Borders are the logistical mechanics of separation. In the absence of clear geographic boundaries they are little more than arbitrary divisions of space—legal fictions producing territorialized landscapes with frustratingly real consequences for the humans and nonhumans who must cross them. Sometimes porous and permeable, they can rapidly ossify into rigid and resistant markers of permanent exclusion. Perhaps the most dramatic imagination of the absurdity of these fictions is given by China Miéville’s account of the vaguely Balkan cities of Besźel and Ul Qoma in The City and the City (2009). Evoking something akin to (but different from) the absurd division of Berlin or the markers carving up Jerusalem, the mirrored cities of the book are just as evident in the class divisions of everyday urban life—neighborhoods unvisited, people unseen.
It is clear to anyone who has viewed one of the (now three) adaptations of La Planète des Singes (1963) that there is something important about the presentation of this particular moment in the evolution of the apes (and of ape society). The gripping visuality of ape on horseback is both explicitly evocative of a deliberately intentional meaning and promiscuously open to all manner of polysemiotic purchase.
Whether or not Batgirl’s new outfit trades one representational trope for another, there is no denying that it is noticeably more sensible—the kind of thing you could imagine putting together at the mall in short notice. As long as you have a cape, a mask, a utility belt, some leather friendly paint, and can cut a mean stencil.
Sitting and talking and eating and chewing and swallowing creates a familiar situation that’s full of minor distractions and opportunities for bits of business, creating a relaxed setting for great speeches to seem completely unrehearsed. Characters passing time together in a living room or bedroom or parked car changes the nature of the conversation—great speeches can be delivered anywhere, but in those non-table situations, the characters are somewhat deliberately choosing to remain together long enough to discuss something, and we’re subconsciously aware there’s nothing keeping them there. They could up and leave without much consequence, as opposed to abandoning a meal half-eaten, or uneaten, which makes a relatively big statement.
Fraggle Rock is a world of the radish. The Gorg grow them (for their anti-invisible “youth and beauty cream”). The Doozers mine them (for their elaborately industrious constructions). And the Fraggles eat them (either raw, or after they’ve been shaped into Doozer sticks). As the Doozer Cotterpin says: “Architecture was meant to be enjoyed.”
Although we have only few details from the film, it will be interesting to see if *Jurassic World* inherits more, as it seems to, from the contemporary pattern and practice of first-rate zoos than from the safari-esque animal park of the original. I’m also keen to see if they have spared any expense with regard to the development of their park management software.
Unlike their competitors, the Marvel Universe has long inhabited geographies more familiar to us than Metropolis, Gotham, or Smallville. While these spatial constraints may contribute to a less fantastical and fluid environment, it also helps to ground characters in contemporary culture, politics, and place. Trends towards urbanization and gentrification impact superhero and citizen alike, and this spatial consistency has produced groupings of characters who frequently interact in their respective geographies. And it should be no surprise that New York, even without its secret identity as Gotham, is the most super city.
A map which imagines a city where every movie takes place.
At turns wonderfully evocative, spectacularly heavy-handed, and frustratingly impotent. Bong Joon-ho’s Snowpiercer (2013) skillfully realizes a fantastically dystopian setting drawn from the French graphic novel Le Transperceneige (1982) where all of humanity lives on a single train powered by an eternal engine. Within, the temporary institution of the certain kind of class which accompanies our travels embraces its etymological fullness, as the materially oppressive confines of humanity’s daily life.
