Exam 5 Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 500 words

Exam 5 - Essay Example Filing a complaint is the first step in every case including the sexual assault one. In order for the case to proceed to trial, the victim must be deemed credible when reporting of the sexual assault. The credibility will go ahead and assist when it comes to seeking testimony. Evidence even a little strengthens the credibility of the victim. If the victim is deemed credible, then the case will go to trial and given priority, if not, it will be rejected at this stage (Chancellor, 2012). When victims report of sexual assault to a police station, they record official statements. During trial, the victim is asked to narrate the events following the sexual assault and this is also recorded. The narration of the story and recording may be carried out several times and then all these official documents are compared for consistency. If the prosecutor finds any inconsistencies or discrepancies in these statements, then this is a good reason to reject the sexual assault case by first discrediting the allegations and then filing for the case to be thrown aside. The victim must therefore ensure that they stick to the details of the first statement recorded at the police station. If the victim passes this stage successfully and the statements in all the official documents match, then the case moves on to prosecution through by calling witnesses and presenting evidence of the sexual assault. In every different kind of sexual assault, there are certain behaviors that accompany them and which are known by the prosecutor. During examination or cross examination of the victim in court, some of these behaviors (depending on the type of sexual assault) are expected to be provided Failure to do this or divert from the â€Å"typified behavior of the assault† leads to discrediting of the statement and evidence and the whole case based in credibility issues. Based on the three methods based above, the one thing which is common in all the three and which is what really leads to the

Dance In The Curriculum Drama Essay

Dance In The Curriculum Drama Essay Dance as a discipline is marginalised in academic discourse as an ephemeral, performance-focused subject, its power articulated through the body. In UK schools it is a physical subject with an aesthetic gloss, languishing at the bottom of the academic hierarchy, conceptualised as art but located within physical education in the national curriculum (Downing et al, 2003; Brehoney, 2005). Placing additional emphasis on performance at A level also undermines the development of dance studies more widely within a subject hierarchy that places literacy, rather than embodiment, as a key factor of high-status knowledge. Beyond the confines of the dance curriculum, these changes illuminate Foucaults assertions that power and knowledge are interconnected and that power produces knowledge (1979, 1980b). He outlined three core processes for exerting disciplinary power: observation, examination and normalising judgement. Benthams Panopticon, a prison with cells constructed around a central tower, demonstrates how discipline and control can be transferred to the prisoners themselves. The inmates are always potentially visible to the guards and so must behave at all times as if they are being watched. They are their own guards, controlled by the gaze: Just a gaze. An inspecting gaze which each individual under its weight will end by interiorizing to the point that he is his own overseer, each individual thus exercising this surveillance over, and against, himself. A superb formula: power exercised continuously and for what turns out to be minimal cost (Foucault, 1980b, p. 155). Foucaults second disciplinar y technology, normalisation, is the way in which behaviour can be aligned with societys standards, to correct what is seen as deviant. The third, examination, is the combination of the other two and exemplifies power/knowledge as it both establishes the truth and controls behaviour. This article illustrates how these processes work in the context of dance in education. Taking into account Foucaults suggestion that the traditional way of describing power in negative terms as something that excludes or represses should stop, that it is the productive aspect of power that creates reality, the article explores how dance in education might be seen as both literate and a physical activity suitable for anyone, and thus to have more power in the twenty-first-century curriculum. Yet dance is more than just performance: to dismiss it as purely bodies in action is to ignore not only the language of its own structural conventions but also the language in which it might be recorded. Currently there is little indication in school that dance, like music, has its own complex systems of notation. The current discourse of dance in education has normalised it as an illiterate art form and the removal of the notation component at A level has entrenched that perception. Furthermore, the idea that dance studies is solely about beautiful bodies in motion, the exclusive pursuit of slender, flexible females, is an unhelpful blueprint at a time when there is a need to encourage more physical activity to combat rising levels of childhood obesity. So if students are not to self-exclude from dance whether on grounds of perceived body type, gender or lack of academic currency, then there needs to be a more inclusive, valued and thus more powerful form of the subject in the curriculum. Dance in the Curriculum: an overview Dance developed as a part of public education in the UK during the 1880s when Swedish educator Martina Bergman Osterberg brought Lings physical education ideas to London. Physical training was introduced in 1909 into what were then called elementary schools to improve fitness levels and encourage discipline and cooperation in young men. The dance aspect was perceived as an exclusively female pursuit (Brinson, 1991). Western dance tradition is still strongly associated with the female; as Ferdun points out, the term dance is usually associated with girls and feminine qualities by a significant portion of the dominant culture. Labelling dance as female prevents it from functioning fully as an educational medium. It limits participation by anyone, male or female, who does not want to be associated with stereotyped gender images and practices (Ferdun, 1994, p. 46). Whilst dance still remains a part of the PE curriculum, McFee (2004) argues for the distinctive nature of dance as an artistic activity, for its value in the curriculum within an education system that demands accountability. He adopts a personal enquiry view of education which stresses the importance of personal development. Drawing on the work of Lawrence Stenhouse (1975) and David Best (1991), he argues that dance is a suitable medium for such an educational endeavour. However, whilst for McFee dance should be treated as an artistic activity that has intrinsic value, the notion of dance being understood in such a way as to make it accountable is at the heart of his text. His emphasis on accountability resonates with arguments around high-status knowledge and with the need for robust assessment in public examinations. Dance can be assessed as a sub-section of physical education and is also available as a separate subject at GCSE (usually taken age 16 at the end of compulsory education) and at GCE A level (advanced-level subjects, taken two years later, which usually form the basis of university entrance). Articulating the Power of Dance: Ideology into Practice Dance requires the development of physical skills just as other sporting activities do, but differs in that technical skill is not the end in itself. That skill must be used to create meaning; its main concern is aesthetic experience. Unsurprisingly, as McFee (2004) points out, many PE teachers have little interest in teaching dance. Not only does it require an understanding of dance technique if it is to embrace masterworks that is, known works in current repertory but it also has an aesthetic aspect that makes it distinctive. Indeed, when combined with the particularly female orientation of dance, it seems somewhat ironic to place it within a department that is culturally perceived as masculine and essentially in opposition. But in spite of the implication that to put dance with PE is to fail to emphasise the subjects aesthetic qualities, the dance as art model has become the predominant way of studying it. And this is a central problem for dance in education: the aesthetic dimension inherent in dance as an art form and expected by the national curriculum, at GCSE and at A level, leads to this subject having no obvious department in which to sit. All dance examination syllabi in school reflect the dance as art model. As well as having traditional written aspects, GCSE and A level have a practical component, carrying 70% and 55% of the total marks respectively (AQA, 2009). When first examined in 1986, the A-level syllabus required candidates to show ability to choreograph; to perform; to be able to read and use notation; to show knowledge of the constituent form and features of dances and their historical and social contexts; and, finally, to be able to interpret and evaluate dances (University of London Schools Examination Board, 1986). Changes to the syllabus in 2008 resulted in dropping the notation requirement; they also streamlined the choreographic tasks and placed an added emphasis on health and safety in training and performance. The specification also removed the technical study and instead assesses technical competence through the solo choreography task. The power of the dance itself is examined through students ability to analyse the choreographic structure of masterworks in essay form and to use defined compositional structures in their own choreography. It is also assessed through their ability to perform. The proportion of marks allocated for the practical components at both GCSE and A level reflects the need not only to understand dance in theory but also to use that knowledge in practice. It also points to the centrality of the body as the instrument through which the power of dance is articulated and made accountable through assessment. But examination is, in Foucaults terms, under the power of the gaze. The gaze, whether on the dance itself or on the wider notion of dance studies in the academic hierarchy, influences what is seen, what is valued, what is deemed to have power. It influences the kind of inspection itself. If literacy is valued in the academy, then how might dance be written, read, considered and interiorised under its inspecting gaze? Dance is a language with its own systems expressed through choreography and performance. The word choreography itself derives from the Greek, choreia, meaning choral dance, and graphia, meaning writing. But if, as Cohan states, dance speaks in a very special language, both to the doer and the watcher. It speaks of things read between the lines, things that are impossible to put into words (Cohan, 1986, p.10), how can school students articulate those impossible qualities, have the power to express them in a way that is accountable, to use McFees (2004) term? Not just toread and write about dance, but to read and write dance itself? Foster states: Literacy in dance begins with seeing, hearing and feeling how the body moves (1986, p. 58). From the high culture of classical ballet to the nineties revival of Lindy Hop, from contemporary technique to street dance, the dance reader must recognise the qualities of those movements, consider their features, remember and identify patterns. The syllabus, whether at GCSE or A level, refers to constituent features and compositional devices that should be understood, and later read in the masterworks studied for the latter. These include movement components (action content, dynamics and spatial arrangement); dancers (numbers, gender, physique, role); physical and aural setting; and the development of dance ideas. Choreographic devices such as motif development, variation and transition are also required. The cultural perspective Reading dance is not only about its internal structure, it is also about its place within culture: it is complex. The reader must understand the choreographic codes and conventions that give the dance its significance (Foster, 1986, p. 59). This complexity is reflected in the way choreography is examined, for example, at A level. The written papers ask both for discussion of the component features of a dance, but also to demonstrate how the dance relates to its cultural context. In other words, the papers ask the candidate to be able to read the dance in terms of form and context for example, to understand not only how Christopher Bruce creates the power of Ghost Dances (1981) through technical means, but why such a powerful and searing indictment of political oppression, the disappeared of Pinochets Chile, was significant. The practical examination calls for the student to write dance, to compose both solo and group choreography. The compositional components described above are to be used in this writing. But as Adshead (1986) points out, dance composition, where the elements of dance are put together in a recognisable construction, is only the beginning of choreography. Understanding the crafting of the piece only takes us so far and while it might in principle be the aspect of choreography most understood, dances are imaginative constructions designed to do far more than string steps together in a neat and tidy way, or even in an untidy conglomeration of movements (Adshead, 1986, p. 20). The power of choreography is not just about using form correctly, it is about creating meaning and its effective communication to the audience. Dance in education, then, as examined at GCSE and A level, requires students to read dance through understanding its own language of compositional devices, making reference to the cultural context of the practitioners and masterworks studied. There is also the requirement to write dance using those same compositional structures, and the solo must reflect the characteristics of a specific practitioner. Having envisioned and created meaningful artistic relationships derived from knowledge about dance, the student must have the technical skill to realise them in practice. Those qualities have to be conveyed to the observer through the dancers instrument, the body. Young observed that it is power, not knowledge, that counts in education (Young, 2008, p. 94). And power can be constructed as the power of Foucaults gaze (Foucault, 1980b). Dance knowledge encapsulated in its internal concepts of literacy may not have status in the eyes of those who have the power to create the curriculum and endorse its values; it has little power as academic currency. Dance as articulated through the body is similarly problematic: Shilling (2004) develops Bourdieus conception of the body as physical capital which needs to be converted into other forms in order to have value. But according to Foucault, the body itself has a complex relationship with power. As former ballerina Jennifer Jackson notes, The focus on the body, as against the person who dances, links standards of perfection to the instrument of the dance rather than the dancer or the dancing itself (Jackson, 2005, p. 32). Dance in education does not immediately appear to share this professional obsession with technical perfection either in the national curriculum or at GCSE and A level. Syllabus documents make no reference to technical excellence; no statements are given to indicate standards by comparison to technical qualifications. The Assessment and Qualifications Alliance (AQA) mark scheme for the 2009-10 choreographic section of the GCSE level paper which asks candidates to show appropriate and sensitive use of dancers skills and attributes to communicate the dance idea (AQA, 2009, p. 4), and my discussions with practical examiners reiterate the notion that dancers are used to illustrate the choreography, that their performance is not assessed, for a choreographers skill is, in part, to use what abilities the dancers have. In this view, the body is pushed aside, as if dance can simply be reduced to representation, not embodiment. But this is disingenuous: the power of dance is inevitably mediated through the body and the body cannot be removed from that representation, leaving embodiment and representation in irresolvable tension. A professional choreographer can indeed tailor the dance to the strengths of the performers, but those dancers will already be in possession of the docile body created through years of technique classes. School-level student choreographers creating dances for examination have to work with dancers who might but equally might not have technical skill. And so the technical skills of the dancers available to the candidates will affect both their choice of steps and the aesthetics of the performance. As one dance teacher colleague observed, I am sure you could look at a dance performed by two different candidates and think that one was better because you are more impressed by the performance of one because she was a better dancer, or slimmer, or more elegant Even with the best intentions, it is very difficult to remove the effect caused by a poor performance and a body that does not conform to normalised expectations because the two are so inextricably linked. And so the self-correction of the docile body is not limited to technical excellence but is also affected by the expected body shape, even at school level. Foucault describes the ideal body of the soldier, the muscular physique and bearing that replaces the peasant. In dance, as in society, there is an ideal body myth, the normalised body constructed as the aesthetic standard, the object of the observers gaze. Following Foucault, Green (2002) describes the ideal body of the female dancer as seen by her student participants, the long legs, the flexible, skinny body with no curves, thin face, long hair. An ideal, constantly striven for, self-policed, light as a feather. Never eat sweets (Green, 2002, p. 135), emphasising the sentiments of students and teacher referred to above. The self in the mirror is not checked just for technical accuracy but for any excess fat. The skinny dancer, existing on caffeine and cigarettes, is part of the dancing myth, if struggled against in reality. But the importance of indeed obsession with maintaining the perfect dancing body can lead to a range of eating disorders (Thomas, 1995). Perhaps addressing this concern might be one of the benefits referred to in the restructured GCSE specification that is, an understanding of health and safety in dance. Additionally, seeking to question the objectification of the body can result in a deeper understanding of the nature of dance and of its role in society (Shapiro, 1998, p. 10). The male professional dancers body is more contested, especially within the essentially patriarchal structures of ballet. In the nineteenth century he was caught between two competing discourses: if he looked muscular, strong and vigorous, he appeared too contrasting to the sylphlike ballerina who took the central role. But if he looked too ethereal and aesthetic, anxiety was generated in the theatre-going public through perceived homosexual overtones, a link that still persists whatever the reality. Male dancers in the contemporary idiom are perceived as more masculine than their classical counterparts, in part emphasised through the differences in classical and contemporary technique and choreographic principles, yet doubts regarding sexual orientation still remain in popular thought (Burt, 2007). The film Billy Elliot, in which Billy struggles to be permitted to dance, illustrates this perfectly: boys should play football or learn boxing dancing is for girls. What is more, in theatrical dance, the body is on view and most frequently a female body and with it historically, a link with moral laxity. The female body has long been regarded as a source of discord and danger to the patriarchal order, through distraction from knowledge, seduction away from God, capitulation to sexual desire, violence or aggression, failure of will, even death (Bordo, 1993, p. 5). Churches preached against social dance on grounds of immorality in the close physical proximity of male and female bodies, whether it was the introduction of the waltz in Victorian England or the perceived depravity of the tango and Charleston in the 1920s (Brinson, 1991). The theatre itself was the domain of women of questionable morals. Foucault saw the body to be central in the operationalising of power. Since the female body is repressed in a patriarchal culture and cultural representations of it (Fraser Bartky, 1992) that is, it is seen as the other to be controlled by the male, the relationship between dance and gender is influential in articulating the power of dance. The female body can be seen in terms of competing discourses and social control. If the power of dance must be expressed through the body, and that body is female (or if male, then with potentially homosexual overtones), then the dance expresses not power but subservience within that patriarchal hierarchy. And in the school curriculum, the body is similarly positioned and manipulated, its realities hidden (Oliver Lalik, 2001). Bakhtin (1968) argued that these impure meanings around embodiment could be overturned. Taking the world of medieval and Renaissance carnival as depicted in Rabelais novels, he showed how the worldview was upturned, where usual power structures were inverted and the boundaries between what was considered pure or profane could be crossed. The body image itself moved to a celebration of the grotesque but at its extreme it never presents an individual body; the image consists of orifices and convexities that present another, newly conceived body. It is a point of transition in a life eternally renewed, the inexhaustible vessel of death and conception (Bakhtin, 1968/1984, p. 318). But carnival is transitory: participants can only be temporarily free of Foucaults disciplinary technologies. In professional dance, the power of the choreography is essentially expressed through performance, and outside a carnival world view the lithe, trained dancer is considered uniquely able to interpret the choreographers ideas with the docile body. Dance and the Curriculum 2: Notating Dance But if in school the choreography is merely to be illuminated by the performer, then perhaps an alternative way of dealing with the potential interference from the use of (inadequately) docile bodies would be to ask dance candidates to write down their intentions, to allow the power of their choreographic choices to be examined in isolation from the power of the performing body. The question then arises of how this might be achieved in a curriculum that does not acknowledge the existence of dance notation. There are two main systems of notating dance, Labanotation and Benesh. Labanotation, devised by the influential dance figure Rudolf Laban, was published in 1928 and is used to record movement across a range of dance styles. Without notation, there is little chance of being able to accurately reproduce the movements; one can only know about the dance and its role within that particular culture. In spite of its availability, notation was used very little, with a resultant lack of documented dance scores (Redfern, 2007) although the number of scores is now gradually increasing. In the United States, for example, the Dance Notation Bureau, located at the University of Ohio, uses Labanotation to create a record of dance works, so that dance scores can be accessed and used in the same way as music scores. Other institutions in Europe and elsewhere are similarly collating notated dance works. These works are then available for interpretation, as are other art forms. And, as Redfern (2007) points out, increasing the number of interpretations of an art work increases its stature; the power of the dance can be enhanced by inviting different readings of its texts. As well as creating records of dance, notation use can also have learning-outcome implications. Goodmans (1976) theory of notation suggests that the created score defines a body of knowledge. Warburton (2000) goes on to argue that trying to express that knowledge verbally can be counterproductive because of what he refers to as the ambiguity and redundancy of spoken language. He illustrates this by explaining how the verbal description to glide for a ballet step called a glissade sets up expectations of the kind of movement to be completed that gliding overlaps the meanings of travelling and leaping moreover, to tell the dancer to perform a travelling-leaping-action-that-skims-across-the-floor permits a variety of interpretations (Warburton, 2000, p. 195). The anecdote he tells goes on to explore the problems of description and how one particular ballet mistress resolved this by demanding repetition until he performed the step properly the power of the dance expressed through the body, not through words. But although a dance step is a bodily experience, rarely conceptualised in terms of its component parts, notation, he asserts, might provide the means for this conceptualisation in a way that language cannot. He concludes that if the goal of dance education is to help dancers increase their abilities to use dance concepts, to read, write, and dance dance, then notation-use is a good tool for doing so (Warburton, 2000, p. 210), since it enables movement, concept and notation to be linked, which improves learning. Dance notation has never been a requirement for access to dance courses, whether at degree level or for professional training. Few institutions offered the particular AQA specification in which it appeared, and so many potential students would have been unable to study it. It is available for study in professional training courses at specialist dance schools and also features in some dance degree courses as an option. But at school level, the situation is rather different. From its inception in 1986 until restructured and examined for the first time in its new format in 2009, notation was a part of A-level dance, both for conveying the technical study to the teachers and their students and also as a separate test. Originally, according to one examiner, it was included at A level, for mainly cultural reasons. Dance has been regarded as an illiterate art for too long. There are few scripts or records of materials, so dance is seen as a time-based art, disadvantaged in comparison with drama or music. We wanted to help bring it into line with the other arts (Ridley, 1992, p. 37). Literacy, as used here, can be defined by the ability to read and write dance scores using either Benesh or Labanotation. At that time, the latter was the dominant choice of candidates; later examiners reports note the ability of students in both forms (AQA, 2008). The first and rather indirect test of notation skills at A level was through sending the compulsory technical dance study to centres in notated form. However, unless the students were extremely confident with notation, above the standard required for the exam itself, they were unable to read the complex scores themselves and thus were reliant on their teachers for their choice. This had important repercussions. Perhaps the first classical study might be slow, a piece of adage requiring balance, control and strength, whilst the second might emphasise speed, elevation and intricacy, a piece of allegro. Dancers tend to be more comfortable, and thus more competent, in one rather than the other. If the teacher decided to teach both studies then candidates would be able to choose their preferred option; if not, then some students would have to learn, perform and be assessed on a technical study which did not reflect their best performing ability. One solution was the option to buy video recordings from the National Resource Centre for Dance at the University of Surrey. However, this raised a further problem: any performance is inevitably an interpretation of the notation, not the definitive answer. The Resource Centre attempted to minimise this by offering a male and a female interpretation of each piece, but the essential problem remained. Students therefore copied the interpretation when perhaps they could have offered an equally valid, or possibly even better, interpretation from the score itself. The power of the dance as notated and to be interpreted was subsumed into copied technical performance. The specific notation component was also examined practically: students were tested in groups of six, each candidate having a different dance score. They were given sixteen bars of their chosen notation (either Benesh or Labanotation) to decode and perform. The bars were repeated in performance, to create a thirty-two-bar sequence. Thirty minutes were given in which the notation not only had to be understood but also memorised, then fitted to music and a creditable performance rendered which was itself graded. Candidates had to cope with distraction as well as having to race against the clock: the music was played periodically during the thirty minutes, which was potentially distracting if, at that moment, the individual was not ready to put the steps to music but was perhaps decoding a specific section. The memorisation aspect also meant that whilst a candidate might be able to read the notation and perform it with score in hand, marks would be lost if they could not perform it accurately without the score. If notation is a tool of dance, a way of recording movement, then memorisation and performance can hardly be a fair test of the ability to read it. One could read a poem for a test, but just because those lines were not remembered accurately would not be a reason to assume the person could not read. This memorisation aspect shifted the emphasis from reading the notation to one of demonstrating that understanding by way of perfected performance. The task was not a straightforward test of notation literacy but rather one of memorisation demonstrated through bodily skill. The power of dance was once again articulated through the performing body. Nevertheless, successive examiners reports throughout this period indicated the increasing familiarity of students with notated scores, and hence an increasing ability to cope with them. For example, in 2008, the report noted: As stated in previous years, some candidates are to be congratulated on their achievements. It was pleasing to see a number of candidates dance the whole 32-bar score and gain high marks in this component of the Unit 5 examination. This continues to be a positive progression over the past couple of years, indicating an increasing confidence in preparing reconstruction skills (AQA, 2008, p. 4). Yet the restructured 2009 A level removed the examined notation component completely. AQA suggested a summary of benefits of the new syllabus, which included encouraging critical engagement with dance as an art form, providing a suitable foundation for pursuing dance in higher education, providing experience of choreography and performance, and, finally, encouraging a hea lthy lifestyle (AQA, 2008). However, according to the National Dance Teachers Association (NTDA), the notation component was dropped because AQA was concerned about the ability of teachers to deal with this aspect of the course. Too few teachers were able to teach notation to a high enough standard and examiners had seen too many crying candidates attempting the notation part of unit five. It seems that we as teachers have failed to meet the standards required to deliver this part of the course successfully (NDTA, 2008, p. 13). Those teachers trained to use the system acknowledged the difficulties it posed, but nevertheless the outcome can only be seen as a retrograde step. Rather than calling for an improvement in teaching standards, this significant aspect of dance scholarship was dropped. The gaze of the literate hierarchy was rejected, not interiorised. So whilst schoolchildren may routinely be expected to understand that music has its own form of language that is, music notation there is no such expectation for dance; dance in schools is taught as if it were an illiterate art form that is, as if its notation does not exist. An unfortunate effect of this is, as Redfern (2007) points out, that a lack of interest in dance scores is perhaps what makes for, or at least reinforces, the tendency to concentrate on performance rather than the work; and this absence of a tradition of studying a dance script in the way that it is imperative for musicians or actors to study their scores or texts means that relatively little has been expected or demanded of the dancer in respect of interpretational ability (Redfern, 2007, p. 197). Notation is thus important for the development of dance studies. It allows dance works to be recorded and studied other than during the performance itself, giving dance a language equivalent to music. It can also enhance learning. But reading and interpreting through notated scores (however unskilled) is no longer a possibility at school level, and whilst writing scores was expected only at a very basic level, this too has gone. In addition, complex and analytical notation gives academic weight to a subject so often seen as unsuitable for serious study. It is also assessable in a way in which the more ephemeral aspects of the subject are not. The absence of notation at A level cannot help but reinforce

Film Analysis of All That Heaven Allows Essays -- Papers Movie Film Ci

Film Analysis of All That Heaven Allows Chosen sequence: Golden Rain Tree/Cary's bedroom scene. Before the emergence of 'auteur theory' the director Douglas Sirk was a renowned exponent of classical Hollywood narrative, particularly in the genre of romantic melodrama, of which his film All That Heaven Allows is a classic example. However, he is now regarded as a master of mise-en-scene, one of the few tools left to a director working within the constraints of the Hollywood studio/institutional system who is now thought to have been highly critical of American mainstream culture and society in this prosperous era. 1, 2 The 'Golden Rain Tree' sequence occurs early on in the film after the opening panoramic, establishing shot - showing the scene of the action, a small middle-class New England town in autumn. The main protagonists are soon introduced of which the prime causal agent is an unsettled woman, Cary Scott (Jane Wyman), in keeping with romantic melodrama. As a widow, she is a victim of circumstance who is eager to change her life. Her friend visits (Mona) and hopes to persuade Cary to take a conventional route out of widowhood but, by chance, she meets the gardener, Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson) and from the mise-en-scene in these opening scenes it is obvious that she would prefer a romantic affiliation of some sort with Ron. After a few pleasantries, some tea at the table outside Cary's house and some profound references to gardening, Ron goes to hand Cary a small brance/twig, evidently a token of deep affection. The film so far displays all the conventions of classical narrative and maintains all the dominant ideologies o... ...lassical narrative cinema. In Being There, the character and motives of Gardiner are made much clearer to the viewer through the imaginative use of mise-en-scene, as illustrated above. NOTES 1. Carroll. Essay The Moral Ecology of Melodrama: The Family Plot and Magnificent Obsession. p. 170. 2. Cook. p. 76-79. BIBLIOGRAPHY An Introduction to Film Studies Jill Nelmes (ed.) Routledge 1996 Anatomy of Film Bernard H. Dick St. Martins Press 1998 Key Concepts in Cinema Studies Susan Hayward Routledge 1996 Teach Yourself Film Studies Warren Buckland Hodder & Stoughton 1998 Interpreting the Moving Image Noel Carroll Cambridge University Press 1998 The Cinema Book Pam Cook (ed.) BFI 1985 FILMOGRAPHY All That Heaven Allows Dir. Douglas Sirk Universal 1955 Being There Dir. Hal Ashby 1979

Dental Fillings: A Threat to Your Health or Harmless?

According to the American Dental Association, dentists have been using amalgam fillings for over a century. â€Å"It’s the least expensive type of filling, used in roughly a third of procedures to replace tooth decay† (Southall 1). The amalgam fillings often called â€Å"silver† fillings consist of a mixture of metals: Fifty percent liquid mercury and a fifty percent mixture of silver, tin, and copper (Magner 1). In the 1970’s some of the first claims were made that the mercury in amalgam fillings could be responsible for many health problems (Magner 1).Since then, scientific studies and research on amalgam fillings have unveiled a wide range of health problems that come from mercury exposure, and groups are urging the F. D. A. to ban these so called â€Å"silver† fillings. However, the F. D. A. stills deems amalgam fillings safe for adults and children over six, leaving the general public with the question, â€Å"Do amalgam fillings pose a signifi cant threat to human health? † Since the F. D. A. eemed amalgam fillings safe for the public, many people hold the view that the mercury used in dental fillings is safe and poses no threat to human health. The F. D. A. has based its decision, to allow dentists to use amalgam fillings, on scientific evidence that proved there were no harmful effects from amalgam fillings. In Sharon Begley’s informative article â€Å"Mercury Tooth Fillings: F. D. A. Does an About Face,† she states in 2006 the Journal of the American Medical Association had come to a conclusion on the threats of amalgam fillings. The conclusion: after following just over 1,000 kids for five years in one study and seven years in the other, the scientists found no evidence of harmful effects† (1).In Begley’s article one of the science teams stated that, â€Å"No statistically significant differences were found between children in the amalgam and composite groups. In I. Q. , in memory abi lities, in visuomotor. In all, there were no statistically significant differences in adverse neuropsychological†¦effects observed† (1). Begley’s article offered strong cientific evidence supporting the FDA’s decision to uphold the use of amalgam fillings in America. Ashley Southall put forth an article in 2009 noting mercury levels safe in fillings. Southall mentions that the F. D. A. had stated, â€Å"while elemental mercury has been associated with adverse health effects at high exposures, the levels released by dental amalgam fillings are not high enough to cause harm in patients† (1). Although Southall did use some statements from the F. D. A. , she failed to use specific scientific studies to support the F. D. A. s claim of amalgam fillings being safe which made her article weak. Not only is there scientific evidence that amalgam fillings aren’t dangerous, there is also â€Å"the basic fact of chemistry: The mercury in dental amalgam che mically binds to other elements; the result is a substance that is hard, stable, and safe† (Magner 5). People who hold the view that the mercury used in dental fillings poses no threat are supporting their views with more scientific studies. According to Lois Magner some of the most compelling data has come from studies on dentists.Magner states, â€Å"studies have shown that dentists do tend to have higher levels of mercury in the urine than does the general population. Yet dentists still have no greater risk of illness or death. In other words, even dentists’ above-average mercury levels do not seem to be high enough to cause harm† (5). Magner fears that even though the risk posed by the mercury in amalgam fillings is minimal to none and even though it is cost effective, it can still be banned on unfounded fears (7).On the contrary, many hold the viewpoint that the mercury in amalgam fillings is dangerous and has adverse health effects. Supporters of this view may have based their decision of scientific evidence as well. In an article put forth by the Physicians for Social Responsibility it stated, â€Å"autopsy results have shown that methylmercury causes nerve cell death and scarring in selected areas of the brain† (2). Not only is the brain affected from methlymercury so is the cardiovascular system.There have been links between methlymercury and high blood pressure, heart-rate abnormalities, and heart disease (Physicians 2). The Physiciams also noted that â€Å"while several organ systems in the body can be affected by methylmercury, the major target system is the central nervous system, and the most vulnerable life stage is fetal† (1). There was also a study put forth by the Centers for Disease Control that found nearly 8% of women of childbearing ages had mercury levels to high to be considered safe for a fetus (Physicians 3).This could mean millions of children and women are at risk for adverse health effects associat ed with mercury poisoning. The article â€Å"Mercury Contamination Poses a Serious Health Threat†, offers strong scientific evidence supporting the claim of adverse health effects from mercury exposure, and could definitely change ones mind on the decision to keep or remove their amalgam fillings. I have come to the conclusion that amalgam fillings may be dangerous in large quantities. If I had the means to remove my amalgam fillings safely I would. I have watched many peoples’ testimonies on youtube. om supporting the claim that their amalgam fillings were the cause of several adverse health effects, and that once the fillings were removed many cancers and disease left the body. Many of these people were taking a holistic approach to health and had had their amalgam fillings removed in conjunction with a lifestyle freeing the body of intoxicants. Although I have found much evidence supporting the claim that amalgam fillings aren’t a threat to my health, I still fear they may be.A judge accused the FDA of dragging its feet when it came to the regulations of amalgam fillings (Begley 1), and the F. D. A. as classified amalgam fillings as a Class II or â€Å"moderate risk,† medical device (Southall 1). Still more research and scientific evidence in America needs to be put forth in order for the F. D. A. to put strict regulations on the use of mercury in fillings. I have also found in my research that working in the dental field may also be dangerous because of the high levels of mercury. Unfortunately these are not from credible sources. In this great country of Amercia we have the Freedom of the Press and it just sickens me that conglomerates have control of about two-thirds of our newspapers and can control what is printed (Burns 2).In order to get the truth on whether or not amalgam fillings can cause adverse health effects, one must evaluate why the F. D. A. is motivated to deem amalgam fillings safe, when so many individuals have come forth proving the contrary. Who pays the F. D. A. after all? Is a question I still need to answer myself. As for now the American Dental Association isn’t going to get rid of an affordable practical solution to tooth decay just because some individuals think their health issues were related to their amalgam fillings.

Egyptian government Essay

Though the New York Times also covers the international health view in reporting that the World Health Organization has gone on record stating that the slaughtering of the nation’s pigs has â€Å"no scientific basis† and that the United Nations describes the government executed slaughter as being a â€Å"real mistake†. The periodical touches lightly on the issues and views of international health organizations but focuses more on the lack of compensation received and the plight of the poverty stricken pig farmers. They report that when talk of a cull first began it was said that the Egyptian Health ministry promised that the farmers would indeed be compensated for the confiscation of their livestock, but upon experiencing some varied measure of resistance or implied disagreement from Parliament it is as yet unclear whether or not the pig farmers will ever see that compensation. The New York Times also presents the firsthand account of the pig farmers by interviewing a 26 year old Manshiet Nasser farmer, by name of Barsoum Girgis, who makes his living as a pig farmer and garbage collector. Girgis has gone on record stating that the Egyptian government is wrongfully going after the livelihood of the farmers. It is his, and other farmers’ belief that the pigs are perfectly healthy and he is left wondering how he will ever afford to feed his family and send his children to school without the availability and resource that he once had in his livestock. The newspaper shines a spotlight on how the farmers live, residing in an area where trash collecting is dependent upon people like Barsoum Girgis, who, when he had his livestock, would awaken every morning before dawn to comb the streets of Cairo for goods that he could sell to scrap yards for money and food scraps that he could use as pig feed. They also shine a light on the divisions between the Egyptian classes and the way that poor people are viewed within the nation. They have quoted Egypt’s Agriculture Ministry’s Head of Infectious Disease Saber Abdel Aziz-Galal’s as saying that it is his thought that the confiscated pigs should be taken to be raised on â€Å"good farms, not on rubbish†. Unlike any of the other newspapers, The New York Times takes the slaughtering of hundreds of thousands of livestock, that was supposed to be an effort to safeguard against the infestation of swine flu, and turns it into a personal attack against the farmers who are raising the livestock. This has become one of those clear cases in which the lowest of classes is targeted and further oppressed. Barsoum Girgis’ feelings echo this sentiment in his statement, â€Å"we are Christian, and we are the underclass, so it’s very easy to go after us†. It’s amazing how the New York Times article so eloquently portrayed the Egyptian government as classist and egregious.