TABLE OF CONTENTS

PRINT January 1981

IN BETWEEN THE DARK AND THE LIGHT (Television/Society/Art: A Symposium)

The above was taken <em>directly from the announcement for the symposium, which consisted of three parts “Television and Social Communications,” Friday October 24, “Television an Art,” Saturday, October 25, “Television and Ideology,” Sunday, October, 26.</em>

SINCE NO ONE BELIEVES in the power of suggestion anymore, I won’t make too much of Halloween’s proximity to the Symposium. I’ll just say boo to clear the air for a moment before the demons return. It takes a while to even identify them. They know so much about this business of seduction, this stroking of foolish strains. They were at it even before there was Television, a hard-to-imagine era. Imagining aside . . .

Television got top billing in a title that reads—“Television/Society/Art: A Symposium.” And when those first words appear as three little terms of endearment enticing wisemen not fools to rush in—this spells caution: a heady title is giving off the fumes embottled in the event’s generic term, symposium. To give credit where credit is due, the event’s organizer, Ron Clark, had shown the way, frequently pointing out—“The O.E.D.’s number one definition of symposium is a drinking bout.” Bout, indeed!

The cry of exclamation is justified by sheer numbers, some 22 hours of talk led by 22 panelists. Or, consider three days spent bracing up for the next round of six eight ten panelists delivering their thoughts on Television’s social and artistic aspects; of audience members coming forward with their own and related concerns; of the spontaneous crosswinds that ensue when people bring a well-laid plan to life. With Television cornering the market on life and numbers—assuming it’s got yours—there comes a historical question. An answer would trace network television advancing across all the horizons, come to dominate the present historical moment in a way no other reproduceable medium ever has. No doubt, this sobering feature of the electronic era is in part what lay behind the organizing of a Television symposium in the first place.

The part about a drinking bout has its place too: in history, presumably in some classic period when everyone knew the discourse would run fuzzily unless the drink was half wine, half water. If this aspect of ancient wisdom is a curlicue, small and lost except to the well informed, then Mythology too seems to have become a faint wisp. Little evidence of it swirled in three days of crosswinds which themselves didn’t kick up the usual storm—of genies who descend in whirlwinds of sand, cowboys who rise out of the clouds, those ghost riders in the sky. Maybe this is a layman’s problem. Or maybe, I betray my raised-on-TV past. though for the record, I didn’t only dance on a string.

The music was played by disc jockeys on WKYC-Cleveland, the TV was tuned to “My Three Sons.” My job: to simultaneously keep track of the Top Ten in numerical order, follow the TV plot, write a grade-A book report—basic training in the event that some of life might play polyphonically. not just in the ditch of familiar strains.

Consequently, I was prepared to be receptive to the symposium’s opening paper delivered by Douglas Kellner, professor of philosophy, University of Texas, Austin. Thanks to the postal service I hadn’t received his paper beforehand as had the panelists and other symposium subscribers. I knew only the title, “Television Images, Codes and Messages,” which promised to decipher many unresolved mysteries: Why I didn’t grow up believing “Father Knows Best,” living forever after in the embrace of one of “My Three Sons.” As near to these individual concerns are questions of cultural magnitude, which is how Television’s dearest denominator works, subsuming everyone in its own embrace. But this is common knowledge. Unravelling how Television programs really work on social mores and mass psychology is the subject of Kellner’s paper. With a very large vision in mind, he said, “I have combined the work of critical theory, phenomenology, semiology and structuralism, myth-genre criticism, and popular culture theory in an analysis of television narrative fiction. This systematic approach enables me to analyze, interpret and criticize the full range of meanings communicated in popular television and to overcome the one-sidedness and limitations of previous theories.” Yet in advancing from saying to doing. Kellner’s analysis was fixed in axioms . . . more is less, too many cooks spoil the soup. So the mysteries went on, one more promise unfulfilled. The reason is simple: only Einstein equals Einstein. Were the popularized sufficient . . . but it isn’t. Carl Sagan proves this every Sunday night on “Cosmos.”

It hardly matters that with Kellner there was no crooning voice distributing information along a bell-shaped curve of perfectly timed heavy pauses—none of Sagan’s well-rehearsed TV condescension, you too can understand the mysteries of the universe. It’s enough that there was a definitely unsettling sense of déjà-vu, a return to “hip” scholarship when eclectics watched over their hot, savory stews. A layman’s ignorance of Kellner’s source-ingredients didn’t interfere with measuring how far the throwback. This was definitely fire burn and cauldron bubble, no joke at all. Even without Sagan’s mannerisms, Kellner’s approach is still too much like Television. And knowledge made to go down real easy makes you real sick. Thousands of kids who ate out of the hand of American universities know what it’s like; how insufficient education leaves a deep burn the day you realize: nothing’s that easy unless it’s the ease with which you’ve been taken for a ride. In this business, someone’s gaining publish or perish tenure at school, someone’s rising to TV stardom at home, and the cost of these ventures is absorbed in the price paid for an easy ticket: everything at your expense.

One can hardly avoid toil and trouble, a good deal of which had preceded the Symposium’s opening paper. Whatever Ron Clark didn’t have in the way of ultimate skills for designing a symposium, he did have (1) the foresight to conceive of inviting artists and writers to participate in a rare occasion of discussion wherein aspects of Television would provide a basis for addressing ideas of both a theoretical and practical nature; (2) the commitment to endure the painstaking and tiresome tasks involved in overseeing a major undertaking: (3) the sense to enlist the help of Dan Walworth as an assistant, and the involvement of the Kitchen, directed by Mary MacArthur, who recruited Jamie Avins and Tom Bowes from the Kitchen staff. As for Clark’s selection of panel members, this subject has been actively pursued—particularly by artists, who felt inadequately represented. Yet feelings didn’t run high enough to coalesce in any visible show of offense, which might have had some impact on the symposium. Instead, only a grumbling grapevine and considerable head-hunting, to put it mildly. One can hardly stand to be bumped by another déjà-vu, good guys in white, bad in black.

Enter DeeDee Halleck from the audience. “Yes cowboys are still a major character role for men, but the industry has had to move them to an urban situation, “Dallas” and J.R. The old cowboys are too much about the Midwest and no one wants to watch that. Do you know the major character role for women? After nurse, number two is reporter.” Some cue.

With regard to one of the symposium’s intentions, “to analyze the production, presentation, and reception of television,” I drew out DeeDee Halleck for reasons of her experience as a documentary video- and filmmaker; even more, for her experience as a media activist, an area of practice inadequately reflected on any of the Symposium’s panels. DeeDee Halleck is a board member of the Association of Independent Video and Filmmakers, a group whose purpose is to be a trade and lobbying organization; to give cohesiveness to a disparate community; to promote video and film work, and to develop economic viability for independent video artists, filmmakers and producers. The group’s more particular and immediate goals can be stated simply: money and guaranteed broadcast time for independents. The implication is diversity in programming where there’s only been network television’s nonrepresentation of a pluralistic society, its reflections of a narrow social perimeter that spreads just so far. The realizing of present goals and subsequent implications begins in Washington, D.C., and stalls in Court. AIVF has been lobbying Congress to mandate money for Independents, in funds that would be allocated from the budget of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB). Right now, already-insufficient funds are applicable only to documentary video makers and only to those willing to work in a 30-minute format. Extending this to include fiction or experimental work requires substantial funding. But “substantial” is a plain adjective appearing in the pending bill: a substantial part of the total CPB budget would be allocated to independents. During the debate of the bill in the House of Representatives, this part was said to mean 50 percent, or $14.5 million. This statement, logged in the Legislative Record, may now be used in court.

DeeDee Halleck says that there is already diversity in television programs produced in places like Chicago . . . Minneapolis . . . Philadelphia, where the World Communications Conference was attended by over 600 delegates from all over the world. There, DeeDee talks with a young delegate who identifies himself as a techie:

“What do you do, I ask. Build radio and TV stations. Oh. Where? Right now, in the Andes. For whom? Religious organizations. Which ones? Right now, my own. Which is that? Baha’i. But I’ve built quite a few for other groups. And not just religious ones. I was building one for some people in Ecuador. They were revolutionaries. But they got shot, so we never got the transmitter up. How much does it cost? It depends on what they want. I can put up a good strong radio signal for about $200. A TV station costs more. But I can do it real cheap. Lots of times I lose a job because I bid too low and no one can believe the price. Lots of big companies come around and tell them they need to have a lot of fancy stuff—things they really don’t need. It breaks down in a couple of months and then they have to wait for years for parts and repairmen. I build it real simple and teach them how to run it right and how to fix it when it’s down. Except for that one in Ecuador, all my stations are running fine, as far as I know. South America, Central America, Africa, even Southeast Asia. I’ve been around.” (DeeDee Halleck, “Travel Notes,” The Independent, Summer 1980).

I’ve been to the theater, October 27, 1980: “United States Part II” by Laurie Anderson and a song from her performance: “I was part of a one-woman protest march in Washington, D.C. and I walked into Room 1003. And there they were, the big boys. They knew who they were. And they were talking techno-talk. Kind of an abbreviated lingo. Like stenography. And they were saying Big B—little o—little m—silent b-b-b-b-b . . . And they said, hey, what are you doing here little girl? And I said, let me down, let me down, let me down. Take this down. You let me down. And they said, hey, get down. And they said, get down. They said get down from that counter, you’re leaving tracks all over our papers.”

Seven days later the papers have articles about the Symposium. Yesterday it was our new president, Ronald Reagan, an ex-screen cowboy. I haven’t been leading up to that. Unless one wants to indulge in a logical projection. In 1964 our new president was L.B.J., in 1980 Ronald Reagan, in 1984—J.R.? The myth-making of Texas, screen, TV doesn’t have much in common with real mythology, the present moment hinged to the past in Jane Kramer’s The Last Cowboy.

Yesterday it was our new president and news of the Moral Majority, who claim they put Reagan in office, that they’re America’s heart, her pulse. I’m traveling. Even if it sounds like escaping, I’ve lived with wanderlust contracted at an early age and can report this as fact. There are places where there is no Television, yet. Darjeeling, which is perching at a high altitude and for days . . . nothing, white nothing from the Windameer’s windows, the renowned hotel in the clouds. When a hard wind blows, Mt. Everest is standing there and . . . Darjeeling is perching in the foothills of the Himalayas. In these lowly heights, soft are the sounds brought here on that strange, flitting breeze, dizzying tease, oh jeez, please stop. And indeed, one does become accustomed to always having an airflow in the head, to the unremitting rustle of silk prayer flags, deep moaning prayers circling up from the valley. The monks down there have an idea of language, a hard to grasp notion of words as living things. Thus anything committed to writing can never be destroyed unless the life of it is passed on in a ceremonial fire; colored smoke warming the atmosphere with the breath of life. At a far distance from the monastery, the Windameer is a relic of the British Raj still serving high tea on a landscaped terrace. A piece of paper caught in a bush makes a flap. I release it, a page from Romeo and Juliet, the part about hand to hand, lip to lip. At long journey’s end, the wonder of Shakespeare’s words may be one of those curlicues, an impact which has long since lost its touch, no longer poking a hole in the fabric of Darjeeling life. Local residents await the arrival of Television, one set which they’ll watch in the movie house. Houses in other distant places shake with the global adventure of TV screen images sent on a less favorable wind. The symposium panelist Michele Mattelart, a French writer, remarked on this effect as she’d come to witness it in Chile and Mozambique. I had come to a place where words are living things. My friends in Darjeeling await exotic reflections of far away places with strange sounding names. They look forward to seeing me on TV after a safe journey home.

At times during the symposium I feel stuck at home base, glued to screen images and scripts, codes and messages. Thoughts drift almost naturally away from the screen to the box itself, the technology, the programming regulations, and back again, to the moment when commercial and national interests glow on the screen. Somewhere in this journeying, one would like to have the landmarks indicated, the factual areas that can’t be deduced from screen images, deciphered from scripts. Who are the absent characters?

In some 22 hours of talk lead by 22 panelists, there was little naming of names, fingering of facts. One can imagine panelists not wanting to invoke the idea of a Network Conspiracy and shades of paranoia. Like the guy on 42nd Street who devotes his life to wearing a sandwich board that warns passers-by: Don’t let your dentist give you a filling. “They” are actually planting a receiving device in your tooth for subliminal brainwashing. Aside from rampant fantasies, I had a concrete reason for interviewing DeeDee Halleck.

I asked her to make up for the absence of substantive information by contributing to a bibliography which appears at the end of this article (see below). May the source material be with you—a force disruptive and beneficial: books participating in that simple equation: only Einstein is Einstein.

In the symposium, such a force came rattling along with the idea of familiar TV plots and characters predictably led around by the nose. Also, with the less than subtle twist: viewers too can be cast in the role of characters who need a program to remind them—just when did the lights go down low? It was the panelist Herbert Schiller, professor of communications, who invoked the darker side of media’s dominion and though Prince of Humor he is, one wasn’t thrown off by the style, by a grown man shaking a rattle at demons who haven’t returned. They’re always there.

Like deadlines, which run counter to human rhythms. I won’t die for Television and it is hard to rise to the symposium’s purpose: “It is hoped that these discussions will help define a critical vocabulary and encourage further investigations of the social and artistic aspects of television.” Along these lines, a weekend of talk ran somewhat true to its name, giving off a symposium’s fumy atmosphere in which many swirls described a fairly big radius of Television’s environment where we’re all in this together.

Not surprisingly, togetherness runs straight to the bumps in the night, the darkling of Television come to hold us, rock us in soothing electronic arms. Warning flags went up at every panel, and since Halloween was near at hand, the TV turned up as a host of profane apparitions—an innocuous little box, a piece of furniture, a home appliance—and not far behind, the gross but subtler truths, of smothering mommy, of best friend carrying the kiss of death. Think how easy it is for big brother to watch you now that he knows you’re always there on the near side of an electric eye that never lets on who’s watching whom; never says boo! here’s the Divine from which all good things flow, all day, all night. Think you’ve heard this all a million times, it’s a waste of time? Yes, one hopes the point of a radial alert isn’t just to make everyone feel real cozy, a little safer because not only are we all in this together—we know it. No, hope isn’t some winsome sweethearting of serious affairs, among them—togetherness which apparently can still end straight in the ditch. We had come to a place where 22 panelists consisted of 15 men and 7 women, a glaring two to one not so evident in the 50-50 audience who’d been advised: “U.S. and European panelists include video artists and filmmakers, and theorists on film, television, linguistics, philosophy, semiotics, art, history, esthetics and communication.” From this it would appear that before there were women and men there were vocations. With regards for the former, Kit Fitzgerald, video artist, and Sandy Flitterman, critic, accepted spontaneous but late in the day requests to dignify the badly misshapen group image by participating in the Sunday panels.

I will take the rap if anyone cries tokenism for singling out two:

1. DeeDee Halleck, media activist; video and filmmaker.

2. Stephen Heath, lecturer in literature, Cambridge University, contributor to “Screen” magazine, author and editor.

Giving notice of these two goes a little further than just settling a score. They emerge even for the reasons beyond the obvious; panelist and audience member; two people from separate cultures, England and U.S.A.; work conducted in different fields—Stephen Heath in theory and criticism, DeeDee Halleck you already know. Shall I draw out the moment, its beating of wings and stirring of dust?

This storm exceeds those discrete, little whirlwinds kicked up by wandering souls. This is an insidious haze, lingering and low hanging, just at eye level. Peering about at 22 hours, 22 people, countless words, ideas, loose talk, a busy body flitting from flower to flower is not the only one I resemble. All weekend there’s been talk of people being reproduced in Television’s likeness; of viewer passivity which encourages a born-again experience wherein the long, safe journey is a permanent condition, a home in the birth canal of TV where all good things flow. I too am similarly stuck. I am mirroring the entire weekend, the complete story in that all inclusive and democratic article which is now in my wastebasket. Enough of the slow pace of revelations. Deadlines still beat, as do rhythms other than the symposium, the theater, the day after when I meet Stephen Heath with a grain of appreciation for someone who hadn’t discoursed in refined, specialized terminology.

In the more familiar terrain of plain English I met Stephen Heath with the idea of asking a practicing theoretician to trace the crossover line more definitely; to indicate the place where theory enters the practice, be it writing, filmmaking, art-making in general. It seems an appropriate issue for the context in which you are reading, an appeal to lend me your ears which perhaps like mine have always been hearing the A + B of form and content. Now Stephen Heath is describing an A + B + C, where C represents the part of our practice in which one considers the work in relation to institutions, and by extension, one considers the immediate institution in relation to other institutions.

Upon hearing “institutions,” I can only hear The Pope, The Pentagon, so heavily does that word land on my ear, if not in my heart. After all, the ear and heart are not so separate if one allows them to be chambers where one word begins to resonate, as if they were hollows where language echoes. Here, the meaning begins to shift; “institution” loses its shape and heavy compactness. The underestimated plain English has been nudged along by something, probably by the attraction of an idea: the subtle process by which the practices we presume to know so well have become institutions—the institution of writing or art-making, our vocations and again by extension, ourselves.

Supposing it’s acceptable to animate institutions, call them moments, a network of moments. But spare the sticks and stones. In naming the A+B+C a stranger, there is that kind of discomfort. Where others have trafficked, retrafficked and can analyze complex relations, I have only first, simple impressions. First the C isolated: We are affected by social, economic, political, many elements which, in a particular historical moment, act upon us and we in turn upon them; as products caught in the net, we are also producers in and of the moment, conceivably more evolved when we act with awareness of these relations. And so, the idea of production begins to shift a little, shedding some of its mechanical, self-reflection.

It would be out of place to simply evoke with words a complex process: the C integrated. It comes in moments when there are signs of engaging-disengaging with the network, when forms appear which are infused with awareness. An infusion at least suggests that theory is a sustaining element that vitally enters the practice, without being too visibly didactic or drawing attention to itself. This is better than kettles of antiseptic brews blowing off hot air. Maybe this is when alphabetical order redistributes the weight of all that pollen dust on a busy body’s wings, suggesting that she soars up to the fanning of flames and breathing of fire or she falls down from grace to stew in popular juices. This much is certain. Up and down sound old fashioned in a network of moments which may be why the subject matter of Television is never quite pinned here for a direct hit. The topic is caught moving in what’s been called a radial alert, and in turn, one becomes cautious of vocational hazards—of stooping to yet another romance, another passing fancy wafting through the community and scooped as art. Sol LeWitt once said—what plastics was to art of the ’60s, philosophy was to the ’70s. One hardly wants to predict the logical bridge over troubled waters: the ’80s copping a theoretical score in a high-visibility wave. Thus, it would be hoped that not too much has been made of A + B + C, a tip of an iceberg which points mostly to the support base, no easy zone to penetrate.

No doubt, there are many who could take on the complexities of theoretical thinking which have contributed to the iceberg, tip or base. A more direct rendering of what lay behind the symposium would necessarily consider the current reexamination of past traditions—structuralism, early semiology, Marxism and ideological ideas—and the emergence of a materialist understanding. As these ideas are more than a tempest in a teapot, I asked Ron Clark to contribute to another bibliography, providing a second area of substantive source material for the reader. May this be a meaningful suggestion of the initiative of Ron Clark, its fruition in a symposium, the word still passing along. For there is attraction, the very opposite of seduction.

When one has forgotten how alluring is no promises, how very tempting is don’t touch, the negatives of no and don’t become the positive features retained in the cold, dissecting knife of theory, offered in its awkward passage from hand to hand.

Vital are the moments that can both offer and retain. Comes the spark, the quickening pulse tapping out how long it has been since A + B + C wasn’t a formula for familiar tunes. Now it is a challenge or a dare to exhibit its emotions, its warmth, its range without going all soft in the head. Maybe I have spent too much of my time chasing after antique images, scurrying along with the residual tease of a Himalayan breeze. Yet when I see hands passing back and forth handling a knife warmed by colored smoke, the blade is nonetheless discerning and no less, wicked—when wicked means more than just going boo from time to time.

Difficult as it is to be fierce all the time, the subject matter of Television became the occasion for looking long and hard at our relative positions: envisioning our working processes as something more than events in isolation. devoid of the critical scrutiny so frequently shelved as a separate activity. Artists’ positing of theory or critical analysis outside their domain is something of a habit, if not an unspoken prerogative—a veiled statement designating analytical and imaginative powers as isolate forces, necessarily incongruous and in opposition. While this separation is a notion with common currency, it’s appropriate to recall these words of Edgar Allan Poe which address the notion and therefore, a tradition from his time to ours. From The Murders in the Rue Morgue:

“The analytical power should not be confounded with simple ingenuity: for while the analyst is necessarily ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable of analysis. The constructive or combining power. by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ, supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seen in those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, as to have attracted general observation among writers on morals. Between ingenuity and the analytic ability there exists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictly analogous. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than analytic.”

Since it could be said that an 1841 quotation reaches too far afield from the symposium, it would be well to re-position a weekend of talk as an occasion for considering a less isolated vision of practice. As a sounding bell, the symposium called into our midst writers and artists who in effect brought many ideas down from the shelf, and in this respect, like an old quotation, the event doesn’t dissipate into small lost echoes that no longer ring. Panelists and audience members who are conversant with contemporary theoretical thought and are participating in its continuity have gone back to work, left town. To the extent that they left the door open, there is still the occasion, our activities informed with lessons in addition to form and content. In becoming less hostile to strangers and in moving with caution toward still awkward tools—Television has inadvertently projected its gloomy force with some meaning extending past Halloween, Thanksgiving, you know how they go. I know if I don’t die for Television there will be one less stain on my soul. The living always think they can make up for their sins. This one is the small sin of committing others’ thoughts to final words.

These from Stephen Heath: “Television communicates everything and nothing. And if we say that television communicates everything we have to look at the terms of inclusion. There is a censorship that works by inclusion. That is part of television’s totalizing function. . . . Criticize TV communications and you criticize democracy, the free-flow of information. Television says, ‘This is communication, be thankful.’” (“Ideology in Television,” October 26, 1980)

These from Laurie Anderson: “I dreamed that I was Jimmy Carter’s lover, and I was somewhere I guess in the White House. There were lots of other women there, too, and they were supposed to be his lovers, too, but I never even saw Jimmy Carter and none of the other women ever saw him either. And there’s this big discussion going on because Jimmy had decided to open up the presidential election to the dead. That is, that anyone who had ever lived could have the opportunity to become president. He said he thought it would be more democratic that way—the more choice you had, the more democratic it would be.” (“United States Part II,” October 27, 1980)

And as if it were necessary to remember words are living things, these from Roland Barthes: “The pleasure of the text is that moment when my body pursues its own ideas—for my body does not have the same ideas I do.” (Le Plaisir du texte, 1973)

Constance DeJong is a fiction writer.

—————————

Selected Bibliography

Mostly for the factual areas, suggested by DeeDee Halleck and Ron Clark:

Erik Barnouw, History of Broadcasting; Vol. 1 Tower in Babel: To 1933, Vol. 2, Golden Web: 1933–53, Vol. 3 Image Empire: From 1950 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970).

John Berger, Ways of Seeing (New York: Viking Press, 1973).

Hans Magnus Enzenberger, The Consciousness Industry (New York: Seabury Press, 1974).

Stuart Ewen, Captains of Consciousness (New York: McGraw Hill, 1976).

Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno, Dialectic of Enlightenment (New York: Seabury Press, 1944).

Armand Mattelart, Multinationals and Systems of Communications (London : Harvester, 1978).

Armand Mattelart and Seth Siegelaub, eds., Communication and Class Struggle (New York: International General, 1979).

Horace Newcomb, Television: The Critical View, 2nd ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1979).

Herbert Schiller, Communication and Cultural Domination (White Plains, N.Y.: International Arts and Sciences Press, 1976).
————————— The Mind Managers (Boston: Beacon Press, 1973).

Gaye Tuchman, The TV Establishment (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1974).

Judith Williams, Decoding Advertisement: Ideology and Meaning in Advertising; “Ideas in Progress” series, illus., M. Boyars, 1978; Merrimack Book Service, paper.

Raymond Williams, Television: Technology and Cultural Form (New York: Schocken Books, 1974).

For more general theoretical reading, suggested by Ron Clark:

Louis Althusser, For Marx (London: New Left Books, 1969).
————————— Lenin and Philosophy (London: New Left Books, 1971).

Roland Barthes, Mythologies (New York: Hill and Wang, 1957).
—————————Elements of Semiology (New York: Hill and Wang , 1964).
—————————S/Z (New York: Hill and Wang, 1970).

Walter Benjamin, Illuminations (New York. Schocken Books, 1969).

Rosalind Coward and John Ellis, Language and Materialism (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1977).

Jacques Derrida, Writing and Difference (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978).

Terry Eagleton, Criticism and Ideology (London: Verso Editions , 1976).

Sigmund Freud, Complete Works (Standard Edition) (London: Hogarth Press, 1963).

Todd Gitlin, The Whole World Is Watching: The Mass Media in the Making and Unmaking of the New Left (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1980).

Jürgen Habermas, Theory and Practice (Boston: Beacon Press, 1974).
————————— Knowledge and Human Interests (Boston: Beacon Press, 1971).

Fredric Jameson, Marxism and Form (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971).
————————— The Prison-House of Language (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972).

Sylvia Harvey, May ’68 and Film Culture (London: British Film Institute, 1978).

Stephen Heath, The Nouveau Roman (London: Elek, 1972).
————————— Vertige du déplacement (Paris: Fayard, 1974).

Julia Kristeva, Semiotiké (Paris: Editions du Seuil, 1969).
————————— Desire in Language (New York: Columbia University Press, 1980).

Jacques Lacan, Ecrits (New York: Norton, 1966).

Herbert Marcuse, One-Dimensional Man (Boston: Beacon Press, 1964).

Karl Marx, Capital, (3 Vols.) (London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1974).

Michele Mattelart, La Cultura de la Opresion Femenina (Mexico: Era, 1977).

Christian Metz, Film Language (New York: Oxford University Press, 1974).

Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics (New York: McGraw Hill, 1966).

Raymond Williams, Marxism and Literature (London: Oxford University Press, 1977).

Journals: Camera Obscura (Berkeley); Broadcast Magazine (NY); The Independent (NY); Journal of Communications (Annenberg School, Phila.); JumpCut (Berkeley, Chicago); New Left Review (London); October (NY); Screen (London); Semiotext(e) (NY).