think we have to pay attention to media phenomena that are capable of enhancing popular culture beyond its identity or nationalist expression. Probably the transnationality of a fan phenomenon requires the germ of one or several local communities that, without a doubt, will adapt this fandom to their own practices. While a transcultural fan phenomenon must also be based on local values that will have to be accepted and shared wherever they go. When we speak of local or global fandoms we are referring simply to the focus on the origin or current expansion of the phenomenon. The media industries cannot make a fandom global without local scale, nor can a local fandom be understood today without its global ramifications.

[EK] I have very much enjoyed the opportunity to find out more about fandom in Spain, and it is heartening to think that our discussion could have taken many other paths that would have proven just as rewarding and enjoyable. Though I do think—and especially when discussing cultural phenomena and fandom in (and adjacent to) contested territories—that issues of cultural identity are always present and felt in our discussions, even when they are (consciously or unconsciously) overlooked. Every act, as conceptual artist Daniel Burren, reminds us, “is political and, whether one is conscious of it or not, the presentation of one's work is no exception”. Moreover, I remain unconvinced of the value and merit of aspiring to the goal of transcending issues around cultural identity in our work, especially given the current state of fandom and Fan Studies. For, as Rukmini Pande previously observed, “No media text or fandom is free from issues and hierarchies of power around representations of identity, relationships, and desire.” And neither is scholarship. As with many others, I hold that fan scholars should be actively prioritizing such matters within their discussions, especially perhaps those exploring notions of “border-crossing” fandom and phenomena. Finally, I would like to express my sincerest thanks to Julian for the discussion and to Henry for the opportunity to be part of this global jamboree. 

References 

Chin, B., & Morimoto, L. H. (2013). ‘Towards a theory of transcultural fandom’. Participations, 10(1), 92-108. [Available here.]

González-Gordon Luque, M. M. (2019). Economìa y deporte. El efecto económico de los fans en el fútbol. El caso de la Liga española. Universidad Pontificia de Comillas.

Hills, M. (2002). ‘Transcultural otaku: Japanese representations of fandom and representations of Japan in anime/manga fan cultures’, Proceedings of MiT2, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, MA. May 10‐12. [Available here.]

Mestre Pérez, R. (2020). España plató de cine: claroscuros de las rutas de cine y televisión. Estudios Turísticos, nº 220 (2º S 2020), pp 9-29

[1] “Riverdance – 10 Years Documentary.” Riverdance. DVD Tyrone Productions, 2008.

[2] McAvinchey, Shane, former Riverdance troupe member. Interview. 8 Mar 2010.

[3] Brennan, Helen. (1999) The Story of Irish Dance. Kerry, Ireland: Mount Eagle Publications Ltd. (p. 152). 

[4] It is estimated that today more than twenty-five million people have seen the show, in one form or another. 

[5] The company holds open call auditions allowing worldwide fans to not only imagine/dream of becoming part of the show, but to see a route to making it happen.

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversations (Round Five): Julián de la Fuente (Spain) and Ellen Kirkpatrick (Ireland) (Part One)

Julián de la Fuente: The study of fandom finds a lot of common ground between Ireland and Spain. The identity of many fan phenomena is divided into regions, especially those that have to do with traditional culture in Catalonia, Andalusia, or the Basque Country. However, Spaniards are united in terms of international fan phenomena and media fandom. There is also a predominance of male white fandom, although there is a high visibility of fans belonging to the LGTBIQ collective, across music, cinema, or literature. However, racial diversity in fan phenomena is still very much in the minority and has even been a source of conflict in areas such as sports; where in the past Olympics, several Spanish medalists of African origin were discriminated against on social media by certain followers of the national team.

Against this background, the presence of the fan phenomenon is undeniable in mainstream sports such as soccer, basketball, or motorcycling, but also in other more minority sports such as tennis or cycling. The case of football brings together a significant number of followers, although not all of them are organized as fan communities (Luque, 2019). In some cases, these communities have a special regional component, around teams such as the Atlethic Club de Bilbao or Real Betis Balompié. In other cases, fans organize around class values, such as Atlético de Madrid. But in most cases, it is sporting achievements and famous athletes that bring fans together around the best-known teams such as Real Madrid or Futbol Club Barcelona. The last two examples represent important fandoms with international impact thanks to a broad marketing policy and the influence of the sports press. The economic influence of this sports industry means that the organization of grassroots fans with a participatory nature is very much the minority in the case of these large soccer teams.

Regarding media fan tourism, Spain shares the attractions of Ireland but not the accommodation of the fans. The influence of the screen tourist or jet-setter (Mestre, 2020) is much more diluted among the flood of international tourists that Spain receives in search of sun and sand. Even though visits to many film locations are promoted locally in tourist offices, there are still no major tourist routes to guide fans on these tours. In fact, mostly it is fans themselves who organize their own routes through the scenarios present in movies, television series, or even commercial spots. Cities like Madrid or Barcelona are very far from organizing fan tourism, despite the fact that many of the visits they receive are based on media presence. Even so, the fan tourist has been present since the 1960s in the desert of Almería and its famous western towns, which still today recall the important production focus of the Spaghetti Western. It is striking how these fan practices have been revitalized in recent years, with the reconstruction by an association of fans of the cemetery that appears in the film “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” (Sergio Leone, Italy: 1966) in the same location where the filming took place fifty years earlier. 

In summary, Ireland and Spain share sports and tourism fan phenomena, but their use is very uneven. While the sports industry has mediated fan phenomena, especially among soccer teams, the case of the screen tourist is underestimated compared to the non-specialized tourism industry. In both cases we observe a clear tension between grassroots fandom and media industries, the resolution of which may depend on the internationalization of these phenomena.

Ellen Kirkpatrick: Julián, thanks for your expansive opening statements. You make some important observations, especially regarding fandom, people, and place. It’s clear that Ireland and Spain have many commonalities when it comes to contemporary fandom, particularly around media and sports fandom. And whilst there are certainly a lot of topics we could talk about with respect to these popular fandoms, it might be useful—given the nature of this discussion series— to perhaps focus on themes circulating the multidirectional flow of global fan objects and fandoms and identity and blurry notions of border-crossing fandoms and cultural phenomena. And whilst I don’t want to focus here on the impact of historical/political legacies on fandom in our countries, I do think it’s useful to start by gesturing towards how these forces might be shaping our mediascapes and fanscapes today, particularly considering the ameliorating capacity of digital evolutions and social media to bypass borders, geographic and cultural. Can historical cultural insularity, for example, provide a lens to help fan scholars interpret the undiminishing and intergenerational popularity and resilience of traditional Irish—and Spanish— culture and its fandoms, music, sports, food, literature, and so forth? 

The Clash — Belfast 1972

A quick example: Growing up even during the tail end of the “Troubles”, I understood that few of my favorite British and International bands would play Belfast—they might come to Dublin—but those that did brave the North (usually punk, hardcore, and indie bands rather than “big name” mainstream performers) were most-beloved amongst fans. If my friends and I wanted to see live performances, we knew we’d have to travel distances, adding expense, adding barriers. (To this day, I am still surprised if I see Belfast on a tour list, and I’m sure I am not alone.) Perhaps that’s why, then as now, music fans in the North cultivate passions for both local and/or traditional and international music milieus, ensuring a vibrant local and traditional music scene. But not just music fans, fans of all sorts have had to adapt to local conditions. As we see today, the North remains marginalized with media fans having to travel to participate in events, though evolutions in digital technologies and social media may now be closing those gaps and distances.  

Expanding briefly upon these ideas, alongside political fandom, fandoms circulating traditional Irish culture offer space to express Irish cultural identity, at home and abroad. As touched upon in my opening statement, in terms of the North of the island, this provides pleasure on several fronts, pleasure from the text and pleasure in performing—usually with others—an outlawed cultural identity, a delight rooted in demonstrating intra-communal solidarity and, sometimes brazenly, resisting colonial authority. Thus, I was fascinated by your observation of regional dimensions within fandom in Spain, and I wonder how this dimensionality finds expression, and does it, as in the North of Ireland, center traditional culture and sports and cultural identity and/or politics? I was similarly drawn to your idea that global media franchises and texts unify Spaniards across regions and would love to hear more about this. In the North of Ireland, this kind of cultural border-crossing happens too, as evidenced during Belfast’s cross-community, cross-border punk scene during the 1970s and 1980s. But what about today? Moreover, how useful is a transnational lens in understanding these kinds of “border-crossing” fandoms? The concept of “transcultural homology” (Hills 2002) proves invaluable here, whereby fans prioritize fan identity over other identity vectors, such as race, gender, and, as in the case of Belfast’s troubled punks, national and cultural identity (Catholic/Nationalist and Protestant/Unionist but also Irish/British). Indeed, as I touch upon later (with reference to the Irish diaspora and fannish nationalistic displays) in contested geographical territories a transcultural frame becomes infinitely more valuable in understanding “border-crossing” fandoms in lands where geographic borders do not exist for everyone.

Global Fandom Jamboree: Ellen Kirkpatrick (Ireland)

Fandoms and Fan Studies in Ireland, North and South 

This opening statement presents a digest of prevalent fandoms and fan studies scholarship on the island of Ireland, North and South. Thus, it spotlights music, media, and sports fandoms, but food fandom and political fandom have distinct local flavors too. Analogously, fan tourism is a defining fan practice on the island and so also features in my discussion. Though referring to traditions specific to the North, I do not wish to suggest nor impose an artificial North/South binary. Rather my discussion—like the island itself—ranges across an open border, for despite a stubborn line on a map, both territories have much in common.

Racial/ethnic homogeneity provides one such site of commonality. Despite an increasingly diverse population, the island of Ireland remains a majority-white space.[1] Racial/ethnic homogeneity deleteriously frames and informs fandoms and fan studies undertaken on the isle. Thus, we find less scholarship interrogating racial dynamics—including whiteness (as the norm)—and regarding media fandom, for example, we see less racebending practices. Such work and play are not wholly absent but undoubtedly require more attention. 

British imperialism and colonialism—and their aftermaths—likewise scar the island but in different ways. Consequently, I present a brief historical-geopolitical exposition of the shared island for whilst legacies of partition do not deeply mark fandoms and their study in the Republic of Ireland, it is impossible to discuss fandom and fan scholarship in Northern Ireland without recourse to the “Troubles” and its “post-conflict” carryovers. 

Though not yet always foregrounded, these two circumstances must be born in mind when discerning the shape of fandom and fan studies on the island of Ireland.  

Historical-Geopolitical Context: An Island Divided

In 1921, the British parliament passed an Act partitioning Ireland. This Act divided the island into two separate and self-governing polities: Southern Ireland and Northern Ireland. Both territories were to remain part of the United Kingdom (UK). Southern Ireland resisted and gained its independence through the Irish War of Independence (1919-1921) becoming the Republic of Ireland (or just Ireland). In contrast, despite continuous civil unrest and inter-communal conflict, Northern Ireland remains—one century on—part of the UK. 

During the 1960s-1990s, a struggle for civil rights in the North enfolded a nationalistic desire for a (re)united Ireland; a struggle waged by Irish nationalists and republicans from within the disenfranchised Catholic community and violently suppressed by the British government and its local Unionist/Protestant government, state authorities, and security and paramilitary forces. A conflict colloquially known as the “Troubles”. The signing of the Good Friday Agreement (1998) marked the official end of the “Troubles” and Northern Ireland’s entry into a “post-conflict” era. Or so people hoped. Today, Northern Ireland experiences relative peace but the legacy of the “Troubles” and divisive events such as Brexit—the UK’s withdrawal from the European Union—continually stress and jeopardize Northern Ireland’s status as a “post-conflict” society.  

The Good Friday Agreement: A Dividing Line  

The Good Friday Agreement (1998) is a dividing line in Northern Irish fandom, particularly media fandom. For example: Being a media fan during the “Troubles” was difficult on several fronts; the Conflict dissuaded artists and shows from traveling to the North and the very real threat of bombs similarly dissuaded fans and audiences from attending the few events that did take place. People were still fans of international (mainly US) media but from afar; attention also turned to local entertainment and media. 

“Post-conflict” Northern Ireland saw an explosion in screen production (due to the “peace dividend”, for example). Creative industries flourished and continue to do so, especially television and film industries; Belfast is now often described as the “Hollywood of Europe”. Without the ceasefire, acclaimed TV shows and films—notably The Fall(2013-2016), High-Rise (2015), Derry Girls (2018-present), and Game of Thrones (2011-2019)—would simply not have been filmed in Northern Ireland. And no filming means no filming locations and no filming locations means no fan and screen tourism industry. International fans of the Titanic story, historical event and Hollywood film, would find it much harder to visit the birthplace of the ill-fated steamship. Without the Agreement, fan practices and fan studies centering the North of Ireland would look very different today. No more kitschy—yet safe—fan tourism industry and relatedly no “Troubles tourism” or “dark tourism”, another bourgeoning post-Agreement activity. 

[1] See Republic of Ireland Census 2016 and Northern Ireland Census 2011. 

The rise of media fan tourism in the “post-conflict” North mimics an established tradition in the South of the island, with both territories welcoming local and international fans to important sites. (An industry greatly impacted by the Covid-19 pandemic.) The quiet Mayo village of Cong has been ministering to fans of The Quiet Man (1952) since the mid-1950s. More recently, Skellig Michael—a rocky outcrop off the coast of County Kerry—hosts boatloads of intrepid Star Wars fans. Literary fans are also well-served in the South and increasingly in the North, and music fans too. Walking tours (DIY and guided) allow fans to visit key sites around Dublin—James Joyce’s Ulysses and Dubliners, for example—and Belfast—C.S. Lewis Square and Trail or the Van Morrison Trail. 

More generally, media fandom on the island is vibrant and thriving (online and real world). Media fans in the North today, however, appear underserviced viz. international fan conventions. Belfast and Derry—the North’s top two cities—remain provincial, absented from or on the periphery of the global convention circuit. Whilst there is local activity, home fans must still travel to Dublin or London to attend (large) events, and they do. Demand far outweighs availability: Following a four-year hiatus, Comic Con NI is set to return in 2022 and fans in the North are excited; organizers to date have sold half of all available tickets six months before launch. Recognizing this, one of Comic Con NI’s organizers observed, “Many of these big shows can be London-centric and many fans can miss out, so we are glad to be able to bring it to other regions.”

As around the Global North, the popularity of internationally-focused conventions is rooted in—and demonstrates—the dominance of US media in local media fandoms. So too music fandoms, yet home artists garner large, localized fandoms too, as with Daniel O’Donnell, Christy Moore, and more recently Denise Chaila. As elsewhere, K-pop is sweeping through the island (online and real world), coalescing around the hugely popular K-pop band, BTS and their global “ARMY” fandom. This all-island fandom is set to expand especially, perhaps, as K-pop fan and Irish representative—Sodem Solana from Dublin—took home the Grand Prize at the 2019 World K-Pop Festival. Global success conjuring another of Ireland’s lively popular music fandoms, the Eurovision Song Contest; Ireland has a record tally of seven wins and a fanbase to match.

Local music fandom can acquire a political timbre; music fans in the North often use music to express and perform “Irishness”. Irish “rebel” bands such as The Wolfe Tones, The Dubliners, or the aforementioned Christy Moore are famed for performing songs about Irish rebellions and against British domination and rule over Ireland. Thus, they are extremely popular within Nationalist/Catholic communities; Irish folk music fans from Unionist/Protestant communities can, however, find it difficult to enjoy or to support these kinds of bands, publicly.

Ties between fandoms and cultural identity (notably nationality, religion, and class) present also within sports fandoms and especially within—predominantly male—ball games fandoms, such as men’s football (soccer), men’s Gaelic games, and men’s rugby, North and South. Rugby, for instance, is felt the purview of middle- and upper-class sports fans; the national Irish rugby team has also, quite uniquely, two anthems—Amhrán na bhFiannhe (“Soldier’s Song”) and “Ireland’s Call”—in a bid to foster unity within an all-island team and its border-crossing fandom. In the North, fanbases notoriously coalesce around national/cultural identity, fostering intra-community bonds and local sectarianism. We should remember here too that fandoms do not standalone but overlap. Participating in “rebel” music fandom and Gaelic sports fandom, for example, not only helps fans in the North perform “Irishness” but buttresses their sense of being Irish (in a contested, liminal territory). Given that public demonstrations are a critical facet of identity politics, fan tourism — international and provincial — is a key element of ball games fandom.

But ball games are not alone in sporting, if you will, massive fandoms. Motorsport, especially traditional (motorcycle) road racing and car rallying, attract huge, and frequently cross-border and cross-community, fandoms too. As before, these fandoms are predominantly male. Fans heroize individual local drivers and riders, such as, from the North, the much-loved—and internationally renowned—late Joey Dunlop. Associated fan practices include traveling to national and local racing events but also buying road-legal versions of their heroes’ racing bikes (as well as race suits and helmets) and, well, illegally racing them. (Car and motorcycle fandoms are also widespread throughout the island with fans forming “owner clubs” around car makers, such as Mini or Land Rover.) 

It is unclear if these (seemingly) dominant fandoms are more popular than other fandoms or simply appear so because they are more accepted and thus more visible. (Local reporting of media fandom, for instance, remains infrequent and patronizing and tends to focus on economic benefits.) Research has been undertaken—mostly within politics or sports studies departments—exploring the intersection of ball games, cultural identity, and politics; in fact, the subject quite dominates fan scholarship on the island. Yet, whilst focusing routinely on class, religion, and nationality, ball games fan research routinely overlooks gender and race/ethnicity. But the androcentrism of ball games fandom on the island—if not sports fandom more generally—cannot be overlooked; women may and do participate, but they are often tokenized and marginalized. Racial minorities, disabled people, and queer people are similarly relegated within predominantly white, male, cishet, non-disabled ball games fandom, often establishing their own fan communities (and sports clubs).

Returning now briefly to the subject of fan scholarship on the island, as elsewhere, fan studies — pedagogy and research—is a disparate field of study. Scholars are often independent or teach and work within associated disciplines, such as Arts and Literature programs, media and cultural studies, sociology, sports studies, and—particularly those located in the North—politics. There is no all-island scholarly network as yet, but scholars may connect through global fan organizations, such as the “Fan Studies Network” or the SCMS “Fan and Audience Studies Scholarly Group”. Not unusually, there are no opportunities to teach or study programs focused solely on fandom and participatory culture. (There are, however, increasing opportunities to teach and study self-contained fan-centered modules, notably on media or sports fandom.) 

To conclude, fandom on the island, particularly in the North, is strongly shaped not only by cultural and political traditions but economic demands. Fan tourism is now big business and arguably helps secure the North’s relative and tentative peace. As can be seen, whilst fandom on the island is indubitably shaped by global forces it also retains strong local traditions and practices, again particularly in the North. Excusing the titanic pun, this outline is just the tip of the iceberg regarding fandoms and fan studies on the island of Ireland; I am looking forward to continuing and expanding this conversation, particularly with relation to tensions around transnational and transcultural fandoms/phenomena.  

Based in the North of Ireland, Ellen Kirkpatrick is an activist-writer with a PhD in Cultural Studies. In her work, Ellen writes mostly about activism, pop culture, fan cultures, and the transformative power of storytelling. She has published work in a range of academic journals and media outlets. Her forthcoming book on the radical imagination and superhero culture is slated for publication in 2022 (punctum books). Ellen can be found writing at The Break and on Twitter @elk_dash. 

[1] See Republic of Ireland Census 2016 and Northern Ireland Census 2011.

Global Fandom Jamboree: Julián de la Fuente (Spain)

My name is Julián de la Fuente and I am assistant professor at the University of Alcalá (Spain). My research is focused on the media practices of adolescents and how they organize communities for purposes such as leisure, learning or civic engagement. Thanks to my mentor, Pilar Lacasa (Lacasa, 2020 16), during a longitudinal ethnographic study we discovered the importance of fandom for many adolescents. Since then, we have carried out various researchers:

First of all, we analyzed the relationship that fans maintain with their musical idols (Lacasa et al., 2016 17) and what we found was that girls used the Internet is a meaningful space where they looked for personal contact with their favourite celebrity. We looked at the ways in which adolescents in the fan community transformed the status of the object they loved from celebrity to hero, someone in whom they developed affective attachments of admiration and love. This encouraged us to investigate the identity processes that arise from fandom (Lacasa Díaz et al., 2017 18) We looked at the role of memories in the construction of the self, from the perspective of a subjective identity in which both personal and collective dimensions are present. For fans, the celebrity was more than a musician because the music becomes a vehicle for intimacy around which the adolescent identity is organised as a way of living in and understanding the world. 

At this point, our interest turned to the civic activism of these groups through social media (Lacasa Díaz et al., 2019 19) We believe that social networks have transformed fan communities, and also teenagers' skills when it comes to managing these digital environments. The teenagers’ practices in relation to their presence in fan communities are dependent on the use of multimodal discourse, especially photography and remixes, which are associated with forms of creative expression. The study invites the reader to think about the new forms of citizenship in which young people are involved, far removed from what these concepts traditionally mean in social sciences, where they tend to be associated with adulthood.

More recently, we focus on the personal relationships of friendship that are established between members of a community (de la Fuente & Lacasa, 2020 20). We have find that contacts are sought by exploring the information provided by the participants in online and offline settings. It is this information that allows them to select who they want to interact with or which containment mechanisms they can use to avoid certain participants. However, these contacts can be established on a double level, which the researchers have called macro and micro. The macro level focusses on the broader fan community and the micro level deals with the interpersonal relationships, with interaction taking place between the two levels.

Finally, to these multiple perspectives adds the content industry, whose strategies for integrating media practices of fans are currently studying by our research group.

 Regarding fandom studies in my country, their origin are relatively recent. We could point to its takeoff during the last decade, especially associated with media studies (Prego-Nieto, 2020 15) However, fan communities could be documented since the mid-70s of the 20th century, after a military dictatorship that during 40 years limited the right of assembly of people, as well as censored access to foreign cultural content. Until well into the 21st century, most of the most popular fan phenomena were associated with content from traditional culture, such as bullfighting, religious brotherhoods, sports such as boxing or soccer, and Spanish light music.

Even today, the word fan in Spain refers to the fanatical followers of some soccer teams or to the “frikis” (sic.) geeks of certain minority content such as role-playing games, science fiction or manga (Martínez, 2020 7). I can't say that being a fan in Spain is frowned upon, but it is true that in many cases there is no strong identity for this social phenomenon. For instance, as a result of the generalized political protests throughout the country as of May 15, 2011, the “indignados” movement emerged, which has hardly been analyzed since the conception of the political fandom (Hernández-Santaolalla & Rubio-Hernández, 2017 8 ) So there is still a long way to go for these fan communities to be recognized according to their social influence. However, among the youth these conceptions are changing. Thanks to social networks, many international fan phenomena have landed in Spain (Cassany, 2018 6) participating in much wider networks and establishing links with other Spanish-speaking countries, especially in America. In this sense, the impact of globalization on Spanish fandom is undeniable, with communities especially active around phenomena such as video games, audiovisual fiction, and musical groups. Among many other international phenomena, young Spanish people participate in the K-pop fandom (Rodriguez Castillo, 2021 9), especially significant in Latin America. 

Likewise, you can highlight other phenomena international fandoms whose origins are Spanish influencers; As is the case with the Twitch Streamers, some of which are among the most viewed worldwide such as @AuronPlay or the Booktubers, which also have a large community of fans (de la Torre-Espinosa, 2019 12). In this sense, the globalization of fandom in Spain during the last decade has allowed both the introduction and export of these cultural phenomena to the whole world, especially among Spanish-speaking people.

However, the best-studied fan phenomenon in Spain, probably due to its international repercussion, is that of television series (López-Villafranca & Ruiz-Muñoz, 2017 3) The visibility of this phenomenon through social networks, together with the accessibility of these contents by TV platforms have created the conditions for a massive phenomenon whose target is also much broader than other content such as music or video games. Nevertheless, in many of these studies the social audience for these shows is confused with the development of a true community of fans.

Actually, in Spain one of the first examples of fandom on television would be the Eurovision Song Contest (EBU, 1956-current) but we would have to wait until the arrival of Game of Thrones (HBO, 2011-2019) to talk about a community of fans visible through social networks. In fact, the appearance of this fan community was encouraged during season 4 of the TV series in 2014, thanks to the creation of a transmedia strategy that under the title "Si lo vives es verdad" (If you live it, it is true) allowed fans to participate in live events, games through social networks and even star in the promotional spot of the channel that broadcast it in Spain: Canal + (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EAehXcOstGo).

This precedent in the interaction between fans and the content industry has become increasingly common, especially among national productions such as "El Ministerio del Tiempo" (RTVE, 2015-2020) whose fan community has stood out above the audience reached by this series (Torregrosa-Carmona & Rodríguez-Gómez, 2017 21) Among other unprecedent milestones in the Spanish fandom, was organizing to demand the production of a new season or the agreement reached with the producer to market the fanarts uploaded to social networks.

These same transmedia strategies have been applied to personalize the remake of other series such as SKAM Spain (Movistar +, 2018-2020) whose international fandom has had an important epicenter in Spain thanks to a community of fan girls with a civic commitment regarding sexist violence or LGTBI + rights (Gutiérrez et al., 2019 1) In this case it is noteworthy how the production company has adapted the series to the consumption of these fans, programming content at any time of day and week and even allowing fans broadcast the live experience live during a sequence specially recreated for them.

As a result of all these experiences, television series in Spain are not understood today without the creation and participation of their fandom. In fact, platforms such as Netflix have especially intensified their communication strategy in this regard (Barrientos-Báez, 2021 11) which may partly explain the success of some Spanish shows around the world such as Money Heist (2017-2021), or Elite (2018-current). These fan phenomena of Spanish origin reflect the impact that globalization has had on the appearance of the fandom in Spain. Dalí masks and the song "Bella Ciao" now serve as vindication of human rights in many parts of the world, the same as those rights are vindicated in Spain just 40 years ago. 

In conclusion, the media fandom in Spain is a relatively recent phenomenon with a clear influence from the globalization of cultural industries. However, that same globalization is what is allowing some Spanish content to generate fans beyond its borders, especially connected to Spanish-speaking followers. These participation and appropriation processes have been achieved thanks to the connivance of televisions and digital platforms that have found fans an ideal audience model for productions that, due to their limited budgets, could hardly reach prominent audiences due to lack of publicity. In the same way, fans use these cultural products symbolically to generate claims related to civic commitment and human rights, wherever their voice is not heard.

Barrientos-Báez, A. (2021). Fandom televisivo. Estudio de su impacto en la estrategia de comunicación en redes sociales de netflix television fandom. Study of its impact on the netflixs social media communication strategy. Revista de Comunicación(54), 57-79. 

Cassany, D. (2018). El fandom en la juventud española. FAD. 

de la Fuente, J., & Lacasa, P. (2020). Teens’ Fandom Communities: Making Friends and Countering Unwanted Contacts. In L. Green, Holloway, D., Stevenson, K., Leaver, T., & Haddon, L. (Ed.), The Routledge Companion to Digital Media and Children (pp. 161-173). Routledge.

de la Torre-Espinosa, M. (2019). El fenómeno Booktube, entre el fandom y la crítica literaria. Álabe(21). 

Gutiérrez, J. S., de la Fuente Prieto, J., & Borda, R. M. (2019). El ecosistema mediático juvenil en España: Un estudio de caso sobre el fandom de la serie “SKAM”. In Comunicación y pensamiento. Relatos de la nueva comunicación. (pp. 33-52). Egregius. 

Hernández-Santaolalla, V., & Rubio-Hernández, M. d. M. (2017). Fandom político en Twitter: La Cueva y los partidarios de Alberto Garzón en las elecciones generales españolas de 2015 y 2016. El profesional de la información, 26 (5), 838-849.

Lacasa Díaz, P., De la Fuente Prieto, J., García-Pernía, M., & Cortés Gómez, S. (2017). Teenagers, fandom and identity. Persona Studies, 3(2), 51-65. 

Lacasa Díaz, P., De la Fuente Prieto, J. n., Cortés Gómez, S., & García-Pernía, M. R. (2019). Adolescents as cultural activists: Remixing celebrities in fandom communities. In S. Duvall (Ed.), Celebrity and Youth(pp. 81-101). Peter Lang. 

Lacasa, P. (2020). Adolescent Fans. Peter Lang. https://doi.org/10.3726/b14291

Lacasa, P., Zaballos, L. M., & de la Fuente Prieto, J. (2016). Fandom, Music and Personal Relationships through Media: How Teenagers Use Social Networks. IASPM@ Journal, 6(1), 44-67. 

López-Villafranca, P., & Ruiz-Muñoz, M. J. (2017). La ficción televisiva española en el contexto latinoamericano (2011-2016): mercado global, narrativas transmedia y comportamientos del fandom. 

Martínez, C. (2020). Féminas del fandom: outsiders entre los outsiders. 3Acción colectiva, movilización y resistencias en el siglo XXI. Vol. 3: Estudios de caso, 61. 

Prego-Nieto, M. (2020). Tendencias epistemológicas de los fan studies en la investigación en comunicación: una propuesta de clasificación. Anàlisi(63), 101-114. 

Rodriguez Castillo, J. (2021). E K-pop y la Interacción Parasocial en España: el fenómeno fan en Instagram. 

Torregrosa-Carmona, J.-F., & Rodríguez-Gómez, E. (2017). Comunidades de fans y ficción televisiva. Estudio de caso: El ministerio del tiempo (TVE). Profesional de la Información, 26(6), 1139-1148. 

Julián de la Fuente is Assistant Professor of Audiovisual Communication the University of Alcalá, Spain. His research is multidisciplinary, sharing perspectives and approaches from psychology, anthropology, history and sociology. Often collaborating with architects, engineers and artists, he uses qualitative and ethnographic methodologies and the analysis of multimodal discourse. He has authored and co-authored numerous publications examining social media, technology and young people’s digital engagement. He has also conducted several outreach projects for film heritage.

Announcing Transforming Hollywood 9: U.S. Streaming and International Co-Productions

TRANSFORMING HOLLYWOOD 9: U.S. Streaming and International Co-Production

Come join us! Henry Jenkins and Denise Mann, co-directors of Transforming Hollywood, invite you to attend the 2021 TH9 conference on December 3, 9AM-6:30PM PST. RSVP to indicate whether you plan to attend in-person (UCLA Bridges Theater) or via zoom: https://forms.gle/3TqFf7z9no1hT4yG7 

CONFERENCE OVERVIEW: The 9th edition of the Transforming Hollywood conference examines the growing prominence of streaming services—a trend that has been accelerated by the Covid pandemic and is reshaping the world of production including international co-productions and the transnational circulation of content and talent. The popularity of streamers is blurring the distinction between cinema and television and impacting the future of the cinema theater-going experience. The changes are having global repercussions and are affecting international collaborations between creators and producers. This edition features media creators, producers, and executives in critical dialogue with top researchers who will examine the ideological challenges and financial opportunities facing local media industries from Central-Eastern Europe, Western Europe, and the Asian Pacific Rim as they forge creative partnerships with Netflix, Amazon, HBO Max, and other U.S. streaming services. The U.S. streamers are competing over high-profile, Game of Thrones-style media franchises that will engage transnational audiences, in many cases by invoking a return of the repressed using familiar Slavic mythologies inhabited by witches, Sylvan, Kikimora monsters, and Dopplers from the Grishaverse and East Asian mythologies populated by ghosts, vampires, and other tortured souls returning from the afterlife. Local media companies are promoting themselves by providing access to high-tech studios, otherworldly locations, and skilled, inexpensive, labor. The latter includes virtual LED studios using game engine technologies to deliver digitally-generated landscapes and VFX workers with the proven ability to render a multitude of magical creatures to attract transnational audiences. Meanwhile, global fans from diverse territories celebrate their knowing recognition of these aesthetic traditions from the past, many of which invoke the reactionary policies of older, authoritarian regimes while invoking progressive critiques of contemporary post-colonial oppression, which they lovingly detail in their blogs, channels, and wikis. This year’s conference engages with these and other thorny issues that require local media industries to navigate a minefield of socio-economic, cultural-industrial, and ideological battle lines in order to take advantage of the infusions of capital associated with the current streaming wars. 

SCHEDULE:

CO-DIRECTORS’ INTRODUCTORY REMARKS: 9AM-9:30AM.

Denise Mann, Professor, Cinema and Media Studies, UCLA and Henry Jenkins, Provost’s Professor of Communication, Journalism, and Cinematic Arts, USC Annenberg School of Communication

PANEL ONE: 9:30AM-11:20AM PST/6:30PM-8:20PM (France). “‘It's (not) so French.’” French productions in the age of global streaming”

MODERATOR:

Violaine Roussel, Professor, University of Paris VIII and Affiliated Scholar, UCLA TFT

PANELISTS:

·      Isabelle Degeorges, President, Gaumont Television France (zoom)

·      Daniela Elstner, Executive Director, UniFrance Film International (in person)

·      Christophe Riandee, Vice CEO of Gaumont (zoom). 

·      Ana Vinuela, Associate Professor, University Sorbonne Nouvelle, Paris (in person)

PANEL ONE OVERVIEW: France is known for its distinctive film tradition and festivals such as Cannes, but also for the protective regulations and the state subsidies to its cinema—this being part of a European strategy to preserve the diversity of content and local culture heritage within its borders. How is the rapid expansion of streaming services changing the situation? A show such as Lupin on Netflix illustrates the success of content that reaches beyond just local audiences, while being based on an iconic character of the French popular culture. The panelists will question what makes French content and talent travel internationally today. We will shed light on new forms of transnational collaborations in the production and dissemination of content, discussing the effects of local arrangements and regulations as well as the disruptive force that are the streaming giants.

BREAK: 11:20AM-11:30AM

PANEL TWO: 11:30AM-1:20PM PST/8:30PM-10:20PM (Poland). “Netflix’s The Witcher: Runaway Productions in Central-Eastern European Locales”

MODERATOR: 

Denise Mann, Professor, Cinema and Media Studies, UCLA 

PANELISTS:

·      Anikó Imre, Professor, School of Cinematic Arts at USC, Los Angeles (in person)

·      Sylwia Szostak, Assistant Professor, University of Silesia in Katowice (zoom, Warsaw)

·      Mateusz Tokarz, Senior VFX supervisor at Platige Image (zoom, Warsaw) 

PANEL TWO OVERVIEW: This panel examines the latest wave of runaway production as U.S. streamers are drawn to Eastern European capitals, such as Budapest, Prague and Warsaw, which offer lucrative, tax rebates; skilled, inexpensive labor forces; and reduced workplace and environmental regulations. At the same time, these post-socialist vistas provide backdrops for ancient legends and mythical, VFX-generated creatures far removed from contemporary reality. Budapest has been used for several high-profile streaming originals, including Netflix’s The Witcher, which is based on Polish fantasy writer Andrew Sapkowski’s popular book series and the adapted popular video game, and was shot primarily in Hungary in and around Mafilm Studios near Budapest. Cultural-industrial, socio-economic, and ideological paradoxes abound given that so many of these state-influenced media outlets are controlled by far-right governments that are willing to court the neoliberal, global capitalism favored by their U.S. financial partners in order to access the economic windfall stemming from the U.S. streaming wars. Many of these “history-fantasy cocktails” deliver a postmodernist mélange of possible interpretations for distinct taste cultures that the U.S. streamers are uniquely qualified to bundle given their mastery of automated curation and data management technologies.

LUNCH BREAK: 1:20PM-2:30PM.  See UCLA map for dining options on campus.

PANEL THREE: 2:30-4:20PM PST. Transcultural Fandom in the Age of Streaming Media 

MODERATOR:

Henry Jenkins, Provost’s Professor of Communication, Journalism, and Cinematic Arts, USC Annenberg School of Communication

PANELISTS:

·      Abigail De Kosnik, Associate Professor and Director of the Berkeley Center for New Media, University of California, Berkeley (in person).

·      Susan Kresnicka, Business anthropologist and Founder/President, KR&I (in person)

·      Hye Jin Lee, Clinical Assistant Professor of Communication, USC Annenberg (in person)

·      Aswin Punthabaker, Associate Professor, Department of Media Studies, University of Virginia.  (zoom, Virginia)

PANEL THREE OVERVIEW: Streaming services have impacted the circulation and consumption of media content around the world. Did fan subbing and “piracy” pave the way for these new circuits? How has the mass availability of such content reshaped old fan and audience practices? What audiences are most ready to engage with transnational and transcultural content and why? How does consuming media content change the ways consumers think about the cultures from which it originated? Do these new audiences prefer “odorless” content or are they becoming “pop cosmopolitans”? Is this a new form of cultural imperialism producing a monoculture or does the system depend upon diverse styles and genres from the participating countries? Does this content still rely on well-trod trade routes and diasporic communities or are new contact zones between countries emerging?

BREAK (4:20PM-4:30PM)

PANEL FOUR: 4:30-6:20PM PST/7:30-9:20AM (Singapore). “Logistical Underworlds of HBO Asia’s Streaming Originals” 

MODERATOR:

Jasmine Nadua Trice, Associate Professor, Cinema and Media Studies, UCLA 

PANELISTS:

·      Garon de Silva, Vice President, Original Production, HBO Asia (zoom, Singapore)

·       Ler Jiyuan, showrunner, writer-director, HBO Asia series (Invisible Stories; Grisse), (zoom, Singapore)

·      Olivia Khoo, Associate Professor in Film and Screen Studies at Monash University (zoom, Melbourne). 

·      Michael Wiluan, CEO Infinite Studios, Executive Producer (Grisse, Halfworlds) (zoom, Singapore). 

PANEL FOUR OVERVIEW: This panel examines HBO Asia’s Streaming Originals by exploring the complex negotiation between the physical spaces of film production and the pro-filmic fantasy worlds they enable. For HBO Asia’s Streaming Originals, on-screen narratives present efforts at pan-Southeast-Asian place-making, with casts from across the region switching between English and Asian languages, within stories that negotiate regional mythologies and globalized genre conventions. But their geographic specificity emerges not through diegetic worldmaking, but in the extra-textual, material conditions of production—specifically, through the locations that their narratives seek to transform. The panel focuses on two shows, in particular, the anti-colonial “mee goreng western” Grisse, set in 19th-century Java and shot at Infinite Studios in the Free Trade Zone of Batam, Indonesia; and Halfworlds, an auteur-helmed supernatural action thriller shot at Infinite Studios, as well as Jakarta (Season 1) and Bangkok (Season 2). As HBO Asia’s then director of production Garon De Silva describes, “We discovered that despite different culture and languages in Asia, they shared common beliefs in supernatural creatures…we aim to bring Asian stories together for a global audience.”  On the one hand, such programs are creative opportunities for media practitioners within the region, who may find pockets of creative agency within global media industries; on the other, such shows are tasked with the unwieldy goals of simultaneous cultural authenticity, universal appeal, and regional interchangeability. 

Global Fandom Jamboree Conversations (Round Four): Ivveta Jansová and Hattie Liew (Part Two)

Iveta Jansová:

Thank you for the new series of inspiring inputs. The latent "monoculturality" partly reflecting the socialist times (meaning the Czechoslovakian performance of socialism) is indeed something that is inscribed to the mainstream culture to this day. Exemplar in this context is TV and movie production in which we can see only very little diversity in depicted identities (e.g., race, sexuality, etc.). With the content being also often apolitical, it is not surprising that we identify a cleavage between contemporary fandoms, which are more internationally oriented and more common for younger audiences, and "older fandoms," inextricably marked by the socio-political history of the region. However, it is impossible to make such a clear (and in a way generalizing) division; it is only illustrative here because we know that one person can mix different interests, fandom belongings, and tastes.

 Concerning the contemporary "outward-looking fandoms," I would like to shortly come back to a topic we both touched upon – the recent popularity of K-Pop and Korean production abroad. I am mentioning this in the context of the record-breaking Korean TV series Squid Game, which became a hit in more than 80 countries worldwide. It also currently holds a position in the top ten watched in Czechia. It is the first Korean production to get in the first place of the top ten on the Czech Netflix ever. Moreover, we can already witness Czech children dressing as characters from the series, series of memes, satire, etc. I am interested in how Czech audiences will appreciate, and in cases of fans maybe appropriate, the TV series further on. Moreover, in the context of Netflix not being that widespread among Czech audiences and deeply habitualized downloading of desired content.

My final point deals with your elaboration on microcelebrity in fandom as unremarkable and something almost anybody can engage. Your argument shows the contemporary user practices' performative nature in general. Consequently, it seems to be utilized by fans as some new kind of fan practice, as you indicated. Further inquiry into this topic, which could be significantly influenced by the locality of such a practice, contrary to other examples we discussed, would be fascinating. 

Hattie Liew:

Thanks so much for your response. While I don’t have specific questions in mind this time round, I do find some things that you mentioned throughout our conversation quite interesting. The first is that you mentioned several times that music and music fandom are quite different from TV and movie fans (for e.g. in mobilization of fans) in Czechia. Of course, the nature of the object of fandom itself produces different kinds of fans and fan practices, but this got me thinking “how different?”. One would assume that with TV and movies, there would be more “raw material” to work with, with complex characters and relationships, time for more themes to develop, entire fictional worlds, and a whole cast of celebrities, which seems to be a prerequisite for developing a transformative fandom so to speak. In Singapore, this assumption seems to be true, as the more rich fan practices seem to be from fans of video games, film and TV, perhaps with the exception of K-pop music (again!).

 The second thing I noticed was that in Czechia, there seems to be quite a vibrant culture for fan festivals. Some of those you mentioned throughout our conversation include Festival Fantazie, Co.con and Utubering. You also mentioned that they are Czech-organized. I found this quite novel, as despite certain similarities in the fandoms in Czechia and Singapore, we never quite developed such an appetite for fan festivals. Of course there are fan festivals – Youtube Fanfest Singapore and Singapore ComicCon are some well known examples. However, the former is an “imported” global event organized by Youtube, while the latter is hosted with the support of the Infocomm Media Development Authority and the Singapore Tourism Board. While there is no doubt that fans in Singapore do enjoy these festivals very much, it is very much different in essence from the festivals in Czechia, which I understand to be a more ground-up and localized effort. 

 With such a thriving culture for fan fests, I wonder how fans in Czechia have been coping with the current covid pandemic, since many events in 2020 and 2021 have been cancelled or moved online. For us, Singapore ComicCon was cancelled in 2020 and has been moved online for Dec 2021, and the good thing out of this situation is more inclusivity, as entrance to the virtual festival will be free. However, we’ll have to wait and see how such virtual fan festivals pan out without the in-person elements that fans enjoy the most like cosplaying, networking with other fans and celebrity sightings. 

Iveta Jansová:

As an outline for my closing words, I will use your final questions in the third installment of our conversation. Our discussion revealed some apparent similarities and differences between our contexts. While the Czech environment is still very much influenced by the socio-political past, we do not see such an impact in the Singaporean context. While in the Singaporean case, the TV series, movies, and video games are sources of various rich fan practices, this is not the case in Czechia. We see only negligible manifestations of fan creativity around local entertainment media. Slightly different is the case with music that, as you suggested, warrants a different set of fan practices. Not only is it connected to the various “texture” of the subjects/objects of interest, but it can be once again connected to the past. Music was a source for subculture identities offering a space of resistance (see my mentions about rich fanzine culture history). From a different point of view, certain conservativity of the Czech entertainment industry (and consequently of some audiences) allows for several artists from before 1989 (the fall of communism in the area) to still ride out their success (often a few popular songs) thirty years on, singer Michal David being a prime example here. 

Michal David

 In my last point, I will react to your inquiry into the vibrant culture of fan festivals in Czechia. Despite being such a small country, we have a rich set of regionally organized festivals and conventions. The pandemic halted any live events, and most of the more significant events ceased their existence for a year. Some of them are continuing with the hiatus until further notice. However, if we look at the “usual business,” we see that even though the Czech festivals stem from the efforts of local fans and offer a space for some local fan interests (as I suggested in my opening statement), they still predominantly address international objects/subjects of such an interest. This tension between locality and globality among Czech fans illustrates how challenging this topic is in various contexts and how important it is to bring it up in our international scholarly conversations.

Hattie Liew:

Once again, thank you so much for the lovely conversation and sharing your knowledge and experiences with fan culture in Czechia. As I admittedly do not know much about Czechia’s culture and media industries, it has indeed been inspiring to gain some insights on the media scene and fandoms there. As we close this series, I am heartened to know that despite geographical, historical and cultural differences, Singapore and Czechia share similarities in their small, diverse, outward-oriented groups of fans. As with many places across the globe, the addition of the Korean pop culture fans into the mix has made things rather interesting. You mentioned Squid Game being the first Korean production to reach the top 10 in Czechia. I’m looking forward to hearing more in future about your observations and research on the fandoms that surround Squid Game and other k-pop/k-drama. 

 As someone who is from Asia, I have frequently observed the idea of “cultural proximity” being used to explain the success of Korean cultural exports and the quick rise of fandoms around them in Singapore. While the actual picture is more complex, cultural proximity no doubt contributes to the quick adoption of Korean pop culture, at least for some segments of the population. In a context like Czechia, where this cannot be used as an argument for the formation in kpop/kdrama fandoms such as that of Squid Games, future research from you and your counterparts would certainly be an interesting addition to the discussion on K-fandom!