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If the Feiticeiro/a character is to be seen as a structure rather than a substance, the nature of such a structure requires elaboration. If this paradigm is to be internally coherent, a relation of intertwined co-existence between characters and audiences should be built into the framing in ways that provide functional epistemic signposts for mechanisms to translate characters’ intrinsic complexity to these audiences. This chapter approaches this by accounting both for the particularly visual nature of the filmic medium and for how screenplays are not a visual medium themselves and are put to different uses than other forms of narrative writing, therefore requiring distinctive attributes. An orientational notion of relationship between medium and audience is suggested as a foundation for the structure of Feiticeiro/a characters in terms of the philosophical distinction between ‘being’ and ‘appearance’, on the basis of which decisions might be made as to which elements of the character’s constitution should be made apparent and which should either remain invisible or intentionally be obfuscated.

The categories for ‘perversion’ in the World Health Organization’s ICD fail to describe people and their practices, thereby obscuring the remarkable singularity of individuals and diversity of groups. Instead, they prescribe heteronormative sexual behaviour, which is unhelpful as a foundation for the Feiticeiro/a character. This chapter explores an alternative epistemic construct, as becomes available in the notion of a focalising character, which reflects a ‘semic’ construct that negates the notion of a ‘pervert’ character as a substance, but instead embraces the notion of a Feiticeiro/a character as a structure. The chapter further explores the philosophical nature of this structure as it relates to the thematic elements of a narrative whilst engaging in believable activities in a material world. The chapter then suggests an approach to structure based in a phenomenological notion of the replacement of ‘substance’ with ‘form’/‘structure’ as the foundation of meaning.

An episteme for the Feiticeiro/a as a filmic character who is ‘perverse’ needs a form if it is to be useful to writers wanting to construct complex transgressive sexual characters. The beginnings of this framing are productively associated with the semiotic notion of ‘connotation’. This chapter explores what is meant by complexity in character construction and suggests a framing focused on character as an embodied being as a helpful starting-point for an episteme for characterological ‘perversion’. The chapter explores this as a non-foundationalist framing that transcends problematic Cartesian distinctions, concrete object materiality and woolly broad-stroke statements of a disembodied discursive constitution of social and personal experience.

If the Feiticeiro/a as a psychologically defined and complex character is to be seen as an embodied form/structure (not substance) that exists in dialectical relationships between self, other and discursive constructions of society, a clearer indication should be made about what kinds of behaviours or actions he/she should engage in. This chapter explores how psychiatric diagnostic criteria fail to provide assistance, despite professing to authoritatively mark stable, reliable and accurate epistemic boundaries to sexual activity. The chapter thereby addresses questions of the description of actions versus the demarcation of thoughts, objects, feelings and time as invisible and abstracted notions that are virtually the opposite of what is useful for an episteme for the Feiticeiro/a. It also approaches how the diagnostic criteria codify ‘perverse’ activity in determinist terms, thereby insidiously refusing an epistemic construct of action into which is built an acknowledgement of the behaviours of the Feiticeiro/a as a complex subjectivity.

Computational algorithmic thinking (CAT) is the ability to design, implement, and assess the implementation of algorithms to solve a range of problems. It involves identifying and understanding a problem, articulating an algorithm or set of algorithms in the form of a solution to the problem, implementing that solution in such a way that the solution solves the problem, and evaluating the solution based on some set of criteria. CAT is an important scaffolded on-ramp as students develop more advanced computational thinking capabilities and apply computational thinking to solve problems that are more constrained and require greater expertise. Supporting Computational Algorithmic Thinking (SCAT) is both a longitudinal between-subjects research project and a free enrichment program supporting and guiding African-American middle school girls over three years as they iteratively design a set of complex games for social change. This article explores Scholars' reflections about the difficulties they faced while using CAT capabilities as they engaged in collaborative game design for social change over those three years. We particularly focus on how these difficulties changed over the course of three years as well as new difficulties that emerged from year to year as Scholars become more expert game designers and computational algorithmic thinkers.

Western art history long refused to recognize the historicity of Indigenous art, seeing it instead as a "primitive" mode of human expression. While the dynamism of Indigenous creation since the 1960s has made such an assertion impossible, the institutional recognition given contemporary Indigenous art in the art world is paradoxically accompanied by a lack of critical and theoretical analysis. Today, there is a genuine ignorance concerning Indigenous conceptions of history-their "regime of historicity"-on the part of Western art historians. This is all the more surprising given the recent "temporal turn" taken by the discipline, which emphasizes the question of mixed temporalities without acknowledging it as an essential dimension of Indigenous art. This paper revisits Western art history's long-standing denial of the historicity of Indigenous art, and then considers its current disregard for the ways Indigenous art allows different forms of temporality to coexist. The underlying thesis of the essay is that today's disinterest is, in fact, a prolongation of yesterday's denial.

Rapport commandé par le Conseil des arts de Montréal

This article considers the way certain Indigenous artists are reviving conceptions of territory and history that are anchored in secular epistemologies and the construction of knowledge. Such conceptions provide a way for these artists to respond to colonial appropriation, reactivate interrupted dialogues, engender new forms of territorialization, and create places of commemoration and memory preservation. Similar to the historiographical deconstruction performed by thinkers and activists such as Vine Deloria Jr. and Taiaiake Alfred, these artists’ works offer a model of autonomy and environmental balance. While some are reviving mnemonic practices, such as the making of wampum, which traditionally preserve memories of alliances and conflicts, others have embraced Internet and selfie technologies as a means of creating new spaces for speech and recognition

This poignant assertionby acclaimed actor Viola Davis, star of the series How to GetAway with Murder (ABC, 2014-), during her Emmy acceptance speechwent viral and becamethe flashpoint for heated discussion about contemporary television’s representational practices. The statement draws attention to questions of taste, what is acknowledgedby the industry and audiences as quality television and the political economy of thecontemporary industry. This moment in television history, with its attendant socialmedia afterlife, captures the key elements I wish to explore in this chapter: represen-tations of women of colour, production practices and viewer responses. As Viola Davisnotes in the quote above, the contemporary US television landscape offers limited rolesfor people of colour. The few shows starring people of colour have become the focus ofintense social media exchanges. In this chapter, I will explore how televisual womenof colour have become a key site from which viewers assert a possessive investmentof racialised identity. By focusing on social media responses, I delineate the ways inwhich viewers invest symbolic and literal ownership over these representations.Through such a multifaceted examination, this essay aims to elaborate how women ofcolour are accommodated within the concept of television for women, a term inter-rogated in this volume. In addition, I illustrate the ideological instability of the term‘women of colour’ and the capaciousness of the concept ‘television for women’.

What are the implications of freedom and agency when a player exercises agency to prevent another player or a non-player character fromacting freely? Such a scenario, taken to an extreme, would be that of slavery and in turn, would raise questions about the nature of freedom itself. Video games have recently begun to address questions of slavery in earnest although academic discussions on games have not yet caught up: the presence of slavers in Fallout 3, the portrayal of racism in Bioshock Infinite (Irrational Games 2014) and the direct depiction of the Caribbean slave trade in Assassin’s Creed: Freedom Cry (Ubisoft 2013) are extremely appropriate cases in point. This article compares the representation of slavery in video games to that of slave narratives in earlier media in order to examine how effectively digital games are able to convey the horrors of slavery as a human condition and what they can teach about the notion of human freedom and agency per se.

Cet article propose une étude comparative de la première saison de la série policière québécoise primée 19-2 (Ici Radio-Canada Télé, 2011-2015) et de son adaptation canadienne anglophone (Bravo, 2014-). L’étude des deux séries 19-2 permet d’investiguer, à travers un exemple récent, le processus d’adaptation télévisuelle au Canada. Les similitudes narratives et esthétiques entre les deux séries sont tout d’abord brièvement présentées: l’histoire et les arcs narratifs sont quasi identiques, la plupart des personnages conservent les mêmes noms, sans compter que les stratégies narratives marquantes de cette œuvres ont été pour la plupart reproduites dans la nouvelle version. Ces deux œuvres, appréhendées en tant que « performances » distinctes, sont ensuite analysées à travers le prisme du genre. L’analyse de quelques scènes clés et arcs narratifs permettra de démontrer que ces deux productions sont très différentes en ce qui concerne leur construction narrative de masculinités télévisées – particulièrement leur négociation différentielle de conceptions hégémoniques des identités – et leur représentation des rapports hommes-femmes.

Within Spoken Soul, better known as Ebonics, the term down can be used as an adjective to describe a person that willingly yields a tremendous amount of support to another person. The “Down Ass Bitch” (DAB) is a controlling image of the black woman that calls for her unwavering support of the black man, even when it is pernicious to her best interest. In fact, we can see this in the black community on many levels: (1) from black women faithfully waiting years for men to be released from prison; (2) hiding domestic abuse or rape at the hands of black men for the sake of protecting the race; or (3) sexually exploiting our bodies for the financial benefit of black men. However, what is most interesting about this particular stereotype of the black woman being “down” for her man is that this is not an expectation that is asked of the black man. It is this author’s contention that the “Down Ass Bitch” is obsequious to the powers of black men— though she is portrayed as being strong, aggressive, and assertive. Essentially, the “Down Ass Bitch,” a highly celebrated image in the black community, is the black version of the submissive white woman, the Eurocentric construction of the idealized womanhood. Various controlling images of black womanhood— such as the mammy, the jezebel, and the welfare queen— served as justifications for the oppression of black women and have been discussed significantly by scholars.

In this chapter we analyze three reality TV (RTV) shows whose main characters do not fit the old movie stereotypes of dark-skinned maternal Mammies, bossy, brown Sapphires or light-skinned sexy Jezebels. Many RTV shows with black cast members are falling back on such stereotypical representations. In contrast, the female characters we analyze are smart and sophisticated, and they live in multi-racial environments. Hence, the primary mediarelated question we address concerns how one slice of black motherhood is represented. The social question we address concerns the extent to which the character presentations actually point to social progress, with diverse symbols and meaning making of real life, or are they as artificial and stereotypical— perhaps in new ways— as the old portrayals?

In recent years, scripted television has been joined by a more “realistic” look into peoples’ lives— reality television. Reality television claims to give viewers an unmediated glimpse into how real people live. The “realness” of reality television invokes controversy by providing a voyeuristic and potentially exploitive look into people’s lives. As the genre has matured, shows that offer insight into communities that are systemically underrepresented have become common. Indicative of this trend are shows that depict the lives of African Americans and opportunistically exploit representations of black culture for drama, ratings, and profit. One network that has taken considerable advantage of this is VH1— first, with the success of Flavor of Love and its spinoffs, then more recently with shows such as Basketball Wives and Love and Hip Hop. In fact, the excessive amount of fighting among Black women on Basketball Wives led to a boycott of the show, which prompted creator Shaunie O’Neal to promise less violence in its next season. Akin to Basketball Wives , Love and Hip Hop Atlanta exemplifies the trend of exploiting black culture. As members of the black community, we find ourselves both intrigued and troubled by the implications of the show. Capturing the essence of our paradoxical interpretation of Love and Hip Hop Atlanta — as one of many reality television shows that simultaneously reproduces and challenges negative stereotypes about blackness— are contradictory headlines such as “The 21 Most Ratchet Women of Black Reality TV,” “How Reality TV has Changed our Daughters,” and “Wealthy Reality Stars Humanize Black Women.”

Jones’ comments reflect a general consensus among TV critics and viewers that: 1) the black women who command the most attention on reality television tend to portray stereotypical, Sapphire-like characters; 2) as audiences consume such portrayals, there is a consistent line of argument from producers that insists “pitting [black women] against each other” is expected or “what the people want;” and 3) black female reality TV stars are willing to indulge the Sapphire fantasy if it means they will be able to further a personal and/or professional agenda. These are important themes to interrogate, especially given the history of mass mediated representations of black Americans, as well as the present-day “evolution” of black characters and other characters of color on unscripted and scripted American television. However, because attention is primarily focused on arguably “negative” portrayals, there has not been much critical analysis of “alternative” or more nuanced portrayals of black women in the televisual sphere. This chapter represents an attempt to fill in some of that blank space by focusing attention on an underexplored and relatively new consortium of reality television programming that features black women who are defined by their roles as mothers and entrepreneurs.

The display of spirituality, faith and religion is not a new phenomenon among black women in the United States, nor is it new to the world of media. Africans came to the Americas with their own sense of spirituality and religion, and the awareness of a higher being became the mortar that bound the community together during the trials of enslavement and subsequent oppression. Not surprisingly, this legacy of worship continues to provide solace and strength, with black women at the helm.

It is near impossible to have a discussion of black women in reality television without mentioning the infamous Angry Black Woman (ABW). In fact, some critiques have argued reality television is damaging for black women since many shows focus heavily on this character. 1 This stereotypical characterization of black women is long-standing, due largely to its constant inclusion in media messages. As noted in chapter one, audiences were first officially introduced to her in the 1920s as Sapphire Stevens from the Amos ‘n’ Andy Show ; and her character continued to resurface throughout the years, across several different genres. Despite the many time periods through which this image has traveled, the key characteristic of the Sapphire— her unexplainable anger and aggression— seem to resonate in many modern day images of black women.

Reality programs rose to prominence based on claims that the shows depicted “real life,” but in recent years many shows have come under fire for being anything but “reality.” Orbe (1998) suggests viewers are drawn to such programs based on the notion that they show “real people in everyday interactions,” and there is a certain level of “unpredictability that comes with reality.” However, what has become predictable and potentially problematic, over the past two decades, are the negative stereotypes associated with African American women on these programs. This skewing of reality is particularly significant when we consider the limited opportunities these shows provide viewers to witness the many facets of black womanhood. From the head-bobbing and finger-waving of Alicia Calaway on season two of the hit show Survivor to the on-and-off-air mudslinging between Kenya Moore and NeNe Leakes of Real Housewives of Atlanta fame, black women are portrayed as disloyal, bitchy, lazy, difficult to work with, and a threat to others.

Although African-American women are still underrepresented in narrative television, reality television appears to be a site where one can find many portrayals of them. As other scholars have explained, the representations of African American women in reality television are usually negative, generally presenting them as loud, angry, and without “class.” However, there has been little research on the complicated relationships of black motherhood, black wifehood, and their portrayals on reality television. One black mother who illustrates this tense interaction is Tameka “Tiny” Harris, nee Cottle, formerly of the 1990s girl group Xscape, and star of two reality television programs— BET’s Tiny & Toya , and VH1’s T.I. and Tiny: The Family Hustle . Though both programs prominently feature Cottle, BET’s program constructs Tiny as an emotionally strong and pragmatically capable business woman who maintains the emotional health and financial stability of her family while her relational partner/husband, rapper Tip “T.I.” Harris, is serving time in prison. However, upon T.I.’s return home, The Family Hustle presents Tiny as having little business savvy and as overly permissive with their blended family. This is a dangerous portrayal, given that reality TV purports to disseminate some version of “reality” to its viewers.

Tyra Banks, supermodel and producer, is the creator of the reality show America’s Next Top Model ( ANTM ), which is now in its twenty-second cycle, and features contestants who present themselves to a panel of judges for modeling critique. ANTM has been nominated for twenty-nine awards, including the GLAAD Media Award and Image Award, and the show has received five awards in 2009 from the Teen Choice Award and the Director’s Guild of America Award. Further, ANTM is currently shown in over 120 countries. The winner of each cycle receives a featured spread in a magazine, a modeling contract with a prominent agency, and a $100,000 modeling contract from a cosmetics company. In 2005, however, there was an infamous episode— dubbed the “Tyra Tyrade,” —where Tyra Banks yelled at a contestant whom she had just eliminated from the show. This episode was parodied more than any other ANTM episode, with the penultimate parody shown on a 2007 episode of Family Guy (a primetime cartoon television show with millions of viewers each week), where Tyra turns into a lizard and eats the model. While this episode is now nine years old, parodies from as recently as 2014 continue to live on and, as we argue, perpetuate negative stereotypes of black womanhood, particularly as related to the Sapphire mediated stereotype— loud, bossy, angry black woman. From the various interpretations of the “Tyra Tyrade,” it is clear that those who created the parodies covertly and overtly ventured into maintaining white supremacist stereotypes of black womanhood— where one is supposed to be beautiful, a jezebel, or a mammy, but not a Sapphire. Continuing the marginalizing mediated tradition, in almost every parody, the Tyra character becomes the object of ridicule for being “excessively black” and outside the parameters of her hegemonically prescribed role, because she demonstrated negative emotions resulting in an assertion of her power as the expert.