Author Archives: NatalieCrawford

I Guess This is it!

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So this is it, my final blog post! I guess this marks the end of not only this course, but also what has been quite an unusual year of learning. Despite only seeing and interacting with everyone over zoom, I actually found the opportunities we did have (break out rooms, in class discussions..) to be really engaging. I’ve also really liked reading everyone’s blog posts over the course of this term- I found it really interesting to see everyone’s unique interpretations of our readings, and to read a bit about everyone’s personal connections and relationships with different forms of popular culture. I have learned a lot, not only about the forms popular culture can and does take in Latin America, but about the variety and diversity of our unique lived experiences, interests, passions and stories.

Although I appreciate the wide variety of topics we have covered, If I had to choose a favourite instance of popular culture, I think it would be our unit on Lucha Libre and The Fighting Cholitas. I appreciate how this course has opened up any pre-existing definitions of popular culture I had previously been holding, and exposed me to the most insightful, fascinating, and compelling forms human expression and activity can take. The Fighting Cholitas embodied all of these qualities and more, as they challenged a male-dominated world and simultaneously blended their own cultural traditions with those of fighting for sport. Ultimately, this is what I consider to be my the most important takeaway from this course; the fluidity of the world of popular culture. It is world that is ever changing, ever evolving, challenging, eroding and constructing.  Where we are from has such a hold on our identity, and our perceptions of the world, and I think that’s one of the most important considerations to make when dissecting why something can become popularized, and by whom.

All-in-all, thank you to everyone for making this class a really great experience. I think we have all learned a lot, about popular culture and about ourselves, and I wish everyone who reads this the best of luck with any final projects and exams- you’ve got this! We made it through quite the rollercoaster of a year, and it can only be up from here on 🙂

Colombian Narconovelas: Media Representations and Societal Perceptions

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Nick Morgan’s article on the culture and sensationalism of an ever-growing, rapidly popularizing subgenre of telenovelas, the narconovela, reveals some fascinating insights into the nature of the relationship between television and society. Specific to Colombia, Morgan discusses the narconovela and the significance of its departure from more conservative, ‘socially moral’ novelas of the past. As a genre that explicitly popularizes and makes televised representation of corruption, deception, and cynicism, Morgan notes how the novela, with specific reference to ‘Sin Tetas’, is accused of “pandering to its audience’s less salubrious desires” (53). What I found especially fascinating in this article was the notion that the audiences of these shows- at least those of varying demographics rather informally surveyed by Morgan –  are generally “quite aware of artifice and assume an ironic distance from the narrative” (74). Of course, from the several clips I have seen from Sin Tetas it seems rather difficult to doubt the fictional nature of its plot and social imaginary, but instead of inhibiting its popularity, it seems to stimulate it. 

Considering the topic of societal representations and perceptions as a function of media representation is very relevant to my final project, I am particularly interested in this subject. I found Morgan’s discussion on the “cynical understanding of social life” present in narconovelas quite compelling, as it “crosses class barriers” and is viewed by a widely diverse range of individuals (75). I guess it makes sense, as anyone can observe the pattern in what ‘sells’ most lucratively in the media industry, and that usually involves escapism through drama and turmoil. It is human nature to feel drawn to discuss and observe the flaws of others, and it is interesting when this is harnessed and sensationalized in the form of popular and widely accessible television. With respect to Colombian society and its representations Sin Tetas, as acknowledged by Morgan, it is important to understand that despite media representation, pessimistic and negative social imaginations don’t “conquer” whole societies. What is equally fascinating about narconovelas, along with what they portray, is what they do not.

I wonder, do narratives created by shows like Sin Tetras about Colombian society, observably fiction or not, play into a national cultural conscience? What stories do narconovelas tell about Latin American societies, and could there be a dimension of the internalization of these by their audiences?

Mafalda: Humour, Politics and Culture in Comics

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I found this week’s readings really cool- I enjoyed reading through the Mafalda comic strips, and I found Isabella Cosse’s article engaging, as it took on a perspective I hadn’t yet considered on the social, cultural and political role of comics. I never really read too many comics growing up, and something I have come to understand since reading Cosse’s writing is the power of a youthful angle or perspective from which they are often written, and their visual accessibility to readers. The Mafalda comics are short, to-the-point, and leave little room for misinterpretation- even when considering the political and social messages they communicated. Cosse discusses the comic as an ‘instrument’ or tool, an “emblematic representation” of the Argentine middle class and an evolving, progressive national, or world, view. 

What fascinates me, as mentioned by Cosse, is Quino’s use of humour, wit, and a child’s thoughts and feelings in communicating with the reader. There is something so digestible about the Mafalda comics (from only the several that I have read), and it is this ‘readable’ nature of them that seemed to not only grow a significant reader base, but further allow for the stories to shape, and be shaped by, the changing social and political landscapes in Argentina. Humour is something so culturally binding- it is valorized and molds and constructs shared social identities, as argued by Cosse. But I think what is most powerful about humour, is its ability to evolve and shift with time people and still generate the same reaction, or amusement. It is often something so transient, and that becomes so evident whenever you watch, read or listen to something from a time before yours. Things are funny often because they are relevant, but while this holds true for most, the messages implicit in many of the Mafalda comics have continued to hold a timelessness about them. Of course, when political, social and cultural environments change, so does humour, and so did the Mafalda comics, but that doesn’t mean that much of the commentary made about feminism, cultural identity and class don’t still hold rather true today in many contexts. 

In your opinion, what is it about comics that draw in readers? What makes comics so popular? 

Punk: Musical Resistance?

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Shane Greene’s article “Peruvian Punk as a Global Means of Underground Production” was a fascinating read for me, as I am someone who hasn’t really explored all that punk as a music genre has to offer- socially, culturally and politically. Greene discusses punk as a “form of resistance” that is “difficult both to sustain and to predict its future lives”, as he identifies the role of underproduction and undercutting within the context of the Peruvian punk scene (286). As a culturally-produced phenomenon that ultimately seeks to subvert a public norm, “to disregard: to negate regard; to refuse to respect”  and “to repudiate rather than hold in esteem”, punk challenges and resists what ‘is’ (290). As something that grew in Peruvian popularity, albeit ‘underground’ of sorts, with a primary medium consisting of a “poor-quality demo cassette”, Greene highlights how, even in its forms and methods of distribution, punk conveys the very messages it has been created to deliver (291). Music as a form of cultural resistance is arguably not uncommon today, with lyrics of songs in popular media becoming increasingly politically charged, but the punk scene presents acts of resistance to not only political contexts, but the creative destruction of “aesthetic professionalism and monopolization”- these popularized channels of cultural media production themselves (289).

I think the comment made by Greene that stimulated the most thought for me while reading was how “to be maximally punk one starts by disregarding others’ definitions, including others’ definitions of what punk is or can be”, how a ‘true’ punk doesn’t even think about what it means to be punk- to put it more succinctly, “not giving a fuck if you are punk or not” (286). This had me wondering, then, what an ‘authentic’ or genuine punk would have to say about what others have to say about them. I guess you could say that talking and writing about what punk is and does, is, of course, not very punk at all. In fact, you could say that by writing this I am doing the exact opposite of what true punk attempts to do… All-in-all, as someone without much punk listening experience I found Greene’s article to be quite thought-provoking; it opened some windows into a genre of music I hadn’t yet ventured into much. 

My question is for anyone who is an active listener of punk, or anyone at all who wants to answer: I would love to know what draws you to punk as a genre of music? What does punk mean to you?

Football and the Culture of Sport

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My relationship with football, or I guess sports in general for that matter, is quite minimal and insignificant in nature, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand the appeal for billions of others around the world. Both of the readings for this week’s topic opened up some avenues of thought for me that I hadn’t given much attention to prior- the beauty, the ugliness, the glory, the history, the evolution and the commercialization of a sport that seemingly unites the world through a cup every four years (give or take, in cases of global pandemics). Admittedly, my fleeting moments of connection to the sport have essentially consisted of playing for five months when I was six years old, and every so often the glimpse I catch of a game being religiously watched by my dad and brother. Nonetheless, I seem to know enough about the game, its iconic players, and the culture surrounding it to understand the extent to which it arguably dominates the world of sport. 

Sant’Anna in his piece “In the Mouth of the Tunnel”, makes a fascinating comment on how “with videotape football entered into the History of Art… and the goals and the passes became museum pieces” (58). Without thousands of fans lining the stands at games, every moment,  and every play captured and internationally televised, what is modern football? Of course, the sport, at its core, exists simply with a ball and feet to kick it, but it’s interesting to think about how our definition of football has been transformed into something that concocts images of merchandise, sports betting, wealth and celebrity status’. The fact that someone who has never played a game in their life can sport a team jersey or bet their life savings on the outcome of a match is quite telling in itself. 

The commercialization and professionalization of sport is argued to have transformed football into something quite distant from children kicking a ball around on a street, as put forth by Galeano, “when the game stopped being a game and professional soccer required a technocracy to keep people in line” (11). Whether or not football is still a game outside of Galeano’s terms is up for debate, but I do think there is a point to what he is trying to say. Football’s value lies in what the game means to those who watch and those who play it, and the game in itself has undeniably formed the fabric of a much larger, global culture or phenomenon…

My question: Has football changed, or have the ways we view it, follow it and think of it changed? Is the game still the same game, whether it is played casually on a street or professionally in a stadium?

The Fighting Cholitas: Femininity and Lucha Libre

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Mariam Jobrani’s documentary on “The Fighting Cholitas” was fascinating, and deeply captivating in its personal, authentic and unique portrayal of a cultural instance where sport seems to erode divisive gendered boundaries, and empower those whose voices are too often marginalized. The fact that this was something I had never heard of, and I presume the same for most others in our class, speaks to the role the documentary has played in opening up parameters for what traditionally defines a sport still so male-dominated like lucha libre. The women who were interviewed spoke with conviction and pride for their wrestling identities, whether they consider themselves to be in the ‘tecnicas’, ‘rudas’ or ‘amoradas’ categories- a nod to the empowering role the sport seems to bring to their identities as Indigenous women, or Cholitas. I feel as though there is a connection between these distinct identities, almost characters they have assumed, and one of the women’s comments on how the matches are “80 percent real and 20 percent show.” Show or reality, or both, the Cholitas’ skirts, and their refusal to remove them during their fights, is powerfully symbolic. The skirts in this documentary serve more than material function for these women, they serve a function of identity. Cholitas’ skirts are reiterated in this documentary, both visually and verbally, as integral parts of Indigenous identity and culture. 

Further, it must be acknowledged how, through lucha libre, the fighting Cholitas are ultimately redefining cultural and social notions of femininity. I was struck by the way in which the sport gave these women both external and internal motivation and praise for something beyond traditional boundaries and expectations limiting female identities. Yolanda hoping for her own daughter to become a professional like herself seemed to demonstrate this relationship between motherhood, a gendered role women are expected to fulfill, and the challenging of those expectations.

Lastly, what I found quite intriguing was not only the role lucha libre seemed to play in the lives of the Cholitas, but the role it was playing for the community and spectators. The cholitas, in acknowledging a performative dimension of the sport, highlighted its attraction to those who attend the matches as viewers. As quoted in the other reading for this week, Margarita de Orellana’s “Lucha libre: Stories with no Time Limit”, the ring or “arena offers a space where a marginalized public finds a way to vent about the discrimination and shortages it experiences in everyday life, and this experiences a catharsis” (95). It was fascinating to hear how the Cholitas, themselves, recognized how their matches provided a form of relief, laughter, and escape from life’s stress for the women who watch them. 

Overall, what are your thoughts on the role the Fighting Cholitas play in redefining notions of femininity? Do they? What cultural significance does this have within the context of lucha libre?

Maria Lionza: Plurality of Religious and Cultural Identities

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What fascinated me in Canals’ article was his discussion on Maria Lionza’s “double possession”. I found it quite intriguing how Lionza’s spirit can possess the medium, in this case Barbara, first in the “Indian” form, and secondly, in the form of a “white woman”; this phenomenon quite symbolically speaks to the plurality of this saint’s identity, and the ethnic and cultural multiplicity from which this cult has come to be. 

Of course, one of the major themes in Canals’ article is the relationship between technology, or his camera, and sacred rituals, or intimate and often private moments of religious devotion and activity. I felt like there was quite a connection between the fluid and evolving identity of Maria Lionza and the guidelines governing what cameras are, and are not allowed to capture during a moment of spiritual possession. Canals’ ability to film Maria Lionza’s incarnation as a white woman or “queen” but not as an Indian woman was described as being due to the incarnation of the latter as “frailer” than the former. I wonder, what does this say about Indigenous influences on the Maria Lionza cult? Why is her reincarnation in the “Indian” form considered to be a more frail moment of spiritual possession? 

What further stood out was how the cult of Maria Lionza, after Catholicism (from which it derives a significant proportion of religious influence, and of which many of its believers simultaneously consider themselves to follow) is considered to be the second most popular religion in Venezuela. The diversity of the cult’s followers conveys a unifying function of religion, and a, perhaps, unique transcendance of class boundaries. It seems as though the plurality of identities that follow Maria Lionza reflects, or maybe mirrors, the plurality of the saint’s own identity and what she represents. From fertility and eroticism to a benevolent divinity and universal mother, according to Canals, Maria Lionza symbolizes “the plural and composite nature of both the cult that bears her name and, more generally, of the Venezuelan society that gave birth to her” (163).

All-in-all, the religious practices of the cult and identities of Maria Lionza herself powerfully reflect those of her followers, and as such, seem to shape and dictate the relationship between ‘the sacred’ and ‘the camera’. 

In your opinion, do you think there is a place for something like a camera in religious rituals like the one described in Canals’ article? 

Telenovelas and Favela Tourism in Brazil

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 This article struck me, as I had not yet made a connection between favela tourism and ‘soap operas’ and the effects that media have had on these poorer, marginalized neighbourhoods in Brazil. As someone who isn’t an avid ‘watcher’ of telenovelas themselves, It fascinated me how favelas- specifically in the last decade or so- have become the filming locations for such consumer-oriented and profit-driven television programs. There is quite a problematic trend of ‘exoticism’ and ‘glamorization’ of the livelihoods of the residents of these communities, as favelas such as Complexo do Alemão in Rio de Janeiro, and Paraisópolis in São Paulo have become popular, though transient, tourist attractions. As such, an uncomfortable sense of appropriation and commodification of livelihoods that are “shunned” and ignored by their own governing and political bodies emerges, as they have simultaneously become temporarily “hailed” by media and tourism industries.

The temporality of the tourism these telenovelas create is critical to the central argument of this article, as it identifies the damagingly “ephemeral” quality of the “telenovela effect” on Brazilian favelas. Not only is the genre of telenovelas transient in nature, but these communities further face both security and governmental challenges that influence the sustainability of tourism in these areas. As filming locations, the viewing of favelas through the lens of television screens seems to paint their existence, or global image, as one of temporary interest and entertainment, and disregards the more permanent reality they present to the, quite literally, millions of their residents.

I was quite intrigued by a point brought up in this paper on how, through media forms such as telenovelas, slums have “become among the most iconic images of the country” and are “considered the birthplace of typically Brazilian cultural expressions”(1536, 38). There exists quite a paradox here, as I somewhat touched on earlier, within the notion that politically and socially excluded areas of society can be transformed as externally, globally-recognized symbols for the very country that internally rejects their existence. I know this is something we have touched on in various classes throughout this course, but the power of television and media in the production of cultural identities and ‘icons’ is astounding. The “telenovela effect” is an excellent example of how quickly and efficiently that power can both contribute to and dispossess a community’s cultural identity. The relationship between telenovelas and favela tourism is compelling, and it presents such an interesting and relevant topic of exploration within the study of Latin American popular culture. 

I am quite curious, does anyone else happen to know anything about telenovela-generated tourism? To what extent does it impact local communities elsewhere?

Reference:

Póvoa, D., Reijnders, S., & Martens, E. (2019). The telenovela effect: Challenges of location filming and telenovela tourism in the brazilian favelas. Journal of Popular Culture, 52(6), 1536-1556. https://doi.org/10.1111/jpcu.12861

The Communicative Power of Narco-Corridos

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I must admit, before reading Shaylih Muehlmann’s chapter “A Narco without a Corrido Doesn’t Exist”, I had not yet heard of narco-corridos or the extensive cultural popularity they have amassed. Of course, although I am somewhat familiar with the history of the War on Drugs, and the nature of cartels, it is fascinating to me how quickly I have dangerously come to associate the word ‘narcos’ with the pictures of glorifying and distorting television series’. I guess this is, in essence, what Muehlmann is trying to convey- the associative power of popular cultural mediums. The way in which songs, movies and television can become vehicles for communicating some sort of uncensored truth, despite the lenses that are worn when writing them or directing them, is undeniable. The power of the role played by narco-corridos seems to lie in their separation from the state, and the transparency with which they can musically reflect a violent reality for the ears that listen to them. 

Muehlmann made a point of being careful not to make a link of causality between the songs and the violence they sing about, but rather to understand the music as representative of “the powerful potential of media circulation” and its ability to “heighten awareness of violence and censorship” (104). What struck me most, due in part to the similarity of my own reaction to Muehlmann’s, was when she described the decapitation in the video her friends played for her to watch. It was fascinating how, what many might perceive to be a desensitization to violence created by these corridos, in many cases, has been quite the opposite- an understanding of it. The awareness her friends had, in this moment, for the violent reality of cartels, painted their engagement with the music earlier on in the chapter as an active act of reflection, rather than passive dismissal. Through watching the video with open, unflinching eyes, it seemed as though they understood that in order to engage with the songs, they had to accept what they were about. Sold in roadside stalls, the circulation of videos capturing similar atrocities performed by cartels further demonstrates the accessible and uncensored nature of these, more informal, means of popular communication.

I found myself swiftly moving to Youtube after this reading, to listen to a few narco-corridos myself. What was fascinating, and a point noted by Muehlmann, was the unified sense of pride and Mexican patriotism the songs seemed to evoke in the comment section. Despite the themes and events the lyrics emerge from, it must be acknowledged there is a universal and undeniable appreciation for something as accessible and culturally binding as music.

Food, Gender and Culture in Rosario Castellanos’ “Cooking Lesson”

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The candor, vulnerability, and passionate reflection with which Rosario Castellanos’ “Cooking Lesson” is told was refreshing to read. The story was a compelling window into the mind and thoughts of a ‘housewife’- a role that has trapped, be it willingly or unwillingly, so many women throughout history, and one that transcends culture and place. What struck me throughout this piece was the way the beef cut its way through the narrator’s thoughts, grounding the story in this woman’s reality and simultaneously telling a story of its own. 

It is quite fascinating the role food has and continues to play in our lives and our identities. It both unites cultures and divides people. It is prepared by some and eaten by all. Food brings with it customs, traditions and deeply rooted histories. Through food, the kitchen became a gendered place- both defining and confining the woman in this story to an existence where knowing how to cook should be something of an intuition, and failing to do so with a smile deems her less worthy in her husband’s eyes. 

The evolution of the beef from raw, to seasoned, to juicy, to burned reflects a slow and gradual- though quicker at times- turn from ‘innocent’ and hopeful, to submissive and quiet, identified by this woman as the inescapable consequence of marriage and patriarchal notions of what it is to be a wife. 

Food is symbolic, it represents something about those who prepare it and those who eat it, and Castellanos’ story does just that. As it changes in shape, size and age, the dish the narrator prepares tells a story of herself, and they way she, like the meat, “hasn’t stopped existing” but has rather “undergone a series of metamorphoses” (352). The image such a metaphor concocts is powerful, as the unfiltered thoughts of her mind are trapped in this isolating role. However, as the ending suggests, this does not mean they disappear- her mind is her own, something, unlike the fate of the beef, that doesn’t burn but rather offers her the small, muted freedom of reflection and power of thought.

Of course, culture isn’t limited to food, but as we learned in this week’s lecture, it was etymologically born from it, and continues to play such a foundational role in shaping cultural identity. So I wonder, is food culture or is culture food? Could culture come from food and the notions, identities and customs that come with it, or is food simply produced/considered an element of culture?