Global Media Ecologies: Networked Production in Film and Television 2009048161, 020385098X, 9780415874786, 9780203850985

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Global Media Ecologies

Routledge Advances in Internationalizing Media Studies EDITED

BY

DAYA THUSSU, University of Westminster

1. Media Consumption and Everyday Life in Asia Edited by Youna Kim 2. Internationalizing Internet Studies Beyond Anglophone Paradigms Edited by Gerard Goggin and Mark McLelland 3. Iranian Media The Paradox Modernity Gholam Khiabany

4. Media Globalization and the Discovery Channel Networks Ole J. Mjos 5. Audience Studies A Japanese Perspective Toshie Takahashi 6. Global Media Ecologies Networked Production in Film and Television Doris Baltruschat

Global Media Ecologies Networked Production in Film and Television

Doris Baltruschat

New York

London

First published 2010 by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Simultaneously published in the UK by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2010. To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk. © 2010 Taylor & Francis All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark Notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Baltruschat, Doris. Global media ecologies : networked production in film and television / by Doris Baltruschat. p. cm.—(Routledge advances in internationalizing media studies ; 6) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Television and globalization. 2. Television broadcasting—International cooperation. 3. Television broadcasting—Economic aspects. 4. Mass media policy. 5. Mass media and globalization. 6. Mass media and culture. I. Title. PN1992.8.G66B36 2010 302.23'43—dc22 2009048161 ISBN 0-203-85098-X Master e-book ISBN

ISBN13: 978-0-415-87478-6 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-0-203-85098-5 (ebk)

Dedicated to my partner Robin Wylie

Contents

List of Tables, Figures and Maps Preface and Acknowledgments Introduction and Overview

ix xi 1

1

International Film and TV Co-production under Review

23

2

Activating Codes and Conventions in Co-produced Docudramas

50

3

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising

78

4

Formats and Reality TV: The Case of the Idol Franchise

98

5

Auditioning for Idol

123

6

‘Content as Currency’: New Alliances between Media and Cultural Agents

136

Summary and Conclusion

155

7

Appendix Glossary Notes Bibliography Index

179 185 191 199 227

Tables, Figures and Maps

TABLES 1.1

Cultural Test

42

1.2

Creative Grid

43

2.1

Codes and Conventions in Docudramas along a Fact–Fiction Continuum—Theory

56

Codes and Conventions in Docudramas along a Fact–Fiction Continuum—Production, Distribution and Audiences

57

Format Development Chain

80

0.1

Networked production circuit.

12

1.1

Decrease in total Canadian film and TV co-production, 1996–2006.

31

Decrease in film and TV co-production projects and budgets, 1998–2006.

32

3.1

Narrative models for interactive media.

93

4.1

‘Building blocks’ in format adaptations.

112

4.2

The ‘mosaic’ of format adaptation.

115

5.1

Reasons for audition.

127

2.2

3.1

FIGURES

1.2

x

Tables, Figures and Maps

5.2

Reasons for watching Canadian Idol (CI) and American Idol (AI).

129

Alternative media ecology.

177

7.1

Format topography: organizational level.

167

7.2

Format topography: narrative level.

168

7.3

Format topography: technological level.

169

7.1

MAPS

Preface and Acknowledgments

Global Media Ecologies is about the transformations that are currently taking place in the film and television sectors and the resulting effects that reverberate across the cultural industries. Increased collaborations between international producers, peer-to-peer networking and multi-media all represent recent developments that call attention to this paradigm shift in the media field. The book uncovers the reasons for changing priorities in film and television production, especially in the form of co-production and format franchising. It addresses the challenges and opportunities that arise out of international collaborations through exploring the myriad interconnections between media and cultural agents on a global scale. In doing so, I seek to answer the following questions: What defi nes global media production today? What were the key events that laid the foundation for the current turmoil in the media field? And what are the implications for media producers and audiences of tomorrow? The fi rst decade of the new millennium coincides with new modes of production in film and television. In particular, social-networking practices and multi-media pose tremendous challenges to traditional broadcasters and producers. However, these new practices are also indicative of the potential for the emergence of a more democratic and equitable communications architecture in society, especially through innovative collaborations between producers and new media users. In Global Media Ecologies, I trace the beginnings of the current situation to the implementation of neoliberalist measures in the 1990s, which created the fi rst paradigm shift for media organizations with the result of widespread corporate and technological convergences. This was also the decade of increased international co-production and format franchising. Networks between media and cultural agents consequently moved center stage and laid the foundation for global media ecologies, which still dominate the cultural industries today. Corporate and digital convergences defi ne the media economy in the 2000s through increased alliances across ‘non-traditional’ lines that include telecommunications providers, aggregators and curators of digital content, as well as audiences producing user-generated-content, or USG. These new alliances form the basis of media production ecologies—referred to simply

xii

Preface and Acknowledgments

as ‘media ecologies’ throughout the book—which are defi ned by activities, processes, lived realities and interdependencies that characterize the collaborative as well as competitive relationships between media and cultural agents. Media production ecologies therefore encapsulate relational dynamics that exist between agents due to power differentials, access to resources and the globalization of creative labor. In addition, they point toward the importance of technologies and tools—such as digital media and copyright—that now form an integral part of global production chains. In this volume, I therefore investigate the quintessential social and working relations between media and cultural agents to shed light on dynamics shaping the current media field. Alliances between media and cultural agents across non-traditional lines raise questions about how they effectively negotiate developments of new film and television projects. In the book, I address these questions through analyses of complex production matrices, which underscore fi lm and television. These include co-production treaties, cultural policies, promotion and product branding, contractual arrangements, copyright restrictions, genre hybridization, trans-media storytelling practices, audience interactivity and commons-based peer-to-peer production. I describe how globally networked production is changing film and television production from a producer- and consumer-oriented industry to an interactive media-driven field. Analyses are therefore linked to a detailed mapping of how media ecologies are formed and promulgated along national and international lines. In particular, analyses identify how new alliances between media and cultural agents defi ne the changing media field in light of auxiliary revenue streams, which result from interactive web sites, mobile technologies (i.e., video cell phones) and global television formats. An analysis of global media ecologies necessitates a revision of traditional production and reception paradigms, especially in regards to notions about ‘one-way flow’ of content and ‘passive audiences’. Today, audience involvement spans the gamut from on-line engagement and interactive media use to actual co-producing of content, also referred to as ‘crowd-sourcing’. As a result, ‘creative audiences’ and ‘interactive media users’ play a crucial role in providing feedback to film and television producers about production values, multi-platform applications and texts. Through mapping the media field, relational dynamics between media and cultural agents emerge as key forces in shaping cultural production, now increasingly characterized by flexible production and consumption. Digital media are important tools in this transformation, as are social-networking practices, which are underscored by digital rights management and copyright restrictions. Equally important for the theoretical and empirical trajectories in the book are the significant changes along the production–manufacture–consumption circuit of global fi lm and television production, which lie at the core of the new media economy. This volume addresses how ‘content’ has become the ‘new currency’ in the global trade of intellectual properties. Through

Preface and Acknowledgments xiii detailing the intricacies of globally networked media ecologies, the book thus elucidates the shifting power relations in media production, especially in regards to creative labor and copyright that underscore co-production and format franchising. Evidently, the blurring lines in fi lm and television project developments require new parameters, which defi ne creativity and intellectual property in relation to audience interactivity and their contributions to collaboratively produced content. The volume highlights that clear guidelines—as well as greater awareness of global production networks—are necessary to incorporate creative contributions into new labor constellations that ensure fair practice and, ultimately, benefit cultural production overall. The research for Global Media Ecologies is based on a combination of methods, including field studies in North America and Europe, interviews with international broadcasters and producers, and a multiple-case study approach to investigate the use of production technologies for specific program developments. The book also features the fi rst audience study that investigates the localization of a popular television format through staging auditions and media events. In particular, results from field research in different venues where media producers, funding agents and policy analysts convene provide insight into current trends in international film and television production. They also render information about industry initiatives, new technologies and possible future directions for cultural producers. In addition, interview evidence, gathered from industry representatives— including media producers, broadcasters and policy analysts from several countries—highlights the extent of global production networks and the importance of international hubs such as markets. This information reveals why producers and broadcasters choose a particular production technology and how they select stories for co-productions and format franchises. It also sheds light on the consequences of current policy initiatives, reviews of co-production activities and trends in the international format trade. In Global Media Ecologies, I employ a multiple-case study to investigate interdependencies between cultural policies and the use of production technologies such as co-production and format franchising. A comparative case study of co-production reviews in the U.K. and Canada reveals the interconnection between cultural agencies, policy initiatives and the effects of global production foci on domestic production. I present additional case studies to emphasize correlations between production networks and genre and narrative development in several programs. More specifically, selected co-productions highlight the complexity of media ecologies in regards to developing docudramas that center on topics related to globalization. In comparison, in my discussion about format franchises, I draw attention to adaptation processes of narratives and inter-textual references that amplify the popularity of reality TV formats. In addition, I describe immersive propensities of formatted texts that are integrally linked to carefully staged media events and social-networking practices on-line.

xiv

Preface and Acknowledgments

Global Media Ecologies covers networked production in film and television in North America and Europe, but, due to the global nature of co-productions, references are made to other markets, such as Australia. International co-productions cover geo-cultural areas as they allow producers to pool resources such as government funding, private investments and talent into a production matrix that often surpasses production budgets for domestic film and television. In comparison, the international trade of television format franchises is truly global as it transcends cultural boundaries to include territories around the world. Inferences from the analysis of the North American ‘glocalization’ of a popular television format (Pop Idol)—also called the ‘prototype’ for current practices in the franchising business—can therefore be made to other markets. These include similar adaptation processes, the contractual relationship between licensors and licensees, subcontracting of local crews, copyright restrictions for contestants—better referred to as semi-professional performers—as well as the overall production matrix with its formatted elements and blueprint for incorporating product placements and branded entertainment. The book is written for a wide-ranging readership. The turmoil experienced in the current media sector is more than just a concern for broadcasters, production companies and cultural agencies struggling to cope with changing priorities for content development across digital platforms and related policies. In the book, I emphasize the notion of ‘media democracy’ throughout in order to highlight the importance of social activism and an engaged citizenry for shaping the media field of the future. Case studies, analyses and discussions reveal that global media ecologies do not translate into greater media plurality or increased diversity in representation. On the contrary, internationally networked media ecologies are the result—as well as exemplify—broader trends in economic and cultural globalization with negative effects on domestic and independent media production. Concomitantly, social-networking practices across digital platforms entail the potential for greater accessibility to the means of production and distribution, and, ultimately, to a more equitable communications architecture. However, many challenges persist in regards to pervasive surveillance of the Internet, increased corporatization of socialnetworking sites through their acquisition by major media conglomerates (i.e., News Corporation’s purchase of MySpace), branded entertainment and copyright restrictions. In addition, investigations into the production– distribution–consumption/interaction circuit reveal the necessity for intervention on several levels. These include dispelling the ‘myths’ associated with reality TV formats that tend to simulate celebrity culture, but exploit creative labor instead—from semi-professional performers to writers and editors associated with the genres. This also extends to falsities associated with ‘star transformation’ narratives, which underscore as well as proliferate reality TV formats and branded entertainment in global markets. I therefore call attention to social praxis as the next step in bridging

Preface and Acknowledgments xv research with constructive solutions for an improved and balanced media ecology, comprised of a multi-faceted media system. Consequently, educational campaigns, lobbying efforts, activism and critical cultural policy constitute important foci for media and cultural agents, as well as citizens, for achieving a more viable public sphere. The initial outline for this book dates back to 2002 when my interest in researching international co-productions received a new impetus by the proliferation of television formats. Over the years, the manuscript was enriched by my research in North America, the U.K. and other countries in Europe. In particular, field studies at trade conferences and discussion forums shed light on new directions in the film and television sectors. Most importantly, my interviews with producers, broadcasters, filmmakers and government agents offered valuable insight into the complexities of global media ecologies and changes to the current media field. Their contributions provide an essential cornerstone for Global Media Ecologies, and I am grateful for their participation in this study. I want to thank the people that have been an inspiration for my work through their scholarship, as well as through providing invaluable feedback and guidance throughout several stages in writing this book. Notably, this includes Vincent Mosco from Queen’s University in Canada, Albert Moran from Griffith University in Australia, as well as Simon Cottle from Cardiff University in England. I am especially grateful to my friends, mentors and colleagues from the School of Communication at Simon Fraser University in Canada, which has proved to be a fertile base for my endeavors. Especially, my thanks go to Alison Beale, Catherine Murray, Zoë Druick, Dal Yong Jin and Richard Smith for providing me with excellent resources, guidance, support and rewarding working relationships. I am also thankful for the generous funding I received from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada during the research phase for this book. Furthermore, I need to mention my students from whom I have learned that reality TV formats offer an excellent entry point into teaching about the critical political economy of fi lm and television, including creative labor and branded entertainment. Finally, many thanks to my editor at Routledge, Erica Wetter, for her wonderful guidance throughout the publishing process. And last, but not least, I want to thank my partner Robin Wylie for insightful discussions, for his patience and support, as well as for proofreading large sections of this book. Thank you for traveling along with me on this great journey.

Introduction and Overview

The aim of this book is to examine global media ecologies, which are at the center of dramatic changes in worldwide fi lm and television production. Global Media Ecologies: Networked Production in Film and Television therefore highlights vital interconnections between production networks and the development of co-productions and format franchises, as well as the shift from audiences to users of interactive media such as the Internet and video cell phones. The focus of the analysis is on the current situations in North America and Europe, but due to the global nature of media and their contexts (e.g., cultural policies, international trade and the global reach of the Internet), references to other markets—such as Australia—are included. These comparisons highlight the extent to which production is facilitated through networks of media and cultural agents. At the same time, they reveal the limitations media ecologies impose on public interest content, cultural diversity and, ultimately, a viable public sphere. Global Media Ecologies therefore challenges the assumption that international film and television production results in greater media plurality. On the contrary, interdependencies in policy regimes, center-periphery relations based on format licensing, prioritization of genres (i.e., in reality TV) and exploitation of audience creativity epitomize how networked ecologies reflect broader trends in cultural and economic globalization.

THE NEW MEDIA ECONOMY Media producers, broadcasters, digital content developers and government agencies are increasingly linked through the collaborative development of film and television programs. In the 1990s, changes to media industries in the form of privatization, deregulation and trade liberalization laid the basis for media production ecologies, which network producers, labor and governments into a web of interdependencies that follows the beat of international commerce. Neo-liberal reforms, combined with the convergence of media industries, new digital technologies and the ubiquity of infotainment, therefore underscore the popularity of global production technologies such as co-production and format franchising (i.e., American Idol).

2

Global Media Ecologies

Current globalization trends were precipitated by several key developments in global capitalism. Harvey (2007) points toward the long downturn in global capitalist markets, which, after the end of the post-war consumer boom in the late 1960s, experienced a series of crises, from recessions to oil embargos, that led to reforms such as floating exchange rates in 1973, structural adjustment plans (SAPs) by the International Monetary Fund, which affected predominantly countries in the developing world, as well as the implementation of other neo-liberal measures to revitalize capital accumulation. Concurrently, attacks were made on organized labor (i.e., the miners’ strike in the U.K. in 1983–1984), which were amplified by cutbacks in social benefits, health care and other public institutions (such as public service broadcasters). In addition, outsourcing of labor (i.e., maquiadoras on the borders of Mexico and the U.S.) further destabilized labor and created a blue print for a new international division of labor, which today also defi nes global media and cultural production (see Chapter 7). Indeed, Miller, Govil, McMurria and Maxwell (2001) highlight the formation of a ‘new international division of cultural labor’ (NIDCL), which is defined by capitalist expansion and high capital velocity. According to the authors, Hollywood’s status as a global production center is now facilitated by post-fordist modes of production with flexible specialization as its driving force. Differentiation, vertical disintegration and the practice of subcontracting production companies provide new flexibility for media and cultural agents in a global capitalist system marked by instabilities and change (p. 55). In addition, foreign location shooting, referred to as ‘peripheral Taylorism’, is linked to accessing locations around the world, often in less developed countries that offer competitive tax schemes and a basic infrastructure for film and television production. Other types of cultural labor divisions are evidenced by U.S.-U.K. co-productions, in which U.S. investment is combined with U.K. production facilities (especially post-production and special effects, as in the case of the Harry Potter movies) in a temporary, projectbased, networked media ecology, discussed in more detail subsequently. Even though an increase in more flexible arrangements between media and cultural agents is characteristic of post-fordism, the same agents remain connected to fordist modes of production through the manufacturing–distribution link related to hardware (i.e., television sets, cameras, etc.), which is produced in factory assembly lines in China and Southeast Asia. Global capitalism is therefore marked by a combination of even and uneven developments—through the creation of center and periphery regions (Wallerstein, 2000)—to allow venture capital to proliferate in industrial sectors. Global capitalism is equally characterized by different approaches to production, from fordist and post-fordist modes, to reap profits in traditional and new markets. Yet, in this analysis of global media capitalism, the quintessential human networks that facilitate internationalization and greater integration are often overlooked. The book therefore centers on networks between media

Introduction and Overview

3

and cultural agents, which constitute a ‘media production ecology’ that successfully taps into the growing interdependencies of the polity, culture and economy to cross-fertilize projects, trade goods and services, increase profit margins, lobby for stricter copyright laws and develop cultural policies that, in spite of their local focus, have to take the global dimension into account. These agents use production technologies such as co-production and format franchising to create networked production circuits (see Figure 0.1) that are linked through a variety of temporary or long-term arrangements for the development of cultural products. They coalesce around central nodes at annual markets, conferences, fi lm festivals, award shows and trade fora that provide important venues for creating new partnerships (or reinforcing old ones); information about new technologies; and lobby efforts for stricter copyright legislation to protect investments. Their networked relations are non-linear and largely autopoietic to facilitate the constantly evolving, flexible alliances across international production domains and media distribution platforms, thus creating sweeping changes in the film and television economies. At the same time, fi lm and television industries remain high-risk businesses and, in spite of fierce competition between corporations, the common denominator remains the protection of national and regional interests—aided by official cultural policies—in addition to maintaining inequities around the globe to exploit cheap labor and access to desirable locations for production. These networks also extend to, and increasingly envelop, publicly mandated agencies, such as the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) and the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC), which due to pressures to attract audiences use co-productions and formats to increase their international and domestic market shares (Gill, 2006). Furthermore, cultural policy analysts and government agencies—from the U.K. Film Council to Telefilm Canada and Screen Australia—are important agents in these networks through facilitating and promoting international collaborative enterprises. As a result, they subject themselves to the fluctuation and instability of the global marketplace, which, as Chapter 1 describes, can lead to compromising cultural policy initiatives meant to strengthen domestic film and television industries. Networks between broadcasters, producers and government agents determine the rules for entry into the game of international production. According to Taylor (1995), co-production was originally perceived as a means to strengthen marginal production industries, but it is now used predominantly between countries with well-developed film and television sectors. In the case of format franchising, the creation of the lobby group The Format Recognition and Protection Association (FRAPA), discussed in Chapter 3, shows that guidelines for entry into the format market are currently regulated according to those companies that hold membership. Many of these companies—FremantleMedia, Granada Television (U.K.), Sony Pictures Television (U.S.), GRUNDY Light Entertainment (Germany)

4

Global Media Ecologies

and Endemol International (Netherlands)—popularized this production technology in the mid and late 1990s in response to the worldwide industry changes outlined previously. In the 2010s, their transnational networks span Europe, the U.S., Australia, Latin America and Asia where companies operate offshore offices to oversee local format adaptation (i.e., FremantleMedia; see Chapter 3 and Appendix A). In order to analyze and understand the complex, dynamic and constantly evolving relationships that underlay the global media economy, ‘network analysis’ provides an excellent tool for mapping links between media and cultural agents and their interdependencies as defi ned by contracts, copyright, cultural policies and regulations. Another useful concept is the notion of ‘media production ecologies’ or ‘media ecologies’, which draws attention to activities, processes, lived realities and interdependencies that characterize the collaborative as well as competitive relationships between media and cultural agents. In addition to being embedded in organizational cultures—public versus private—regulatory frameworks (i.e., cultural policies) and national cultures, agents are also part of transnational business networks, which are defi ned by short- or long-term collaborations, global mobility, flexible accumulation, contracting of labor and digital technologies facilitating instantaneous communications. In the scholarly literature, Grabher (2001) applies the term ‘project ecologies’ to the unique constellation of everyday lived realities of cultural workers in England’s advertising industry, which are characterized by short-term project interdependencies as well as more traditional long-term forms of organization (p. 245). Tasks are performed by teams of workers that reflect and combine highly differentiated working conditions—from permanent employment to part-time, flex-time and contracted working arrangements. Project ecologies are therefore marked by flexible arrangements and as a result “provide the organizational arena in which incongruent physical and organizational layers are ‘stapled’ for a limited period of time—just to be reconfigured anew in the context of subsequent projects” (p. 259). Cottle (2003, 2004) applies the term ‘ecology’ to describe the unique conditions and relational processes that constitute the development of ‘natural history’ programs on television. In particular, he defines ecologies in media production as characterized by the “[c]oexistence and cooperation, competition and rivalry [that] are enacted and played out in response to strategies of self-interest and the imbalances of scale and market opportunity” (2004, p. 82) within the field of cultural production. Moreover, media production ecologies extend beyond traditional studies of media professionals and their organizations (see Tunstall, 1993, 2001) because they bring “into view the dynamic relationships between different media organizations that coexist and compete within particular arenas of cultural production and how they respond—both organizationally and professionally—to wider forces of change, and adapt and differentiate their particular cultural forms” (Cottle, 2004, pp. 82–83).

Introduction and Overview

5

This dynamic interdependency between producers and modes of production is also reflected in Deuze’s (2007) study on creative labor, where he details that [p]roject work in the media is ecological in that it combines elements of severe competition between investors, studios, service companies, and individuals with aspects of cooperation and dependencies through formal and informal production networks, reputation mechanisms and access restriction policies. In order to understand the complex workstyle of television and fi lm professionals, one has to include elements of repetition as well as structural change, the development of interfi rm and intrafi rm networks and loyalties, and their appreciation of their ongoing negotiations to achieve a delicate balance between competing for jobs and collaborating on projects. (p. 190) Goldsmith and O’Regan (2003) refer to ‘production ecologies’ in their analysis of the diversity and scope of Australia’s studio complexes within the broader contexts of national and international industrial developments in film and television. The authors characterize this production ecology as “mobile, fluid, slippery” as it relates to, and is underscored by, the importance of global markets, co-production “as an industrial norm” (p. 19), the tendency to agglomeration and conglomeration of media fi rms and their affiliation with smaller companies through subsidiary arrangements. In each of these cases, ‘media production ecology’ highlights the importance of lived realities of media and cultural agents within the context of dynamic and changing media economies on a national and international scale. It is important to emphasize that ‘media ecologies’ neither occur nor exist in a naturalized or neutralized fashion. On the contrary, enduring tensions exist in relations between agents due to power differentials, unequal access to resources, exploitation of creative labor and lack of remuneration for creative work rendered. Creative labor is based on the same principles as other work performed in capitalist societies, namely, the production of value and surplus value performed by workers. Therefore, a precise definition of media ecology is necessary when analyzing the full production–distribution– consumption circuit. This highlights the role of mediating agents in labor constellations (i.e., unions, trade and professional organization), who seek to change exploitative conditions in an attempt to improve overall cultural production. The book therefore emphasizes a critical perspective in describing dynamic interdependencies between media and cultural agents, who are linked through their use of specific production technologies—co-production, format franchising and interactive media. This investigation into relational processes illustrates the extent and complexity of media ecologies at a time when film and television economies are experiencing a paradigm shift across the entire field of cultural production.

6

Global Media Ecologies

In summary, international co-productions, formats and interactive media provide an excellent lens for investigations into organizational, regulatory and textual properties of global media and their interconnection through networked media ecologies. These networks are flexible to meet changing market needs. They also underscore the growing correlation between government initiatives and global media production, which affect cultural policy and domestic production.

GLOBAL PRODUCTION TECHNOLOGIES AS INDUSTRY STRATEGIES The development of fi lm and television projects is an elaborate and risky undertaking. Feature fi lms and television programs are marked by high start-up costs, especially for large-scale, fi rst-time productions. Networked production therefore spreads the risks across partnerships between producers, broadcasters and content developers (including users of interactive media), thus stemming the impact of potential project failure. Co-production and format franchising are ideal strategies for offsetting risks associated with new film and television program development: co-production provides the means for pooling resources in the form of fi nances, government subsidies, labor and talent, while formats are based on the licensing and adaptation of successful program concepts. Co-productions are governed by official treaties or consist of co-venture type arrangements between producers for the duration of fi lm or television production and distribution. In the scholarly literature, co-ventures are often referred to as co-productions as well to defi ne different constellations of collaborative ventures (Miller et al., 2001). As detailed in Chapter 1, Canada, Australia and the U.K. have co-production treaties with countries around the world; however, they only use a small fraction of these agreements, and then mainly to pursue film and television production for economic reasons rather than cultural ones. Also, a dramatic decline in treaty co-productions since 2003 reveals that this production technology is not a reliable long-term strategy because new demands in the film and television industries, such as rising costs and the emergence of more economically viable methods (i.e., non-treaty co-production, format franchising), are shifting priorities in global production. In contrast, Moran (2004) defines format franchising as a form of exchange control in an international capitalist market faced with uncertainty and risks. Formats are based on popular concepts and programs, which are licensed to broadcasters and producers, who adapt these recognizable blueprints for national film and television audiences. As a result, program concepts are localized or ‘glocalized’1 to fit the domestic media environment. The practice is cost-effective since no original concept development is necessary. As in the case of co-productions, policy analysts and cultural agents make no

Introduction and Overview

7

distinction between ‘home-grown’ programs and formats, thus emphasizing the lack of official response to the potential impact of globalized cultural production (Moran, 1998, pp. 20, 22–23; Magder, 2004). In many ways, formats are an extension of co-producers’ collaborative strategy to create competitive programming for international markets. But format producers also utilize partnerships across non-traditional lines to accommodate multi-platform access for interactive media users. As a result, digital content developers, telecommunications providers and interactive media users are added to the networked mix of producers and broadcasters. Formats therefore exemplify the shift from product manufacture to the trade of intellectual property—the cornerstone of the new flexible, networked economy (Castells, 2000). Within this paradigm, media producers and corporations are interconnected through sub-contracting and short-term alliances, which create flexible arrangements as a means to counter uncertain global developments in the fi nancial, political and cultural spheres. These arrangements, defi ned by Harvey (1990) as fl exible accumulation, effect changes in organizational practices, technological innovations and new forms of commerce (p. 147). Film and television programs are not renewable sources, but represent cultural products that are depleted once they have been consumed. Yet, since re-production costs are generally low, revenues can be recouped through DVD sales, video-on-demand and downloadable files for pay. Producers use different strategies to manage risk through creating product repertoires, serialization, sequels and prequels and their spin-offs (Caves, 2000). Acland (2000) comments on the emergence of the ‘cinematic multiplex’, which combines theater spaces, video arcades, shops and food courts into a one-stop site for entertainment, thus streamlining the moviegoing experience though corporate alignment across areas of consumption (pp. 386–389). Program narratives therefore can span the gamut of entertainment venues, video games, stage shows, novels, musicals, comics to theme parks and soundtracks, which contribute to their inter-textual and intermedia exposure and, consequently, familiarity to audiences (Hesmondhalgh, 2002, p. 17–22; Acland, 2000, 2003). As discussed in Chapters 3–5, television producers also target actual communities—through staging media events—as well as virtual communities to accomplish the following: contract semi-professional performers for reality TV formats; recruit media content developers (referred to as a form of ‘crowd-sourcing’); attain demographic information for advertisers; and predict popular trends. Key strategies for attracting audiences to events are narratives of personal transformation (“stories of change”) and the evocation of fame associated with the life of ‘stars’ in film and television. Other industry strategies consist of corporate concentration though mergers between fi rms with the result of vertical and horizontal integration of operations to facilitate corporate alignments (McChesney, 1998, 1999, 2004). Conglomeration has a negative impact on media plurality, as

8

Global Media Ecologies

media production and distribution come under control by a few key players (i.e., Disney and Time Warner in the U.S.; Rupert Murdoch’s holdings in Australia, the U.S., the U.K. and China; or Canwest Global in Canada). McChesney (2004) points out how media conglomerates can simultaneously cross-promote cultural products across different outlets because they control feature fi lm, television and music production and distribution. As a result, synergy—“the process of taking a media brand and exploiting it for all the profit possible” (McChesney, 1998, ¶ 18)—defi nes the current media field. The acquisition of popular social-networking sites (i.e., News Corporation’s purchase of MySpace), discussed in Chapter 6, intensifies trends in conglomeration and marks the next phase in cross-media ownership to gain access to new audiences and regain control over the flow of content across multiple platforms of production and distribution.

THEORETICAL FRAMES: NETWORKS AND FIELDS Global Media Ecologies takes a predominantly political economy approach to the analysis of film and television production. Therefore, it aims to disclose political and economic influences on the global flow of media in an era defi ned by neo-liberalism, privatization and deregulation. Analyses center on production, distribution and consumption processes in the late 1990s and 2000s, and, in particular, emphasize relational dynamics between producers, broadcasters, digital content developers, telecommunications providers, funding agents, policy analysts and interactive media users— defi ned as media and cultural agents—as key factors for creating conditions that are characterized by flexible accumulation and consumption. Consequently, arguments also draw from common elements in field theory, network analysis and Gidden’s (1984) notion of structuration in order to explore the myriad of constantly evolving, networked business and working relations between agents operating within the structural constraints of capitalism (Bourdieu, 1979/1984, 1993, 1996/1998, Harvey, 1990, 2007; Garnham, 1990; Mosco, 1996, 2004, 2009). In addition, case studies detail production histories through narrative and genre analysis in order to present evidence about the link between production technologies and media texts. Textual analysis is crucial for uncovering underlying patterns in co-productions and formats as well as the growing audience engagement with media texts through blogs, commentaries, votes and actual program participation. Genre analysis, on the other hand, addresses broader cultural changes in regards to representation and mediation of social norms (Fiske, 1987; Fiske & Hartley, 2003; Creeber, 2001; Grant, 2003; MacCabe, 1986; Neale, 1980, 2000; Todorov, 1977). The books’ main trajectory therefore includes comparisons between production technologies to highlight how media and cultural agents (including users of interactive media) negotiate current economic

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and cultural processes that result from networked media ecologies. In order to provide the necessary breadth and depth to the analysis, theoretical and methodological approaches are not exclusive, but work in conjunction to create a comprehensive overview of networked media ecologies and production technologies. A political economy focus necessitates close scrutiny of the dynamics along the production–manufacture–distribution–consumption/interaction circuit to discern if and where changes and transformations are necessary to create a more equitable communications architecture and a viable public sphere. The following analyses are therefore underscored by a broader goal, namely, to investigate how global media ecologies impede or enhance media diversity in society. Questions of media diversity and plurality, also referred to a media democracy throughout the volume, are thus key to understanding how current media ecologies are transforming the field to the detriment of the public sphere. The analysis of global production networks involves an investigation into the defining processes that shape global media ecologies. According to Dicken, Kelly, Olds and Wai-Chung Yeung (2001), network analysis identifies structural and relational processes between agents in a network. Central to this approach are the power dynamics between agents—determined by the control over key resources such as the means of production, access to funding and markets, and intellectual properties. Powerful agents in a network influence directions in global production through forging new alliances, determining central nodes of operation and utilizing new technologies. An analytical framework for investigating networked actions and practices can be found in actor-network theory (Latour, 1997; Law, 1992), which highlights technologies, tools, policies and rules that underscore the development and maintenance of social relations within these networks. Related concepts are based in Benkler’s (2006) socio-economic defi nition of social networks, which are facilitated through digital technologies and interactive media users motivated to enhance networked relations for the circulation of information and knowledge as well as educational and cultural goods. Benkler highlights the extent to which large-scale connectivity is able to shift economics in production and, as a result, creates conditions for enhanced democratic communication through ‘commons-based peerto-peer production’. However, these developments are challenged by stringent copyright laws as well as widespread state and corporate surveillance to obtain data about citizen and consumer motivations. Giddens’ (1984) notion of structuration is complementary in this context as the effects of structural constraints by societal institutions are influenced by the existence of active forms of engagement by individuals and groups, who are equally constrained and enabled by existing resources within the same structures. Following Giddens, Straubhaar (2007) states that the importance of media corporations lies not in buildings and equipment, but in the

10

Global Media Ecologies complex sum of the daily routines and creative work of its owners, managers, directors, writers, technicians, and actors, all of whom work within rules and using resources set down by those who own and run the structure. To understand structures, which seem so solid and visible, requires understanding the people who daily reprise all the acts of production that make up meaning . . . [S]tructures are constituted or reproduced daily by the producers’ social acts, so, in a very subtle way, the structures and the actions of their professional staffs intertwine to create or structure each other. (p. 133)

Within this paradigm, global production networks are bounded by capitalist modes of production, but at the same time, reveal agency in regards to creative applications of resources for the development of cultural products, their global circulation, adaptation and consumption. Bourdieu’s (1979/1984, 1993, 1996/1998) field theory provides a corresponding set of ideas, especially in regards to the centrality of power in the given fields of journalism, culture and the media. He (1992/1996) defi nes a field “as a network, or a configuration, of objective relations between positions” (p. 97), which is characterized by the struggle between individuals and organizations to advance their own unique agendas. 2 Different forms of power such as economic and cultural capital are crucial in the struggle for dominance in a given field: economic capital refers to monetary assets, whereas cultural capital encompasses educational expertise, technical skills, artistic abilities and general knowledge. The notions of economic and cultural, as well as social (friendships and networks) and symbolic capital (honor, prestige or recognition), and their use in power negotiations within and between fields, therefore offer insight into how agents operate within the confi nes of structural boundaries, which delimit as well as enable them to initiate change and transformation. Furthermore, Bourdieu’s (1979/1984) ‘economy of symbolic practices’—underscored by the struggle for social distinction through manipulating cultural resources—is instrumental for analyzing production, audiences and texts as well as the crucial role of cultural institutions in mediating practices within the field of cultural production. The position of audience members and interactive media users in production networks is an increasingly complex one. Traditionally situated outside actual production and distribution processes, they now increasingly contribute to actual content development through program participation (i.e., reality TV) and on-line contributions in the form of comments and blogs on program-related web sites. On the one hand, the polysemic qualities of media texts allow for diverse interpretations and creative play (i.e., in the form of fan-fiction; see Henry Jenkins’ notion of ‘textual poaching’ in Chapter 4). Yet, on the other hand, audiences and interactive media users, who are linked to actual production processes, enter into complex relationships with film and television producers. For example, the position of reality TV contestants in a network depends on their contractual obligations to

Introduction and Overview

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producers, which defi ne their conduct, personal rights and copyright (see Chapters 4 and 7). In sum, the combination of network analysis with field theory provides a new paradigm—network-field theory—that extends the application of either theory through delineating relational dynamics within the field of cultural production based upon global linkages between agents and their use of particular production technologies. As a result, critiques leveled at network analysis regarding network boundaries (where does a network begin and where does it end?) and hierarchies (what are the power relations between agents in a network?) are offset by field theory, which allows for detailed analyses of power dynamics between agents, on the one hand, and their relationship to broader economic and political tendencies in the field of cultural production, on the other. Vice versa, network analysis provides the tool to expand the focus of field theory on national circumstances to international and global domains. Together these outlined theoretical concepts and approaches underscore investigations into how media and cultural agents apply production technologies to garner influence in the field of cultural production and thus advance their interests over content creation, information circulation and social practices. Finally, the combination of network analysis and field theory provides a new theoretical paradigm for mapping global production processes as detailed in the following chapters and summarized in Chapter 7.

SOCIAL PRAXIS: WORKING TOWARD A ‘MEDIA DEMOCRACY’ PARADIGM According to Mosco (2009) a critical political economy approach centers on the study of “social relations, particularly the power relations, that mutually constitute the production, distribution and consumption of resources” (p. 2). Consequently, this necessitates an investigation into the whole circuit of media production–manufacture–distribution–consumption and reception/interaction. The study of global commodity chains (GCCs)—or more appropriately networked production circuits (see Figure 0.1), suggested here as an extension of the concept in order to account for increasingly networked interactivity between links—through value chain analysis helps to discern crucial interconnections between markets, labor, resources and consumption.3 Most importantly, value chain analysis highlights inequalities in regards to accessibility to resources as well as exploitation and discrimination against media and cultural agents as well as interactive media users (i.e., writers and semi-professional performers on reality TV), thus setting the stage for social and political intervention. As an integral part of improving existing communications architectures along a media democracy paradigm, these interventions are part of a deeper ‘social praxis’, which necessitates active engagement in the social transformation of media structures and processes for increased access, participation and social justice.

12

Global Media Ecologies

Figure 0.1 Networked production circuit. Note. The notion of a ‘circuit’ implies that consumption/interaction ultimately feeds back into production—a feedback loop that has intensified with interactive technologies. Active audience engagement with media and media texts also defines the relationship between producers and audiences as mutually constitutive of each other, even though greater access to the means of production leads to the accumulation of cultural and symbolic capital in the hands of content developers, producers and distributors. Although these circuits are transnational, national policies and regulation continue to exert pressures on economic, cultural and social activities along the circuit.

Both industry concentration and global media have adverse affects on media diversity as they delimit the spectrum of opinions in the public sphere (McChesney, 1998, 2004; Habermas, 1989). The notion of a ‘public sphere’, fi rst introduced by Habermas (1989), relates to an open forum, which is free and accessible to all citizens for the exchange of ideas, information and debate underscoring the formation of public opinion. According to Habermas’ original defi nition, the public sphere mediates between state and society and is a “realm of our social life in which something approaching public opinion can be formed. Access is guaranteed to all citizens. A portion of the public sphere comes into being in every conversation in which private individuals assemble to a public body” (p. 102). Furthermore, the public sphere can be conceived as a “a network for communicating information and points of view” (Habermas, 1996, p. 360), which connects multiple everyday experiences in the private world with the political system. This network “branches out into a multitude of

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overlapping international, national, regional, local, and subcultural arenas” (p. 379). Communication media play a crucial role in this ‘public body’ for transmitting and circulating information and knowledge. As a result, the public sphere is a “major societal mechanism for the production and circulation of culture which frames and gives meaning to our identity” (Dahlgren, 1995, p. 23). The focus of Habermas’ concept on agency, as well as his emphasis on practice, make it, similar to Bourdieu’s, an important paradigm for investigating power relations in society, especially in regards to the increasing commercialization of media and publicly mandated organizations; the loss of autonomy in cultural production; as well as shifts in the journalistic field (see Chapter 2), which, as it becomes subservient to economic pressures, promulgates public ‘spin’ rather than critical political debate. Furthermore, the concept of the public sphere provides a framework for understanding the logistics of media as channels for public opinion and debate and is “particularly useful in considering the possibility of a space insulated from the domination of both market and state” (Raboy, Bernier, Sauvagenau & Atkinson, 1994, pp. 303–306). The concept of the public sphere is integrally related to communication and citizens’ rights as well as media democracy. Media democracy, defi ned as equitable access to the means of media production and distribution in order to facilitate the expression of diverse voices in the public sphere (Keane, 1991), has become the cornerstone for civil society groups and activists in Canada, the U.S. and the U.K. where deregulation and privatization undermine public service broadcasting mandates, journalistic freedoms as well as community involvement in media processes (McChesney, 2004). The media democracy paradigm underscores a system that is transparent and participatory, but ultimately balances contesting voices, diverse interests and opinions, which inevitably ensue in any society (Curran, 1996). Global production technologies proliferate with adverse effects on domestic production and homegrown drama. As described in the following chapters, interdependencies between cultural agencies on an international scale affect domestic policy because of their increasing focus on the global market. Also, interconnections between formats and reality TV genres lead to program development with lower budgets and production values, which marginalizes other more expensive genres such as dramas and documentaries. Changing conditions in the fi lm and television industries thus impact on domestic production, diversity of expression and the ability of public service media to adhere to their social agenda. The book takes a comprehensive approach to current film and television production by investigating globally networked media ecologies, which underscore the full circuit of production processes, and their impact on content development. Case studies provide the necessary depth by showcasing the use of co-productions, formats and interactive media through their production histories and audience reception/interaction. Consequently,

14

Global Media Ecologies

the analysis links a political economy approach with complementary ideas from network analysis and field theory to gain insight into the manifestation of global production processes. Questions of media organization, production technologies and policy initiatives, in addition to story structure, genre hybridization and multi-platform media use, guide the book in order to discern how media ecologies impact on changing forms of collaborative production.

DICHOTOMIES, HOMOLOGIES AND CONVERGENCES Global Media Ecologies evolves around the dynamics of globalization, regionalization and localization. As discussed in Chapter 2, co-production studies emphasize that this production technology de-contextualizes local identities and cultural characteristics since the collaboration between producers inevitably involves compromise in the creative process (Strover, 1995; Baltruschat, 2003; Hoskins & McFayden, 1993). Also, co-produced narratives tend to focus on global stories or universal storylines, which transcend boundaries of time and space. In fact, many of these studies center on the underlying distinction between the global and the local, especially in regards to narrative development and genres, but also in cultural policy. Yet, the notion of a straightforward connection between production technologies and content is too simplistic, especially since co-production has the potential as a cross-cultural collaborative tool for diverse program development. Indeed, globalization and localization cannot be reduced to a simple global-local dualism because both phenomena are marked by uneven processes and directed by differing interests and intentions. Globalization is defi ned as the internationalization of political, economic and cultural affairs with an increasing interconnection between each sector through political and military alignments, trade agreements (Giddens, 1990) and standardized and formulaic cultural production. But globalization is not a linear process and varies from region to region around the world. It is a contradictory process, marked equally by the continuity of local and national identities as well as the identification with transformational cultural trends and engagement with global issues. Its results vary from accepting and embracing the hybridization of cultures, to rejecting globalizing forces affecting the standardization of cultural production and consumption patterns. According to complexity theory, globalization is characterized by an “array of systems of networked or circulating relationships” (Urry, 2005, p. 245), which are defi ned by their adaptability, dynamicism, unpredictable outcomes, self-organizing structures and non-linear processes. Within this paradigm, cause and effect are marked by disproportionalities as small changes can produce large effects. Knorr Cetina (2005) provides an example of the relatively small networks of global terrorist cells that impact on

Introduction and Overview

15

large-scale political, economic and socio-cultural configurations. She refers to these forms of global connectivity and coordination as a mircostructural mechanism that enables and implements “macro-extension and macroeffect” (p. 215). Globalization processes are therefore dynamic ‘systems of connections’ that evolve over vast distances of time and space. Appadurai’s (1990) notion of ‘multiple worlds’, comprised of the “historically situated imaginations of persons and groups spread around the world” (pp. 296–297), also remarks on the fluidity and changeability of globalization processes, which are reflected in disjunctures between the economic, political and cultural spheres. These imagined worlds consist of different configurations or scapes, which defi ne the distribution of individuals (ethnoscape), technology (technoscape), capital (fi nanscape), information (mediascape) and political ideas and values (ideoscapes). Within this paradigm, globalization is marked by dynamic, multi-directional flows, which include reverse flows of non-Western ideas and concepts (Barker, 1997, p. 203). Nonetheless, as highlighted throughout the book, the power geometry of initiation and control over global communication flows persists (Massey, 1994). At the same time, globalization is reflected in other developments such as the rise of civil society. This ‘counter-globalization’ or ‘globalization from below’ increasingly transcends international borders to mediate between different sectors in a globalized world. The overlapping foci, concerns and activities of civil society consist of a highly complex ensemble of differently sized organizations, which coalesce around activities that challenge economic globalization and the convergence of corporate interests (Clark, 2001, p. 19; Keane, 2003). For the communication sector, it seeks accountability in government action and leadership for the enhancement of basic human rights: from communication and citizen’s rights, cultural diversity, to freedom of expression and access to information and media democratization. Similarly, the concept of localization manifests itself through various paradigms. On the one hand, localization or ‘glocalization’ (Robertson, 1992) relates to the creation of niche markets for globally distributed products and programs. It therefore represents the extension of international trade, economic networks and labor. On the other hand, localization also refers to maintaining or retrieving traditional constellations of public communication infrastructures such as community-based media and public service broadcasting. Critical of economic globalization, Morley and Robins (1995) state that global information flows are creating a new communication geography based on an international consumer culture that is detached from “the symbolic spaces of national culture” (p. 11). They therefore demand the re-territorialization of media in order to sustain the “integrity of local and regional cultures” (p. 18). However, insistence on national culture often reveals a lack of awareness of the changing configurations of societies, which through migration and internationalization are increasingly more multicultural and diverse. It also

16

Global Media Ecologies

fails to recognize that national identity is a constructed narrative rather than a natural occurrence. The ‘local’ therefore pertains to different communities within national borders, which share their own local values, culture, language and beliefs. In this case, localism does not equate to ‘national’ culture, as stated by Sreberny-Mohammadi (1996): “In international relations, the ‘national’ level may be local vis à vis the global level, but in domestic relations the ‘national’ is itself a site of struggle, with a variety of ‘local’ identities and voices in contention” (p. 189). For example, the localized struggle of indigenous peoples for self-determination in countries like Canada, Australia or Mexico conflicts with national culture but, at the same time, may be connected to similar forms of activism around the world (i.e., through the development of a pan-indigenous identity). Simultaneously, widely diverging local interests are intertwined with globalization through migrating diaspora, refugees, global cities,4 as well as international crime activities (the global arms and drug trade, human trafficking) and global terrorism. Consequently, the global and the local are not strictly dichotomous, but intermingle and interpenetrate each other, blurring the boundaries of where one paradigm ends and the other begins. The global exists in the local, represented by migrating peoples, cultural diversity and an emerging consciousness of globality in contemporary societies. This consciousness is partially enhanced by the media, but also by initiatives from civil society groups, who campaign and rally for government accountability and change of local and international conditions. The debate about globalization and localization is relevant in this context because it underscores the complex interrelationships between media and cultural agents, modes of production and consumption on a meta level. Also, from a political economy point of view, the broader context in which media production ecologies are embedded requires closer examination in order to discern where interventions and changes along the production– manufacture–distribution–consumption/interaction circuit are warranted for attaining greater media diversity and plurality. Equally important is the question of parallelisms in communication media—notably the overlapping ecologies of film and television production, including their organization and use of new technologies. Acland (2000) comments on the symbiotic relationship between the media due to the growing interrelatedness of the fi lm and television industries. Increasingly, risk-averting strategies between the two media overlap in regards to serialization, spin-offs and inter-textuality. In some instances, television productions are adapted as feature films (i.e., Star Trek [Wise, 1979]; Bewitched [Ephron, 2005]; The Simpsons [Silverman, 2007]) or television narratives are incorporated into movie scripts (i.e., American Dreamz’s [Weitz, 2006] similarities to American Idol [Fuller, 2002]). Also, the development of digital production and distribution systems (i.e., DVDs) is closing the gap between film and television. In regards to international co-production

Introduction and Overview

17

agreements, many regulate the collaboration between countries through the guidelines of one treaty covering both film and television. Parallelisms and homologies between film and television also result from cross-ownership and broadcasters’ investment in feature fi lms. Examples include Disney’s ownership of ABC, Time Warner’s interests in CNN and HBO in the U.S., as well as Canwest Global’s broadcasting, specialty channels and film and television distribution businesses (through its acquisition of Alliance Atlantis Communication in 2007) in Canada and Australia. Similarly, the BBC is involved in feature film developments such as Billy Elliott (Daldry, 2000), as is the U.K. broadcaster Channel 4 through its film division. For example, The Hamburg Cell (Bird, 2004), a Channel 4–CBC collaboration, discussed in Chapter 3, was released for cinematic exhibition as well as a television broadcast. Moreover, creative and technical personnel tend to work in both, as exemplified in the work of David Yates, who directed the television co-production Sex Traffic (2004) (see case study in Chapter 3), as well as the feature film Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007) and other installments of the Harry Potter franchise. He comments (as cited in Film London, 2004), For me, we should focus on what is similar rather than different. People who work in television often don’t think they can trust fi lm makers because they are suppose [sic] to be a bit more arty and self indulgent, and people in film might think anyone who works in television is a hack. The fact is that we don’t need this divide, it does our collective industry no favours what so ever, and if we had more film makers working in television, and more television writers and directors working in fi lm, we’d have a much healthier and more vital industry. At the end of the day, what ever [sic] medium you work in, it is about story telling and holding your audience. There are big differences of course, between film and television. In my television work I’ve had to move a lot faster than in the film work I’ve done, which is no bad thing. But the attention to craft, to acting, to telling the story as vitally and as interestingly and surprisingly as possible, is the same. And there are some stories that are better suited for television, because of the complexity or the need to spread them over a number of weeks, for example. To me, at the end of the day, however, whether it is a short film, a piece of television or a movie, I approach it in the same way. How do I take the audience with me, in the most compelling way possible. (¶ 7) Yet, as noted by Yates (as cited in Film London, 2004), differences between the media persist. Film, the artistic medium of wide-screen shots of panoramic settings, lavish sets, chiaroscuro lighting and special effects, requires higher production budgets. Whereas movies tend to be enjoyed in

18

Global Media Ecologies

a public forum designated for exactly that purpose, television programs are mostly viewed in the intimate setting of one’s home. However, mobile technology, Internet movie and television program downloads, in addition to new distribution hardware, from 72”+ television sets to mobile phone screens, are changing traditional viewing habits and therefore blur the boundaries between media. To conclude, different theoretical paradigms, which conceptualize global media, reveal dichotomies, homologies and convergences. Global media ecologies and the application of co-production and format franchising reflect the complexities of cultural production, which transgresses international borders, media technologies, production processes and social practices.

CHAPTER OVERVIEW The book introduces the following concepts to describe and analyze current conditions in the film and television economies. They include media and cultural agents, networks, global media production ecologies or simply ‘media ecologies’, networked production circuits and global production technologies. Media and cultural agents include producers, broadcasters, advertisers, sponsors, funding agents, cultural policy analysts and—in regards to multiplatform media—digital content developers, telecommunications service providers and interactive media users (audience members who use interactive technologies such as computers and wireless communication devices to engage with media texts). A network is defi ned by interactions between media and cultural agents, who are engaged in the exchange of goods, services, resources, information and knowledge for the development, production and distribution of cultural goods. It is therefore dynamic, relational, flexible and constantly evolving in order to adapt to changing constellations in the global economic, political and cultural domains. Global media production ecologies or media ecologies are composed of a vast array of media and cultural agents that are inter-linked through networked relations (i.e., funding agents and producers) and production (including legal obligations), business alliances (short-term or long-term contractual arrangements), innovative business practices (i.e., post-fordist modes of production, project-based production) and the application of collaborative production technologies. Media production ecologies emphasize relational dynamics and processes between agents, in particular their lived professional realities marked by collaboration as well as competition in an evolving media economy. Media ecologies reflect different environments in which agents operate such as markets and fi lm festivals. They also extend to organizational cultures defined by agents as well as policies (i.e., public service broadcasting and government agencies).

Introduction and Overview

19

Networked production circuits extend the notion of global commodity chains to address the ‘non-linear’ circuit of production–manufacture–distribution–consumption/reception and interaction (see Figure 0.1). Networked production is global and includes commodities and services, as well as nontangible items such as intellectual property and copyright laws. In addition, it entails global production technologies as a subset. The circuit is nonlinear because of the myriad and complex interrelations between the elements: for example, producers can also be distributors of their own works through new digital technologies. Furthermore, interactive media users increasingly channel feedback and their own content back into production, which provide the basis for program enhancement as well as new program development. Analysis of networked production circuits provides invaluable insight into how production processes unfold, how they are interlinked and, most importantly, how they can be modified and improved. Global production technologies include international treaty co-productions, co-ventures (or non-treaty co-productions) and formats, as well as multi-platform and interactive media, which connect media and cultural agents through global networks of collaborative production, distribution and reception/interaction. Embedded in global media ecologies, co-productions and formats are guided by government regulations, business practices and laws (i.e., copyright), which differ between countries and production technologies. Production technologies are connected to the transfer of knowledge in the form of expertise, which in the case of format franchising creates a power differential and therefore defines hierarchical relations between licensor and licensee as discussed in more detail in Chapters 3, 4 and 7 (also see Map 7.1). The chapters are divided into analyses of treaty co-production and official co-production reviews, the production of co-produced texts, the development of formats, format adaptation processes and the increasing engagement and participation of audiences in media texts. The book concludes with an overview of the current media landscape, with a particular emphasis on corporate convergence and digital media developments. In detail, Chapter 1 defi nes the use of treaty co-production through providing a cultural policy context and historical overview of collaborative ventures in film and television. The chapter details the rise and fall of this production technology as a result of changing dynamics in global media production and the unresolved dichotomy of co-production for economic or cultural reasons. A comparative case study of government initiatives in the U.K. and Canada addresses the growing interdependencies of cultural policies between national jurisdictions and the resulting impact on domestic production. Interview evidence from producers, broadcasters, funding agents, industry representatives (i.e., producer’s associations) and policy analysts in Canada, the U.K., France and Germany highlights the extent to which networked media ecologies are intricately linked to neo-liberal reforms and the increasing use of cultural arguments to mask economic

20

Global Media Ecologies

imperatives in global production. The chapter also reveals widely diverging interests among media and cultural agents as they translate from international to local levels, especially in regards to cultural policy for domestic film and television production. It concludes by highlighting the potential of co-production technology for cross-cultural collaborations and the necessity for greater media diversity. Chapter 2 explores two television programs, Sex Traffic (Yates, 2004) and The Hamburg Cell (Bird, 2004), through detailing their production histories and global media ecologies. Specifically, the analysis focuses on the genre of docudrama and narrative development of two CBC–Channel 4 collaborations in order to highlight correlations between particular media ecologies—in this case, underscored by public service broadcasting mandates—and co-production. The investigation into media ecologies reveals the growing importance of global production technologies, on the one hand, and international markets for public service broadcasters, on the other, especially since funding cutbacks, rising production costs and new digital technologies are necessitating the establishment of new alliances between agents. Yet, in the intersection between co-production, media ecologies tied to public service broadcasting and commitment to democratic media, the possibility emerges to utilize this production technology for collaborations on socially conscious programming reflective of global issues and developments. Chapter 3 introduces the production technology of format franchising as a prime example of contemporary developments in global media production. Format franchising dates back to the beginnings of film and television, but neo-liberal reforms and the creation of the multi-channel universe in the 1990s accelerated the use of this technology by international media and cultural agents. Formats are closely linked to multi-platform production of programs for Internet and wireless distribution as well as the creation of flexible storylines that immerse viewers in program content. Since the engagement with program content adds value to the overall program package, format franchising has launched a new phase of flexible consumption, characterized by the exploitation of creative labor from semi-professional performers, audience members and users of interactive media. These developments are related to wider globalization processes and their destabilizing impact on social relations, labor and corporate structures. The flexibility of globally networked media ecologies as well as the adaptability of formats to local television cultures is therefore representative of overall changes in the film and television industries and the use of new business strategies to counter global economic and political uncertainty. Chapter 4 discusses the genre of reality TV in more detail, especially in regards to narrative development and audience interactivity. In the case study of the Idol format (i.e., American Idol, Canadian Idol) the staging of media events and immersive on-line environments emphasizes the

Introduction and Overview

21

complexities of global format adaptation, which involves different media agents along the networked production circuit for negotiating the glocalization of formatted texts. Key to this glocalization is the active engagement of audiences, contest participants and interactive media users, who imbue formatted texts with national and cultural signifiers that are specific to their market. The chapter highlights the extent to which format franchising correlates with flexible accumulation and consumption. Furthermore, it emphasizes the need to develop a ‘code of practice’ to guide the recruitment of audience members (or ‘semi-professional performers’) and their incorporation in reality TV programming to prevent their exploitation. Chapter 5 covers the design, research initiatives, results and implications of the fi rst study on audience engagement with the reality format Idol (Canadian Idol, American Idol). The study provides insight into the consumption, reception and interaction processes involved with a North American format franchise. The survey, conducted in 2004 and 2006 in Vancouver, BC, also highlights the motivations, backgrounds, intentions, perceptions and opinions of viewers who auditioned for the Canadian Idol reality TV talent contest. Questions about reasons for auditioning, expectations and aspirations reveal several core motives for engaging with a reality TV format—especially in regards to invocation of ‘fame’ and ‘celebrity status’. Inquiries into interactivities with digital media deepen insights into how formats are adapted to local audience preferences and how viewers perceive this glocalization process, especially in regards to format differences in the U.S. and Canada. Furthermore, the study reveals the degree in comprehension of contractual obligations for ‘semi-professional performers’, with implications for the need to increase awareness about the exploitative nature of the genres and development of stricter guidelines for the recruitment of reality TV performers. Chapter 6 investigates emerging media production ecologies, which consist of business alliances across non-traditional lines to include producers, broadcasters, digital content developers, telecommunications providers, advertisers and interactive media users. The focus on ‘content as the new currency’ in fi lm and television program development signals the growing importance of intellectual property management in global cultural production. Intricately linked to these developments is the rise of branded entertainment, which seamlessly fuses program narratives with advertising messages and sponsorship. The commercialization of program content is amplified through the acquisition of Internet properties, which enable broadcasters to access an established interactive user base and their peerto-peer networks. The chapter concludes with a closer examination of the format licensing process and related copyright issues. Chapter 7 summarizes key points of previous chapters and concludes thematic trajectories, including the impact of globalization and media convergence on the film and television industries and creative labor. A summative

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Global Media Ecologies

overview of the topographies of different media production ecologies, differentiated by modes of production—co-production, co-ventures and format franchising—suggests challenges as well as opportunities for future media development, especially where interactivities in digital domains are concerned. The conclusion also brings together the underlying themes of previous chapters, namely, the importance of working toward media democratization through activism, intervention and transformation of the media field in order to create an equitable communications architecture and a viable public sphere.

1

International Film and TV Coproduction under Review

International fi lm and TV co-production emerged as an important global production technology in the mid-1990s as a result of economic and technological changes in the cultural industries. The dismantling of broadcasting monopolies in Europe, the ensuing re-regulation of the same along commercial mandates and the technological convergence that led to a multichannel universe created ideal conditions for extending fi lm and television production into interregional and global domains. At the same time, protective measures in the form of content regulations and cultural import restrictions were meant to develop new markets to compete against the proliferation of U.S. productions through global distribution channels. During that time, the European Union introduced the Television without Frontier directive in 1992, which stipulated a 50% quota on foreign content to encourage the development of works by independent European producers. The initiative was created as much for economic reasons as for cultural purposes. On the one hand, governments sought to create economic opportunities for local industries, while, on the other hand, collaborations were meant to foster a cultural identity—or in the case of Europe, a panEuropean identity. Film and TV co-productions therefore played a vital role in the economic and cultural integration of Europe (Council of Europe, 1992). They were also key for establishing inter-regional trade between European nations and countries such as Canada and Australia. The 1990s are synonymous with neo-liberal economics and trade liberalization, exemplified by the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) between the U.S., Mexico and Canada in 1993 and the overriding General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), which became the World Trade Organization (WTO) in 1995. In the negotiations between Canada and the U.S., the Canadian government was insistent that cultural industries were exempted from NAFTA in order to “prevent the cultural standardization of content and the complete foreign control of distribution” (Government of Canada, 1993, p. 33; WTO, 2004). While Canada and France argued for the prerogative to establish national content regulations during the Uruguay Round, the U.S. pressed for a laissez-faire approach to the international trade of cultural products (Acheson & Maule, 1994;

24

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Miller & Yúdice, 2002). In the same vein, the U.S. called on European governments to lower cultural import quotas (McAnany & Wilkinson, 1996, p. 3), which the Motion Picture Association of America termed as a “maimed, disabled theory . . . alien to the very objective of GATT, which is to reduce trade tension and break down trade barriers” (Jack Valenti, 1991, as cited in Given, 1995, ¶ 13). During this decade, the global market became a strategic priority for Canada and Australia (Telefilm, 1999; Hammett-Jamart, 2004b), and co-production was seen as a tool to fi nance high-quality productions for international distribution. To exemplify, between 1995 and 2002, treaty co-productions between Canada and other countries (in particular the U.K.) increased dramatically. However, in 2003, the use of this production technology collapsed. This chapter provides an analysis of the reasons for the failure of treaty co-production to create a long-term solution for viable local film and television industries. The following section fi rst details the cultural policy context, which underscores treaty co-production, followed by a detailed overview of how this production technology ‘works’, and how it evolved historically. The chapter then corroborates how media and cultural agents as part of a global media ecology are increasingly subjected to an international climate of trade liberalizations that stands in sharp contrast to cultural policies based on the advancement of cultural diversity. Thus, in spite of persistent rhetoric of cultural rationales for treaty co-productions, they are increasingly subjected to international trade imperatives. In addition to undermining the goal of advancing cultural diversity, these developments present a missed opportunity to utilize treaty co-productions to partner with filmmakers and producers from countries generally underrepresented in the global flow of cultural goods.

THE CONTEXT OF INTERNATIONAL FILM AND TV CO-PRODUCTION International fi lm and TV treaty co-productions are as much a tool for public diplomacy and inter-cultural collaboration as they allow fi lm and television producers access to capital and markets abroad. According to the Standing Committee on Canadian Heritage (2003), co-productions are of “considerable cultural significance, particularly in the areas of cooperation and coordination” (p. 533). At the same time, they form part of an economic strategy for the improvement of trade relations. Bilateral coproduction agreements therefore encourage cultural collaborations that are underpinned by regulatory regimes for handling goods and services as well as movement of labor and capital across international borders. In 1994, coproductions were exempted from the General Agreement on Trade and Services (GATS) to provide ‘most favoured nation’ treatment to signatories.1 The primary reason for this exemption was to prevent access to benefits

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 25 and advantages of co-productions by non-treaty countries, in particular the U.S. (Dymond & Hart, 2001, pp. 3, 18). However, as early as 1994, Acheson and Maule (1994) suggested that many of the privileges associated with treaty co-productions are extended to projects with non-treaty partners and, consequently, encourage the same level of integration with Canadian film and television industries as with treaty countries such as the U.K. and France. Therefore, the authors note, “The extension of de facto treaty status to a broader set of projects is one way in which the treaties have been multilateralized” (¶ 25). The new ‘flexibility’ that is given to co-production arrangements with international partners in the 2000s and 2010s confi rms the accuracy of this early observation. Co-production therefore entails the dichotomy of culture and economics, which inevitably lies at the core of film and television as artistic, cultural, educational and informative media, on the one hand, and industries, on the other. Yet, cultural and economic values are not necessarily conterminous. On the contrary, even though fi lm and television are ideal media for the expression of collective experiences—through local and global stories, self-reflection and historical memory—laissez-fair economics, in addition to uneven, global flows of cinematic and televisual content, affect diversity of expression due to corporatization and globalization. The counter-argument to culture as a common good generally entails the claim that if cultural productions do not generate profits, their overall value becomes questionable. Within a neo-liberal paradigm, that is certainly true. However, beyond the neo-liberalist mind-frame, which has been naturalized through institutional reforms and political-economic practices (Harvey, 2007), a collective imagination, in addition to a global consciousness (noticeable in a growing environmental awareness), challenges the doctrine of unfettered capitalist expansion—due to corporatization, free markets and free trade—through notions of a creative commons, human rights and biodiversity, underscored by an engaged citizenry seeking equitable access to public goods and services. In 1999, the Cultural Industries Sectoral Advisory Group on International Trade (SAGIT) advocated liberalization of international trade, but also recommended a balance between cultural policy objectives and international trade obligations. In particular, the advisory group to the Canadian Minister of International Trade proposed an ‘international cultural diversity instrument’ to provide “the ground rules for cultural policies and trade, and allow Canada and other countries to maintain policies that promote their cultural industries” (SAGIT, 1999, p. 32). This proposal for a new international instrument outside the WTO became the basis for lobbying efforts and initiatives by the International Network for Cultural Policy (INCP) and the International Network on Cultural Diversity (INCD) in the early 2000s to work with ministers of culture from various countries, arts organizations and civil society groups toward implementing a convention on cultural diversity (Acheson & Maule, 2004; Maule, 2002).

26

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Significantly, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) adopted the ‘Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity’ in 2002 to preserve the “common heritage of humanity”, cultural diversity, including biodiversity and cultural rights. Most importantly, the Declaration recognizes that cultural goods and services “which, as vectors of identity, values and meaning, must not be treated as mere commodities or consumer goods” (UNESCO, 2001, p. 11). Furthermore, the Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions (UNESCO, 2005) promotes international cooperation, and encourages “the conclusion of co-production and co-distribution agreements” (p. 8) within the paradigm of fostering diverse cultural forms of expression. Coproductions in this instance include cultural collaboration with developing countries, which would ideally lead to more film and TV co-productions with countries with less developed industries to facilitate cultural exchange and an increase of diverse media for global distribution. However, as discussed in this chapter, economic imperatives for co-production activities continue to undermine this objective. Even though the UNESCO Convention provides valuable guidelines for cultural exchange, it does not resolve the dichotomy of free trade and cultural diversity. Furthermore, in contrast to the WTO, the Declaration lacks the means of reinforcing its guidelines in spite of a proposed dispute settlement mechanism, which includes seeking solutions through negotiations, mediation and non-binding conciliation (Voon, 2007 p. 188). Acheson and Maule (2004) therefore suggest that the Declaration is predominantly a tool for strengthening the bargaining position of WTO members, who do not wish to liberalize cultural activities, especially since governments— notably from Canada, France, Croatia, Greece, Mexico, South Africa, Senegal, Switzerland and Sweden—sponsored and subsidized both the INCP and INCD (pp. 246, 253). In conclusion, even though treaty co-productions—like the broader field of audio-visual production—are exempted from the GATS and the WTO, they are nonetheless increasingly subjected to pressures of the international marketplace, that is, in the form of having to make concessions on how to structure projects fi nancially and involve third-country talent, as discussed in more detail next. In the case of co-productions with the U.K., the Film Council’s ‘integrated approach’ to film and television projects—combining domestic, co-production/co-venture and foreign location production— impacts on new project development, which is increasingly capital driven. As a result, treaty co-productions have become more ‘flexible’ in order to adjust to changes in the global market place. More specifically, cultural agents have to accommodate these new demands in their official co-production guidelines in order to keep this production technology viable for collaborative film and television project developments. However, as discussed in this chapter, this new flexibility in treaty co-productions remains a contested issue, as some industry representatives, especially from guilds

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 27 and unions, fear that local culture and labor interests are ultimately compromised by these new policy regimes.

FILM AND TV CO-PRODUCTION AS A GLOBAL PRODUCTION TECHNOLOGY Official co-productions are produced under the auspices of bilateral treaties, which are, in the Canadian case, negotiated by the Department of Canadian Heritage and administered by Telefi lm Canada’s International Co-productions department. Similarly, the Department of Communications, Information Technology and the Arts (DCITA) in Australia and the Department for Culture Media and Sport (DCMS) in the U.K. negotiate co-production treaties, while Screen Australia and the U.K. Film Council administer the treaties for their respective jurisdiction. Treaty co-productions are considered ‘national’ programs in participating countries and are therefore eligible for government funding, tax credits and labor credits while, at the same time, satisfying local ‘content regulations’. It is important to note that the term ‘co-production’ is often used for a variety of different fi nancial and business constellations, which do not fall under an official treaty. Jäckel (2003b) cites examples of co-financing deals, such as pre-sales to television channels or foreign territories as well as creative and fi nancial collaborations between produces and broadcasters (p. 58). In comparison, Morawetz, Hardy, Haslam and Randle (2007) equate international ‘co-producing’ with ‘co-fi nancing’, as collaborations on film and television projects is increasingly capital driven. Finally, Miller et al. (2001) use the term to describe different types of collaborative work in film and television with an emphasis on the international division of cultural labor, which now defi nes global media production. This highlights that the terms treaty co-production and non-treaty co-production tend to be used interchangeably, even though distinct differences exist between these two production technologies. Non-treaty coproductions—better referred to as ‘co-ventures’—include collaborative business ventures between countries that do not have a treaty—such as Canada and the U.S.—and co-productions that fall outside specifications outlined in a treaty. 2 To clarify, the following discussion focuses predominantly on treaty co-productions in order to establish a clear link between cultural policy interdependencies on an international scale, and resulting guidelines for officially co-produced projects. Canada’s international co-production agreements with 53 countries around the world make it an excellent focus for a closer investigation into ‘how treaty-co-production works’. In general, bilateral co-production agreements require a minimum contribution of 15% to 30% per country. In the case of Canada–France feature film co-productions, which are made in French and have a budget of more than $3.2 million,3 the minimum

28

Global Media Ecologies

fi nancial participation can be 10% by either country (Telefilm Canada, 2007). Personnel and talent need to be ‘nationals’ of their respective countries. In addition, projects have to achieve a creative, technical and fi nancial balance between co-producing partners. Five elements in particular necessitate equal participation and collaboration with Canadian co-producers: the fi nancial structure, expenditures in each country, revenues and copyright as well as creative and technical participation, which is proportionate to the co-producers’ fi nancial contribution (Larocque, 2005).4 In the case of a tripartite or multipartite co-production, a minimal contribution in the form of technical or creative elements is needed from each partnering country (Telefilm, 2007). Tripartite or multipartite co-productions involve multiple producers who either choose to include additional partners to access cheap locations (see below) or to facilitate greater regional integration of film and television industries. The latter can be found in co-productions between different Latin American countries, which often co-produce with Spain to access the European market (Hoefert de Turégano, 2004). Additional requirements for Canadian co-productions include the following: • Co-producers cannot hire personnel from a non-co-producing country. However, in Canada, Telefilm may grant an exemption in the case of ‘actors’ from a third country (this particular point remains a point of contention for guilds and unions in Canada as well as in Australia). • Location shooting in a non-co-producing country is only allowed when it is essential to the script (studio shooting in a third country is not permitted). • Screenplays, concepts, bibles or audio-visual projects from a third country can not be used for co-production development. • All recommended projects have to be approved by the foreign competent authority, which is the equivalent to Telefi lm in the co-producing country. In the U.K., the Film Council is designated as a competent authority, whereas Screen Australia overlooks and approves coproduced projects in Australia. Most importantly, treaty co-productions allow producers to pool resources such as government funding, talent and labor into a production package that exceeds most budgets for domestic feature films and television programs.5 The co-producers’ legal relationship is defined in a written agreement between the partners, which includes their respective responsibilities, obligations and degree of participation. The agreement further details fi nancial, technical, creative, cultural, legal and budgetary involvements. Finally, treaty co-productions guide administrative and regulatory processes involving the international movement of goods and services as well as equipment (Everensel, 2001).

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 29 However, co-production is costly, starting with the doubling of administrative costs and legal fees. Additional communication requirements in the form of long-distance phone calls, travel and conferences increase costs. Bureaucratic requirements such as filing production and budgetary details with more than one government necessitate additional personnel and advice from entertainment lawyers. Co-production budgets therefore have to be $5.5 million or above because anything below this amount makes a project unprofitable: “With a budget at [CDN] $3 million, you’re trying to minimize the money that’s not going on the screen . . . For example, instead of spending [CDN] $50,000 on international legal fees, you can spend it on cast” (Stratton & Crass, Triptych Media as cited in Canadian Filmmaker, 2007, ¶ 6). In other words, developing a fi lm or television project for coproduction requires experienced fi lmmakers and television producers, who understand the processes involved in international project developments. Different business practices also impact on co-production. According to Anna Stratton and Robin Crass from Triptych Media (as cited in Canadian Filmmaker, 2007), a co-producer needs to be a real collaborator and share a similar creative vision for a project in order to minimize confl ict with partners. In co-production studies, Hoskins and McFadyen (1993) address diverging interests between partners in terms of advantages and disadvantages. For example, the authors cite the potential loss over the creative process and cultural specificity as the most predominant disadvantage of co-productions (p. 231) since the collaboration on project development can result in compromising the producer’s original vision for a fi lm or television program. Isuma Productions (interview with the author, February 27, 2006) confi rms that the co-production of The Journals of Knud Rasmussen (Kunuk & Cohn, 2006) inevitably resulted in a clash of working styles between the production team from Igloolik and the Danish company Barok Film. Even though the fi lm was considered a ‘natural co-production’ because the narrative involves three Danish explorers in Canada’s northeastern Arctic, different approaches to filmmaking—such as Isuma’s fi lm practices based in community participation and Barok’s traditional business approach to production—required compromises from both sides. International festivals and markets, such as the Marché International des Programmes de Télévision (MIPTV) and Marché International des Programmes de Communication (MIPCOM), provide the hub for the mutual meeting of producers interested in this production technology. For example, Telefilm manages and co-ordinates a Canadian Pavilion during all major international events through its Festival and Markets Sector, which promotes Canadian productions abroad and allows Canadian producers to fi nd new co-production partners (Larocque, 2005). Since 1995, Telefilm, with the support from Canadian embassies, also stages ‘immersions’ in the U.K. and in France at which producers are able to liaise with potential partners. These events are used as a “key industrial tool” to focus on the proliferation of co-produced documentaries, feature fi lms, animation and

30

Global Media Ecologies

children’s programs (Telefilm, 2001b). Co-production partners can also be allocated through a catalogue on a government agency’s web site (i.e., Telefilm Canada or Screen Australia), producers’ associations in partnering countries and foreign competent authorities’ publications. Co-production tends to focus on geo-cultural regions, which share similar linguistic and cultural traits. As a result, Canada’s main partners are the U.K.6 and France. Canadian co-production activities with the two countries amounted to 70% in the early 2000s. More specifically, between 1999 and 2004, film and television collaborations between Canada and the U.K. accounted for 33%, and France for 34%. In comparison, co-productions, both for film and television, between Canada and Germany amounted to 3%, China 4%, Australia 3% and all others to 23% (Larocque, 2005). In recent years, the Canadian government strengthened its ties with Germany due to German financial incentives such as regional funds and the country’s connection to the European market. German producers are interested in working with Canadian filmmakers to enhance their international repertoire of films and to attract investments to different German states or Länder. In comparison, Australia, South Africa and Ireland are seen as “high potential” partners for Canadian producers. Whereas Australia and Ireland have a “natural compatibility” with Canada due to cultural and linguistic similarities, South Africa and Australia also share opposite seasons to Canada, which extend production opportunities (i.e., location shooting). Canada is seen as a desirable co-production partner due to its fi nancial incentives, two official languages, a qualified labor force and a good production infrastructure (Larocque, 2005). In addition, its proximity to the U.S. is a welcome feature because “Canadian fi lmmakers and executives recognize the sensitivities of the U.S. television market” (Simon Vaughn, Alchemy TV in the U.K., as cited in Bracken, 2005, ¶ 10). Overall, Canada has 57 co-production treaties with 53 countries around the world.7 However, many of these treaties have never been accessed (i.e., Estonia, Bulgaria). Some treaties were signed in an ad hoc manner during trade missions, while others serve diplomatic purposes rather than cultural ones. This missed opportunity for collaborating on film and television programs reflective of global diversity reveals the lack of an infrastructure that nurtures talent from different cultural communities within a national context. It also highlights the fact that even though co-production was originally conceived as promoting production in countries with developing industries, it is now predominantly used by established industries to compete in the global marketplace (Taylor, 1995, p. 414). One of the key issues raised in co-production is the balance between contributions from co-production partners. Originally, this balance was defi ned along creative and financial lines, but has now become a question of cultural versus economic benefits. Co-productions have the ‘potential’ to provide insight into global issues from a variety of perspectives because they enable cross-cultural explorations. As Murdock (1996) states,

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 31 The move to make programmes collaboratively outside the confi nes of the single national cultural tradition has a variety of interesting implications for the diversity of representations. It could be a very positive device for addressing the new politics of identity but this potential is unlikely to be realized because of the way co-production is organized economically. (p. 107) Indeed, several studies reveal that co-produced fi lm and television programs focus predominantly on ‘global stories’, devoid of local and cultural specificities. For example, Strover (1995, p. 111) proposes that co-productions are particularly suited for dramatic programs that deal with human emotions and the dynamics of close relationships. Baltruschat (2003) states that the increase of co-productions in the 1990s is linked to a growing focus on international markets. Co-productions therefore feature ‘global’ characteristics and are relatively culturally indistinct. Genres such as drama, adventure, science fiction and documentary are preferred over others, and these tend to focus on human relationships and emotional storylines to increase their universal appeal. The case studies in Chapter 2 extend these previous findings through providing new insights into the important intersection between media ecologies (in this case defi ned by publicly mandated broadcasters) and the application of co-production technology. As is shown, collaborations between the CBC and Channel 4 in the U.K. resulted in socially relevant co-productions that address contemporary issues of

Figure 1.1

Decrease in total Canadian film and TV co-production, 1996–2006.

32

Global Media Ecologies

Figure 1.2 Decrease in film and TV co-production projects and budgets, 1998–2006. Note. Based on data by Telefilm Canada (1999), Baltruschat (2003), Nordicity Group (2006).

public interest. This highlights that a particular media ecology is key for understanding how this production technology is used for either cultural or economic reasons. Co-production is a popular tool for joint project development. However, film and TV co-ventures, in addition to the emergence of new television genres (i.e., reality TV) and other global production technologies such as format franchising (discussed in Chapters 3–6), are displacing treaty coproduction in favor of projects that (a) do not depend on official treaties, (b) are easier to adapt to national viewing preferences and (c) entail interactive elements across digital platforms that appeal to younger audiences. Also, when co-production came under review in the U.K. (2003) and Canada (2004), the volatile nature of this production technology was revealed, especially its effect on Canada’s film and television industries where coproduction has dropped significantly. In 2005, film and television co-productions declined from over 100 projects in 2002 to only 64, and decreased even further in 2006, when only 49 official co-productions were registered for official processing with Telefilm (see Figures 1.1 and 1.2). The Documentary Organization of Canada (2007) reports that treaty co-productions in 2006 were at the same level as in 1997. Two years later, in 2008, treaty co-productions hit their lowest mark in a decade when they fell by 48% to CDN $298 million (Canadian Film and Television Production Association

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 33 [CFTPA] & Association des producteurs de fi lms et de télévision du Québec [ACPFT], 2009). Finally, the coinciding reviews in the U.K. and Canada highlighted the interconnection of cultural policy regimes, especially when they pertain to global production technologies and the international trade in cultural productions.

THE HISTORICAL CONTEXT OF CO-PRODUCTIONS The director of the French Film Centre, Michel Fourré-Cormeray, is attributed with developing the idea for treaties that accredit films with a dual nationality. France and Italy were the fi rst countries to sign an ‘experimental’ co-production agreement in October 1946, which became official in 1949 (Jäckel, 2003a). In 1963, the Canadian government negotiated its fi rst bilateral agreement with France for the production of feature fi lms. This was followed by a Canada–Italy treaty in 1970, a U.K. agreement in 1975, and a Canada–West Germany treaty in 1978. The initial impetus for treaty negotiations was the notion that co-production would enhance and strengthen Canada’s fi lm industry through creating employment and exposure to more experienced partners. Moreover, it was hoped that pooling resources from other countries would result in increased feature film production and offset U.S. domination of Canada’s film industry. However, according to Pendakur (1990, pp. 196–197), an absence of screen quotas for Canadian films and ineffective domestic distribution channels defeated this policy aim. By 1986, Canada had entered into 10 agreements, mostly with European countries (Pendakur, 1990, p. 197). By 1992, the number of treaties rose to 22 (Acheson & Maule, 1993, 1994) and would more than double in less than a decade: in 1999, Canada had 46 treaties (Telefilm, 1999, pp. 16–17), and by 2007, 57 treaties covering 53 countries. The dramatic increase in co-production treaties has to be seen in light of Canada’s growing focus on the international market for cultural production. Similarly, HammettJamart (2004b) states that official Australian fi lm policy in the late 1990s shifted toward distributing ‘Australian stories in a global industry’, which resulted in a growth of co-productions.8 Official treaties set up ‘competent authorities’ in each country for monitoring co-production. In addition, they stipulate a balance of creative and fi nancial components through the equal distribution of key creative positions such as director, writers, actors and crew. Early treaties focused predominantly on feature films, but due to the growing demand for television productions (especially after the Television without Frontier initiative), they were adapted and renewed to cover both, co-productions in feature film and television (Acheson & Maule, 1989, 1994). One of the main goals for co-productions was aimed at creating economic advantages for fi lmmakers through working with international talent, acquiring expertise and

34

Global Media Ecologies

sharing economic risks in production. Also, co-productions were meant to stimulate local employment, in addition to allowing fi lmmakers access to international markets. However, as early as 1980, questions were raised about the balance of creative and fi nancial elements and their impact on local industries and Canadian content productions. The Council of Canadian Filmmakers (1980) claimed that the benefits for Canadian filmmakers were minimal. In particular, the Council criticized the Canada–U.K. treaty, which prorated the ‘balance’ of creative, craft and technical personnel on a per capita basis. Canadian fi lm and television producers raised similar concerns regarding creative positions in co-production in the late 1990s when the number of projects began to increase dramatically. However, François Macerola (2003), former executive director of Telefilm, claims that co-productions between 1996 and 2002 met or exceeded prorated targets in creative positions, despite the fact that the overall financial contribution from the Canadian side was only slightly above 50% of equity fi nancing. As a result, Macerola opposed the notion that international co-productions are disadvantageous to Canadian producers. On the contrary, according to his assessment, co-productions contributed to the development of employment for Canadian talent (pp. 77–78). Between 1970 and 1985, Canadian producers averaged about four coproductions annually. Then, between 1986 and 2002, co-productions increased steadily until they averaged 49 per year. At the same time, coproduction budgets climbed to $4.2 –5.6 million. Yet, in stark contrast to this trend, in 2003 and 2004, co-productions began to decline dramatically: in 2004, Canada co-produced 40% fewer projects than in 2000, and in 2005 co-productions dropped by nearly 50% in comparison to numbers from the previous five years. Overall, between 2000–2004 co-production budgets fell by 59% with television production being most affected (Davidson, 2005). This dramatic decline resulted from a combination of factors. First, changes to expenditure requirements in the U.K. in 2003 impacted on project developments between the two countries. A temporary increase from 20% to 40% of minimum production spending requirements in the U.K. by the DCMS made collaborative projects very expensive for Canadian producers. According to Stephen Hegyes from Brightlight (as cited in Careless, 2005): “A 60/40 split has made it much tougher to put together Canada/U.K. coproductions . . . In this kind of scenario, you end up overpaying for post-production in the U.K., because everything there costs three times what it costs in Toronto” (¶ 3). Second, a popular funding mechanism, the U.K. sale-leaseback,9 was suspended in addition to the cancellation of U.K. equity funds by Inland Revenue in 2004.10 Third, European producers began to focus on inter-European co-productions since a common currency, a vast array of funding mechanisms (such as Eurimages and MEDIA)11 and the close proximity of countries are conducive for collaborations on film and television productions. Also,

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 35 European producers sought out co-producers in Eastern Europe because they offer established cinema traditions and a low-cost structure for production and locations. And finally, the European Convention on Cinematographic Co-production is more flexible in regards to permitting the participation of writers, directors and actors from countries not covered by a treaty such as the U.S. (CFTPA & ACPFT, 2005; Davidson, 2005; Nordicity Group, 2004). As a result, European co-productions increased in the early 2000s (Committee of the Regions, 2005). To illustrate, between 1998 and 2003, feature film co-productions nearly doubled from 164 to 285, with U.K. projects growing from 37 to 99 and French projects from 78 to 114 (European Audiovisual Observatory [EAO], 2004). European co-productions fall under the European Convention on Cinematographic Co-production from 1992. The Convention allows participation from international co-producers as long as the overall project promotes a European identity (Council of Europe, 1992). In contrast to Canadian agreements, this permits involvement of non-signatory countries such as the U.S. Therefore, Americans can be co-producers as long as fi nancial investments do not exceed 30% of the total budget (Davenport Lyons, 2007). In many ways, this blurs the boundaries between treaty co-productions and co-ventures and consequently shifts the focus from collaborative cultural production to capital driven projects for the global market. According to Morawetz et al. (2007), key reasons for a steady increase in European co-production are (a) the introduction of tax incentives to encourage private investments and (b) U.S. producers accessing European co-production mechanisms for big budget productions due to a shortfall of domestic funding opportunities. In the early 1990s, U.S. film fi nancing became increasingly international through pre-selling distribution rights to international media companies (i.e., BMG or the German Kirsch Group) and insurance-backed securitization. However, institutional investment from insurance companies failed in many instances due to the high-risk nature of feature film production with the result of a fi nancing gap in the U.S. industry. Co-production with European countries therefore provided a welcomed new revenue stream. The introduction of tax incentives by European governments led to an inflow of capital into the film industry12 but, at the same time, created a ‘tax competition’ between countries, which tried to match and overbid competitors’ offers to attract investors. U.S. producers seized this opportunity to combine monies from multiple countries, leading to ever increasing budgets for movie production, and co-production for mainly economic reasons. For example, co-production budgets involving the U.K. increased from $41.3 million in 2002 to $77.6 million in 2003 (UK Film Council, 2004, p. 77). Furthermore, U.K. feature film production generated $1.91 billion in 2003, primarily due to U.S.–U.K. collaborations, which comprised 90% of foreign investment and 99 co-productions/coventures between the countries.13 In 2007, inward investment to the U.K. from U.S. studios amounted to $1.04 billion with the result that foreign

36

Global Media Ecologies

investments now account for 73% of U.K. production expenditure (Dawtrey, 2007). In addition to changing priorities in the U.K., problems with Canadian co-production were compounded by the emergence of competing co-producers in Asia and South Africa, who sought to develop their domestic industries and therefore offered less complex conditions for collaboratively produced projects. For example, Canadian co-productions require copyright agreements, whereas some countries, like South Africa, are less stringent in that regard. Then, the emergence of new genres such as reality TV, combined with the global production technology of format franchising, began to undercut co-production as a collaborative production tool since formats are less expensive to produce and successfully circumvent government policy (see Chapters 3, 4 and 6). Also, as discussed previously, the proliferation of international funding schemes to encourage location shooting around the world weakened Canada’s competitive edge in the global market place. Finally, the launch of co-production reviews in the U.K. and Canada created a sense of instability among Canadian producers, who were no longer sure where funding would be coming from for their projects (CFTPA & ACPFT, 2005). The reasons for the reviews and their ripple effects through the industry are the focus of the following sections.

CO-PRODUCTION REVIEWS: THE INTERNATIONAL DIMENSION In early 1999, the Australian government reviewed its official policies in order to align the goals of co-production treaties with the potential of international co-production partners and proposed projects. As a result, the Australian Film Commission (2004), now Screen Australia, sets out clearly that co-productions have to benefit Australian consumers through providing increased choice of programming, more employment for Australians and greater international audience share for Australian fi lms, as well as strengthening diplomatic ties between Australia and partnering countries. Four years later, François Macerola highlighted the need to establish clearer links between official co-productions and the Canadian content system to ensure that creative, talent and technical aspects are not being compromised. In his report on Canadian Content in the 21st Century, he proposed a formal evaluation process to assess the benefits of treaty co-productions for Canada’s film and television industries. These and other issues moved to center stage when Heritage Canada and Telefi lm launched their fi rst official co-production review in 40 years in 2004 (CFTPA, 2004; Telefi lm, 2004a). In its consultations with Canadian industry and stakeholders, Telefi lm placed the Canada–U.K. treaty center stage, thus highlighting the interdependent relationship between government agencies for developing cultural policy for film and television.

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 37 The Canadian co-production review focused on balancing economic and cultural benefits for domestic film and television industries (Chalifour, Ennis, Ott & McAlpine, 2004). In order to establish clearer guidelines, the Department of Heritage reexamined the objectives of international coproductions to ensure a proper alignment with other audio-visual policies of the federal government. Similarly to the Australian review, the Department intended to develop evaluation criteria to measure the performance of co-production treaties and to assess new co-production partners. In many aspects, the Canadian review also mirrored the co-production review in the U.K., which assessed criteria for negotiating new treaties and examined the economic and cultural benefits of this global production technology. The review was launched in 2003 after a statement by the former U.K. fi lms minister Estelle Morris that called for the improvement of existing guidelines. According to Morris (as cited in DCMS, 2004), We have to make sure the co-production system delivers real cultural and economic benefits to both partners. Too often co-productions have not brought in the work and have not been screened in the UK. . . . Co-production is central to the future of the British film industry and the UK can lead the way . . . But it is a two-way deal. Co-productions and the associated tax breaks must lead to more jobs in film in this country and more work for our film making [sic] facilities. (n.p) As a result, co-producers had to abide by temporary measures that required at least 40% of their film budget be spent on British production facilities and personnel, an increase from the previous 20% to 30% minimum (DCMS, 2004). Television budgetary contributions remained at 20% to 25%. In 2007, new financial guidelines were introduced that stipulate that 25% of a co-production budget has to be spent in the U.K. for fi lms up to $33 million—or 20% if the film budget is over $33 million—in order to qualify for U.K. tax benefits (Olsberg|SPI, 2006). However, only U.K. production companies are able to access tax benefits on core expenditures. Not surprisingly, this has depressed international co-productions, which declined from 59 in 2006 to only 9 in 2007 as a result of changes to U.K. tax rules (Avient, 2007; U.K. Film Council, 2007). The U.K. review impacted on co-production in many direct and indirect ways. It is no coincidence that the review resulted in a reassessment of Canadian guidelines since bilateral co-production agreements create interdependencies that inevitably link cultural policy between international jurisdictions. This is amplified by the fact that the U.K. has always been one of Canada’s main co-producing partners. It is also not surprising that the increased focus of the DCMS and the Film Council to expand their industry’s hold on global market share presents a unique challenge to Canada— namely, to increase its ‘flexibility’ in Canada–U.K. co-production and to

38

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allow third-country personnel, particularly from the U.S., to participate in treaty co-production. In the question of ‘flexibility’, the interdependency of cultural policy regimes is especially evident, as the U.K. pursues a range of co-production activities and relies heavily on U.S. investment for large-scale productions (Kim, 2003, p. 410; Chalaby, 2006, p. 42; Jäckel, 2003b). Therefore, the pressure to loosen regulations is directly linked to co-production arrangements between Canada and the U.K. This is reflected in the broadening of Telefilm’s co-production guidelines regarding third-country involvement in a project. For example, in the Co-production Guide of 1999, the agency stated that “[s]ubject to certain conditions and with the prior approval of Telefilm Canada and the competent authority of the partner countries, the participation of personnel from countries not party to the co-production contract is permitted” (p. 12). Two years later, Telefilm (2001a) broadened the definition for the exceptional participation of third-country personnel to include ‘cameos’, defined as the “brief appearance of an internationally known personality from a third-party country” (p. 18) as well as a guest star. However, the use of a cameo or guest star was only allowed on a ‘trial basis’ for a period of three years. Then in 2004, co-production guidelines were further relaxed to include third-country participation in the following scenarios: • If the script requires shooting in a third country. • If a portion of the technical animation work is done by a third-country production company. • If a co-production agreement permits the involvement of third-country talent and personnel, including scriptwriters. (Telefilm, 2004b) And now, third-country participation is permitted [i]f the project, for commercial reasons or to facilitate its financing, requires the participation of an internationally known third country performer and a cameo, this participation may be accepted with the agreement of the competent authorities. (Telefilm, 2007, p. 4; emphasis added) As of June 2007, the U.K. Film Council’s guidelines on co-productions with Canada clearly outline that nationals from non-co-producing countries are now able to perform as lead artists (U.K. Film Council & DCMS, 2007). In addition to highlighting the interconnection between cultural policies between jurisdictions, Telefilm’s new direction also reveals a growing emphasis on the star system for the promotion and marketing of cultural productions. Historically, film and television industries in Europe and Canada relied predominantly on the ‘auteur’ through focusing on the works of directors rather than actors. Internationally renowned directors such as Truffault, Fassbender, Cronenberg and Egoyan attest to this tradition.

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 39 A shift to emphasizing stars as promotional vehicles thus marks a clear departure from the past and exemplifies (a) the growing integration of global markets for cultural production through the application of a U.S. or Hollywood model of production and distribution; and (b) simultaneously, reflective of contradictory globalization forces, the increase and intensifying competition for the production, promotion and distribution of global film and television programs. Even though short-term collaborations exist for the duration of projects, each production sector ultimately seeks to achieve its own competitive advantage in the global market. Closely connected to these developments are competing promotional strategies for locations (internationally and intra-nationally) through tax incentives, new co-production partners and new production technologies. According to a spokesperson from the U.K. Film Council, all co-production treaties are “cultural documents designed to be exploited for economic reasons” (interview with the author, July 27, 2005). Consequently, and in spite of their ‘cultural’ claim, co-production is increasingly used to develop film and television as global industries and is less directed toward creating public goods. International co-productions therefore exemplify the conflicting processes and inherent contradictions within cultural production in general—namely, the pursuit of fi lm and television program development aimed at generating industrial benefits in contrast to collaborative pursuits for creating cultural forms of expression that document and reflect upon social and historical conditions. The increasing emphasis in co-production on economic imperatives has to be placed within the neo-liberal context, which, since the 1990s, frames cultural production as a predominantly industrial exercise, even when cultural attributes are highlighted as the focal point. In other words, cultural arguments are more and more thinly veiled economic directives to expand industries and increase global market share. As a result, revenue streams, profits, prestige and audience attendance (or TV ratings) have become assessment tools by which the ‘success’ of cultural production is measured. These include, but are not limited to, the proverbial ‘box office hits’, often associated with Hollywood movies, the international recognition of genres based on the star system and the establishment of film and television hubs connected to certain production centers (notably Los Angeles and Hollywood, but also Toronto, due to an internationally recognized film festival, and Mumbai, India, a center for Bollywood). In turn, ‘measures of success’ direct the development of new cultural productions, even if, in most instances, the impact of films or programs can only be assessed afterwards: the failure of many feature films and cancellation of television series attest to that fact. The Film Council’s notion of co-production clearly highlights a new direction in co-production for the U.K., namely, increased collaboration with U.S. film and television producers and investors. Under the European Convention, international co-productions can be structured along multilateral lines to allow for foreign investment in the form of U.S. funding and

40

Global Media Ecologies

the use of ‘international’ stars, which are easily identifiable as Hollywood actors popularized through prolific global promotional campaigns by corporations such as Warner Brothers and Disney. According to a spokes person from the Council (interview with the author, July 27, 2005), “We recognized that if you’re going to put together an independent fi lm, it is almost impossible to raise the fi nance without a star who has an international reputation”.14 Consequently, feature fi lms like Troy (Rathbun, Wilson & Petersen, 2004) and Alexander (Borman, Kilik, Schühly, Smith & Stone, 2004)15 are now, with a stretch of the imagination, considered ‘European’ because they are based on Greek myths and history. Similarly, Cold Mountain (Berger, Horberg, Pollack, Yerxa & Minghella, 2003), which starred Renée Zellwegger and Nicole Kidman, profited from the European Convention on co-production as well as a low-cost location shoot in Romania. According to the Council (as cited in Terberl, 2005), [We are] encouraging investment into the UK that primarily comes from the major US studios. Films like Harry Potter, Troy, these very big US studio backed films. We encourage them to come into the UK to shoot, either through a, what is called Schedule 1-structure, which is where they do the majority of the work in the UK and spend it on UK or EU Commonwealth personnel. Or we encourage them to think about structuring it through co-production. (p. 80; emphasis in the original)16 The prolific U.S. involvement in different co-production arrangements with the U.K. has a direct impact on Canadian directives, which until recently limited participation of third-country personnel to prevent opening a ‘backdoor’ to U.S. investment in Canadian film and television programs, which are funded through the public purse. In addition, the increasing use of ‘stars’ necessitates a new ‘flexibility’ in Canadian co-production. Similar to a growing trend in television (discussed in later chapters), this marks a break from previous production modes to embrace global production technologies that centre on the U.S.-dominated star system as a predominant means for production, promotion, distribution and consumption. The co-production reviews in the U.K. and Canada are therefore examples of how the so-called balance between economic and cultural benefits actually represents a shift toward predominantly industrial imperatives based on global networks of production. In this equation, cultural attributes are framed within a neo-liberal rhetoric: heritage and cultural aspects are turned into international marketing tools to attract production to certain locales, which are the ‘hub’ and “centre of excellence for global fi lm activity” (DCMS, 2005) and designated to enhance the international prestige of domestic industries, production facilities, talent and locations. Within this paradigm, even cultural diversity becomes an asset for creating a competitive industry on a global scale. This is clearly exemplified in the ‘Cultural

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 41 Test’, which was introduced in 2005 after consultations with U.K. industry representatives.17 The Cultural Test highlights the complex balancing act to determine guidelines for British fi lm certification in a global media market. The Test, which is based on a point system (31 points in total, 16 points are needed to pass), measures the degree of British ‘cultural attributes’ in a fi lm to determine if it qualifies for tax subsidies. In particular, the test has four sections including ‘cultural content’, ‘cultural contribution’, ‘cultural hubs’ and ‘cultural practitioners’ (see Table 1.1). According to Shaun Woodward, former Minister for Creative Industries and Tourism (as cited in DCMS, 2006), The film scheme will be good both for independent and large studio productions. The Cultural Test will ensure that every film qualifying for tax relief either reflects or contributes to furthering British culture. And it is good news for British talent, studios, locations and all those offering production facilities. (¶ 7) Originally, the test emphasized the utilization of U.K. production services, but then had to refocus its target on British cultural attributes as a result of pressures from the European Commission (2006), whose permission was needed to align the new U.K. feature film tax incentives with EC State Aid Rules. Consequently, the DCMS increased the amount of points for the content of the film and decreased the point values for where the film was made. In addition, the Department introduced additional points value for contributions to British culture. Even though the test was revised because it placed “too much emphasis on the economic elements of fi lm-making i.e. where the fi lm was made and the persons employed to make it, and therefore had the capability of affecting intra-Community trade” (DCMS, 2006), the predominant focus remains on budgetary spending in the U.K. because cultural attributes are used as promotional vehicles to attract foreign investment. This is exemplified in the sequel to the Chronicles of Narnia titled Prince Caspian, which produced by Disney (U.S.) and Walden Media (U.K.), now qualifies as a British production because it is based on a British book, features lead actors from the U.K. and is generally “infused with a British sensibility” (Dawtrey, 2006). According to a statement by Disney (as cited in Dawtry, 2006), We are pleased to confi rm that ‘Prince Caspian’ is expected to qualify as a British film under the government’s new cultural points test . . . While the majority of filming will take place outside the U.K., the majority of the post-production and visual effects, which constitute a significant part of the overall production budget, will take place in the U.K. (¶ 6)

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Global Media Ecologies

Table 1.1 Cultural Test Note. Based on data by DCMS (2006, 2009a).18

The DCMS cultural test thus exemplifies the extent to which the U.K. fi lm and television industries have become integrated into the global market. This has a direct impact on Canadian film and television producers who now have to negotiate a new and challenging terrain in co-producing with the U.K.

CONSULTATIONS WITH STAKEHOLDERS— THE NATIONAL DIMENSION In media production ecologies, stakeholders in the form of unions, guilds and professional organizations play a vital role in mediating and negotiating the interests of their members. As part of the U.K. co-production review, the DCMS and the U.K. Film Council therefore consulted with industry representatives from the Producers Alliance for Cinema and

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 43 Television (PACT) and the British Screen Advisory Council (BSAC). Similarly, Telefilm Canada launched industry consultations in 2004 when it proposed changes to its international co-production guidelines. The feedback from these consultations is the subject of this section. First of all, Telefilm introduced a creative grid based on percentages for assessing creative and technical elements in co-productions. The grid extended the notion of ‘creative’ elements beyond the commonly known key creative positions in Canadian content rules19 to include the narrator, costume designer, sound editor and industrial foci especially in post-production (see italicized sections in Table 1.2). The creative grid is intended to allow for greater flexibility in co-production. For example, in the case of co-productions with a Canadian fi nancial share of 35%, the creative and technical percentage must be the same within a margin of 5%.20 Also, if a producer intends to hire a third-country actor, the required Canadian creative and technical participation has to be fulfilled fi rst (Telefilm, 2004a). Since the proposed grid is based on the French and European point system, Telefilm anticipates an improvement in the certification process with European partners. In the creative grid, the defi nition of the ‘creative’ really means the increase of local economic benefits, especially in regards to location shooting and post-production, which, similar to the Cultural Test in the U.K., amplifies the general shift from cultural to economic priorities. It is questionable, however, that different mathematical formulae facilitate the development of co-productions, whose aims go beyond mere economic benefits.

Table 1.2 Creative Grid Note. Based on data by Telefilm, 2004a.

44

Global Media Ecologies

Ironically, in this discussion about balancing culture and economic benefits, the filmmakers and artists at the center of production are often overlooked, who, in the words of Cass and Stratton (as cited in Canadian Filmmaker, 2007), emphasize to “[r]emember that the point of participating in this industry is that you are creating a sense of culture” (n.p). As part of the review, Telefi lm also circulated a list of questions specifically related to the Canada–U.K. co-production agreement, in order to assess the degree of ‘flexibility’ Canadian organizations, producers and stakeholders were willing to allow in international collaborations in film and television. Not surprisingly, two questions in particular revealed the divisive interests between producers, broadcasters, guilds and unions on the national level: 1. What degree of key creative flexibility should be allowed with respect to third-party participation on a co-production? What criteria could be used to frame such flexibility? 2. What, if any, are the merits of fi nance-only deals, whereby, in exchange for a fi nancial contribution of between 5%and 10%, a co-production is deemed to bear national status? Whereas industry organizations like the Canadian Film and Television Producers Association (CFTPA) and the Canadian Association of Broadcasters (CAB) responded in favor of more flexibility in regards to third-country involvement, guilds and unions, including the Directors Guild of Canada (DGC), the Writers Guild of Canada (WGC) and the Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists (ACTRA, 2005), declared the hiring of third-country personnel as nothing more than opening the backdoor to U.S. producers to use Canadian co-production treaties for their own benefit. Moreover, the WGC (2005a) stated that greater flexibility would reduce treaty co-productions to the status of ‘service productions’.21 In regard to fi nance-only deals, the DGC (2005a) proclaimed that they “fly in the face of the key objectives of co-production treaties” (p. 5) because producers can structure fi nancial arrangements without the support of an official treaty. Inevitably, the industry’s response reflected the interests of producers, writers, broadcasters and unions, which emphasized economic or cultural merits of Canadian co-productions, depending on the fi lm and television sectors they represented. Whereas the CFTPA and CAB favored more ‘flexible’ approaches to enhance economic opportunities for Canada’s film and television industries in the global market, the guilds and unions recommended the strengthening of cultural benefits in support of Canadian talent and labor. More specifically, the producer’s association CFTPA (2005) suggested that the question on whether co-productions constitute a cultural or an industrial tool holds little merit since co-production allows for the pooling of resources and ensures the “optimal distribution of our stories around the

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 45 world” (p. 3). The Association favored less complex treaties and the addition of new types of collaborative production technologies such as twinning and packages.22 Most importantly, the Association recommended greater ‘creative flexibility’ in collaborating with international partners and to allow an increase in third-country involvement. In contrast to the CFTPA, the DGC raised concerns over third-party participation in co-productions, since third-country personnel would have a negative impact on Canadian talent and labor. According to the Guild, a provision for more flexibility would “result in Canadians missing out on opportunities”, especially when lower priced talent challenges current rates and conditions specified in Canadian labor agreements. 23 More specifically, the Guild was adamant that the writer and the director must be from Canada and the U.K. to ensure a creative balance. Finally, the DGC (2005) insisted upon “that the cultural component of the Canada-UK Treaty not be undermined by focusing solely on the economic benefits of the Treaty” (p. 6). Not surprisingly, the Canadian Association of Broadcasters (CAB) (2005) favored more flexibility in third-country participation and proposed to extend involvement to other talent such as writers, directors, directors of photography, editors and composers. According to the Association, this would be especially pertinent to co-productions that ‘organically’ include characters and personnel from third countries, such as a director of photography, who could bring a necessary sensibility to a production and enhance its overall appeal. The CAB also advocated fi nance-only deals because it could improve the economic prospects for productions. The DGC and WGC, on the other hand, stated that fi nance deals could be made anytime and therefore do not need treaty co-production status. Moreover, the response of the WGC (2005a) emphasized the cultural importance of explicit Canadian content in international co-productions. According to the Guild, co-productions are not merely a fi nancial transaction “since it uses our airwaves and benefits from public funding. Canadian taxpayers should not be asked to support international production deals void of a Canadian voice or story” (p. 1). The WGC was adamant that co-productions must have cultural merit and reflect Canada to Canadians (p. 1). Therefore, “at a minimum”, Canadian talent has to fi ll one of the key creative positions such as screenwriter or director: “Unless this minimum requirement is met, co-productions are no different from foreign-service production created elsewhere but using Canada as shooting location” (p. 3). The WGC claimed that a very low percentage of official Canadian co-productions are actually written by Canadian screenwriters. More specifically, only 28 productions out of the 200 official Canada–U.K co-productions between 2000 and 2004, or 14%, were written under WGC contracts. This also holds true in the case of official Canada–France co-productions for the same time-frame: out of the 185 co-productions between the two countries, only 23, or 12.5%, were written by WGC members. In the same period, 1 out of 17 Canada–Germany projects, and only 1 out of 6 Canada–South Africa

46

Global Media Ecologies

co-productions, were written by a WGC screenwriter. WGC cited an example of a Canada–U.K. co-production, Resident Evil (Anderson, 2002), which lacked a Canadian perspective or any “Canadian cultural merit” (WGA, 2005a, p. 3) even though it had been shot in Toronto and employed local talent and crews. According to the WGC, this represented a foreign service production and should therefore not qualify as a certified co-production. Most importantly, the WGC recommended that Canadian Heritage not seek more ‘flexibility’ in co-productions, but fully support Canadian talent instead. Specifically, the WGC (2005a) stated, In Canada, ‘third-party’ participation mostly refers to U.S. fi nancial investment and this is no different than foreign-service production. This type of production does not qualify as official treaty co-production because creative control is held by U.S. fi nanciers who insist on having American screenwriters create and write projects long before shooting begins. This means that by permitting the use of third country participation, the government would effectively trade off our talent pools to attract U.S. money. The ‘cultural’ cost of gaining U.S. fi nancing cannot be underestimated. U.S. fi nanciers demand control over creative content in exchange for their investment dollars. WGC statistics demonstrate that where a project is largely fi nanced by a U.S. partner, Canadians lose creative control. This is because U.S. fi nancial partners typically insist that they approve the writer-producers (show runners) and the writers in the story departments—the creative engines of series television. This means that U.S. fi nanced productions lack Canadian creative participation—although they are often fi lmed in Canada and employ Canadian performers and crews, the story lines are all American because Canadian screenwriters are seldom hired to write scripts. (p. 7) In summary, industry reactions to the official co-production review reflected the different interests each organization brought to the table. They also highlighted the conflicted process of balancing cultural and economic foci of this production technology. While organizations in favor of expanding co-production emphasized a need for more ‘flexibility’ in co-productions, guilds and unions advocated cultural protectionism to strengthen creative talent and labor. The question of balancing economic and cultural benefits from co-productions on the international level thus translated into diverging interests on the national level. At the root of the debate is the possible lowering of barriers for protectionist measures, whose predominant aim is to create cultural industries that are separate from the U.S. In the words of Acheson and Maule (2003), Canadian audio-visual policies are the result of a century of developments to “restrict the inflow of content from the US, either directly or indirectly, control foreign ownership of firms engaged in production and distribution,

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 47 encourage the production of Canadian content and assure that it is given ‘shelf-space’ by distributors” (p. 2). The balance in economic and cultural benefits in co-production therefore relates directly to questions of cultural protectionism, which, as discussed, is increasingly underscored by economic imperatives to develop film and television industries that can compete in the global market. The debate also points toward a significant shift in the direction of globalizing co-productions beyond ‘traditional’ activities to include partners such as the U.S. for maximum profit gains through foreign investment and international distribution. These developments mark a clear departure from the original conception of treaty co-production as a means to establish geo-cultural industries for cultural production, on the one hand, and to offset the proliferation of U.S. production, on the other hand. Most importantly, the current debate tends to skew all issues toward a fiscal argument for attaining a competitive advantage in the global market place. It is within this paradigm that a true imbalance exists, since the question of cultural protectionism goes beyond market competition, but remains a necessary concern for democratic media and the representation of a multitude of perspectives in film and television. In defi ning culture and related policies in too narrow terms, important questions about protecting media channels from conglomeration and lack of diversity fall to the wayside.

CONCLUSION International co-production in film and television became an important focal point for film and television industries in the 1990s. Yet, as the global market became a strategic priority, domestic film and television production sectors went through a period of downsizing in the form of cutbacks to public service broadcasting and cultural agencies. 24 Initially, co-productions proliferated. But then, in 2003, this production technology faltered and consequently failed to provide a long-term solution for viable domestic industries. On the contrary, the dramatic decline in co-production between 2003 and 2008 highlights the volatility of this production technology, which interlinks cultural policies from international jurisdictions, and subjects producers to shifting fiscal and cultural priorities in the global market place. It also reveals the lack of opportunities for producers with diverse cultural backgrounds, who could take advantage of co-production treaties that have never been accessed. The necessity for a democratic media paradigm has never been greater in a world of a migrating diaspora that requires media channels to explore, document and reflect upon its roots, its present and its future. By the year 2000, Telefilm and Heritage Canada had signed over 50 official co-production treaties with countries around the world. However, many of these treaties have never been used, while ‘traditional’ co-production

48

Global Media Ecologies

partners in the U.K. and France remained the primary targets for Canada’s industries. Many treaties had been signed in an ad hoc manner during trade missions, while others served diplomatic purposes rather than strengthening cultural and economic relations between countries. Considering the multifaceted tenets of today’s societies, a greater commitment to media diversity is needed to develop co-productions reflective of the global diaspora. This is especially significant during a period when many big-budget Hollywood productions fail with audiences, who have grown tired of formulaic and predictable narratives. The shift in priorities toward economic imperatives is the direct result of market deregulation and its devastating effects on public subsidies, which has led to the commercialization of the ‘public good’ and ‘public space’. Closely linked to these developments is the process of ‘normalizing’ commercial sponsorship and branding, now synonymous with most forms of cultural production and events. Within the neo-liberal paradigm, ‘culture’ is equivalent to ‘industry’ and, consequently, becomes an entity based purely on profit motives and capitalist values. In other words, culture as a common, accessible form of practice for the celebration, documentation and reflection on the human condition—connected to particular moments in time and associated with experiences tied to specific locales—is undermined by a preemptive ideological framework. The neo-liberal turn in cultural production is also reflected in cultural policy, which historically made a distinction between arts and commerce. In the 1990s, the traditional patronage of the arts, protection of the freedom of the press and public service broadcasting gave way to deregulating the public sector and prioritizing economies of scale, vertical and horizontal integration and the maximization of audiences (Garnham, 2005). Cultural industries are defi ned by their high costs and risks in production, on the one hand, and low costs of reproduction and distribution, on the other (Caves, 2000). Within this paradigm, novelty is priced highly, as is the creation of needs to be satisfied by consumer and ‘lifestyle’ products. This, in turn, favors large corporations with the ability to fund research and development for new product and service lines. It also provides the basis for their ‘deep’ involvement in cultural production and “the actual constitution of the cultural object itself in pursuit of corporate goals” (McGuigan, 2005, p. 235). Indeed, the increasing commercialization of cultural production delimits spaces for preserving unfettered cultural memory, documenting the history of peoples and challenging the falsities embedded in the myths of capitalist ideology. A neo-liberal defi nition of the ‘cultural economy’ is stripped clean of notions of power, class, race and gender and the necessity to etch struggles for equality into public memory. The artists at the core of media production barely shine through in the reviews by cultural agencies discussed in this chapter. It is not uncommon for creators in the sector to work for a bare minimum to allow for their creative engagement in a project that

International Film and TV Co-production under Review 49 embodies their vision for social change. One may think that they are the exception, but the collection of thousands of works in the form of documentaries, experimental films, animation and dramatic projects that reside with independent distributors across North America attest to this fact and prove the opposite. The co-production reviews revealed a lack of vision for the creative talent in film and television. The signing of co-production treaties with countries around the world without fostering diverse filmmakers and producers within local contexts is indicative of the lack of commitment to production sectors that are representative of the cultural fabric of today’s societies. It also spotlights the interdependencies that co-production creates between producers and cultural agencies in different jurisdictions, which can result in amplifying the risks associated with production rather than mitigating it. According to the analysis given in this chapter, the future of treaty co-production is likely to exemplify cultural production, which applies increasingly flexible measures to accommodate economic imperatives and pressures from international partners to create programming for global markets. Yet, as discussed in Chapter 2, co-production still provides an opportunity to collaborate on cross-cultural programming that critically engages audiences. Consequently, this production technology remains an important tool for fostering international cooperation on culturally diverse fi lm and television productions—an objective that can only be accomplished as a result of a stronger commitment and broader vision from media and cultural agents alike.

2

Activating Codes and Conventions in Co-produced Docudramas

International co-productions play a vital role in the film and television industries. As discussed, they exemplify the extent to which business networks connect producers and broadcasters on a global scale and impact directions in cultural policy, and vice versa. Co-production runs the gamut from official treaty co-productions to co-ventures and non-treaty collaborations in film and television production. Co-production covers all genres but is used for documentaries and dramas in particular. The production technology appeals to both commercial and public service broadcasters for pooling resources, accessing new markets and augmenting production budgets. According to the Head of Business Affairs at the CBC (interview with the author, May 25, 2006), co-production “allows programs to qualify as Canadian while leveraging up the production values that we can get . . . Also, in the global marketplace it allows us to tell international stories of combined Canadian and other location viewpoints” (n.p.). This increase in production values for ‘telling international stories’ is exemplified by the Canada–U.K. co-production titled Sex Traffic (Yates, 2004). The docudrama about human trafficking, which was collaboratively produced by Channel 4 and the CBC, covers socially conscious material about an important international issue and is linked to an on-line awareness campaign. Another collaboration between the two broadcasters is The Hamburg Cell (Bird, 2004), which is not an official co-production, but exemplifies the myriad of interconnections between networked producers in the global television economy. Both co-productions precede the dramatic decline of collaborative activities between Canada and the U.K. as outlined in the previous chapter. This chapter details the production histories of these two co-productions with a particular focus on the intersection between co-production and public service broadcasting. The third vector in the analysis is the genre of ‘docudrama’. Even though studies highlight the tendency of co-productions for contrived plot development and streamlined narratives, the docudramas under discussion here reveal the potential of this production technology, namely, the creation of programs that illuminate historical and social developments on a global scale.

Activating Codes and Conventions in Co-produced Docudramas

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CO-PRODUCTION STUDIES As noted in Chapter 1, several studies reveal that co-production impacts on content in many ways. Specifically, the ‘creative compromise’ in coproduction creates a context that links genres and narrative development to the conditions of the production technology itself. To exemplify, the matching and mixing of actors and locations in some European co-productions have earned them the designation of ‘Euro-puddings’ because of their contrived narrative development. This is predominantly the result of allocating personnel and production facilities according to the level of participation from each country in order to achieve a balance in creative, technical and fi nancial elements. The practice dates back to early co-production activities as detailed by Jäckel (2003a). She describes how European co-producers in the 1950s and 1960s typically used lead actors from each country to satisfy treaty stipulations. Also, co-productions, originally meant to create a distinct European cinema, later adapted Hollywood fi lm practices, from launching stars to applying new technologies (i.e., color film) and the reworking of previously released material. Another European study, by Strover (1995), highlights that the use of this production technology undermines the representation of national identities. As a result of interviews with producers and distributors, she concludes that co-productions consist predominantly of human-interest stories that transcend national boundaries. Baltruschat (2003) notes that co-productions tend to assume forms that are relatively culturally indistinct and that eschew political content. Some genres are preferred over others— documentary, drama, adventure, science fiction—and these tend to focus on human relationships and emotional storylines to increase their universal appeal. Narrative structures are also affected in terms of their temporal organization and spatial reference, especially in co-produced science fiction and adventure programs. Ashuri (2006) proposes two distinct schools of co-production scholarship with critics, on one side (Strover, 1995; Baltruschat, 2003), suggesting that national characteristics are submerged in co-productions, and proponents, on the other (Jäckel, 2001; Taylor, 1995), who see co-production as a way to resist globalization and confi rm national identities. However, the polarization of scholarship around national identities, denied or confi rmed, is too simplistic as it constructs the global and the local as opposites rather than uneven developments that more often overlap than stand in stark contrast to each other, as explained in the introduction. Furthermore, it fails to defi ne co-production as a technology that is enabled by media and cultural agents in diverse ways. As noted, global media ecologies underscore co-production and determine the extent to which agents prioritize crosscultural collaboration or economic imperatives. Some co-production studies highlight advantages of this production technology, which Jäckel (2003b) and Hoskins, McFadyen and Finn (1997)

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summarize as pooling of resources (fi nancial, talent, locations), access to public subsidies, tax breaks and markets, cultural objectives and learning from co-producers (p. 60). Hoskins, McFadyen and Finn (1997) also cite disadvantages of co-production, which include higher costs related to additional bureaucratic requirements (i.e., entertainment lawyers) and long-distance communication. Hoskins and McFadyen (1993) emphasize the loss over the creative process and cultural specificity as the main disadvantages of co-production (p. 231) because the collaboration on script, casting and production is likely to result in compromising the original vision of a producer. A director of British Columbia’s Council of Film Unions confi rms this in the following statement: People who make a production want to keep creative control of that production. When you take on a partner, there has to be compromises . . . I think that the natural reaction of anyone driven by their passion for a particular story is to keep complete control. People that want to stay in business will look at marketing and the potential for making money to be able to make another show. (interview with the author, June 8, 2000) Tinic’s (2003, 2005) study of Vancouver’s television industry also provides an account of how storylines are homogenized as a result of co-production mandates in a global industry. Yet, Jäckel (2001) emphasizes in her study of Canada–U.K. and Canada–France co-productions between 1990 and 1997 that, even though co-productions tended to be identified as “mainstream products . . . where maintaining cultural identity means losing profits” (p. 166), they also, in some instances, were “symbolic bearers of national identity” (p. 166), especially when they were promoted as national feature films like Le Confessionnal (Lepage, 1995) or The Red Violin (Girard, 1998). Other co-production studies emphasize the historical context for changes in international trade regimes such as GATT and NAFTA. For example, similar to Acheson and Maule (1994), Taylor (1995) cites the development of global trade agreements and technological innovations as reasons for increased co-production activities between countries (p. 411). In a more recent study about Australia–France co-productions, Hammet-Jamart (2004b) highlights the growing commercialization of international feature film co-productions in spite of Australian cultural policy aimed at enhancing a domestic cultural industry. Her research reveals the “superficiality” of the Australian point system—meant to increase the country’s “creative equity” in projects—by showcasing how the system is flexed to achieve economic goals rather than cultural objectives. Miller et al. (2001) address the interrelationship between co-production and increased competition in the locations industries. The authors argue that international co-productions are based on industries, which are “built

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on policy responses to external cultural domination” (p. 58) that enable the transformation of locations into govermentalized and commodified products and services. Similarly, a focus on labor and locations is presented in Gasher’s (1995) study of the film and television locations industry in Canada, which is periodically dominated by U.S. runaway productions (or U.S. off-shore productions). Provincial agencies promote these locations as industrial settings (a physical site and services) rather than cultural and historic places (p. 233). As stated in the previous chapter, co-productions entail the potential to reflect and comment on historical developments, political trends and contemporary issues from a multitude of perspectives, since collaborative project development involves the input of diverse, international talent. Therefore, co-productions provide an opportunity to explore new forms of representation for global audiences—within the constraints of media ownership and governance. Yet, not surprisingly, in most cases, co-productions tend to abide to commercial pressures to maximize ratings, profits and recoupment of investments. It is therefore rare that co-producers address more sensitive material that is not based on the light entertainment fare the international market thrives on. The co-productions under discussion here are unusual since they advance a socially conscious agenda due to the involvement of two public service broadcasters. As a result, the programs come closer to fulfilling the potential of this production technology. The following analysis offers a new angle in co-production studies since the correlation between co-production and media ecologies defi ned by public service broadcasters has not been explored before. One of the issues in media analysis is that while some productions are recognizable due to their extensive inter-textual references, cross-promotions and overall popularity, others suffer the fate of obscurity once they have been aired. The latter may be the case for the programs under discussion. However, even though they may not be known to the reader, their context, genre and underscoring narratives certainly are: the focus on international human trafficking, global terrorist movements and the political responses these have provoked around the world—all portrayed through the genre of ‘docudrama’.

CODES AND CONVENTIONS IN DOCUDRAMAS Docudramas blend the codes and conventions of the documentary and drama genres. This combination influences program development, production techniques, mode of address and audience reception. Docudramas cluster around specific narrative constellations that feature interpretations and re-enactments of real-life events. In particular, docudramas focus on the re-telling of international or national histories; the representation of public figures; the portrayal of issues of concern to international and national

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communities; as well as the focus on ordinary people who are featured in the news media due to unusual circumstances (Paget, 1998, p. 61). The common denominator between these narratives is their ‘claim to authenticity’ and close relationship to actual historical events. Placed within the economic context of fi lm and television production, the popularity of docudramas stems from their advantage in adapting previously known materials, thus mitigating risks that result from developing original programs As Caves (2000) points out, media production is an inherently risky business—the failure of many fi lms and cancellation of television series attests to this fact. Producers therefore opt to develop sequels of successful feature fi lms, create franchises, spin-offs and tie-ins, trade successful concepts and formats, as well as adapt scripts from theater plays and books. Since docudramas are based on real-life events, which are often well known to the general public, their potential for successful reception is enhanced. The blending of generic codes in docudramas raises questions as to which conventions predominate. Are programs more similar to the documentary or drama and therefore deserve the label of either ‘dramatic documentary’ or ‘documentary drama’? According to Paget (1998), countries with strong public service broadcasting traditions such as the U.K. are more likely to emphasize documentary aspects, while commercial imperatives in U.S. media result in a greater focus on dramatic elements. However, since the activation of codes and conventions differ from program to program, and globalized production modes influence similar treatments, the genre is best defi ned along a fact-fiction continuum. A closer look at the history of the documentary reveals that a blending of documentary and dramatic codes has always existed. Grierson’s (as cited in Paget, 1998, p. 46) statement that the documentary entails the “creative treatment of actuality” highlights the impossible task of producing fi lms and television programs that represent an ‘objective reality’ since every production is composed of directorial and editorial decisions. Early documentaries were technically limited; thus, some elements had to be reconstructed in the studio. And in spite of technological advances—in the form of lightweight cameras, portable editing equipment and digital production means—the fi nal fi lm or program remains the creative end product of the director, cinematographer(s) and editor(s), which is further modified by distributors and sales agents through promotional campaigns and product packaging. Documentaries therefore share conventions with dramas such as narrative development, dramatic styles and techniques (Winston, 1988). However, documentary fi lmmakers make the assertion that pro-fi lmic1 events present the actual, historical world. They accomplish this through choice of subjects, voice-over narration, music and sound effects, and interviews strategically placed in the text (Plantinga, 1997). Documentaries are also indexed as such and therefore create audience expectations, which

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Plantinga (1997) defi nes as a ‘social contract’ between viewers and producer. They lay claim to ‘authentic’ and ‘truthful’ representations through activating codes and conventions that are expository, observational, interactive or reflexive. Different documentary types are defi ned by their style, structure and voice. 2 For example, expository documentaries emphasize a sense of objectivity, epistemic knowledge and a logical, cause/effect sequencing of events, which tend to be underscored by an authoritative, “voice-of-god” voiceover narration (Nichols, 1991, p. 34). Expository documentaries pose clear questions and provide definite answers (Plantinga, 1997, p. 110) and typically focus on a specific point of view (Kilborn & Izod, 1997). In contrast, observational documentaries emphasize limited involvement by the fi lmmaker in the actual pro-filmic events (Nichols, 1991, p. 38). This type of documentary developed into two styles: cinema verité, which fi rst appeared in France in the 1950s, and direct cinema, developed in the U.S. in the early 1960s (Barsam, 1992, p. 300). The main difference between the styles lies in the degree of involvement by the filmmaker. For example, while in cinema verité the fi lmmaker acts as a provocateur by enticing a response from the subjects, direct cinema focuses on the continuous recording of events, images and sound, with no obvious involvement of the fi lmmaker. Other stylistic elements of observational films include low lighting, out-of-focus images, the recording of real events, a certain spontaneity (Barsam, 1992, pp. 303–304) and a voice that is open, provocative and exploratory (Plantinga, 1997, p. 115). A popular contemporary form is the interactive documentary, which stresses the encounter between fi lmmaker and subjects through on-camera testimonies and verbal exchanges (Nichols, 1991, p. 44). This type of documentary is closely related to cinema verité because it registers the presence of camera and crew, but is broader in application. On-camera interviews are the dominant means for recording testimonies (Kilborn & Izod, 1997), while editing serves to maintain the logical continuity between individual viewpoints (Nichols, 1991, p. 45). In comparison, refl exive documentaries are also closely related to the esthetics of cinema verité but adopt unconventional codes, surprising juxtapositions, and even parody and humor (Nichols, 1991, pp. 61, 73) to deconstruct codes and conventions of the genre and make them visible. All documentary styles are common today, especially the observational mode, which tends to predominate in television. In addition, new hybrid forms have emerged, which blend different styles and codes into new genres such as reality TV, which will be discussed in more detail in the following chapters. The dramatic elements in docudramas result from the conventions of ‘narrative development’ such as building a comprehensible plot with a beginning, middle and end. Most stories evolve around the disruption of a state of balance at the start, a journey of transformation and the reestablishment of a new equilibrium in the conclusion (Todorov, 1977). Dramatic narratives tend

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to be filled with emotional content and ‘human condition’ issues—involving protagonists, antagonists and characters in conflictual situations—which gravitate toward their anticipated resolution. Dramatic stories appeal to the imagination and intuition and therefore act primarily through the senses, in contrast to documentary modes of address, which target the mind (Paget, 1998, p. 135). They require viewers to ‘suspend their disbelief’ rather than engage in the ‘belief in the evidential’ for documentary treatments. In many instances, dramas provide an outlet for local stories that capture the character and identity of the places they are set in. Therefore, they are pivotal for reflecting local stories back to audiences while providing a forum for unique representations of culture, politics and social issues. Dramatic codes and conventions are embedded in century-old forms of creative expressions in theater and storytelling traditions. In a docudrama, these provide the basis for representing a combination of factual and fictional elements along a wellknown story structure that promises excitement, interest and intrigue. Tables 2.1 and 2.2 summarize the codes and conventions of the genres situated in their theoretical, technical and economic contexts. To conclude, film and television producers activate generic codes and conventions at various stages of production. At the funding stage, they determine which agencies and sponsors are targeted for fi nancing. Crew and talent (from director to writer, cinematographer, editors, animators and actors) are then hired according to their background experience in

Table 2.1 Codes and Conventions in Docudramas along a Fact–Fiction Continuum— Theory

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Table 2.2 Codes and Conventions in Docudramas along a Fact–Fiction Continuum— Production, Distribution and Audiences Note. Adapted from concepts by Hill (2005) and Paget (1998).

documentary, drama or animation. Codes and conventions are also used during production, that is, to develop a form of address that increases a program’s recognizability for audiences. Genres aid in classifying programs at markets such as MIPTV and MIPCOM, which vice versa contribute to their international standardization. In the fi nal stages, exhibition venues, distribution and end use (i.e., theatric, non-theatric/educational use, or home video) influence a program’s generic emphasis. For example, whereas a program may be packaged as an entertainment/educational or “edutainment” product for the theatric market, its educational value will be emphasized in the non-theatric market. Finally, audiences use generic codes to guide them in the reading of media texts. Thus, generic attributes are activated throughout the production stages and life cycle of a program.

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CO-PRODUCTION CASE STUDY 1: SEX TRAFFIC Sex Traffic (Yates, 2004) is an official Canada–U.K. co-production that was produced by Channel 4 and CBC in partnership with Granada Television in the U.K. and Big Motion Pictures from Canada.3 With a budget of $11.4 million—the Canadian participation was 30%—it is one of Channel 4’s most expensive productions up to date. The docudrama received a total of 18 award nominations and won 16, including the prestigious British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA) Award for ‘Best Drama Serial’ and ‘Best Actress’ (Anamaria Marinca) and several Gemini Awards for ‘Best Dramatic Mini-Series’, among others.4 The two-part TV special is about human trafficking and covers subject matter that is becoming less visible on public airwaves, namely, socially conscious programming about international issues from a non-sensationalist point of view. The choice of topic is underscored by Channel 4’s mandate to address issues from a critical perspective, as stated by Christina Willoughby (as cited in Channel 4, 2005a), head of international sales and co-production at Channel 4: “Based on our own past successes Sex Traffic [italics added] fills the demand for strong, contemporary, controversial material inspired by true life events set in the international arena which dares to entertain as well as inform (¶ 5). At the same time, the co-production falls into the ‘high-concept’ television drama category that the CBC aspires toward (Klymkiw, as cited in MacDonald, 2004, ¶ 8).5 Sex Traffic interweaves three storylines with a particular focus on two young sisters from Moldova, who leave home in the hope of fi nding work in London, England. However, instead of traveling as free people across Europe, they are betrayed and sold into slavery. In the meantime, a charity worker in London investigates charges against local peacekeepers in Kosova for being involved in human trafficking. The worker’s search leads to a U.S. defense contractor, who supplies policing services to crisis zones around the globe. The locations in Moldova, Belgrade, Boston, Italy and London—established by their name before each scene—provide central nodes where characters meet and narrative strands intersect. The characters’ anticipated and inevitable meetings create suspense and advance the storylines through resolving tensions in the plot that comes to a conclusion in London and Moldova with the rescue of the two sisters. The director David Yates evokes documentary codes—in particular, observational and interactive—right from the beginning of the program through using home video footage of a trafficked woman speaking directly to the camera. He also uses night-vision and grainy video footage for some scenes to produce a documentary effect. Other scenes are shot with shoulder-mounted cameras, which simulate news reports and thus create a sense of immediacy, that is, a police raid on a nightclub in Belgrade and a chase scene in the London Underground. Inserted titles announce places and locations throughout to underscore the program’s ‘claim of authenticity’.

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Many locations are intentionally underlit to create more realistic settings. Some scenes are sub-titled to emphasize local settings. Natural sound is therefore emphasized throughout, while music tracks, usually inserted to heighten emotional tension, are used only minimally. The two main roles are held by Anamaria Marinca (as Elena Visinescu) and Maria Popistasu (as Vera Visinescu), who had only performed in amateur theater before Sex Traffic. Their realistic portrayal of two sisters from Moldova received critical acclaim and earned them several awards (Strachan, 2004). The rest of the cast features professional actors from the U.K. and Canada. The choice of creative talent in Sex Traffic highlights the correlation between financial participation in treaty co-production and talent selection. Three Canadian actors, Wendy Crewson (as Madeleine Harlsburgh), Chris Potter (as Tom Harlsburgh) and Luke Kirby (as Callum Tate) play North American residents. Whereas Callum Tate is identified as Canadian, the Harlsburghs play a couple from Boston—to broaden the program’s appeal for the U.S. market. As Madeleine Harlsburgh, Crewson heads the charity foundation of the defense contractor Kernwell International. She is portrayed as the loyal wife, who is reluctant to acknowledge evidence that employees contracted by her husband for peacekeeping security in Eastern Europe are involved in human trafficking (McKay, 2004). Additional Canadian talent includes Robert Joy in a minor but important role as Major James Brooke, who heads the policing unit in Sarajevo, and Len Cariou as Magnus Herzoff, one of the contracting firm’s board directors. Canadian personnel also fill positions as make-up artist, hair stylist, production manager, second and third assistant director, art director, sound recordist, casting manager and location manager. David MacLeod and Wayne Grigsby from Canada and Derek Wax from the U.K. share producer credits for Sex Traffic. Other British talent includes the actor John Simm who portrays one of the main characters, the charity worker Daniel Appleton. Key creative positions such as writer (Abi Morgan) and director (David Yates) are also held by the U.K. The actual locations for Sex Traffic were London, England, HalifaxDartmouth, Nova Scotia, which doubles as Boston, MA, and Bucharest, Romania, for scenes that are supposedly set in Eastern Europe. The choice of Romania as a location for production highlights the close interconnection between new treaties and access to locations for production facilities and labor. This is evidenced by recent U.K. treaty negotiations with Morocco and Jamaica, which were primarily conducted to gain access to locations for British film and television producers. The choice of Romania for Sex Traffic is therefore ironic: while the filmmakers highlight the exploitation of Eastern European workers, they concurrently use the country’s locations and labor as a low-cost alternative to more expensive European locales. Within the context of global media production, competition between countries for locations amplifies the inherent volatility of the film and television industries, especially for local labor, whose bargaining power and long-term security are undermined through contractual obligations

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with companies, who are likely to eliminate employment if cheaper options arise. For example, Romania turned into a desired location for off-shore productions when the Czech Republic, once a popular location, became too expensive for some producers (German fi lm producers, interview with the author August 12, 2005). Since Sex Traffic is a docudrama, the concept and storylines are rooted in real life events. Channel 4 researchers spent three months in Romania to gather material for Abi Morgan’s script (Burrell, 2004). Morgan incorporated journalistic accounts such as Sebastian Junger’s 2002 Vanity Fair exposé about forced prostitution in post-war Kosovo. In particular, she created a scene, which is based on Junger’s description of a UN police raid on a nightclub in Pristina where teenagers from the former Soviet Union were allegedly held in conditions of slavery. Morgan (as cited in Pearce, 2004) also conducted her own research to discover fi rst-hand stories and concludes, “When the facts are more shocking than fiction, the story tells itself” (¶ 3). Other scenes in Sex Traffic are based on publications from international aid organizations such as Amnesty International, Anti-Slavery International and UNICEF, which detail how people are lured by the promise of employment in wealthy western countries, but are then entrapped by having their passport confiscated and being sold into slavery.6 The factual background of the script highlights a crucial link between traditional documentaries and docudramas, namely, the necessity for extensive research in the preproduction phase as part of program development (Paget, 1998, p. 14). Because of its content, Sex Traffic fits both broadcasters’ mission for socially conscious programming. As a public service broadcaster, Channel 4 has a clearly defi ned social purpose as outlined by Britain’s Communications Act from 2003.7 In particular, the broadcaster needs to demonstrate innovation, exhibit a distinctive character and appeal to different tastes and interests in a “culturally diverse society” (Channel 4, 2006, p. 5). Sex Traffic falls into this social agenda, especially since the broadcaster has to make “a significant contribution to meeting the needs of the licensed public service channels to include programmes of an educational nature” (Channel 4, 2006, p. 5). This is also reflected in the following statement by director David Yates (as cited in MacDonald, 2004): The mandate at C4 is to attempt to make programs and fi lms that push the envelope a bit more . . . My feeling is that audiences often tire of the same old safe formulas. And when something comes along that is intelligent and challenges them, maybe makes them feel a little uncomfortable, they might even respond to that. I hope they respond to Sex Traffic [italics added] because we don’t pull any punches. We don’t try to sensationalize the stuff. We just lay it out there. (¶ 6) Yates (as cited in MacDonald, 2004) confi rms that co-production doubled the broadcasters’ budget for Sex Traffic through pooling resources and funding.8 He also states that

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[the budget] is a testament to the high ambition of both broadcasters to put on the screen a piece of television that plays at the highest levels in terms of production values. Another thing I appreciated was that they were completely onside to subtitle many of the scenes that take place in Romania and Eastern Europe [to give the narrative more authenticity]. From the outset, everyone was committed to making the audience feel they were entering the truth at the very core of it. (¶15) Yates thus links Channel 4’s mandate to the production of Sex Traffic while addressing the common claim to ‘authenticity’ in docudramas. His insistence on ‘entering the truth’ also solicits the ‘belief in the evidential’ and activates codes associated with the genre (see Table 2.2). In comparison, the CBC’s mandate includes the provision of programming that is predominantly and distinctively Canadian and reflects Canada and its regions to national and regional audiences. The 1991 Broadcasting Act also states that the public service broadcaster has to include “a wide range of programming that informs, enlightens and entertains” (Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission [CRTC], 1991, Section 3). Slawko Klymkiw (as cited in MacDonald, 2004) explains the reasons for the broadcaster’s involvement in this co-production: We have to tell stories that not only affect the world, but affect us at home . . . When societies [like Eastern Europe] are turned upside down, generally it’s the innocent who pay the price for that kind of turmoil. It’s about the exploitation of young women, but it’s also a story that shows up in the streets of Toronto, London, Rome, in Eastern Europe, Africa, et cetera. I’m as proud of this show as anything we’ve done. And as a public broadcaster, we ought to be taking chances. We ought to be provocative. It’s just what we should do. (¶ 8). While the CBC’s collaboration on this award-winning program raises its profile as an international player, Sex Traffic also points to the common treatment of Canadian characters and locales, which tend to serve a dual purpose in international co-productions. On the one hand, their selection is based on representing North American characteristics in order to appeal to a broader market. On the other hand, they provide the justification for accessing tax credits and government funding in addition to fulfi lling coproduction requirements. Not surprisingly, in Sex Traffic, Halifax, N.S. is less significant as an ‘actual place’ to the storyline in comparison to London, England, for example. While Nova Scotia serves as a backdrop for one of the program’s minor characters (Luke Kirby as Callum Tate), it also doubles as Boston, MA. As a result, Sex Traffic does not portray Canadian cultural locales to an international audience, in spite of Canadian creative and fi nancial participation. And consequently, it does not meet the CBC’s mandate to highlight local culture, but rather reflects the creative compromise that tends to be part of co-production development.

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Moreover, in spite of the fact that Sex Traffic focuses on an important global issue, and Channel 4 links the program to an on-line awareness campaign, the co-production uncovers only the tip of the iceberg. Human trafficking is closely related to globalization and economic divisions between Eastern and Western Europe and ‘North’ and ‘South’.9 It affects men as well as women, even though men tend to be smuggled, or aided in their illegal migration, while women are more often coerced (van Impe, 2000; Okólski, 2000). The program only scratches the surface of the problem, since human trafficking is also integrally linked to war and displacement, which result in major refugee crises around the world that make people vulnerable to the crime. By focusing on individual cases, the co-production avoids the broader ramifications of the issues, in particular the responsibilities of governments to prevent the spread of human trafficking through addressing the underlying causes of this globally networked crime. In regards to audience responses to Sex Traffic, posted to the Internet database IMDb (2004), commentaries were mostly positive, noting the ”realistic scenes” as “completely believable and inspiring” (siderite, 2005, ¶ 6). The docudrama codes also succeeded with a viewer, who commented that “the portrayal is as accurate as you are ever likely to get” (wwhitbeck, 2005, ¶ 13). Other audience’s comments revealed the successful ‘educational’ message of the program by emphasizing their ignorance of the issue prior to viewing Sex Traffic. In the U.K. the co-production generated an 11% audience share of 2.2 million viewers (Deans, 2004), while the CBC broadcast was not as successful. According to the Canadian producer, this resulted from poor scheduling—the docudrama aired on Thanksgiving— and lack of promotion (Grigsby as cited in CBC Arts, 2005). In contrast, viewers critiqued the “pseudo-documentary feel” (paul2001sw-1, 2004, ¶ 3) about the docudrama, and the fact that wellknown Canadian actors like Wendy Crewson, Len Cariou and Maury Chaykin played Americans, which “detracted from the storyline” (djmoff, 2005, ¶ 30). A critical response from TV columnist John Doyle (2004) addressed the contrived narrative in this co-production: In its interwoven plotlines, [Sex Traffic] is far from perfect TV drama. As happens with international co-productions, some of the material feels tacked-on, to justify one country’s involvement. Here, the story of Crewson’s character is oddly plodding. Everything about that thread of the drama is telegraphed in advance. [The contracting company] Kernwell is evil . . . and the evil is going to be exposed. That’s always in the cards. And, of course, Madeleine will have her eyes opened to the horrors of the world. There’s an implausibility factor, which is at odds with the harsh realism of the other storylines. (p. R36) Sex Traffic thus follows the familiar pattern of contrived content development in co-productions, which results from the distribution of creative

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talent according to levels of fi nancial participation. Yet, the shortcomings of Sex Traffic have not hindered its appeal on the international market. The docudrama has been sold worldwide, from Europe (YLE Finland, Canal+ France, IBC Iceland; and DVD rights to Videosonic, Greece) to Australia (ABC) and South Africa (MNET). Finally, an analysis of Sex Traffic highlights the degree of inter-textuality, which is the result of international markets and networked relations between broadcasters and producers. Between 2003 and 2006, several programs emerged with a similar focus, that is, the Canada–U.S. co-venture for Lifetime Television in the U.S. titled Human Trafficking (Duguay & Litinsky, 2005), the independently produced drama Human Cargo (Beard & McKeown, 2004) and the Channel 4 documentary Sex Slaves (also distributed under the title The Real Sex Traffic) (Jacobovici & Woods, 2005), which was produced in association with the CBC and Canal D and won the 2006 Broadcast Award for ‘Best Documentary’. This indicates that markets like MIPTV and MIPCOM are not only venues for trading concepts, but also facilitate the exchange of ideas for programs that cluster around a particular theme. A similar ‘agglomeration’ of conceptual works exists in regards to feature films, documentaries and dramas about the September 11, 2001 events, discussed in more detail in the following section. In conclusion, Sex Traffic reveals the typical structure of a co-production, especially in regards to narrative development, which is closely tied to the production technology itself. However, the choice of subject matter also points toward the impact of public service broadcasting mandates on the program’s socially conscious message and its associated awareness campaign. Finally, as part of a cluster of programs with a similar theme, the docudrama highlights the internationalization of program topics as a result of global media ecologies and distribution networks.

CO-PRODUCTION CASE STUDY 2: THE HAMBURG CELL In contrast to Sex Traffic, The Hamburg Cell (Bird, 2004) is not an official co-production, but was produced by Channel 4 in association with the CBC. The CBC’s involvement was mainly as a research source, in particular the Fifth Estate documentary titled The Pilot from 2001. According to the Head of Business Affairs at the CBC, the docudrama falls under the broad defi nition of international collaborations and co-ventures, which now dominate global film and television production. The Hamburg Cell is jointly distributed by Channel 4 and by the CBC (interview with the author, May 25, 2006). Peter Dale, head of documentary at Channel 4, commissioned the independent production company Mentorn in London—David Aukin and George Carey are executive producers—for program development, which in turn collaborated with Finola Dwyer Productions and Inner Circle Pictures

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GmbH from Berlin on the location shoot in Hamburg, Germany. The $4.6 million production received government funding from Filmförderung Hamburg and a contribution from the television channel France 2. Initially, the U.S. cable channel HBO expressed interest in financing the project but withdrew its offer in 2003 with a statement that the American public was not ready for a film about the September 11, 2001 events (CBC, 2005a). HBO later licensed the program for video-on-demand (VOD). The program, shot on 35 mm film stock, received critical acclaim, including an Emmy nomination,10 for deconstructing the personal motivations of the 9/11 hijackers, who met as students in Hamburg, Germany, and gradually became involved in the al Qaeda plot. The film was featured at film festivals in Edinburgh, Venice and Dubai before it aired on the CBC in January 2005. The television premiere of the program occurred in September 2004 on Channel 4 in the U.K where it generated, with 1.9 million viewers and a 10% share, a higher audience rating than expected (Timms, 2004). The Hamburg Cell is the fi rst major television docudrama that portrays the alleged key characters involved in the September 11 events: Mohamed Atta (played by Maral Kamel), Ziad Jarrah (Karim Salah) and Ramzi bin al Shibh (Omar Berdouni), who formed part of an al Qaeda cell in Hamburg during the 1990s. The docudrama traces their initial encounter as students and their metamorphosis into jihadists. In particular, the film focuses on Ziad Jarrah, a young man from Lebanon, who gets drawn to jihad in spite of his secular upbringing. Jarrah appears to be full of contradictions and torn between belief systems. He leads a parallel existence: while keeping his involvement with the Hamburg cell a secret from his girlfried Aysel Senguen (played by Agni Tsangaridou), he prepares to become a martyr for the al Qaeda cause. He therefore presents an enigma that forms the core of the story because “[d]rama’s lifeblood is dilemma and confl ict” (Bennett, 2004, ¶ 10). There are parallels between the production histories of Sex Traffic and The Hamburg Cell, starting with the involvement of two publicly mandated broadcasters and their commitment to quality programming with an educational and informative message. Another similarity is that both programs are based on real-life events that affect global populations. Similarly to Sex Traffic, pre-production for The Hamburg Cell consisted of extensive research based on eyewitness accounts, police reports, e-mails and interviews, television documentaries, in addition to reports and hearings of the 9/11 Commission and Congressional joint inquiry, all of which contribute to ‘claims of authenticity’ of the program. On the scale of the fact–fiction continuum in docudramas, this production meticulously kept to factual accounts. The producers even fi lmed in the actual apartment in Hamburg where some of the men met during the 1990s. Both broadcasters use the Internet to provide additional information on 9/11 events as well as links to related web sites and documents. Another connection between the docudramas is the myriad of inter-textual references they are embedded in. In

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the case of The Hamburg Cell, several documentaries, books and dramatic re-enactments in fi lm and television of the hijackings on 9/11 have been produced since 2001, notably the feature fi lm United 93 (Chasin & Hayward, 2006) and the television program Flight 93 (Fine & Gerber, 2006). The script, written by Ronan Bennett and Alice Perman, took over two years to complete because new information was continuously added to the dramatic narrative. Bennett (as cited in Timms, 2004) states, “Obviously dramatic re-creation required interpretation . . . [but] If we couldn’t fi nd the evidence for it, we didn’t write it” (¶ 8). And the director Antonia Bird (as cited in Said, 2004) adds, “There is nothing in the film that hasn’t been documented . . . I can’t think of a single incident in the fi lm that has not come from evidence or research” (¶ 6). Yet, the writers and director had to carefully balance the documentary and dramatic aspects in this political charged program in order to avoid criticism of racism, religious stereotyping and exploitation. According to Bennett (as cited in Bharadwai, 2004), “As I started to write the script, I had two priorities: the fi rst was to fi nd a dramatic, filmic structure for these well known events and the second was to render the material as accurately as possible, and to do so in a cool and dispassionate manner (¶ 2). To avoid controversy, which would move beyond the desired ‘television talk’ and ‘buzz’ around the docudrama, Bennett and Bird sought to engage viewers without creating strong sympathy for the characters—a difficult task since any dramatic narrative seeks to evoke an emotional response and identification with the protagonist. Bird accomplished this balancing act through cinematic means by not using close-ups of emotional reactions and making extensive use of documentary codes. Also, the actors who play Jarrah and Atta intentionally create a distancing portrayal through avoiding endearing attributes or character traits that could potentially lead to viewer identification. Bird (as quoted in Said, 2004) comments, We talked about how to tell the story of these men without eliciting sympathy for them, which we don’t have . . . It was clear that I couldn’t make the film in the same style that I usually make fi lms, which is quite emotional and from the gut. Normally, I like to take the audience inside the central character’s head, so I use the camera to see the world through their eyes. With Hamburg Cell [italics added], I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to ask the audience to think, rather than feel. (¶¶ 7, 9–10). In The Hamburg Cell, certain dramatic codes are therefore suppressed, while documentary conventions are emphasized: an opening statement, which reads “based on known facts and actual events”; inserted titles to identify locations; wide-angle surveillance video in public places; actual news footage of massacres in Bosnia and Chechnya; an al Qaeda training video in Afghanistan inter-cut with the actors re-enacting fight scenes; and

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documentary footage of 9/11 events in New York City. As a result, the actors move through a story scape that unfolds in a tight framework of documented and chronicled facts. The actual shoot took place in various locations in Hamburg, Germany (i.e., Central Station, Hansa-Platz, Steindamm, St. Georg and the Reeperbahn in St. Pauli), thus making the production eligible for provincial funding. In addition, the crew shot in London, England (Finsbury Park), and Florida in the U.S. Since Canadian participation was limited to providing research resources and a distribution license, the production features no Canadian actors, crew or locations. In collaborative arrangements such as The Hamburg Cell, the attachment of a broadcaster lies primarily in gaining credit for involvement in an international enterprise and fostering relations with desirable business partners such as Channel 4. As discussed next, forming new business alliances and a focus on the global market has become a priority for the CBC since funding shortages and a changing television economy necessitate new approaches for the public service broadcaster. Since the docudramas fit the broadcasters’ mandates, they are prominently noted in their annual reports. Channel 4 (2005b) links its involvement to its public service mandate that promises “to be innovative, experimental, educative and diverse” and allows it to make a “uniquely creative and provocative contribution to the public life of Britain” (p. 7). Channel 4 states that The Hamburg Cell “demonstrated that sometimes drama, rather than documentary, is the most effective way of understanding the dynamics of contemporary events”, and that “[p]ainstaking research and extraordinary casting produced a narrative which seemed to move seamlessly between documentary and drama” (p. 25). In comparison, the CBC’s 2004 (2005d) annual report highlights only Sex Traffic as one of its “[h]igh-impact dramas with high production values” (p. 27). One of the research documents for The Hamburg Cell was the Linden MacIntyre11 report on CBC’s news magazine titled The Fifth Estate, which fi rst aired in October of 2001, only weeks after the 9/11 events, and was rebroadcast four years later to cross-promote The Hamburg Cell. In this documentary, titled The Pilot, MacIntyre details the background story of Ziad Jarrah who hijacked United Airline fl ight 93 on September 11. He presents interview evidence and information from police fi les that document his radicalization into the jihad movement. Similar to Bennett, MacIntyre probes into Jarrah’s life because he seemed the “most improbable recruit to Islamic extremism” (CBC, 2005c, ¶ 3). The report therefore portrays Jarrah as an “enigma”, which “defies the stereotypes of terrorism”. This approach is partly the result of its expository documentary style, which tends to be shaped around the solution of a problem or a puzzle. But it is also linked to an attempt to move beyond political rhetoric of “good versus evil” and address the question of “what is the process that transforms?” (MacIntyre as cited in Coxe, 2005, n.p.). Bird (as cited in Said, 2004) reveals a similar sentiment in regards to The Hamburg Cell:

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The film is in no way supporting the horrific act these individuals perpetrated . . . But these guys were not demons. They were not psychopaths. They were ordinary young men, who came from middle-class families, with money and education. I think that is something we have to confront and be aware of. (¶ 8) However, due to Bird’s and MacIntyre’s focus on individual stories, in both docudrama and documentary report, they fail to provide an analysis of the broader context of international terrorism, which is closely tied to foreign policies; in particular, the incitement of wars in the name of ‘democracy’ and ensuing refugee crises that perpetuate the dissonance between global factions, in addition to neo-liberal reforms, which abandon the notion of public safety and care for unfettered mercantilism (Beck, 2002). Audiences at the Dubai International Film Festival responded to the shortcomings of The Hamburg Cell by stating that the “film takes the easy route and shows negative stereotypes of Muslims as extreme, fervent, terrorists” and therefore neglects to address the “political backdrop of widespread enmity toward American foreign policy” (as cited in Hammond, 2004). Conversely, a viewer’s response posted to the CBC web site criticized The Hamburg Cell for depicting the ‘human’ side of the hijackers: If one really wants to understand what is going on in the Muslim world, I would suggest that the CBC should be low on their reference list. What appears to be a slick Hollywood movie that humanizes one of the hijackers, is cheesy at the least and exploitive of a terrible human tragedy at worst . . . It is hard to comprehend why CBC would elect to fund a movie portraying the so called human side of terrorism. (Brownridge, 2005, ¶ 16) In contrast, viewers also perceived The Hamburg Cell as an important step to move beyond two-dimensional stereotypes: Humanizing these terrorist [sic] hopefully will lead us, the citizens of the West, to some kind of understanding. We need to take the time to gain an academic appreciation for why they would commit these acts. this [sic] appreciation or understanding will hopefully lead us to question elected officials (particularly in the US) on our foreign policy, our trade policy and also our domestic policy. (Oram, 2005, ¶ 6) Audience reaction in Britain ranged from positive to critical, especially from victims of the 9/11 events, which called the Channel 4 September 2004 broadcast “tasteless and insensitive” as well as “ill-timed” (as cited in Fitzwilliams & Barnes, 2004, ¶ 5). In spite of parallels between the docudramas, variations in the use of documentary and dramatic codes—achieved primarily through script,

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directing, cinematic techniques and acting—produced two very different programs. Whereas Sex Traffic is meant to involve the viewer on an emotional level, the makers of The Hamburg Cell attempt everything to avoid potential criticism that the fi lm could be seen as sympathetic to al Qaeda. As a result, it remains unclear what exactly caused the transformation of the young men and why they were drawn to jihad. Not surprisingly, both docudramas highlight the limitations of the medium ‘television’, as none of the programs focuses on the broader context, which forms part of the problems and is therefore necessary for their solution. Like Sex Traffic, The Hamburg Cell addresses neither foreign policies, which effected the growing deterioration of relations between Western countries and the Middle East, nor the impact of globalization on areas around the world (Harvey, 2007). According to Urry (2002), Among the many effects of liberal globalization is the generation of ‘wild zones’ across the former USSR, sub-Saharan Africa, the Balkans, central America and central Asia. These zones are places of absence, of gaps, of lack. Such zones possess weak states with very limited infrastructures, no monopoly of the means of coercion, barely functioning economies often dependent upon commodifying illegal materials, an imploded social structure and a relatively limited set of connections to the global order. (p. 62) Or in the words of Mann (2001), “Northern capitalism unevenly but simultaneously integrates, dominates and ostracizes across the world”, with the result of zones of peace and zones of turmoil (pp. 61, 72). The absence of a more detailed analysis in the two programs thus raises the following questions: Since docudramas are based on extensive research into factual accounts, why do Sex Traffic and The Hamburg Cell provide only superficial insights into contemporary issues? Is it the production technology that prevents a deeper probing into controversial subject matter? Yet, since public service broadcasters are mandated to address social issues from a more critical perspective, could they not use this production technology more effectively? The answers to these questions lie in the changing priorities in the media field—in particular journalism and news reporting—framed by the historical context of war against an indefi nite enemy ‘terror’, media censorship and the promulgation of fear within the twisted paradigm of a perpetual state of global emergency and crisis during the past decade. Toby Miller (2007) highlights the extent to which news stories about ‘terrorism’ are streamlined and censored in U.S. media with the result of generating “a geopolitically amnesiac readership whose opinions are mined much more than their understanding is developed” (p. 79). His critique is not new, as Herman and Chomsky (1988/2001) detail how ownership, reliance on ‘expert’ sources and advertisers create fi lters through which information

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becomes distorted. However, neo-liberal reforms have heightened levels of corporate convergence with a direct impact on journalism, exemplified by the tabloidization of news, on the one hand, and the growing importance of television news, on the other. According to Bourdieu (1996/1998), commenting on news circulation in France, television is now dominating the journalistic field both symbolically and economically (p. 42). As a result, the field is becoming more heteronomous because it is subjected to increasing economic (i.e., audience ratings) and political pressures. And in turn, the journalistic field is imposing its constraints on other fields of cultural production through foregrounding public relations and commercial imperatives (Bourdieu, 1996/1998, 2005, pp. 33, 41; Champagne, 2005). Bourdieu’s (2005) conceptualization of the journalistic field as a social ‘microcosm’ with its own internal rules and regulations, codes of conduct and “competition for legitimate appropriation” of what is considered of value in the field (p. 44) highlights diverging interests and struggles within the journalism milieu. A closer examination of relational processes in the field therefore reveals complex dynamics, which include structural constraints but also agency in regards to working against the grain of organizational pressures. Cottle (2006) describes this tension as the “Janus faced” qualities of television journalism, which, embedded in the logic of the market place and imposed censorship during war time, is also guided by professional codes and viewer expectations. Thus, moments of ‘transparency’ are possible, but depending on national and organizational contexts, so are repercussions (Miller, 2007). For example, CNN reporter Christiane Amanpour (as cited in Zerbisias, 2003) comments on war coverage of Iraq: I think the press was muzzled, and I think the press self-muzzled . . . I’m sorry to say, but certainly television and, perhaps, to a certain extent, my station was intimidated by the administration and its foot soldiers at Fox News. And it did, in fact, put a climate of fear and self-censorship, in my view, in terms of the kind of broadcast work we did. (¶ 3) The overall trend of commercialization in journalism is as obvious in the U.S. as in the U.K. where, according to Garnham (1993), privatization has resulted in wide-scale tabloidization of the press. Journalists therefore experience greater constraints due to market demands and political pressures to support military actions during times of war. For example, in a U.K. audience study of television news covering 9/11 events, British broadcasters were perceived in line with U.S. media, especially on Sky Television, which featured footage from the Fox network (both owned by Rubert Murdock). In particular, the lack of objective reporting in favor of “preponderance of polarised news images and narratives of the West and Islam” raised concern about increased stereotyping and racial hatred toward Britain’s

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immigrant groups, especially for people of the Muslim faith (Gillespie & Cheesman, 2002, p. 7). CBC journalist MacIntyre (2001) comments on the situation in Canada: The news media now function within vast conglomerates of commercial enterprises with impenetrable fi nancial imperatives . . . In television, both in Canada and the United States, the once-sacred notion that the delivery of news and current affairs is a public service and a public trust has given way to the absolute imperatives of the bottom line. Newsrooms are now profit centers. (¶ 53–54) The lack of commercial-free media is especially disturbing during times of crisis and war, when “media as an ethical and independent voice in society is never more important” (¶ 88). MacIntyre (2001) states, It is not very helpful to democracy when citizens stop thinking and merely react to feelings that are whipped up by the sounds and sights of chaos. It is not very helpful to the creation of conditions for a more secure future. I haven’t seen much evidence of discussion or debate about the true nature of this war since September 11. I haven’t seen much discussion about signs of creeping repression in our own society . . . or of the reality that repression is one of the causes of terrorism . . . Instead I see a monolithic media which, with some noteworthy individual exceptions, serves as an unquestioning amplifier for the noise and confusion of violence. I see a media frequently acting as a cheering section for the people who are directing the violent responses to the violence of September 11. The result has been a lot of public flag waving and a lot of private anxiety. (¶ 73 –74) As a result of increasing commercial and political pressures on the journalistic field and its adverse effect on the field of cultural production, a vacuum exists for programs that deal with questions of globalization and international instabilities through a dialectical paradigm.12 Thus, both coproductions reveal the limitations of this production technology, but also highlight the constraints of television—especially broadcast journalism— which is deeply embedded in its political-economic context and professional milieu. Indeed, the imperative to profit from salacious and sensationalist news stories through their adaptations for documentaries and docudramas is evident in the plethora of related programming that continues to ‘hit the market’. Caranicas (2005), editor-in-chief of Television Broadcast Magazine, notes that 9/11 has spurned the production and distribution of related programs to such an extent that the entire “genre” has received a “boost”. According to Richard Life (as cited in Caranicas, 2005), head of programming at Channel 4, “There has been more appetite for these stories . . . The events of 9/11 have increased interest in the world around us”

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(¶ 6; emphasis added). And Fiona Stourton (as cited in Caranicas, 2005), an executive producer at the BBC, adds, “The stories we cover that we always thought were important have become much easier to sell . . . as a result of 9/11 because there’s a greater awareness of them (¶ 5; emphasis added). Thus, in spite of the alleged fervor by filmmakers and journalists to uncover the ‘truth’ about historical events, the real motives of program profitability are never far off. Any form of acclaimed ‘accurate’ portrayals therefore need to be fi rmly placed in the medium’s contemporary political economic and socio-cultural contexts, which determine if programs add to a greater understanding of global issues or simply aim to intensify the consumption of stories. However, the potential for regaining greater autonomy in the cultural field is possible if journalists and producers collectively seek to attain “optimum conditions of diffusion and for ownership of the relevant means of diffusion” (Bourdieu, 1996/1998, p. 66). Moreover, in liberal democracies, a combination of normative expectations deeply embedded in civil societies, regulatory requirements and the professional raison d’être of journalism itself, all mandate a central responsibility in the communicative enactment of democracy. This claim cannot be dismissed as entirely rhetorical or chimerical only, though it may well need to be bolstered and deepened in practice . . . In today’s mediatized societies, where politics and conflicts are often played out on the media stage, television journalism matters and it may yet contain unrealized possibilities for deepening forms of democratic engagement. (Cottle, 2006, p. 22) One of the key criteria for creating a more autonomous media field is a commitment for its independence from political interests and commercial imperatives, achieved through solid funding structures that facilitate a stable public service broadcasting system as well as the development of alternative media channels.

CRISIS IN PUBLIC SERVICE BROADCASTING Neo-liberal reforms have had a devastating impact on public service broadcasting in the U.K. and in Canada. Funding cuts and lay-offs are posing tremendous challenges to a broadcasting model, which was originally set up to provide a national alternative to American television—in the case of the CBC—albeit along a rather paternalistic and centralizing infrastructure (Attallah, 1996, pp. 162–163). Yet, public service media across the world vary in their degree of state control, legislation (i.e., Canadian Broadcasting Act), corporate structure (government appointees or independent bodies, e.g., BBC Trust), commercial imperatives and funding sources (parliamentary appropriation or license fees, etc.) (Ward, 1989; Nordicity,

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2006). The unique constellation of the preceding therefore determines a broadcaster’s degree of centralization or decentralization as well as their ability to execute an effective public service mandate. In spite of differences in governance and operations, public service broadcasters share what Keane (1991) refers to as “the broad commitment to provide and to protect mixed and complementary programming schedules” (p. 117). In addition, they represent an institution that audiences have come to rely upon for being informed, educated and entertained. They constitute, according to Garnham (1993), “a bridgehead for the development of a true public sphere and ‘a common culture’” (p. 190). As a result, public service broadcasters generate ‘a sense of public ownership’ that provokes debate as well as mixed emotions from industry representatives, scholars and viewers alike. Criticism about flawed operations—that is, elitist sentiments (Bailey, 2007) or the failure to provide diverse, objective and pluralist representations of society—therefore tend to be followed by calls for improving public service media to make them more independent from government and market influences, on the one hand, and accountable to audiences, on the other (Keane, 1991). The CBC’s mandate includes the provision for distinctly Canadian programming—often commissioned and licensed from independent producers—as an alternative to commercial television. The broadcaster has been scrutinized for its centralized operations and programming that tends to overlook regional characteristics and needs (Tinic, 2005), a situation that has been amplified by the downsizing of its personnel, funding cutbacks and closures of regional and international news operations in the 1990s (Nesbitt-Larkin, 2007, p. 129).13 As noted, wide-ranging critiques of CBC operations stem from a sense of ‘public ownership’ of the broadcaster and resulting expectations for distinct and diverse programming that reflects local realities. However, due to its bifurcated mandate as a governmentfunded crown corporation,14 which also receives complementary advertising revenues, the CBC straddles two distinct modes of operandi and consequently fulfills neither role to complete satisfaction. In addition, pressures to increase audience ratings and market shares, locally and globally, have taken a toll on the CBC, which struggles to balance dramatic program offerings with new genres like reality TV (see Chapter 6). Yet, despite its limitations, the CBC, according to Nesbitt-Larkin (2007), continues to take its mandate seriously—a difficult task in the face of audience expectations and increasing market pressures.15 Problems with public service broadcasting are compounded by pressures for high audience ratings, in Canada and in the U.K. For example, in 2007, Channel 4 took a risk with Celebrity Big Brother (Hepworth, 2001) and consequently faced racial discrimination charges from the public, the press and the regulator Ofcom. Racist remarks exchanged during the Big Brother broadcast about a contestant, the Bollywood star Shilpa Shetty, resulted in 45,000 complaints to Ofcom, who concluded that Channel 4 made “serious

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editorial misjudgements” (BBC News, 2007; ¶ 1), which were compounded by its failure to follow the required compliance process. The regulator found Channel 4 in breach of the Broadcasting Code and consequently imposed a statutory sanction (Ofcom Content Sanctions Committee, 2007). Difficulties with fulfilling public service mandates are amplified by globalization, deregulation and privatization. In the case of the BBC, Garnham (1993) remarks how the broadcaster was criticized in the 1970s for embodying an ideological apparatus of the dominant class (p. 190). Yet, at the same time, as a non-commercial organization, the BBC nonetheless offered a wider range of news and current affairs programming than its commercial counter parts. Its importance as a public media channel came into focus in the late 1980s when the BBC faced privatization, which resulted in increased ‘institutional flexibility’—particularly through outsourcing and subcontracting of labor (Achille & Miege, 1994)—and the establishment of its commercial arm, BBC World. Since then, the broadcaster, similar to the CBC, has become more commercial in its attempts to expand its national and international markets (Nesbitt-Larkin, 2007). The co-production case studies described in this chapter highlight the extent to which the involvement of two public service broadcasters influenced story developments and linked the programs to their mandates. The cases also reveal the growing focus of the broadcasters on international collaborations and the global market. The question remains how far the docudramas differ from other programs in the same thematic category. In comparison to Sex Traffic, the Canada–U.S. co-venture Human Trafficking,16 for example, relies less on documentary codes but emphasizes a dramatic narrative that centers on a police undercover investigation. Labeled as a ‘teleplay’ rather than a docudrama, the $15 million Canadian content production17 is predominantly a suspenseful thriller about international crime activities, addressed through multiple story lines about investigators, human traffickers and their victims. In spite of some overlap between the programs, such as pre-production research and an associated awareness campaign,18 critical reactions to the program ranged from “informational and educational” (Bolton, 2005) to “half-baked cop-drama” (Gilbert, 2005) and “exploitation of the exploitation” (Shales, 2005, ¶ 3). Indeed, the predominant focus of the program on its commercial/entertainment value was obvious from the beginning when the director, Christian Duguay (as cited in Kelly, 2006), requested a rewrite of the script from Agatha Dominik because it “read like an exploitation film” (¶ 7). However, the similarities between Sex Traffic and Human Trafficking, especially in regards to their thematic focus and collaborative program development, are also indicative of how public service broadcasting is increasingly imbued with commercial values, especially when programming is based on global production technologies such as co-production. Thus, in spite of the relatively successful use of this production technology for Sex Traffic, Channel 4 and the CBC’s move toward collaborations with

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international partners also highlights a shift in their mandates from a local focus to a global one. This is further evidenced by the more recent Canada– Ireland treaty co-production The Tudors (Hirst, 2007), which highlights the new ‘flexible’ arrangements discussed in Chapter 1. The series is coproduced by TM Productions in Ireland and Peace Arch Entertainment in Canada in association with the CBC and Showtime Networks in the U.S. It aired on the pay-per-view channel Showtime in the U.S. first before it premiered on the CBC and the BBC in the fall of 2007. In addition to Canadian and Irish actors, The Tudors also features the Hollywood actor Sam Neill in a regular role as Cardinal Thomas Wolsey. Overall, this type of program development is not dissimilar to endeavors by Canada’s commercial broadcasters, especially since the CBC is now also licensing and developing international formats. The trade of television formats is a logical progression from co-production because broadcasters are able to utilize international production networks for developing low-budget programs. The increasing application of global production technologies, such as coproduction and format franchising, underscores the growing integration of public service broadcasters into internationally networked media ecologies for the development of programs. Consequently, rather than remaining a separate and distinct entity, broadcasters like the CBC are gradually becoming indistinguishable from their private and commercial counterparts. This is partly the result of funding cuts, but also an effect of the changing television industry with its escalating production costs, consolidations and globalization. For example, between 1993 and 1997, the CBC lost over $400 million, or 33% of its funding. As a result, programs with Canadian content have steadily declined, especially since the broadcaster received permission from the CRTC in 2003 to air Hollywood blockbuster movies in prime time. In 2003–2004, the CBC featured 86% of Canadian programming in prime time, a decline from the mid-90% levels around 2000. In 2004–2005, Canadian content programming dropped even further to 68% (Friends of Canadian Broadcasting, 2006). Overall, the share of English-language drama on the CBC has dropped by 50% in a decade. Rising production costs, associated with new media development and technical innovations such as high-definition television, pose an additional challenge since private broadcasters are offering these services and thus increase competition for advertisers and audiences. The effects are felt in the entire television production sector because the CBC is the dominant commissioner for new programs. Funding cuts and rising costs translate into lower license fees and thus have a direct impact on the creative endeavors of Canada’s independent production sector (WGC, 2007c; Canadian Media Research Inc. & Friends of Canadian Broadcasting, 2006). The problems with the CBC are compounded by the overall decline of drama on Canadian television. According to the WGC (2005b), feature films and television programs comprise important storytelling media in Canada. Or in the words of Trina McQueen (2003), Canadian drama is

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the “last cultural frontier” (p. 13) in a television landscape fi lled with foreign programming. The genre suffers from poor funding, especially since the introduction of the controversial 1999 CRTC Television policy, which eliminated exhibition and expenditure requirements for Canada’s private broadcasters (Coalition of Canadian Audio-Visual Unions [CCAU], 2003; Our Public Airwaves, 2006).19 As a result, private broadcasters increased their spending for U.S. programs and decreased their investment in Canadian drama. More specifically, programmers spent only CDN $71 million (US $65.3 million) on domestic drama in 2006, while CDN $101 million (US $92.9 million) was invested in entertainment programs, talk shows and reality TV (for example, eTalk Daily and Entertainment Tonight Canada), all of which have lower production values and are cheaper to produce20 — just as importing American drama remains a cheaper option than developing original Canadian programs (WGC, 2007a; 2007b). In the same year, Canada’s private broadcasters also spent seven times more on foreign productions than on home-grown drama. The discontent with the current situation has fuelled numerous calls from Canadian guilds, unions, producers and citizens’ groups to revise the 1999 TV policy. According to Maureen Parker from the Writers Guild of Canada (2007a), “Private broadcasters operate in a regulated market that protects them from American competition. In return they are obligated to provide something different than the U.S. broadcasters—and that means high quality Canadian drama” (p. 1). The WGC therefore asks the CRTC to regulate that Canadian broadcasters spend at least 7% of their gross revenues on original drama for English-language programming. The WGC (2007c) also demands that the CBC should have sufficient funds to fulfill its mandate through either appropriate government funding, a guaranteed contribution from the Canadian Television Fund (CTF), or another source of stable revenue (p. 7). Furthermore, the WGC joins other groups concerned with the Canadian public service broadcasting system, notably Friends of Canadian Broadcasting (2007) and the Canadian Association of Broadcasters (2007), in requesting that the CBC should be independent from advertising revenues because advertising broadens and weakens the content aired on CBC . . . That means it cannot schedule programs based on achieving the highest audience numbers possible. This is the only scale that advertisers are concerned with, and makes no allowance for less mainstream, but culturally, regionally and/or ethnically relevant programs that would have no home if we did not have a public broadcaster. The worldwide concept of a public broadcaster is that its primary responsibility is to serve the needs of the public, rather than attract the largest possible audience. Ratings are relevant and not necessarily contrary to serving the public need, but should not be paramount and should never be the sole driver of programming choices. (p. 7).

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The purpose of public service broadcasting is integrally linked to the notion of media democracy. Therefore, mandates require the representation of diversity through programming that reflects social, cultural, economic and political realities, locally and globally, and addresses issues of interest and concern through a variety of genres to stimulate debate. According to Curran (2002), The media’s role is never solely confined to imparting information: it always involves arbitrating between the discursive frameworks of rival groups. Which frameworks are included or excluded matter because over time it can affect collective opinion, and indirectly, the distribution of resource and life chances in society. (p. 237) Public service broadcasting therefore matters because it serves as an essential channel for the distribution of public interest content. However, as important as local productions are for documenting and reflecting on domestic issues, so are programs that transcend national boundaries and address global conditions. As discussed, co-productions provide the opportunity to collaborate on stories about migrating diaspora, war and displacement, women and labor, among many other topics. Yet, since co-productions are predominantly used for commercial ventures, a conscious effort is needed to reflect on global issues through a critical lens. Publicly mandated broadcasters are therefore more likely to fulfill the potentials of this production technology, as long as they receive adequate funding and are able to fulfi ll their mandate. The two programs discussed in this chapter show how coproduction can be used to address questions of globalization and localization. And, in spite of their shortcomings, their focus on international issues at least provides some critical introspection into globalized labor, crime and war, which in a television landscape of decreasing drama and production values has become a rarity.

CONCLUSION International co-productions reflect the growing integration of media and cultural agents into globally networked media ecologies. Even though coproductions were originally meant to strengthen domestic production in the face of a proliferating Hollywood industry, they are now used predominantly for enhancing international production networks and distribution channels. Nevertheless, co-productions have the potential to reflect on global conditions through socially conscious programming, particularly when guided by public service broadcasting mandates. However, this necessitates a viable and stable broadcasting system that is able to co-produce programs on international issues from an insightful and critical perspective. The third vector in the discussion is docudrama, a hybrid genre comprised

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of documentary and drama codes. Historically, documentaries have been an important genre for public service broadcasters because of their mission to provide educational and informative programs. The re-enactment of historical and public events through docudramas is therefore a logical extension of their mandate because the genre combines educational and entertainment values. On the periphery, docudrama is related to the hybrid genres of ‘reality TV’, which are characterized by constructed ‘real-life’ scenarios performed by semi-professionals. Reality TV is closely connected to the changing television economy of rising production costs and market fragmentation. It is also largely based on ‘format franchising’ and the international trade of concepts. In many ways, format franchising is superseding co-production as a means for collaborate program development since the technology does not rely on official treaties or stipulations. On the contrary, the format trade occurs under the radar of government regulation, which makes it attractive for many producers and broadcasters. The following chapters highlight that commercial broadcasters are leading the way in licensing formats; however, the technology is equally of interest to public service broadcasters, especially since it is linked to new digital media developments and audience interactivity.

3

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising

At MIPTV, 2004 was noted as a benchmark year for formats because of the growing interest in this production technology for program development and trade. That year alone, the global format business was worth $3.5 billion, an increase of 33% over a two-year period. Between 2002 and 2004, $9.1 billion was spent on format production alone. During the same time span, the number of reality TV hours rose by 22%, making this category one of the fastest growing genres for format franchising after game shows (Schmitt, Bisson & Fey, 2005). The increase in formats is a direct result of changes in the film and television economies: specialty channels, rising production costs and the importance of audience ratings all have led to copying programs with a proven success record. As stated by David Lyle (as cited in Fuller, 2000), Manager of the Fox Reality Channel in the U.S., “People will always want formats because they are tried-and-tested products. It’s like broadcasting with a safety net” (¶ 16). Lower production costs combined with reduced risk therefore appeal to producers competing for international market shares. In the case of television formats, the U.K. has emerged as one of the most prolific format producers and distributor through glocalizing programs such as Pop Idol (Fuller, 2001), Wife Swap (Davies, 2004), Paradise Hotel (Ringbakk, 2003), Supernanny (Emerson & Powell, 2004) and game shows like Who Wants to be a Millionaire? (Gentile, 1999) and The Weakest Link (Rowe & Street, 2000) (Television Research Partnership, Colwell & Price, 2005, p. 9). The U.K. is also the biggest exporter of formats since 32% of all format hours, which are broadcast around the world, originate here. In comparison, the U.S. is the single most important format market in terms of ‘production value’ due to high production budgets (Schmitt, 2005; Schmitt, Bisson & Fey, 2005). This chapter details the importance of formats by defi ning their primary use as a production technology that is truly global in its reach because it transcends geo-cultural markets and glocalizes programs in territories such as the former USSR, China, Africa and the Middle East. Even though the history of this production technology dates back to the dawn of film and television, the market environment of the 1990s created ideal conditions

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 79 for escalating the international format trade to previously unknown levels. With the sustained demand for low-cost programming in a multi-channel universe, format franchising continues to surge with programs of the game show and reality TV genres, as well as scripted shows based on Latin American ‘telenovelas’ (i.e., Ugly Betty [Horta, Hayek, Pennette, Hayman, & Tamez, 2006]). Formats are closely tied to interactive television services such as voting for contestants on reality TV shows, peer-to-peer networking (through chat rooms and blogs) and on-line purchases. As a result, new media agents, such as telecommunications providers, digital content providers and interactive users, are changing networked relations along the production circuit. These changes are amplified by a business model that underscores format franchising, namely, the increasing use of branded entertainment based on interweaving product placements with program narratives.

FORMAT FRANCHISING—A GLOBAL PRODUCTION TECHNOLOGY FOR TRADING CULTURAL PRODUCTS The term ‘format’ is based on the fact that particular elements in a feature film or television program are formalized. According to Daniel Schmitt from Screen Digest (2005), “A television format is a programme, or programme concept, with distinct elements that can be exported and licensed outside its country of origin for local adaptation” (p. 6). Formats are linked to the transfer of a technology, and the expertise and know-how for localizing a program franchise (The Wit, 2001, ¶ 6). According to Moran (2004), the format trade helps to regulate and organize the exchange of program ideas between producers across time and space (p. 6). Moreover, this “cultural technology of exchange” is significant because of its function and effect in different markets around the world (1998, p. 23). Formats are traded outside regional and geo-cultural markets defi ned by similar linguistic and cultural traits, thus expanding global media ecologies beyond territorial boundaries usually reserved for co-productions. Formats entail a swath of formulaic elements such as logos, concepts, music, character descriptions, production notes and stage design, which establish recognizability (to keep control with the licensor) but also offer adaptability for different markets. These ‘building components’ are enshrined in a ‘bible’, which is often accompanied by a consulting service, provided for an extra fee by the licensing company. The format is then traded and licensed to a broadcaster or production company, who adapts the program for local television audiences, usually under the guidance and supervision of the original producers. As discussed in more detail in Chapter 6, formats are vulnerable to copyright infringements because the law does not cover the expression of ideas, concepts or genres. Format producers therefore differentiate between paper

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formats and program formats to increase protection of program content (Kamps, 2003, p. 30). A paper format details the initial concept for a program format. In contrast, a program format contains the formula that provides the basis for adapting an existing format to a new market (see Table 3.1). According to John Gough from Distraction Formats (as cited in Bodycombe, 2001), paper formats are based on a pre-existing format script and “documents that bring content to concept” (¶ 7). Paper formats describe a program’s basic idea, layout, content and style and often serve as a selling tool. In addition, [t]hey contain the fi rst set of ingredients on which the fi nal format recipe is based [and] are the catalysts around which all the resources that go into producing a television programme fi rst start to gather. They develop as the production process moves forward taking into account the influences of the various production requirements such as casting, set, budget etc. evolving into the format bible and pilot programme. If the paper format is sound, the television production will be sound (¶ 7)

Table 3.1 Format Development Chain Note. Adapted from concepts and facts by Schmitt et al. (2005), Distraction Formats (2007) and Bodycombe (2001).

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 81 In contrast, television program formats are based on the fi nished product and are like a recipe which allows television concepts and ideas to travel without being stopped by either geographical or linguistic boundaries. To achieve this, the recipe comes with a whole range of ingredients making it possible for producers throughout the world to locally produce a television programme based on a foreign format, and to present it as a local television show perfectly adapted to their respective countries and cultures. (Michel Rodrigue, CEO, Distraction Formats as cited in Bodycombe, 2001, ¶ 7) Formats are vulnerable to unlicensed use because media agents liaise with each other at markets and conferences, and consequently disclose new concepts. Formats can also easily be copied as a result of fi lm and television exhibition. The only reason why copy theft does not occur to a greater degree is that larger format franchising companies are part of international networks that keep check and balances on business practices (also see the following discussion about the Format Recognition and Protection Association). Just like co-productions, formats are based on the international collaboration between producers, broadcasters and financiers for cultural production. However, in contrast to co-productions, formats tend to be predominantly of the game show and reality TV genres and are closely intertwined, and often synonymous, with narratives related to product placements, advertising and sponsorship. More specifically, game shows represent 50% of global format airtime, while reality TV is the single most important genre in terms of production value. However, scripted formats are on the rise in anticipation of changing audience tastes (Schmitt et al., 2005). The speed and efficiency by which formats can be adapted from one territory to another makes them attractive for producers competing for global market shares. For example, the Dutch company Endemol, which created the Big Brother (Wrigley, Powers, Green & Jones, 2000) franchise, controls several production subsidiaries throughout Europe, which allow for simultaneous production and distribution, evidenced by the launch of three versions of a single format (all shot in the same studio within the period of one month) in the Netherlands, Portugal and Argentina (The Wit, 2001; also see Appendix). By comparison, co-production tends to double the workload and paperwork due to the involvement of a number of international media and cultural agents. In contrast to co-productions, formats remain under the radar of governments and cultural agencies. Moran (1998) highlights the fact that policy analysts have yet to acknowledge the growing importance of this production technology, and the extent to which it circumvents content rules by claiming local origination. In the words of the CEO of Distraction Formats,

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Global Media Ecologies [E]verybody is in the format business because it is the new form of distributing television content . . . The beauty of it is it fits everybody’s local quotas. In Europe, most countries have national quotas. By using a format, the production is a 100% national program. (Michael Rodrigue as cited in Vamos, 2004, p. 1)

As discussed in more detail in Chapter 4, format producers circumvent content rules through licensing a national broadcaster, who contracts a smaller production company to develop and shoot the format franchise for the local market. The collaboration between broadcaster, subcontracted production company and international licensor results in a television program, which falls outside cultural policy—and, in many cases also outside labor regulations. Even though the ‘glocalized’ program entails local cultural signifiers, the actual copyright stays with the licensing company. In addition, most format licenses stipulate that any new creative materials (such as songs, story vignettes, images and ideas) are returned to the original licensor, who can then re-package and sell the value-added format for adaptation in other television markets.

A BRIEF HISTORY OF FORMATS The format trade dates back to the 1930s when successful radio shows provided the conceptual framework for television programs.1 As many as 37 television game shows originated in radio, including the quiz format Uncle Jim’s Question Bee (Slater, 1941), a radio program from 1937, which was adapted for television by NBC/WNBT five years later. Blind Date (Francis, 1943), Beat the Clock (Fates, Goodson & Todman, 1950) and Name That Tune (Russell, 1953) also became popular through radio broadcasts before they premiered on television (Gough as cited in Schmitt et al., 2005). In the 1950s, the popularity of game shows like The $64,000 Question (Carlin, 1955) set the stage for the development of future cash-price formats such as Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, which has been sold to over 100 television markets worldwide. The Australian Reg Grundy was one of the fi rst format producers and distributors. Grundy developed the game show Wheel of Fortune in 1957, which began as a daytime radio show and then was sold and reformatted for television. Over the next four decades, Grundy aggressively pursued format trade in Australia, the U.S. and Europe with quiz shows, daytime television drama series and soap operas such as Sale of the Century (Greene, 1980), The Restless Years (Battye & Watson, 1977), Sons and Daughters (Battye, Watson & Homes, 1982), Prisoner (Watson, 1979), Mother and Son (O’Grady, 1984), Family Feud (Johnston, 1977) and Police Rescue (Chapman, Williams & Sullivan, 1991) (Schmitt et al., 2005). Before Grundy became a subsidiary to Pearson Television (now FremantleMedia under the

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 83 umbrella of the RTL group) in the U.K. in 1995, the company had managed operations across five continents (Moran, 1998, pp. 41–47). In the 1970s, a regular licensing system emerged to manage the international trade of television formats (see Chapter 6 for more detail on format licensing). This set the stage for more format trade in the following decades, especially in the 1990s and 2000s, when major changes in the television industry resulted in the need for new programming. According to Gough (as cited in Schmitt et al., 2005), European producers created the fi rst networks of international information and knowledge exchange through formal meetings such as the ‘Action Group’ in 1989. Initiated by Stephen Leahy from Action Time in the U.K., the meetings (from 1989 to 1993) also included Wegelius (now Zodiac Television) from Sweden, Plaisance from France, Vizor from Finland, Action Games from Germany, Productions de la Capitale (later Distraction Formats) from Canada, J.E. Entertainments (now Endemol) from Holland and Gestmusik (now Endemol) from Spain. Many of these format producers and distributors began their careers by sourcing ideas from American studios, or co-producing programs with King World, All American Fremantle, Columbia Tri Star (U.S.) and Pearson Television in the U.K. as well as Grundy in Australia. The RTL Group, owned by Bertelsmann, is Europe’s largest television and radio broadcasting company with multiple television channels and radio stations in several European countries (FremantleMedia, 2004a). FremantleMedia is the content production arm of RTL and, after Endemol, remains one of the world’s biggest format producers. The company develops its own formats for exploitation in international markets, but also acquires the rights to existing formats for adaptation, local sales, production and co-production; examples include the game show Greed (Donovan & Levy, 1999), which was purchased in the U.S. and re-sold around the world, and the reality TV series Survivor (Burnett, 2000), which FremantleMedia acquired for adaptation in Latin America (The Wit, 2001). FremantleMedia produces over 260 programs in 39 countries and territories per year including the U.K., Germany, France, Italy, Portugal, Scandinavia, the U.S., Latin America, Australia and Asia. The Idol franchise is one of the company’s most popular and best-known formats (Schmitt et al., 2005). The company Endemol, created in 1994 through a merger of two Dutch television production companies, is the leading format company in the world since it develops and distributes more formats than its competitors. In 2000, the Spanish telephone company Telefónica S.A. purchased Endemol and expanded the company’s operations across digital platforms. In the same year, Endemol sold the reality TV series Big Brother (Wrigley et al., 2000) to CBS for $35 million.2 Endemol produces and owns the copyright of most of its formats such as Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, Fear Factor (Kunitz, Hurwitz & de Mol, 2001) and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (Forman, 2003). The company also controls several production subsidiaries in Europe, which allow for simultaneous production and distribution capabilities.

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Additional leading players in the format business are Sony Pictures Television (U.S.), Celador (U.K.) and Strix (Norway and Scandinavia). Some format companies are linked to private broadcasters. For example, the British Carlton group, 3 a capital shareholder in the ITV Network, adapted the reality TV series Survivor for the U.K. In Germany, the private broadcaster KirchMedia develops new entertainment formats through its internal subsidiaries for sales in German and foreign markets (The Wit, 2001). In comparison, public service broadcasters trade formats to expand their markets for existing programs. In the U.K., the BBC exports many of its internally developed formats through its format licensing division, a unit under BBC World Wide Television. The BBC licenses game shows such as The Weakest Link (Rowe & Street, 2000) and Dog Eat Dog (Jarvis, Kunitz & Langer, 2002), as well as several sitcom formats like Fawlty Towers (Davies & Argent, 1975), Keeping Up Appearances (Snoad, 1990) and Men Behaving Badly (Vertue, 1992) (The Wit, 2001; Moran, 1998, p. 27). More recently, it sold the format Antique Roadshow (Lewis, 1979) to PBS in the U.S. and CBC in Canada (Mackie, 2004; CBC, 2003). During the mid and late 1990s, the television industry recognized formats as an increasingly important aspect of global media production. As a result, international markets such as MIPTV and MIPCOM in Cannes, the Rose d’Or Television Festival in Monte Carlo, as well as the National Association of Television Program Executives (NATPE) in the U.S., became important venues for discussing format trade, exchanging information and forging business relationships. The first official format conference was staged in 1996 during the Rose d’Or Television Festival under the title Will It Travel? The first format market proper was held in Monte Carlo in 1999. It was also here where the industry organization FRAPA (Format Recognition and Protection Association) was formed in 2000 before it moved to Cologne, Germany in 2002. The principality of Monaco with its famous resort in Monte Carlo was originally chosen as a venue for an annual conference and format market because it offered a friendly business climate. Under the auspices of Prince Albert, the market was established with the hope to attract American investors and companies—a strategy that failed, since U.S. producers and broadcasters, until recently, focused on selling their shows for syndication rather than franchising program concepts. For example, NBC established its own format production and distribution department not until 2005. In addition to the annual market, the establishment of FRAPA marks a milestone in the international format business. As an industry organization, FRAPA lobbies for stricter control of format copyright and provides different services to its members such as mediating disputes and registering formats with the ‘International Television Paper Format Registry’ (FRAPA, 2004). FRAPA also conducts industry research, exemplified in a €120.000 (US $172.000) research study on the global trade of formats from 2004, which was funded by the government of North Rhine Westphalia in Germany, FRAPA and Screen Digest (The Government of the State

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 85 of Nordrhein-Westfalen & FRAPA, 2006). It also established the FRAPA Format Awards (for game show, reality and scripted formats), which form part of the Rose d’Or Television Festival in Lucerne, Switzerland, where, since 2004, the annual format market takes place. FRAPA facilitates the network between format producers and distributors and thus informally regulates copyright infringements. For example, FRAPA’s paper format registry keeps track of what concepts are currently being developed and who owns the format. Producers, who violate copyright risk being left out of the viable network, which provides the basis for international trade, research and information exchanges and lobbying efforts. FRAPA is situated in Cologne, Germany, because the former State Secretary for Europe and International Affairs and Media, Miriam Meckel, promoted the re-location of the organization to North Rhine-Westphalia, one of Germany’s main television centers. As discussed in more detail in Chapter 6, the prevention of format copyright infringements is one of FRAPA’s main objectives. With the popularity of this production technology, the copying of popular formats proliferates, as are international law suites to reclaim intellectual copyright.

FORMAT PRODUCERS AND DISTRIBUTORS Moran (1998) distinguishes three types of format producers and distributors. The fi rst includes companies with a strong production history, such as the BBC, that branch out into the format business to expand their market; second, format producers, such as Endemol and FremantleMedia, which trade formats for international distribution and sell their expertise to broadcasters; and third, companies that specialize in format adaptation and act predominantly as distributors and format brokers (i.e., Sony Pictures Television). Companies that focus predominantly on the distribution of formats are relatively rare because more revenue can be generated from the production of formats than their distribution. Also, format distributors are vulnerable to copycats whereas production companies always receive their production fee for the original or copy of a show (Schmitt et al., 2005). Founded in 1997, the Canadian company Distraction Formats operated exclusively as a format distributor with sales offices in Montreal, London and Los Angeles. Initially, Distraction represented 15 formats, mostly from Canada. Then in the mid-2000s, the company distributed 125 formats—game shows, scripted comedy, entertainment and variety genres, from 40 international producers—most of which had already been produced elsewhere on the globe. Distraction acquired the rights to these formats, usually for a seven-year period. The licensed formats were then distributed internationally, while a ‘roaming’ producer oversaw the implementation of the adaptation process. The format distributor also offered consultancy services.

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Distraction Formats distributed program formats from the U.K., Germany, Italy, the U.S. and Australia. Its clients included Prospect Pictures and TWI in the U.K. and RTÉ International, the selling arm of the public service broadcaster, in Ireland. The company also had links with Brainpool in Germany as well as long-standing relationships with Endemol and major networks such as the BBC, Sky, ITV, France 2, ZDF, ARD, RTI Mediaset, Société Radio-Canada, TV Azteca and TVN Poland (Distraction Formats, 2004). The company’s format trade in Central and Eastern Europe was instrumental in expanding its international business. Poland, in particular with its state of the art broadcasting facilities, is in need of programs that can be produced quickly and put on the air. One of Distraction’s most successful formats was the scripted Love Bugs (Un gars, une fille) (Lepage, 1996), originally developed by the German company Brainpool. It was sold to 30 territories, generated over $20 million in licenses and received a FRAPA award in 2004. Since Love Bugs’ story vignettes revolved around personal relationships, local cultural sensibilities, especially in regards to sexual norms, had to be taken into account in the adaptation process as reflected in a statement by Bodycombe (2001): A successful implementation of a format . . . takes the essence of a given formula, but nevertheless can allow for some degree of leeway in the actual implementation. Sometimes the format is adhered to rigidly, and other times it is tailored heavily, dependant on the culture in a particular territory. (¶ 7) According to a producer from Distraction (interview with the author, July 27, 2005), scripted formats will likely replace reality TV and game show genres in the future because game shows tend to result in quick viewer burnout. Also, reality TV contests do not package well as DVDs since the winner(s) of the original series tends to be known, thus undercutting the sense of suspense. In 2009, Distraction Formats closed its door as a result of the global economic downturn (Gibb, 2009). In contrast, Toronto’s Insight Productions continues to operate as a format production company with franchises such as Canadian Idol (Bowlby & Brunton, 2003), Project Runway (Brunton, 2007c) and Deal or No Deal (Brunton, 2007b). The company also produces Canadian variety shows, reality TV and dramas including Much Music VJ Search (Bowlby & Brunton, 2006), the annual Juno Awards (Stohn, 2003), Canada’s Walk of Fame (Cox & Wood, 2005) and Falcon Beach (Bowlby, Brunton & Todd, 2005). Insight co-produces Falcon Beach (Bowlby, Brunton & Todd, 2005) with Winnipeg’s Original Pictures. Each episode of the series is filmed in two versions: one version features Canadian geographic references and terminology, while the other uses U.S. references. Overall, Insight promotes itself as a company, which develops “a Canadian star system through television programs and specials that showcase and celebrate Canadian talent”

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 87 (Insight Productions, 2007; emphasis added). Through its involvement in format franchising, Insight has become a major player in promulgating branded entertainment on Canadian television. In addition to commercial media agents, public service broadcasters are utilizing format franchising to increase market shares, domestically and internationally. For example, in 2006, the CBC announced the creation of a new department of factual entertainment programming. The department focuses predominantly on the development, production, adaptation and acquisition of game shows, reality TV programs, live-style and talk shows. According to Stursberg (as cited in Gill, 2006), CBC’s television executive vice-president: “The development and execution of a successful strategy in distinctly Canadian Factual Entertainment programming is a critical ingredient in our overall plan to make CBC Television more entertaining and appealing to Canadian audiences” (p. R.2). CBC’s reality TV programming, discussed in more detail in Chapter 6, includes the format The Greatest Canadian (O’Sullivan, 2004), which had its forerunners in Belgium and the U.K., and the BBC format Wife Swap (Davies, 2004). Layfield (as cited in Gill, 2006), CBC’s executive director of programming, adds that formats like The Greatest Canadian (O’Sullivan, 2004) have found positive resonance with Canadian viewers: These stories are an opportunity to talk about something that’s real, that connects with their daily lives and also is an opportunity for more than one person in the household to watch. The CBC has the mandate to reach not just one person in the household, but connect with as many as they can. These shows have a great track record and have done so well because teenagers are watching with their parents again. (p. R.2) Layfield does indeed touch upon an important aspect of formats such as the Idol franchise: the creation of ‘community’, which rallies around a program not only in the living room, but, as discussed in the following chapters, actual physical locations such as public plazas and shopping malls.

FORMATS AND MULTI-MEDIA STRATEGIES The convergence of television, computer and wireless technologies facilitates the deployment of ‘multi-media strategies’ in order to create valueadded programs that can be marketed, sold and run off various platforms. Interactive TV developed at different rates around the world, with Europe and, particularly, the U.K. as frontrunners due to the early introduction of compatible wireless technologies. Television shows, which integrated viewer opinion polls, competition hotlines and discussions, had been around for years; however, these elements were only part of the show and not the whole concept. Most broadcasters use the Internet to cross-promote

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programs and access ancillary revenue streams. In addition to basic information about programs and schedules, their web sites also feature downloadable video clips, on-line games, quizzes, merchandise, chats and blogs to engage viewers in a show. The advantage of the Internet is that it is available almost everywhere and can be accessed any time. A study by Media Metrix in 2002 found that 48% of Internet users watch television while using their PCs at the same time (Lipsman, 2002). Fifteen percent of these viewers surveyed the Internet for additional television program information, while 11% sent e-mails or chatted on-line about the program they were watching. According to the study, The opportunity to deliver integrated programming and promotions is clearer than ever . . . Advertisers have to understand that viewers are often dividing their attention between two media, making the internet a flexible and efficient advertising platform as users turn their attention to the Web during commercial breaks or uninteresting programming. (Peter Daboll, Media Metrix, as cited in Lipsman, 2002, ¶¶ 4, 8) The shift in media use, especially in the 18- to 35-year-old demographic (the predominant advertising target) is one of the reasons why multi-platform media development is gaining importance. Consumers, raised on video games and multi-media, are prime users of cell phones, PDAs and iPods, which through clever designs address fashion preferences (i.e., colorful cell phone plates), individual styles as well as social aspects. Millions of textmessages are sent around the world on a daily basis, mobilizing consumers to socialize as well as to ‘vote’ for their favorite reality TV star. Formats provide a fertile base for interactive and multi-platform TV because they consist predominantly of genres that entail elements of competition and games mentality.4 Voting for a contestant, choosing a preferred narrative progression and determining who should be the champion of the competition offer interactivity with programs, which enhances program appeal, enforces branding power, creates ‘e-loyalty’ and permits the measuring of audiences. In addition, various interactive components provide entry points into story worlds such as on-line games; chat options and fan blogs; voting for favorite contestants via cell phone and texting; downloadable ring-tones, music clips, logos and ‘wallpaper’ for the computer desktop; video clips and photos; as well as on-line purchase opportunities for program related merchandize. In the U.K., interactive TV was launched in 2000 with programs such as Big Brother (Wrigley et al., 2000) and Pop Idol. These formats allowed viewers to text in their vote, purchase merchandize through their cell phones and download ringtones and music clips. In 2002, Pop Idol attracted 14 million viewers in the U.K., a 72% market share of the 16- to 35-year-old demographic. It produced 9 million telephone votes (a record at that time), generating $6 million. This income was divided between British Telecom

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 89 (36%), Idol developer and producer 19 Entertainment, Thames Television and the ITV Network, which received 19.2% each. Television sales, CD sales and merchandizing generated additional revenue (Television Research Partnership, 2002, pp. 16–17). In the U.S., American Idol (Fuller, 2002) attracts equally large audiences. In January 2006, American Idol audience ratings peaked at 33.21 million viewers, a number greater than for all five major networks combined and the highest viewer rating in the history of the Fox network (Doyle, 2006). Fox makes most of its profits from its sponsors (Ford and Coca-Cola), advertising revenue, CD sales, music tours and merchandizing. Similarly, Canadian Idol is sponsored by U.S. companies with branch plants in Canada such as Procter and Gamble, McDonald’s and Kraft, as well as Canadian companies such as Telus and TD Canada Trust (CTV, 2007d). Multi-platform access facilitates the time-shifting of television content, which can be streamed from a web site or downloaded onto wireless devices. To illustrate, in 2005, ABC launched multi-platform programming after it entered into a licensing agreement with Apple Computers for downloadon-demand of shows like Law and Order (Wolf, 1990), Battelstar Galactica (Rymer, 2003) and The Tonight Show with Jay Leno (Price, 1992) (“Apple signs up NBC”, 2005). In comparison, the Fox network began to telecast ‘mobisodes’ (mobile episodes) of the reality show The Simple Life (Barrett & Bean, 2003) on Verizon (CNET News, 2006a; Kaye, 2006) and, in addition, offered downloadable programs through its MySpace property. Through its collaboration with Yahoo Entertainment, CBS entered the ondemand market in 2006 with the popular reality TV program Survivor (“Yahoo to stream”, 2005). The broadcaster also experimented with ‘mobisoaps’ (mobile soap operas). According to CBS Entertainment President Nina Tassler (as cited in CNET News, 2006b), multi-platform applications augment and extend television program options. Yet, the ultimate goal is to retain audiences for the main network: We’re coming up with companion promotional narratives. We’re thinking about different ways that we can sort of engage the audience, sort of pique their curiosity, [and] get them interested in the ancillary narratives that go along with your regular broadcast . . . But ultimately the goal is to bring that audience back around to that first-run [telecast]. In essence, once an audience gets either additional information or learns something new about a character, they bring that to the first-run [viewing]. (¶ 6) As part of its initial experiments with multi-platform applications, CBS launched the ‘micro-series’ The Courier (Pepe, 2006), a serialized drama about a man rescuing his kidnapped wife, which was aired in 40- and 60-second long chapters on prime time during commercial breaks. Each episode was made available for cell phone downloads via Verizon Wireless (Consoli, 2006).

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In Canada, the CBC made a deal with Handheld Entertainment in the U.S. in 2006 for video clip downloads for its news and current affairs programming such as The National (CBC, 1970), The Hour with George Stroumboulopoulos (Dettman, 2005) and celebrity interviews (CBC Arts, 2006b; Kohl, 2007). The public broadcaster also formed a partnership with DivX, a San Diegobased software developer for video compression, to offer programs on its web site. A year later, the CTV network launched its pay-per-download service online for Degrassi: The New Generation (Stohn, Schuyler & Martin, 2001) and Instant Star (Stohn, Lovretta, Andras & Schuyler, 2004) (Bracken, 2007). According to Hogman (as cited in Kaye, 2006), from the research fi rm M:Metrics, mobile video consumption is increasing on a monthly basis and is particularly popular with “that wondrous epicenter of [ages] 13–34”. M:Metrics reports that in January 2006, 3.2 million mobile subscribers, or 1.7%, uploaded a video on the web, and 12.3 million consumers (7%) voted in a television or radio poll. In comparison, mobile subscribers in the U.K., where multi-platform applications have been around longer, 8.9 million subscribers, or 21.8%, voted in a television or radio poll during the same month (Kaye, 2006). The main reasons why U.K. consumers vote for a reality TV show are because it is ‘fun’ and because joint family viewing encourages engagement with a program (McConnell, 2005). In 2007, interactivity increased by 50% from the previous year, with 38% of U.S. consumers watching television on-line, 36% using their cell phones for entertainment, 20% watching video content on their phones daily and 45% reporting that they create Internet content in the form of web sites, blogs, music or video up-loads (“Use of cellphones for entertainment jumps”, 2007). In Canada, interactive media use also continues to grow. According to the CRTC, 58% of Canadians used a cell phone in 2006 to access the Internet, while 70% of Canadians subscribe to Internet services (Strauss, 2007; Infonetics Research, 2006). During the same year, on-line advertising exceeded the $1.01 billion mark for the fi rst time, an increase of 80% from the previous year. Yet, North American mobile TV use lags behind consumers in Asia, especially in South Korea where over a third of the country’s population subscribes to mobile TV services. In Japan over 18 million people access mobile TV. And since 2009, China’s Satellite Mobile Broadcasting Corporation has attracted over 1.2 million subscribers with expectations of rapid mass-market expansion in the near future (Little, 2009).

INTERACTIVE STORYTELLING The development of interactive TV programming is linked to experimentations with narrative structures that best fit multi-platform delivery. The concept of narrative as a cognitive activity is useful in this context because format developers are building their programs around the world of stories. Narratives are both a specific type of text and a mental structure or ‘tool’,

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 91 which function as a fundamental interpretive frame. Humans create narratives to organize their experiences and to understand the world around them, as well as the ‘inner world’ of memory and emotions. Narratives start with the presentation of a situation in a state of equilibrium, a setting and principal character(s). This initial situation is then transformed through a series of events and actions, which leads to a new state of equilibrium at the end. These macro patterns underscore the mobilization of a mental schema that recognizes and comprehends narrative progression (Larsen, 2002, pp. 123– 125). This is key in creating format narratives with interactive elements. For example, format producers create ‘event television’, characterized by ‘flexible’ storylines that allow for a sense of the unpredictable. According to Goodman (as cited in Kibble-White, 2003) in reality TV it is necessary to rewrite “the narrative arc and respond on a day to day basis to the actions of your cast” in order to create “a much more interactive kind of storytelling” (¶ 6). Furthermore, enhanced viewer engagement is achieved through [c]ompressing real time by spiking the narrative with curve balls to increase the speed at which people naturally interact with each other . . . Ways to make participants bond faster or hate each other quicker keep us interested. In the US version of Big Brother after the housemates settled in they brought in their ex girlfriends and boyfriends to accelerate the stress curve. The elimination vote-out mechanic is the current trend . . . It’s pretty obvious to say, but it works because it engages us through interactivity. As we whittle down the contestants, we emotionally start to back our favourites and that keeps us interested and committed to returning to the show. (¶ 12–13) Interactive programming therefore engages viewers at a much deeper level and therefore changes the established production–distribution–reception dynamic by incorporating consumer feedback into narrative progression. According to Lugmayr, Niiranen and Kalli (2004), different narrative models offer varying degrees of interactivity with the goal of creating a space where consumers are fully immersed in the storyline and become part of a virtual community. In particular, viewer engagement can involve weak interactivity through using remote controls or keyboards, or, at a more intensive level, hybrid interactivity, which is based on network technologies such as PDAs and cell phones that provide parallel information about the broadcast. The next step, collaborate interactivity, adds computer-mediated communities, in which participants try to achieve an arbitrary goal. In digital TV services, collaborations include chat rooms, discussion forums that run parallel to the broadcast, video conference systems and playing broadcast computer games. The fi nal level, strong interactivity, includes technical devices based on the principle of sensors and actuators, which involve the consumer’s ‘unintended’ interaction, that is, an interactive game in a

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real city environment, in which consumers move through the space and, using a cell phone equipped with augmented reality glasses, interact with other players. “This show could be ‘Big-Brother’-like with a camera team following the different players” (Lugmayr et al, 2004, p. 162). Lugmayr et al. suggest a formula for narrative progression, which consists of narrative = synthetic space + immersion + interactivity + community. Within this paradigm, narrative space “is a place for immersing people into the story flow, creating virtual communities, communicating with each other and obtaining multimedia assets in a natural and narrated form” (p. 162). Based on the work of Marie-Laure Ryan and Jon Samsel, the authors provide the following examples of possible narrative developments: • Linear, which allows for low interactivity, that is, consumers cannot change the story flow but can only change the channel. • Branched with decision points along the story flow, that is, consumers can make implicit or explicit choices at various decision points such as voting for a contestant on a reality TV program (also see Handler Miller, 2004, pp. 124–125). • Undeterministic, which allows for more direct involvement in the story flow. Consumers control the space in which the action and story unfold, that is, computer games, which are converged with broadcast content and in which consumers are placed onstage in a three-dimensional computer environment. • Evolutionary, the highest form of an interactive narrative space, which involves a community that creates its own stories and determines the flow and ending of a narrative, that is, a computer mediated three-dimensional television program, in which the consumer can engage and create the story flow via virtual actors (which may represent him or her) interacting with live events onstage. These virtual realities are created through wearing head-mounted displays and CAVEs (see Figure 3.1).5 Currently, formats of the reality TV genres employ several narrative devices to engage viewers in a program. In the U.K., the Big Brother (Wrigley et al., 2000) web site allows for the manipulation of 24-hour surveillance cameras, which are focused on contestants. Users can switch between cameras to interface with real-time events in the Big Brother house. The BBC explored interactive television with the drama series Thunder Road (Copus & Godber, 2001), which was set in a real town and revolved around a couple running a pub. Interactive components consisted of viewers being able to download additional footage of the stories (which always ended in a cliff hanger) and the choice of viewing the program at different lengths (weekly episodes or one 90-minute film). Another BBC program was titled Diners (Green, 2002): set in a restaurant, different cameras focused on a

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 93

Figure 3.1 Narrative models for interactive media. Note. Adapted from concepts by Lugmayr et al. (2004) and Handler Miller (2004).

variety of dinner guests, and viewers could choose the table they wanted to eavesdrop on (Handler Miller, 2004, pp. 266–268). Formats lend themselves to be telecast across multiple platforms because their narratives can be split into multiple fragments for short vignettes on mobile TV, that is, clips about contestants performing a song, judges interacting in a mock fight, interview clips or photos, and so on. Future multimedia distributed across digital platforms will increase various types of interactivity through creating additional entry points into the narrative for the consumer as described above. Key aspects include the development of virtual communities and parasocial relationships through digital communication media. This enhanced engagement with a program also increases identification with ancillary narratives about products and services that are closely intertwined with the unfolding of dramatic events.

THE NARRATIVE ARC OF CONSUMPTION Producers of reality TV genres are changing the fi nancing model for television by collaborating directly with advertisers and sponsors on program development. In the words of Mark Burnett (as cited in Paulin, 2004), producer of Survivor (2000) and The Apprentice (2004), “The 30 seconds advertising spot is becoming less valuable, but increases in value when combined with program integration” (n.p.).

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When Fox purchased the rights to American Idol, its prime motive was “to fi nd a reality show that was ad–friendly” (as cited in Battaglio, 2002). Two major sponsors, Coca-Cola and Ford Motor Co., became part of the format through Coca-Cola’s ‘red room’ (rather than the commonly known ‘green room’), logos featured on coolers, posters and cushions as well as program segments titled ‘Coca-Cola’ moments. Indeed, during the 2007 season, American Idol featured 4,349 (!) product placements with Coca-Cola in the top spot (2,916 occurrences), followed by AT&T (275 occurrences) and Cingular Wireless (164 occurrences) (“Nielson Measures”, 2008). The fi rst seasons of American Idol also featured contestants in several minidramas as part of specially produced Ford Motor ads (Deery, 2003). Similarly, Canadian Idol showed contestants in vignettes using L’Oréal hair products, thus integrating the sponsor into the program’s narrative. Canadian Idol also stages singing contests in shopping malls across the country to promote the up-coming television season (see Chapters 4 and 5). An especially strong synergy between producers and advertisers is evidenced in the reality TV program No Boundaries (Connell, Jusko & Tichenor, 2002). In the development phase, Lions Gate Entertainment approached the advertising agency J. Walter Thompson to collaborate on a show about the new Ford Explorer. As a result, the agency provided input into casting, named the show after its marketing campaign and chose settings that would best display the product. In other words, the series became a direct extension of the advertising campaign (Deery, 2003). Similarly, in a 2006 episode of America’s Next Top Model (Banks & Mok, 2004), eight contestants had to act for a ‘Cover Girl’ commercial, which was fi rst filmed and then judged during the elimination rounds. Altogether, the ‘Cover Girl’ message was broadcast 16 times, in addition to the fact that a contract to model for Cover Girl cosmetics is one of the prizes awarded to the winner at the end. The goal for most reality TV formats is to produce a ‘celebrity’ at the end of the series and to extract additional revenue from winners through concert tours, record sales and television appearances.6 Therefore, everything is commodified: the privacy of individuals, products associated with the shows and ultimately the ‘self’ of contestants, who are sold as a ‘celebrity’ for a short period of time (Deery, 2003). As discussed in more detail in the next chapter, producers shameless exploit contestants for cheap labor and profits, thus making reality TV productions “the sweatshop of the entertainment industry” (Hermanson, Writers Guild of America, as cited in Fernandez, 2007, ¶ 6). The cult of celebrity is a North American phenomenon and is recognized as such all over the world. As stated by Deery (2003), in celebrity production individual products are localized, but the “basic formula works internationally” (p. 26). Since 2000, the rise of entertainment programs focusing on celebrities to cross-promote movies, television programs and magazines has been phenomenal. In the late 2000s, over 15 programs such

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 95 as Access Hollywood (Goodman & Lynch, 1996), Entertainment Tonight (Canadian version) (Shalev, 2005), StarTV (Boynett, Elmaleh, Greenberg, Hughes & Laffert, 1998), Celebrity Justice (Levin, 2002) and Hollywood’s 10 Best (Roberts, 2003), and so on7 were broadcast on Canadian television. Some of these programs are imported from the U.S., others are produced in Canada. One of the characteristics of these cheaply produced shows is the mixing and matching of celebrity stock footage to update storylines and re-package star narratives for thematic programs. Even though Canada’s film and television industries were originally modeled after European ‘auteur’ fi lm traditions and public service broadcasting, projects such as Canada’s Hall of Fame, the Canadian Walk of Fame (Cox & Wood, 2005) and the rise of entertainment/celebrity shows point toward an emerging star system in Canada (Hamilton, 2004). Reality TV series such as Canadian Idol and Canada’s Next Top Model (Manuel, 2006) contribute to this development, in addition to the 1999 CRTC television policy, which opened the door to these developments. According to a host on Canadian Idol (interview with the author, April 29, 2004), “[Canadians] have been told time and time again that ‘we don’t do stars’. I just don’t think it has been done properly. I think the success of last year’s show demonstrates that we can do stars and we can do it quite well” (n.p.). This shift toward celebrity culture is indicative of larger developments in cultural production, which is experiencing increasing commercialization on a global scale. The celebrity cult is therefore closely connected to changing consumption patterns and processes of individuation, which center on individual achievements and competition rather than collective values for improving overall society. Social processes of individuation redefi ne social actors, capital and labor, and, bound up with the exercise of class rule, isolate “individuals from one another, from their social identities, and from those with the power to carry out individuation” (Mosco, 1996, p. 215). The result is an alienation from the collective social experience, which is replaced by an artificial sense of community based on commodification and the principles of the market place.8 Moreover, globalization processes create instabilities in social relations, labor and corporate structures. As a result, industries counter with fl exible accumulation, which underscores the development of new production sectors, fi nancing and international markets, as well as networked industry organization and the rise of service sector industries (Harvey, 1990; Castells, 2000). And, when services are commodified, labor is transferred onto the recipient and end user; examples range from on-line banking to video games, TV formats and their delivery across digital platforms. As shown previously, interactive formats blur the lines between work and play because when audiences interact with TV formats they create a valueadded product, that is, their votes become an extension of audience ratings. In addition, their interactivity adds valuable experience and information about the successful adaptation in one market, which augments the overall

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television format package in the form of broadcasting histories. On the other end of the spectrum, audience members, who become contestants on reality TV shows, contribute their leisure time and labor to programs, often without proper compensation, as discussed in more detail in the following chapter. Global media production processes are therefore linked to isolating each point of the production–manufacture–distribution–consumption circuit in order to extract surplus value and profits. Increased attention on the consumption link through value chain analysis9 highlights that human creativity is a valuable source to be mined for new ideas and innovation. Interactive TV formats thus exemplify fl exible consumption and the customization of products and services where “the source of value is no longer to be found only in the scale and organization of manufacturing alone; it is also to be found in the uses and creativity of consumers themselves” (Hartley, 2004, p. 131). In summary interactive TV formats are a prime example of glocalization, defi ned as the production and consolidation of differences and variety for global markets (Robertson, 1992, p. 173). Furthermore, they are intricately linked to flexible consumption: through exploiting creative labor from audiences, producers gain surplus value for the overall format package, which is then re-sold for additional profits in other markets. And fi nally, through tried and tested TV formats, producers reduce the risks associated with the development of new programs, and thus, manage the instabilities of the global market place.

CONCLUSION Television formats are the principal production technology to respond to new developments in multi-platform media production and interactive TV. Since most formats entail elements of competition, games mentality and interactivity, they provide a fertile base for multi-platform distribution via the Internet, video cell phones and PDAs. Formats are traded globally and adapted to local television markets around the world. In many instances, this adaptation is successful, since each glocalization results in gained experience and surplus value. In addition, television formats engage the consumer through interactive entry points into a story world. This interaction has been interpreted as a form of ‘empowerment’ as it opens the door to democratic forms of communication—television is no longer a one-way stream, but now provides a feedback loop. Audiences have the opportunities to engage with programs through sending video tapes, reviving the soliloquy and creating Survivor ‘fan-fiction’ (Jenkins, Koerner, Maynard & Marshall, 2003). However, this argument of “fostering interactive participation in social spaces, releasing everyday voices into the public sphere and challenging

Media Ecologies in Format Franchising 97 established paternalism” (Bondebjerg, 1996, as cited in Dovey, 2000, pp. 83–84) has to be placed within a critical political economy approach, which highlights the extent to which fi lm and television production impacts on content development and patterns of consumption. Media texts are defi ned and inscribed by production technologies, as well as the power and control of producers over industry practices, which determine the central tendency of meaning in their programs (Mosco, 1996, p. 262). As this analysis has shown, interactivity is intentionally built into formats to increase profit margins through text-messaging, enhanced character identification and the immersion in virtual communities, in which commercial products reign supreme and are key for resolving the narrative arc. Furthermore, format producers extract viewer creativity from their interactive engagement with media texts—that is, voting, texting, blogs and actual program participation, and so on—to augment the overall program format package and sell it as a value-added product on the international market. The following chapter provides an in-depth analysis of the adaptation processes of the popular Idol format for the North American market. The chapter highlights how format developers and producers utilize reality TV genres, community events and immersive on-line experiences to tap into previously unknown sources for viewer engagement with program content, and, as a result, change the established business model for television production.

4

Formats and Reality TV The Case of the Idol Franchise

Growth of the international format trade is closely linked to the emergence of new genres, which fall under the broad umbrella of reality TV. Reality TV programs entail hybridized elements from different program categories such as the documentary, soap opera, game show and talk show. They are rooted in the development of tabloid-style documentaries, which fi rst appeared in the late 1980s with programs like America’s Most Wanted (Heflin & Klein, 1988), Cops (Langley & Barbour, 1989) and Crimewatch (Gay, 1984). Yet, the appearance of docu-soaps and game-docs marks a fundamental shift from programming that represents the socio-historical world through a lens of investigative journalism, to ‘documentaries of diversion’ and ‘display’ (Corner, 2002), which are produced solely for commercial and entertainment purposes. This departure from documentary traditions is linked to the development of more sensationalist programs in an increasingly competitive broadcasting environment. Also, new technologies such as light-weight camera equipment, web cams and interactive web sites contribute to the changing media landscape in which audiences not only become more media savvy, but also engage more actively with programs—in addition to producing and distributing their own content across digital platforms. A key element in reality TV is the creation of ‘media events’ that accompany the actual programs. Many game-docs, for example, involve auditions to which thousands of potential contestants are drawn to in order to become part of the televised spectacle. In the case of Canadian Idol, singing contests, staged in shopping malls across Canada, extend the program into community settings, thus creating desired ‘talk’ about the program around scheduled broadcasts. This chapter traces the development of reality TV as a hybrid genre to reality TV as an all-enveloping experience that transgresses the boundaries of traditional broadcasts to create wide-scale media events. Two international format franchises, Idol (aka Pop Idol, American Idol, Canadian Idol) and Top Model (aka America’s Next Top Model, Canada’s Next Top Model), exemplify how their glocalization correlates with the engagement of actual and virtual communities to ensure their successful adaptation for local audiences.

Formats and Reality TV 99 FROM DOCUMENTARY TO DOCU-SOAPS AND GAME-DOCS The emergence of reality TV represents a shift from what Kilborn (2003) calls the more ‘serious’ representation of socio-historical events to programming that is produced predominantly for entertainment purposes. Reality TV programs are linked to different documentary forms such as documentary journalism, cinema verité traditions and the observational documentary; however, due to elements from popular entertainment programs, such as talk shows, game shows and soap operas, reality TV ultimately creates its own generic map. As discussed in Chapter 2, the notion of a fact–fiction continuum best describes the sliding scale of factuality in these programs, which cover contemporary documentaries as well as popular factual entertainment ranging from docu-soaps to game-docs, make-over shows and quiz shows (Hill, 2005, p. 50). As noted, one of the core elements in documentaries is their claim to authenticity and representation of ‘truth’. Similarly, reality TV programs aim for the “articulation of the authentic self” in order to depict “moments of truth” (Holmes, 2004b, p 159). Tele-confessionals in designated video rooms, revelations about confl icts between contestants and individual strategies for winning the game produce intimate accounts of unfolding events. In addition, slightly off-the-mark camera angles, out-of-focus shots and shaky mobility contribute to a sense of immediacy, intimacy and closeness with the televised characters through providing a ‘fly-on-the-wall’ experience for the viewer. Reality TV producers aim for this ‘tele-factuality’ (Corner, 2002, p. 257), which is reflected in statements such as “the camera doesn’t lie, [e]specially up close” (“Canada’s Next Top Model”, 2006), and “I wanted it to look live and exciting . . . this was not meant to be a polished drama. We were filming it for real, and it was a virtue of the programme that viewers understood that” (Ruth Wrigley, executive producer for Big Brother in the U.K., as cited in Ritchie, 2000, p. 11; emphasis added). However, all reality TV programs are contrived due to casting decisions as well as scripted situations of confl ict, confrontation, defeat and success. According to a reality TV writer, the genres dictate 10 acts composed of segments that link locations and circumstances for the purpose of creating action and confl icts (Writers Guild of America [WGA], 2005a, ¶ 1). This is also exemplified by a statement from a contestant on the BBC/Lion TV reality TV series Castaways (Mills, 2000): I hate to admit it, but the television company obviously thought that some people/ incidents were a lot more interesting than others in terms of storylines! Yet the darker side of that is that there was a bit of harrying going on to get us to do the things they wanted us to do. In the latter stages, there were lists on the wall about what we should talk about in video diaries. We did feel that events were being manipulated. (Julia Corrigan, contestant on Castaways, as cited in Kibble-White, 2004, ¶ 25; emphasis in the original).

100 Global Media Ecologies Thus, in spite of its claims of authenticity, reality TV is underscored by a subtext: the behind-the-scenes production and economic contexts which are not apparent to the viewer. Kilborn (2003) comments about the production context for Castaways (Mills, 2000), What was of course not shown . . . were the potentially far more revealing discussions between key members of the production team concerning the structuring of the whole event: how the choice of specific participants might generate certain types of dramatic confl ict, how the known likes and prejudices of the target audiences might be reflected in a particular mix of characters and how the needs of certain embryonic storylines might be served if certain casting decisions were made. (p. 86) A key ingredient in reality TV programs is the incitement of ‘talk’ in order to extend the broadcast experience into on-line interactivity and conversations about the programs outside scheduled air dates (Scannell, 2002). Reality TV therefore shares many similarities with soap operas: multiple story lines, which focus on human relationships; close-up shots to connote intimacy; and heightened identification potential with characters as well as ‘cliffhangers’ to entice audiences to return to the program the following week or to discuss potential outcomes with other viewers in chat rooms. Reality TV programs also tap into the fascination with provocative stories that have been a staple of human societies for centuries, evidenced in ballads, murals and paintings, as well as in broadsheet news (Pettitt, 2005). According to John Langer (as cited in Hill, 2005, p. 16), interest in sensational plot lines is rooted in traditional story forms, which popularize extraordinary events happening to ordinary people. Therefore, the predominant task of reality TV producers is to create ‘extra’-ordinary stories through casting interesting characters and producing media events, which transgress the boundaries of regular programming and work through their inter-textual presence across multiple platforms and contexts. This point is illustrated in more detail in the following case study of the Idol format.

STORIES OF CHANGE The typical plot in reality TV programs consists of a ‘story of change’ (Hill, 2005). Even though the transformation of characters and their circumstances is part of most story structures (Propp, 1968; Todorov, 1977), stories of change in reality TV follow a particular formula: they tend to be about attaining individual success through public recognition and fame (usually short lived), in addition to prize monies (or an equivalent in materials and goods) and contracts with prestigious organizations (e.g., a record company, model agency or the Trump Organization in the case

Formats and Reality TV 101 of The Apprentice). These transformation processes reflect predominant values in capitalist societies that elevate individual achievements over collective goals. ‘Reality’ stories of change are thus delimited to the portrayal of people entrenched in competitive environments and exclude imaginations about social transformations that benefit society as a whole. Even in programs where alliances between contestants are encouraged, the selfish pursuit of one individual is rewarded in the end. According to Foster (2004), “The brand of reality depicted on Survivor reinforced the widespread notion that self-interest ultimately trumps self-reliance, just as it coincides with the formula for successful television programming: confl ict is compelling and conflict sells” (p. 280). And reality TV producer Mark Burnett (as cited in USA Today, 2000) comments about Survivor, “Compelling television comes from seeing rather ordinary people put in uncomfortable situations—social interactions, not in the peril of their lives. The best way to describe the show is social Darwinism” (¶ 38; emphasis added). A key element in the transformation process is the application of consumer products to enhance contestants’ physical appearance (for example, ‘Cover Girl’ cosmetics in America’s Next Top Model). Using Propp’s (1968) analysis of Russian folktales, consumer products act here as the ‘magical object’, which helps the characters along their journey and facilitates the transformation from the ‘before’ to the ‘after’ state.1 The intertwining of dramatic narratives with product placements links the story of change to patterns of consumption and an emphasis on the exchange value of products rather than their use value (Jhally, 1987). For example, on the web site for Canada’s Next Top Model (Manuel, 2006), 2 each weekly episode is accompanied by a ‘Resource Guide’, which lists sponsors, designers and vendors that were featured on the show. Stories of change therefore extend beyond the diegetic world of the program and signal to viewers and interactive media users that their own transformation can be achieved through the consumption of featured products, thus closing the circle of viewer identification with characters on the show. Another narrative device is the intervention by experts, often in the form of judging panels, who present challenges as well as opportunities along the character’s journey (similar to Propp’s definition of the ‘friend’ and ‘helper’). Their presence as gatekeepers adds drama to the narrative, as they select characters for the next stage of the contest and, ultimately, announce the winner.3 Part of this admittance to the next or fi nal stage is the ‘revealing moment’ of the transformed character, signifying the end of the character’s journey and the end of the series. According to Scannell (2002), a game-doc like Big Brother has “from the start . . . a powerful drive toward a climactic moment of resolution” (p. 272) to complete its narrative structure of beginning, middle and end. In programs like American Idol (Fuller, 2002) and Canadian Idol (Bowlby & Brunton, 2003), the revelation of the fi nal winner is therefore staged as a special television spectacle, which is the pinnacle of the series and tends to draw the highest audience numbers.

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The ‘stage’ for many reality TV programs is a ‘self-contained space’ (usually a ‘house’ such as the Idol mansion in Toronto, or ‘the House’ on Top Model), which is wired for video and sound recording equipment to capture interactions between contestants. This living space is a “televisual construct” (Kilborn, 2003, p. 80) that signifies the story world in which the competition unfolds. In Idol and Top Model, the house is a grand mansion with the connotation of the private luxury associated with the life of stars: While the Idols were surely enjoying living it up in a swanky downtown hotel during the Top 22 phase of the show, it doesn’t compare to the star treatment of the Top 10 and a spot in the exclusive Idol Mansion. Located in a posh Toronto neighbourhood surrounded by sprawling estates of the rich and famous, the 7-bedroom mansion has enough luxurious features to entertain even the most distractible Idol on a rare free day. That includes an indoor pool, Jacuzzi, two saunas, racquetball/basketball court, home theatre, fitness room and tennis court. (CTV, 2006b) The mansions are depicted on program-related web sites through photos and descriptions, which invite comments from interactive media users. The use of a familial environment such as a house amplifies the blurred boundaries between public and private realms and enhances viewer identification with the characters. However, a house also implies a voyeuristic setting, thus raising ethical questions about surveillance and privacy of contestants (Dovey, 2000, pp. 93–94; Glynn, 2000, p. 36; Andrejevic, 2004), especially when web cam footage is transmitted 24 hours over the Internet (e.g., Big Brother in the U.K.). Popular camcorder practices for home movie production, which proliferated in the 1990s and 2000s, and the more recent development of movie clip up-loads to web sites such as YouTube, are indicative of the inter-penetration of public and private domains, foregrounding the private lives of individuals in the public sphere. Home-movie production and Internet movie clips thus provide a broader framework for reality TV, which borrows from home-movie practices but also influences semi-professional movie production for on-line distribution in return. Program-related chat rooms provide additional entry points into the narrative. As a result, interactive media users engage with content similarly to on-line communities dedicated to soap operas (see Baym, 2000). These interactive possibilities create the impression that viewers actually influence narrative progression and are part of the transformation process of their favorite characters through assuming a gatekeeper role (for example, through voting for a contestant) as well as encouraging contestants along their journey (in the form of on-line commentary such as blogs). Producers for Canada’s Next Top Model therefore teamed up with Yahoo Entertainment to make extensive use of viewer commentary, which is exemplified by a blog from Sarah S. (2006) addressed to Andrea, winner of season 1:

Formats and Reality TV 103 Andrea, I think you’re gorgeous and have clearly come a long way in the short time between now and the first day [italics added) . . . but it’s clear that you’re the one who is going to defeat you! Trash-talking Tricia and getting all hacked off that there are cameras on you 24/7 when you had to know that a television reality show was going to be just like that (and I’m sure your contract said as much) is just immature. Rise above it all and be beautiful in your strength of character! (¶ 14) Similarly, the Canadian Idol web site dedicates a space for on-line commentary from contestants, their family and friends, exemplified by the entry from the father of Eva Avila, winner of season 4: “I see her more confident on stage and I know she’s learning a lot of tricks of the trade. I’ve seen a big change. It feels like she is doing what I wasn’t able to do (as a musician). I never had an opportunity like this growing up. I’m very, very proud” (CTV, 2006e; emphasis added). This engagement with reality TV programs contributes to a sense of familiarity with the protagonists of the story lines. It furthermore promotes involvement in an on-line community, which emulates closeness to the characters and ‘stars’ of the programs. In Idol and Top Model, the transformation narrative is clearly linked to the celebrity cult, which has grown in recent years due to extensive cross-referencing of star stories in tabloid-style magazines and television programs. Interestingly, as public participants in reality TV shows attain short-lived celebrity status, film and television ‘stars’ are branching out into charity work to broaden their public profi le and to distinguish themselves from the ‘celetoids’, a term coined by Rojek (2001) to emphasize their short-lived public recognition. Furthermore, in entering the political realm, they highlight their ‘star power’ by the extent to which they are able to get media exposure and the degree to which they are able to purchase (through cash and prestige) ‘expert’ advice about global issues of concern. Examples in the entertainment world range from Madonna to George Clooney. According to Dyer (1998), stars have a specific function in society by providing psychological as well as social gratification for individuals. Audiences seek the ‘authentic self’ in their favorite stars in order to confi rm their on-screen characters, as well as to engage in pleasurable gossip to intensify emotional connections (Spacks, 1985, p. 19). In many reality TV programs the ‘ordinary’ individual is transformed into a star, and the viewer witnesses and seemingly partakes in key moments of this process. Holmes (2004b) states that “the emphasis on the ordinariness of the contestants contributes to the deliberate blurring between contestant and viewer and as a result, a potential invocation of the audience’s own aspirations (or fantasies) of success and stardom” (p. 156). As a result, Idol and Top Model tap into the ‘success myth’, which as part of the ‘American dream’ creates the illusion that, in spite of social stratification, anyone can rise above their rank. These programs, in particular, are paradigmatic of the success myth through their predominant focus on the ‘innate’ talent of contestants

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and their transformation through dedication and professionalism (Holmes, 2004a, pp.119–120). They epitomize the construction of celebrity to maintain control over a program franchise. In addition, they allow producers to manage fi nancial risks through manufacturing multiple celebrities as promotional vehicles (Turner, 2004). However, in spite of the extensive use of ‘stories of change’ in reality TV programs, they are delimited to individual transformations associated with processes of consumption, thus foreclosing imaginations about wider social transformations that affect all of society. Furthermore, reality TV programs do not address any significant debates in society or highlight particular issues of concern because they do not have an investigative agenda, but are rather, obsessively concerned with larger-than-life characters, with lively conversational exchanges and with occasional dramatic outbursts which are, however, almost always swiftly and amicably resolved. All docu-soaps have ultimately the same objective: to produce a mildly diverting entertainment more likely to provoke an amused chuckle than to produce new insights into the world and its workings. (Kilborn, 2003, p. 102) To conclude, reality TV paved the way for interactive media and increased audience engagement. However, in spite of increased interactivity with reality TV programs through votes, comments and blogs, viewer involvement tends to be superficial in its concentration on narrowly defi ned narratives about personal success stories, stardom and consumption. Moreover, online interactivity is marred by a lack of critical awareness of industry initiatives to use interactive viewers as promotional vehicles to increase the value of their products, as discussed in more detail in Chapter 6.

FORMAT FRANCHISE CASE STUDY 3: A CLOSER LOOK AT IDOL All stories of Idol are inevitably linked to the original U.K. format Pop Idol (Fuller, 2001). The Idol format is a reality TV contest with the aim to fi nd a ‘pop idol’ and recording artist through staging nation-wide auditions. From the thousands of hopeful applicants, 500 contestants are selected. After more auditions, this number is reduced to 100, then to 50 and fi nally to 10. The more ‘interesting’ moments in these auditions are broadcast to showcase “broken dreams and shattered egos” (Schmitt et al., 2005, p. 147). Each week the public and a group of four judges (or three, as in the fi rst seasons of American Idol) vote off 1 contestant—out of the fi nal 10—until the winner is made the ‘Idol’ for that particular television cycle. The Idol format entails elements of universal appeal. It is a family-oriented program that is reminiscent of earlier televised talent contests during the era of ‘broadcasting’4 such as Pat Boone’s Star Search (Banner & Wagner, 1983) and The Original Amateur Hour (Graham, 1948), which aired from

Formats and Reality TV 105 1948 to 1970 (Dederer, 2006). However, global franchising and format interactivity have made Idol a “business changer for all of network television” (Carter, 2006, p. 194) since it exemplifies how to “maximize ancillary exploitation of a format in order to generate maximum revenue” (Schmitt et al., 2005, p. 147). Because of its popularity and fi nancial success, Pop Idol has spawned numerous copycat editions such as Rockstar Supernova (Simon, 2006) and the X Factor (de Vink, 2006).5 Due to limited copyright for formats, discussed in more detail in Chapter 6, these programs do not legally infringe on the original concept, but nonetheless cause major ‘ripple effects’ in the industry through fuelling major lawsuits and challenging copyright legislation. Simon Fuller from 19 Entertainment and Simon Cowell developed the original concept, and then collaborated with FremantleMedia on establishing the format as a brand for markets around the world. Fuller began his career in the music business, where he managed singers and pop groups such as Annie Lennox and the Spice Girls (BBC News, 2003, ¶ 10). He founded 19 Entertainment in 1985, which was sold to CKX6 for £100 million ($164 million) in March 2005. He remains CEO of 19 and is a director of CKX (BBC News, 2005a). Cowell used to be a record producer before he founded his own label, Syco Records, in 2002, which is now part of Columbia Records and Sony BMG Music Entertainment. Due to his role as a judge on Pop Idol and American Idol, he is one of the highest paid ‘stars’ in reality TV: his contract with the Fox network is worth $45 million annually. He also holds music rights through the BMG music group on every recording that is released by an Idol performer worldwide. Cowell and Fuller conceived the program built around season-long tryouts and auditions, with the winner announced at the end. Cowell (as cited in Carter, 2006) told ITV in the U.K., It will have all the fun of Pop Stars, but we can do it better. We can do it a lot harsher than Pop Stars [italics added], and the public will vote and choose the winner. And we won’t be relying on the music to make the show successful: It will be a soap opera. (p. 179; emphasis added)7 Yet, according to Fuller (as cited in Blender, 2006), Idol was originally perceived as a vehicle to launch new recording artists: [Pop Idol] wasn’t primarily created as a TV show; it was created as a mechanism for me as a manager to fi nd new artists who could become stars while forgoing conventional routes of promotion. Idol [italics added] proved that you could launch an artist in an innovative way and sell millions of albums. (¶ 3) In the fall of 2001, Pop Idol aired on Britain’s ITV for the fi rst time (Schmitt et al., 2005, p. 148). The show targets predominantly younger viewers, but as a ‘family’ program it also caters to a more general demographic,

106 Global Media Ecologies which is exemplified by guest appearances from established entertainers (such as Elton John in the U.S.; Gordon Lightfoot and Cindy Lauper in Canada). When producers realized the rights for older songs were cheaper to license for television, they chose to obtain music from the 1970s and 1980s, which attracted older viewers and consequently resulted in overall higher audience ratings. By 2009, the Idol format had been licensed to over 42 territories such as Belgium, Germany, South Africa, Norway, countries of the Arab World,8 Australia, Russia, Croatia, Serbia and Montenegro, the U.S., West Africa (with its fi rst season in 2007), Kazakhstan and Canada (“Idol series”, 2006; FremantleMedia, 2009), as well as India, Malaysia, Indonesia and Vietnam (“FremantleMedia Announces”, 2004; Le, 2004). As in all format sales, FremantleMedia and 19 Entertainment (as a subsidiary of CKX) maintain control over the show’s adaptation in local markets. 19 Entertainment also manages the careers of the show’s winners and takes a cut of their profits generated through concerts and record sales (Hearn, 2004, ¶ 7). The Idol program has generated high audience ratings in England and the U.S., as well as in Australia, where it became the country’s highest-rated show of 2004, excluding the Rugby World Cup (FremantleMedia, 2004b, ¶ 4). In Canada, the format earned—with almost 3.6 million viewers for the closing section and winner announcement on Canadian Idol in 2003—one of the highest ratings in Canada’s television history (Edwards, 2003, p. 17).9 In 2008, producers for the North American franchises started to experience ‘viewer burnout’ after numerous successful seasons. However, in the case of American Idol, the show remains one of the top-rated series in the U.S., with an average of 28.1 million viewers each week and 64 million votes for a non-fi nale episode during the 2009 season (Wyatt, 2009). Canadian Idol, on the other hand, has followed the examples of other Idol franchises, notably in Germany and the Netherlands, and was put on hold for the 2009 season due to lower ratings (Baute & Salem, 2008). Meanwhile, Australian Idol continues to be popular with audiences (Bastow, 2008). As noted, the media ecology that underpins format franchising is able to spread the risk of a format across multiple markets and therefore offsets failure in one market with the success in another. Overall, the success of American Idol remains unparalleled in broadcasting history. In 2007, American Idol’s worth as a television franchise was estimated at $2.5 billion. It generated $500 million in television advertising revenues alone, in addition to $30–50 million in sponsorship deals (International Format Lawyers Association [IFLA], 2007c, ¶ 1). Advertising revenues for 2008 grew to $903 million, while revenues and profits for 19 Entertainment and CKX also showed an increase from $67 million in 2007 to $96 million in 2008 (Wyatt, 2009). American Idol benefits from brand extensions, such as American Idol Extras, which airs on Fox Reality Channel, and The American Idol Experience, a new attraction at the Walt Disney World Resort in Florida.

Formats and Reality TV 107 The producers of Pop Idol in the U.K. tried to break into the lucrative U.S. market as early as 2001, but initially received little interest from broadcasting networks, which were reluctant to commit to the format due to the failure of previous music shows such as Fame Academy (Hardcastle, 2002) and Pop Stars (Geddes, 2003). However, Pop Idol, which Cowell (as cited in Carter, 2006, p. 177) pitched to network executives as representing the ‘American dream’, received a major breakthrough from Fuller’s connection with Alex Hartley from the Hollywood talent agency Creative Artist Agency (CAA). Two British formats, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? (Gentile, 1999) and Survivor (Burnett, 2000), had become hits in the U.S., and CAA’s strategy was “to pitch Pop Idol as a perfect new reality programming vehicle for the summer of 2002. It was light, entertaining, and not very expensive to produce” (Carter, 2006, p. 191). Also, since Pop Idol had aired in the U.K., the producers were able to submit fully executed weekly episodes on tape, which served as the template for the American version. After negotiations with Fox, network executives agreed to license the format if it were fully sponsored. Consequently, CAA approached one of its clients, Coca-Cola, which was interested in sponsoring the familyoriented show (Carter, 2006, pp. 181–183). Yet another key connection for the producers and CAA was Elizabeth Murdoch, daughter of Rubert Murdoch, who worked for her father’s News Corporation television operation in the U.K. and experienced the success of Pop Idol fi rst hand. She had met CAA executives at MIPCOM in France, and when CAA contacted her about American Idol, she telephoned her father and recommended the show for his Fox network in the U.S. According to Carter (2006), Rupert Murdoch demanded that Fox license the program and keep the original framework: “You don’t change a thing . . . This show works in England. And you’re going to make the same show they made in England” (p. 188). According to FremantleMedia’s format bible, the Idol program contains the following elements: • A specific ‘look’ in set design and colors, logos and sequence of events, and so on, as outlined in the ‘bible’ (see Figure 4.1). • Contracting public participants/contestants for auditions and the actual television program. • Basing the elimination of contestants on telephone votes by audience members. • Interactive on-line forums. Consequently, Pop Idol served as a template for American Idol and also provided the blueprint for the Canadian show. In the words of an Idol host, “The great thing about a format like Canadian Idol is that it can be adapted to any national context” (interview with the author, April 29, 2004). The Canadian franchise also follows the value-added American Idol template

108 Global Media Ecologies since the producers “wanted to mirror the American show, because audiences were familiar with it” (Insight Productions producer, interview with the author, April 29, 2004). CTV licensed the format for Canada and hired Insight Productions for development. Pre-production for Canadian Idol began in November 2002, when producers for Insight went to Los Angeles to attend American Idol auditions and to “figure out how it works and to get some pointers on the whole operation” (Insight Productions producer, interview with the author, April 29, 2004). The producers also watched the entire seasons of American Idol and Pop Idol to become familiar with the program and its production matrix. All throughout the fi rst season of Canadian Idol, FremantleMedia remained in close contact with its Canadian ‘co-producers’,“ because it is in [Fremantles’] interest that the show does well in Canada and adheres to the format” (Insight Productions producer, interview with the author, April 29, 2004). Consultations via phone and face-to-face meetings ensured that the format maintained its recognizability while being adapted to Canada’s television culture and viewer sensibilities. FremantleMedia therefore checked the rough cuts and premiere tapes of Canadian Idol to make sure that production standards were met. Even though Canadian Idol is a hybrid of Pop Idol and American Idol, its fundamental structure and content always follows the original Idol format. According to a producer from Insight Productions, the company therefore adheres to the format bible as closely as possible, in addition to [t]he whole philosophy of a single person coming through a door to audition for a show to the ultimate winner chosen by the public. It’s the journey that the person takes to become the next Idol, an American, British of whatever—that’s the underlying theme of the show. The basic structure of the series remains the same. (interview with the author, April 29, 2004) In some instances, the Canadian producers fi nd the U.K. show to be closer to Canadian sensibilities, while, at other times, they utilize elements from the value-added American adaptation. In contrast to three judges on American Idol for the fi rst seven seasons, Canadian Idol features four, like Pop Idol and other Idol formats around the world. Also, Cowell’s trademark as the ‘nasty judge’ on Pop Idol and American Idol is copied in Zack Werner in Canada. This ‘character adaptation’ has proven to be more or less successful. Whereas in Canada, Werner (as cited in Tilley, 2004) ironically denies that he is anything but himself in the statement, “Can you believe for a second that I am being Simon Cowell? . . . There is no way in the world any of you could walk out of here and think I’m playing this!” (¶ 10), Idol judges in other television markets have drawn criticism for culturally inappropriate behavior. For example, in Vietnam Idol (Dutt, 2004), the judge was scrutinized by the government for deviating from Communist

Formats and Reality TV 109 Party principles of “developing Vietnam’s culture into an advanced culture imbued with national identities” because he criticized a contestant for following “too strict a dresscode” (as cited in Le, 2004). On-air personalities also share characteristics across format adaptations. Since Pop Idol features two hosts, the fi rst season of American Idol had two presenters (Ryan Seacrest and Brian Dunkelman), which was then copied for Canadian Idol, Season 1. According to a producer from Insight, the Canadian hosts, Ben Mulroney and Jon Dore, added “heart and soul” to the program, while Dore was hired to bring out the funny side in Mulroney (interview with the author, April 29, 2004). In later seasons, producers decided to feature only one host in the North American franchises to keep the focus on contestants and judges. Mulroney (as cited in Gillis, 2003) comments on his role as an Idol host: THE PERFECT HOST for [Idol] should be slightly more interesting than vanilla . . . Fashionable, but not like he’s trying to upstage anyone, funny but not necessarily a comedian, confident but not necessarily cocky. He should be like a good child: speak when spoken to and recognize his place in the family. This show is fi rst and foremost about the singers, and then about the judges, and maybe if we’re lucky after that, and we have time, it should be about the host. (¶ 5; emphasis in the original) Cultural signifiers, national symbols and local stories are used throughout to localize the Canadian franchise, that is, the program’s opening shots feature ice sculptures in Ottawa and the historic intersection of Main Street and Portage Avenue in Winnipeg; the Canadian flag is displayed on clothing during audition rounds; and the Canadian anthem is sung before and during the auditions and forms part of the televised programs as well (Read, 2004). According to an Idol host, It’s a fairly rigid system, the way the performance show goes, followed by the telephone vote. Certain types of songs are sung, and the visual look of the show is pretty much universal. But within the rigid system you build in for each country to tell its own stories. We tell unique Canadian stories from a Canadian perspective, and we tell it to a Canadian audience, using Canadian judges, Canadian kids, Canadian audiences and Canadian songs. (interview with the author, April 29, 2004) In order to successfully ‘glocalize’ Idol, the producers therefore emphasize certain ‘Canadianisms’, reflected particularly in stories about contestants and their hometowns. From the young teacher from Saskatchewan who is voted most popular by her high-school students, to the best friends from the Maritimes heading to Toronto, local aspects of culture are intertwined with Idol to create viewer identification with the program’s characters.

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Yet, the Canadian producers also introduce small changes to meet cultural sensibilities and local audience preferences, as noted by an Insight producer: Working with Fremantle was a very collaborative process. Just like other international brands—like a fast food restaurant or a clothing line—not everything translates internationally. So the people that own the trademark work closely with us. There were some things they wanted us to do, and I said ‘no’, that would not play well in Canada. (interview with the author, April 29, 2004). However, changes are only ‘cosmetic’ and have to be approved by the licensor because the fundamental structure of the format, as outlined in the bible, cannot be altered. The focus is therefore on interchangeable aspects of the format, namely, the contestants, which differ for every television season: We do the window dressing, some cosmetic changes, to make the show a little different. In the American show, the national auditions generally only show the worst singers. We show the bad singers, and it gives people a chance to laugh. But we also show the good singers and the interesting human stories, which make people far more interested in our show. We want to show a cross section [of Canada]. It allows you to see certain characters and we highlight their stories. We focus more on the story side of it, instead of beating up on bad singers, which is more the Canadian way, it’s more humane and we got positive feedback from our viewers on that. (Insight producer, interview with the author, April 29, 2004) In adapting the Canadian franchise, producers are aware that Canadian audiences are familiar with American Idol, which is produced with a bigger budget. They are concerned that Canadian audiences could experience viewer burnout because it has seen several seasons of the American and Canadian versions. Therefore, they try to create a distinct franchise with relatively high production values. Yet, as data from the audience study (see Chapter 5) reveals, Canadian Idol audience members are aware of differing production values for the formats and consequently comment on the ‘cheaper’ look of the Canadian franchise. According to an Idol host, Obviously there is a negative stigma and connotation around this type of model of franchise television. It is very easy to say we are simply copying—absolutely not! . . . It’s not as easy as taking a successful show, changing the accent and selling it to the public. You have to know your public and you have to give them something they can identify with. And this is especially difficult in Canada, because we are working with smaller budgets. But we have to be keenly aware of what distinguishes the American character from the Canadian . . . sometimes

Formats and Reality TV 111 the sensibilities between Canadian and American viewers is very slight, and you have to capitalize on that with a very small budget. (interview with the author, April 29, 2004) For example, when contestants from American Idol made a guest appearance in Canada in 2003, American producers suggested they perform a rendition of ‘God Bless the USA’. The Canadian producers feared a backlash from Canadian viewers and strongly recommended that the group perform the song ‘What the World Needs Now Is Love’ instead. Another aspect Canadian producers are responsible for is the localization of the format through staging media events, including national auditions. These auditions are held in major cities where contestants are selected for televised elimination rounds. They present an opportunity for producers to stage media events, which, as discussed in more detail next and in the following chapter, immerse participants in the Idol experience and generate local news coverage. Since Canadian Idol airs during the summer months, auditions coincide with the fi nal episodes of American Idol, which results in additional cross-promotion for the shows. Canadian Idol is produced on a seasonal basis and its success, based on audience ratings and advertising revenues, determines future production and employment for local producers and crews. Since 2006, Telus has been the official wireless sponsor of Canadian Idol. This gives Telus’ clients access to wireless content and the ability to text in votes. Furthermore, the service provides Idol news, video footage, ring tones and voice tones of the competitors, access to biographies and images of the host and judging panel (CTV, 2006f). In 2006, Telus partnered up with Samsung to provide Idol fi nalists with a new Samsung A950 cell phone as a cross-promotional strategy. Similarly to other Idol programs, the winner signs a recording contract—in the case of Canadian Idol, with Sony BMG Canada—and releases a debut album in the months following the show’s fi nale.10 In addition to entering a recording contract with a local subsidiary of BMG (or a nominee of 19 Recordings), fi nalists also have to sign agreements with a management company and promote merchandize from sponsors associated with the format. All proceeds from merchandizing and sponsorship arrangements in the U.K. and the U.S. are retained by 19 Entertainment, except in markets like Canada where a 50/50 split between 19 Entertainment and FremantleMedia applies. Finalists are contractually obliged to keep all aspect of the program strictly confidential. Overall, Canadian Idol is an adaptation that closely resembles the U.K. version but with juxtaposed Canadian stories and overtones from the American copy. The localization of this global format is achieved through extensive cross-promotion, insertion of local stories as well as skillfully embedding it into local communities through media events. Moreover, through tapping into the symbolic matrix of national and cultural familiarities, Idol achieves a proximity to viewers that heightens their potential for identification and engagement (see Figure 4.1).

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Figure 4.1

‘Building blocks’ in format adaptations.

MEDIA EVENTS A key to Idol’s success is the staging of media events, which begin with taped auditions in cities across North America. Producers also liaise with local radio stations and sponsors to create additional ‘shopping mall’ contests, which allow the winners to advance more quickly through the actual auditioning rounds. Between 2003 and 2008, hundreds of Canadian Idol contestants lined up in front of hotels, public halls and plazas, where they often camped overnight to be the fi rst ones for the call. Moreover, producers stage events throughout the television season to cross-promote the program and to rally national sentiment for the localized franchise. For example, Idol ‘celetoids’ are teamed up with national hockey stars as in the case of 2006 Canadian Idol winner Eva Avila, who performed the anthem before a hockey game: Eva was just on the local news on TVA Gatineau, the interview was live from the Scotia Bank Place (former Corel Center) where she is going to sing the national anthem at the Senators Game tonight (they showed her rehearse). She said that she was happy to be back home, she did promotion all day today and will do the same tomorrow as well (they showed images from the signature session at Les Galeries de Hull from this afternoon—there was [sic] mounties there as bodyguards!). (patri1016, 2006)

Formats and Reality TV 113 The media events are noted in on-line forums—often accompanied with pictures—where they invite responses from interactive media users. Other events are taped for news broadcasts on television as well as promotions through the program’s web site as in the case of CTV’s ‘blockparty’ in 2006, which was held prior to the season’s fi nale (CTV, 2006e): The outdoor event . . . featured individual performances by Top 2 competitors Eva Avila and Craig Sharpe, group performances by the Top 10 and Top 4 and a question and answer period with the audience. Canada AM’s senior entertainment producer Tina Daenzer said the party was a way for the show to celebrate it’s viewers by inviting them to get in on the action . . . The entertainment didn’t stop with the celebrities. The group of about 100 fans was entertained with trick bicycling, circus performers, balloon animals, free Idol swag, makeovers, and—particularly popular with some yawning parents of energy-fi lled Idol fans—free coffee and breakfast rolls. (¶ 2–3, 4; emphasis added) These media spectacles embed the program’s narrative into actual local community settings, thus extending the format’s promotional reach and popularity. Here observers, participants and interactive media users receive an opportunity to enter the ‘narrative mosaic’11 of Idol and experience the game-doc for ‘real’ and in close proximity to the celebrities. These events also provide an outlet for social activity, fun and entertainment and allow small sponsors to ‘get in on the act’, especially when local contests for a “Toronto Idol” or “Vancouver Idol” are staged in shopping malls across the country.12 As a result, media events procure the desired ‘talk’ around a program and thus raise its profile for advertisers. Furthermore, through blogs and commentaries on Canadian Idol’s web site, these events attain additional exposure and fuel social-networking activities on-line. The fi nal episode of American Idol and Canadian Idol is staged in a special venue such as the Kodak Theatre (where award shows like the Oscars are held) in Los Angeles or Toronto’s Roy Thompson Hall. The finale for Idol is a dramatic spectacle, attended by well-known public figures (such as the former Canadian prime minister, Brian Mulroney) and entertainers (i.e., Gwen Stefani on American Idol or Nelly Furtado on Canadian Idol). It draws high audience ratings and votes, especially during the ‘revealing moment’ of the season’s winner. The fi nale, which is broadcast live, also leads to special community events in cities and towns, from which Idol contestants are drawn from. In 2008, American Idol supporters and fans of fi nalist Kris Allen assembled at the University of Central Arkansas: And it was nothing compared to the deafening screams every time hometown hero Allen was shown on the giant inflatable megascreen set up in the university’s arena to view Tuesday night’s Rat Pack-themed show. The home side of the bleachers were [sic] packed with nearly

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Similarly, 5,000 people gathered in Saskatoon’s Credit Union Centre (formerly Saskatchewan Place) in 2004 for the two-hour Canadian Idol fi nale, which was broadcast on two giant video screens. The local community came together for the event to celebrate its hometown contestant Theresa Sokyrka, who was the runner-up for the title of ‘Canadian Idol’, which ultimately went to her competitor, Kalan Porter: The sight of Sokyrka on the big screens continually evoked ear-splitting screaming, clapping and cheering and some fans jumped out of their seats to get a better look at the hometown hero. At times, Credit Union Center took on a New Year’s atmosphere as fans carried balloons, blew horns, threw confetti and did the wave. (Kachkowski, 2005) Here, the narrative is intertwined with familiar cultural references and national sentiment to create maximum resonance from viewers. The result is a strong engagement with Idol, which has been called one the most successful programs in television history (CTV, 2005). The ‘mosaic’ of Idol gains even more impetus through inter-textual references and cross-promotion in entertainment shows (such as Entertainment Tonight [Masini, 1981] and Entertainment Tonight Canada [Simoneau & Shalev, 2005], as well as E-Talk [Schwartz, 2002], which is hosted by Canadian Idol host Ben Mulroney as well), news programs (i.e., CTV news), TV-guides and print media (i.e., articles in USA Today; fullpage color advertising spreads in Canada’s national newspaper, the Globe and Mail).13 Canada has one of the highest media concentrations in the world (Nordicity, 2007), and Canadian Idol is just one example of how conglomeration affects multiple layers of media production—through synergies, cross-promotions, tie-ins, serialization, format adaptation and convergence of content. For example, dramatic series such as CTV’s Instant Star (Stohn, Lovretta, Andras & Schuyler, 2004), scheduled to air after Idol broadcasts, ‘piggyback’ on the format’s success through translating its star-transformation narrative into a fictional account of a young singer’s career.14 ‘Copycat’ programs such as America’s Got Talent (Cowell, Raff & Warwick, 2006), Rockstar Supernova and the The One (Carter, 2006) exemplify other broadcasters’ (i.e., NBC, CBC) attempts to minimize production risks through banking on the familiarity and success of the Idol concept as well as on the reality TV game-doc genre itself (see Figure 4.2).

Formats and Reality TV 115

Figure 4.2 The ‘mosaic’ of format adaptation. Note: ‘Cross-promotional Strategies’ and ‘Inter-textual References’ are closely related; however, one is an industry strategy, while the other relates to the interpretation (and consumption) of media texts. Production and consumption practices are also differentiated in ‘Media Events’ and ‘Audience Engagement & Interactivity’.

Media events, television spectacles, program narratives and their intertextual references yield stories that are fuelled by a curiosity for novelty and the extraordinary, but also reinforce previously held beliefs, stereotypes and culturally defi ned preconceptions. These stories act as temporally and spatially situated cultural markers that mediate values and belief systems tied to local contexts. Various tidbits of gossip are familiar and entertaining and form the basis for conversations at the office or at school—the proverbial water-cooler topics that produce the desired ‘buzz’ around a show. Many story lines also tend to be ‘universal’ as they address intimate relationships and family, thus creating dramatic narrative templates for international adaptations. The dichotomy of the global and the local is inevitably at the core of formats, since they are distributed internationally and adapted for local consumption.

THE INTERACTIVE AUDIENCE A changing media landscape, due to multi-platform interactivity and public participation in reality TV, raises questions about audience agency.

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Increasingly, television viewers are seen as becoming more active and selfreflective through being “empowered by televisual interactivity” (Holmes, 2004b, p. 164). Studies over the past three decades therefore challenge the notion that audiences are mere dupes of ideological power (as suggested by the original Frankfurt School) and that media consumption has a direct and powerful impact on viewers (i.e., the hypodermic needle theory). As Katz and Liebes’ (1986) research on the international reception of the television series Dallas (Capice, Rich & Hagman, 1978) shows, the reading of media texts is culturally defi ned. In addition, Morley’s (1980) audience study on the U.K. program Nationwide (Ayling & Williams, 1969) highlights the interrelationship between the socio-cultural background of viewers and their interpretation of program content. Furthermore, research into the viewing of soap operas reveals (see Seiter, Borchers, Kreutzner & Warth, 1989) how programming translates into individually differentiated and creative ways of reception and application of media texts (such as providing a break from mundane housework). Jenkins (1992) also emphasizes how fan communities appropriate program content and re-interpret storylines with other fans, as well as develop new narratives based on original story ideas. These fan activities can reach a degree of ‘textual poaching’, which entails “an impertinent raid on the literary preserve that takes away only those things that seem useful or pleasurable to the reader” (Jenkins, 1988, as cited in Staiger, 2005, p. 112). With the convergence of television and the Internet, audience engagement is becoming more pronounced as interactive media users progress through several stages: fi rst, they move through sequential activities (i.e., watching a program, then interacting with content on-line), followed by simultaneous interactivity with two media (audience members interact online while watching the program on television). Third, as a result of media convergence, interactive media users engage in a merged experience—they are watching and interacting in the same medium (Murray, 1997, p. 254). However, even though the possibilities for interactive narratives and creative engagement appear endless, the political economy of television and the Internet continues to determine the parameters and extent to which audiences can express themselves in interactive domains. As Murray (1997) rightly points out, “[T]here is a distinction between playing an active role within an authored environment and having authorship of the environment itself” (p. 152). Media participation and interactivity thus take place within established frameworks determined by producers and web site developers, which limit the degree of audience engagement to a pre-determined spectrum of choices.15 Producers and broadcasters recognize multi-platform applications as potential revenue streams for their programs. Therefore, they are increasingly targeting peer-to-peer networks, which generate a wealth of information, knowledge exchanges and social interactions between users. The interest of conglomerates such as Time Warner and Google in sites like

Formats and Reality TV 117 YouTube, which began as a peer-to-peer site for sharing video clips (similar to the music-sharing site Napster) is an indication of the growing infiltration of commercial interests in domains based on a digital commons principle. Through accessing social-networking activities on-line, broadcasters, producers and advertisers are launching new initiatives for the development of ‘participation TV’, discussed in more detail in Chapters 6 and 7. Public participation in reality TV also raises questions as to selection processes of contestants and related guidelines on attaining informed consent. In the case of Idol, the selection process focuses on two groups: those with a good singing voice and on-air presence and those who can easily be ridiculed for the ‘humor’ portion of the program. John Brunton (as cited in Cheadle, 2004), executive producer of Canadian Idol, comments on auditions held in Ottawa during the 2004 season: There’s 1,600 or 1,700 kids out there lining up and I will show the Canadian public what we’ve seen . . . I can’t necessarily tell you what that’s going to be right now or what that mix will be or if we’ll have as many eccentric singers coming back . . . There’s an element of cineme verite [sic] in this experience . . . There’s a certain awe and lack of selfawareness that is entertaining. (¶ 6 –7) And regional producer Cousineau (as cited in Winwood, 2004) confi rms, “We are making a reality TV show and we want to show a range. People are either very good or good for TV, those in the middle don’t make it” (¶ 3). The growing importance of casting agents in reality TV genres is therefore indicative of fi nding the right amateur talent, which can be exploited for dramatic situations, comedy, talent as well as the ‘star’-transformation described previously. The ridicule of contestants is part of the original concept of Idol and is in rebellion against “the terrible political correctness that invaded America and England ” (Cowell, as cited in Carter, 2006, p. 189). According to Simon Cowell, the shows therefore feature “lots of useless people”, who are told “that they [are] useless”.16 However, the shaming of contestants for comedic effect and ‘entertaining’ television is not part of the open promotional strategy of Idol, which fuels the hopes and dreams of applicants (similarly to the Top Model format) in statements such as the following: [E]nrich and develop a greater understanding for music and the music business . . . meet music industry players and professionals . . . Meet fans who swarm outside every studio screaming for your autograph . . . Make numerous public appearances in front of thousands of adoring fans. (CTV, 2006g) These slogans are addressed to potential contestants, who have to be between 16 and 28 years of age, representative of the target demographic

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of the program. In order to audition, contestants sign a ‘Competitors Release Form’ by which they waive copyright to their performance, their moral rights,17 integrity rights as well as personality and privacy rights (CTV, 2006a, ¶ 5). Contestants have to abide by all terms and conditions and acknowledge “that the interests of the Program shall override those of any Competitor” (CTV, 2006a, ¶ 3). They are not allowed to display any commercial logos, except for the Idol logo, and are prohibited from entering into any commercial type agreement with anyone else, except when requested by the producers (“Canadian Idol Competition Rules”, 2006). Contestants sign the rights to their audition, performance and program contribution over to the producers, who are entitled to exploit and license others to use and exploit such contributions in all media and formats “throughout the Universe for the full term of copyright and thereafter insofar as is possible in perpetuity” (CTV, 2006a, ¶ 6b). In addition, producers extract labor from contestants as a result of the following stipulation: As part of Competitors’ contribution to the Program, the Producer may request Competitors to participate in additional activities relating to the Program including without limitation web-casts, pod-casts, blogs, video diaries, chat rooms, SMS chats, as well as various interviews, appearances, promotional, publicity, sponsorship and merchandising activities in any and all media. (“Canadian Idol Competition Rules”, 2006, ¶ 7.2.) As a result, contestants maintain a blog on the Idol’s web site and, similar to the Top Model format, invite viewers to respond to their comments. Contractual obligations also guarantee producers exploitation of Idol recordings and merchandizing as noted previously. Furthermore, producers are able to dub contestants’ voice in any language and include their name, likeness, voice, biographical details, photographs and recordings of interviews in conjunction with the program in all media formats. Contestants agree that they will receive no fees, royalties or residuals for their performance or work. On the other hand, the producer may assign ‘their services’ and all other rights of their contributions and participation in the program to any subsidiary or associated companies or successors (CTV, 2006a, ¶ 10). The personal release contract for American Idol goes a step further in permitting producers to reveal information about contestants that is of a “personal, private, embarrassing or unfavorable nature, which information may be factual and/or fictional” (“American Idol-Season 6 Personal Release”, 2006; emphasis added). The contract states that producers can use a contestant’s image, appearance and performance for any type of advertising, promotion and merchandizing, including ‘slot machines’. In detail contestants sign the following statement:

Formats and Reality TV 119 I further understand that my appearance, depiction and/or portrayal in the Program may be disparaging, defamatory, embarrassing or of an otherwise unfavorable nature which may expose me to public ridicule, humiliation or condemnation. I acknowledge and agree that Producer shall have the right to a) include any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in the Program as edited by Producer in its sole discretion, and (b) to broadcast and otherwise exploit the Program containing any or all such information and appearances, depictions or portrayals in any manner whatsoever in any and all media now known or hereafter devised, or for any other purpose, throughout the universe in perpetuity. (“American Idol-Season 6 Personal; Release”, 2006, ¶ 4; emphasis added) If contestants decide to audition with an original piece of music, the producers automatically gain the rights for further exploitation without payment to the creator. Limitations placed on contestants restrict their personal rights, creative expression and participation in the program, which, through directing and editing, is even further streamlined along the predetermined format. Where format producers have been unsuccessful in lobbing for full copyright protection (see Chapter 6), they clearly have won the fight in controlling every human element that is part of their shows. Idol’s contractual obligations thus give new meaning to Adorno’s (1991/2003) statement, “The culture industry intentionally integrates its consumers from above” (p. 55). A study about public participation in television programs in the U.K. reveals that producers generally seek informed consent from participants, but that “[production] pressures will almost inevitably result in some producers behaving less honourably than they should with contributors” (Hibberd, Kilborn, McNair, Marriott & Schlesinger, 2000, p. 67). The authors of the study recognize that public participation in reality TV programs is an important industry strategy for reducing production costs—for commercial as well as for public service broadcasters—even though participants may suffer the consequences of on-air ridicule for years to come. The authors therefore recommend stringent guidelines for contracting ‘semiprofessional’ on-air personalities. They also propose that informed consent should be based on participants’ understanding and knowledge of a program’s format, objectives and aims, how contributions will be incorporated, and potential consequences for participant(s) and third parties involved (Hibberd et al, 2000, p. 71). Producers and broadcasters, therefore, need to clearly communicate, to contestants and their family, what consequences their performances may have, and provide compensation if necessary. This is especially important considering the age group and gender that Idol and Top Model target for recruitment. The issue of ethical treatment of contestants is also relevant in light of revelations that participants in programs such as Paradise Hotel (Ringbakk, 2003), Real World (Murray & Bunim,

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1992) and Joe Millionaire (Cowan & Michenaud, 2003) are frequently provided with free alcohol to manipulate the story plot for comedic effect (Fletcher, 2006; James, 2007).18 To summarize, the question of audience agency in reality TV programs needs to be placed within the context of the production technology (i.e., format franchising), production processes (i.e., casting, directing and editing), genres (the construction of the ‘real’ in reality TV), narrative development and contractual obligations contestants have to fulfill. Furthermore, the extent to which contractual obligations restrict contestants’ rights raises ethical questions (especially in respect to the Idol contestants’ age group) in how far ‘viewing pleasures’ can be justified in the face of their exploitation. Finally, what has been (misguidedly) called the releasing of democratic voices into a formerly tightly controlled media system (Bondebjerg 1996, as cited in Dovey, 2000, p. 86) has also led to a marginalization of critical voices. Documentaries are still being made but are experiencing difficulties due to high production cost and licensing preferences of broadcasters (Dovey, 2000, p. 11). And even though ‘voices’ in the form of comments and blogs are expressed in program related forums, the narrative premise for game-docs such as Idol and Top Model is delineated by the genre itself, as well as by the control exerted by producers, script writers and editors. Nonetheless, the potential for interactivity and narrative play are inherent in multi-platform media through engaging the creative imagination and social-networking abilities of interactive media users. Within a media democracy paradigm, access to diverse media and media production facilities can provide a counter-balance to the increasing conglomeration of media industries and the appropriation by corporate media of networks that are at the core of a digital commons. As Murray (1997) points out, “The human urge for representation, for storytelling, and for the transformational use of the imagination is an immutable part of our makeup, and the narrative potential of the new digital media is dazzling” (p. 271). Creating spaces for digital and interactive media that are accessible and conducive to free speech and debates, therefore, has to remain a focal point for cultural agents, policy analysts, alternative media producers and citizens in general.

CONCLUSION Format localization is based on a media ecology, which involves lengthy collaborative processes between the owners of the program, licensee and contracted production crew, who adapt the program for local audiences under the supervision of the original producers. In the case of Canadian Idol, the combination of the U.K. and U.S. versions resulted in a glocalized franchise with the addition of Canadian stories and cultural references. The Canadian format therefore works primarily through references and representations of national symbols, cultural signifiers and insertion

Formats and Reality TV 121 of local stories, which are superimposed onto the original template of the show. Formats entail pre-determined parameters for characters, sequence of events, mise-en-scène, logo, style, music and audience involvements, which are outlined in the format bible. These elements are therefore part of the narrative, in addition to inter-textual references consisting of related programs (i.e., Instant Star), publicity, cross-promotional activities, media events and audience interactivities, which are all part of the broader Idol mosaic. Audience interactivity also follows pre-established modes through phone/ text-in voting, which generate revenues for participating sponsors such as AT&T and Cingular Wireless in the U.S. or Bell Globemedia and Telus (for mobile phone content) in Canada. On-line interactivity in the form of blogs and comments are rapidly becoming standardized across international markets, as are web stores for wallpaper, ring tones and Idol clothing (e.g., t-shirts, hats, etc.). Due to its international success, Idol has become a prototype for the global format trade, especially where game-docs and talent shows are concerned. The popularity of Idol is also linked to its genre and the appeal to interactive media users familiar with peer-to-peer networks for exchanging music and commentary in the form of blogs. Similarly, Top Model is well suited for mobile platforms due to its emphasis on fashion photography. Tied into these formats are sponsors and advertisers, who migrate with the program’s narratives across multiple platforms. Yet, the sub-text of programs such as Top Model reveals a problematic premise—the transformation narrative based on the American dream, on the one hand, and the manufacturing of celebrities for promotional purposes, on the other. In addition, formats like Top Model, in which young women are referred to as “girls” and are primed for advertisers, raise questions about on-air representation and, in particular, whether the claim of ‘tele-factuality’ has become an excuse for depicting women in sexist roles that negate the feminist struggle for gender equality. If one fi nds the answers in the words of Canada’s Next Top Model winner (Season 1), “My goal is done when there is a Barbie made of me” (CityTV, 2006a), then the conclusion has to be that program narratives are tied to problematic and sexist representations of women. Framed by the political economic context of reality TV production, formatted narratives thus reveal questionable portrayals of gender, race and power. The international television trade is subject to the ‘ebb and flow’ of networked economic relations, government policies and consumer practices. In anticipation of a potential shift in audience tastes, producers have begun to focus on ‘scripted’ formats such as soap operas or ‘telenovelas’ from Latin America (Housham, 2006). Scripted formats have always been part of the international format trade, evidenced in dramatic television serials such as The Restless Years (Battye & Watson, 1977), which was produced by Grundy in Australia and adapted for the Dutch and German market as early as 1990 and 1992 (Moran, 1998, p. 123). However, the proliferation

122 Global Media Ecologies of the global format trade, combined with an interest in soap-opera style reality TV, is leading producers to tap into the extensive depository of Latin American telenovelas with their closed serial format and characteristic multiple, intertwined narratives: “Typically, it’s the story of an impossible love that comes true; a Cinderella story, where a poor young girl meets a man from outside her world and they fall in love” (Murphy, as cited in Housham, 2006, p. 9). To exemplify, FemantleMedia’s German production subsidiary GrundyUFA Produktion adapted the Columbian telenovela Betty La Fea (del Pilar Fernández, 1999) for Sat1 and called it Veliebt in Berlin (Popp , 2005).19 Channel 4 in the U.K. and ABC in the U.S. also acquired the telenovela and named it Ugly Betty (Horta, Hayek, Pennette, Hayman & Tamez, 2006). ABC thus follows NBC, owner of Telemundo in Mexico, CBS and the Fox network in their pursuit for new telenovelas, which are cheap to produce with budgets typically ranging between $100,000 and $500, 000 per hour. According to Mike Murphy (as cited in Housham, 2006), FremantleMedia’s president of worldwide drama, soap opera style television serials are formatted in anticipation of declining interest in reality TV. However, these scripted formats will draw from plots currently found in reality TV formats: “Big Brother is a telenovela [and] Survivor is a telenovela—a story set over a set number of episodes” (p. 9). The key for developing scripted formats is the ability to hybridize narratives and to adapt them to new cultural sensitivities. Format producers are also entering co-production and co-venture arrangements with partners in other countries (Bazalgette, chairman of Endemol U.K., as cited in Carugati, ¶ 20), thus expanding global production networks through linking different production technologies. Even though formats remain under the radar of public policy, these new arrangements move them closer to current debates about co-production and interactive media among government agencies and industry. Before discussing these debates in more detail in Chapter 6, a detailed analysis of audience engagement with formatted texts in the following chapter reveals the extent to which interactivity—through actual participation as well as on-line— facilitates the format glocalization process.

5

Auditioning for Idol

Since 2003, Insight Productions has produced Canadian Idol (Bowlby & Brunton, 2003) for CTV’s summer season. Audience ratings for the Canadian adaptation confirmed the format’s popularity during the first seasons, and increased use of wireless technology amongst Canadian viewers had a positive effect on voting behavior for the show. According to CTV (2007b), the format’s final episode for the 2007 season was seen by 2.5 million people and generated 5 million votes. Since the first season, producers have added several new sponsors such as the financial institution TD Canada Trust and Kraft Canada, incorporated into the format’s narrative as ‘the comfort zone’. The format bible for the Idol franchise stipulates that contestants have to attend two auditions before they can advance to the ‘celebrity’ judges comprised of music industry producers and pop singers—a ‘golden ticket’ serves as the entry pass for the celebrity round. The whole process creates excitement and anticipation among the 16- to 28-year-olds, who attend the auditions for various reasons such as possible advancement in the entertainment industry, as a personal challenge, or for a ‘fun time’ with friends and family. Most of the attendees are students or workers in lower-income professions such as the food industries and sales. The majority are young women, who have an interest in music and the arts. Overall, attendance numbers for auditions range from 9,000 to 16,000 across the country. A closer look at the auditioning process reveals that Canadian Idol producers select a variety of public and commercial venues across the country for the auditions, including the Saskatchewan Legislature in 2006 (CTV, 2006d). In 2004, Insight chose the Plaza of Nations in Vancouver, which is known as an outdoor venue for festivals and fairs, concerts, product launches as well as corporate and media events. Approximately 1,500 teenagers and young adults camped out over night on the Plaza’s cold cement floor, many of them accompanied by their parents and friends. The social aspect of the events is a key factor for their attraction, as is the possibility to appear on television and win a recording contract. To provide a more detailed description: In the morning before the auditions, the CTV crew and Insight producers appeared on the plaza’s stage and asked different sections of the crowd to shout ‘Canadian Idol’ and ‘Canada’ into the rolling cameras. The footage was then edited for broadcast on the evening news and CTV’s entertainment program eTalk (Schwartz, 2002).

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After the taping, everyone sang the national anthem, sleeping bags still wrapped around their ankles, before they filed into the BC Pavilion building where they received a numbered tag—displaying the Idol logo, and to be worn around the neck—and then auditioned for the show’s producers and casting agents. Many contestants appeared exhausted from the long waits, sleeping outdoors and passing through Idol protocols. Two years later, the auditions were staged in the Vancouver Centre for the Performing Arts. This time, ‘Idol wannabes’ sat in comfortable chairs anticipating their turn to audition. Many of the attendees were dressed in colorful stage outfits and carried guitars ‘to look the part’. To entertain the crowd, a video screen played scenes from former Idol shows, especially the ‘revealing moment’ of previously crowned winners. Occasionally, the waiting and watching was punctuated by contestants who ran in front of the screen and waved their ‘golden ticket’ signaling their advancement to the next audition round. Overall, the staging, music and excitement, as well as the crowd and their visual display of pop, rock and hippy folklore, combined with the occasional surprise winner waving their golden ticket, produced a peculiar ambience of one-part Woodstock and two-parts Willy Wonka. A parallel between the two events was the ‘energy’ and excitement generated by producers animating the crowd, contestants’ ‘jitters’ before their audition, the giant video screen playing ‘Idol moments’ and Idol host Ben Mulroney appearing on stage before he circulated through the venue with a camera crew in tow to interview attendees for the CTV evening news and eTalk. The lively atmosphere was amplified by contestants’ socializing with friends, meeting other contestants, practicing songs for the audition or completing several tasks associated with the event such as fi lling out the Competitor’s Release form. On both occasions, the ‘celebrity’ judges were in a different location, since the fi nal audition round tends to happen on the following day. In 2006, the Vancouver celebrity auditions were held at the Pan Pacific Hotel, which was selected due to its attractive backdrop of Vancouver’s skyline and its infrastructure: security measures and an electrical grid that can handle a high voltage broadcasting event.

DESIGN OF IDOL AUDIENCE STUDY The audience study targeted a particular group of viewers as its intention was to investigate the degree of engagement with a reality TV program through attendance of media events, auditioning, voting behaviors, voting technologies and comprehension of the Competitor’s Release form. The study was designed to measure qualitative data as well as quantitative data in order to gain insights into ‘who’ is drawn to auditions in regards to age, gender and professional background. The survey also explored viewers’ perceptions of a format franchise in regards to its markets, U.S.

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or Canadian, and differences between adaptations. The study therefore assessed how successful Idol producers were in inscribing the format’s narrative for local audiences and the degree of ‘transparency’ and awareness viewers possessed of format glocalization processes. The study was conducted in 2004 and 2006 during the Canadian Idol auditions in Vancouver, B.C. The time span allowed for a good assessment of the use of voting technologies since cell phone use and the practice of texting increased in popularity during that period due to overcoming technical and compatibility hurdles in North America. Each time, self-completed, face-to-face questionnaires (combining closed questions for factual data and open-ended questions for opinions) were distributed. Overall, the study generated over 1000 responses from viewers, including their opinions, insights and reflections.

COMPARABLE FORMAT FRANCHISING STUDIES ‘Auditioning for Idol’ is the fi rst audience study to provide insights into viewer reception and engagement with a reality TV format and its staged events. The survey also yielded information as to perceived differences between the Canadian and the U.S. versions of a format since Canadian viewers are familiar with both adaptations due to geographic proximity of the two countries and simulcast broadcasts. Format franchising studies date back to 1991 when Belgian researchers compared news programs in eight European countries. Even though the programs were not identified as ‘formats’ per se, the study nonetheless emphasized cross-national adaptations of particular stylistic and content elements, which provided insight into cultural differences and national variations (Heinderyckx, 1993). A second study researched the adaptation of the game show Wheel of Fortune (Griffi n, 1975) in four countries, the U.S., Denmark, Germany and Sweden. Skovmand (1992) noted variations within similar program structures, including differences in consumerist messages throughout the programs (pp. 98–99). Another European study focused on the cross-national adaptation of family-based drama serials based on characters of the 1980s U.S. series Dallas (Capice, Rich & Hagman, 1978). Silj (1988) concluded that each adaptation of the drama series contained unmistakable characteristics of the countries where it was produced and broadcast (p. 208). Moran (1998) analyzed the adaptation of game show formats in several countries, such as Australia, China, Germany, New Zealand and Paraguay. Even though each format franchise maintained its fundamental structure in their respective national settings, they varied in degree of competitiveness, duration of on-air conversations and demeanor of hosts and on-air personalities (pp. 81–83). Moran (2000) also investigated scripted formats, such as The Restless Years (Battye & Watson, 1977), which after its success in

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Australia became a co-venture production between Grundy and producers in the Netherlands and Germany. He found that each adaptation reflected national characteristics; however, respective societies did not represent a single, homogenous entity. On the contrary, they stood “in complex relationship to the social order, both receiving but also constructing the representations through which citizens might articulate themselves” (p. 92). Moran and Keane (2004) explored format adaptations in Asian markets to discern the effects of deregulation, privatization and enhanced competition in the television industries across the region, which have led to the increase of format franchising. For example, Keane highlights the different ways in which formats are adapted in China, where, he proposes, a tradition of mimicry is well suited for this production technology. At the same time, format franchises also add to the creative repertoire of ideas for Chinese television producers (p. 17). A recent European study by Altmeppen, Lantzsch and Will (2007) highlights organizational structures of the international format trade and provides insight into the importance of network adaptability and flexibility as key elements in the acquisition and production of global entertainment media. The authors defi ne these dynamics as “flowing organizational networks” and conclude that actors and agents activate different organizational structures in the network depending on respective stages and situational requirements of the format trade.

RESEARCHING IDOL AUDIENCES

Profile and Demographics The audience survey was conducted during the Canadian Idol auditions in Vancouver, B.C., in 2004 and 2006. It generated over 200 valid survey forms for the study, which yielded a total of 1,043 responses. Most attendees were women, 71% in 2004 and 77% in 2006. Age groups were fairly evenly represented in three groups, 16- to 18-year-olds, 19- to 22-year-olds and 22- to 28-year-olds, with an increase in the 16- to 18-year-old group in 2006. The study reveals that the motivations for attending an audition for a reality TV format are manifold. They range from social aspects to mastering a personal challenge to pure curiosity. Many of the attendees were accompanied by friends and family (67% in 2004 and 76% in 2006), highlighting the ‘Social Aspect’ of the event. Nearly 50% of the attendees were students for both years. The other half of the participants worked in lowpaying, entry-level jobs, which included ‘Food Service Industry Workers’ (11% in 2004, 12 % in 2006), ‘Clerical” (9% in 2004, 6% in 2006) and ‘Sales’ (8% in 2004, 5% in 2006), as well as ‘Artists’ (5% in 2004, 3% in 2006), ‘Professionals” (6% in 2004, 10% in 2006) and ‘Unemployed’ (8% in 2004, 6% in 2006).

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Employment backgrounds highlight a link between ‘star transformation stories’ and the evocation of fame, which underpin many reality TV contests. In the case of Canadian Idol, the transformation narrative is clearly linked to the celebrity cult, which has grown in recent years due to extensive cross-referencing in tabloid-style magazines and television programs.

Motivations and Reasons for Attending Auditions The survey was designed to investigate the motivations for attending an event that sources semi-professional performers for a reality TV format. Questions about why audience members participate in these events yielded a spectrum of answers, of which the majority of responses fell into the ‘Personal Challenge’ category for both years (see Figure 5.1). Comments such as “To see what I’m made of” and “I want to achieve my dream” were frequent, as were statements like “For the experience” and “To see if I’m any good”. These responses highlight an aspect of reality TV, which, according to Hill (2005), is linked to perceived educational elements in these programs. According to her study, viewers believe that they can learn valuable aspects related to daily life, from cooking tips to pet care. Viewer feedback also reflected a persistent attitude toward the television medium itself with its dual purpose to entertain as well as to educate. Responses in the ‘Career Advancement’ category include “To see my chances in the music industry” and “To gain more experience as a singer and gain a recording contract”. Other comments highlight the importance of the ‘Social Aspect’ and ‘Fun’ aspects of Idol events. This is reflected in the number of people who were accompanied by friends and family in 2004

Figure 5.1

Reasons for audition. (N=100 for 2004 and 2006)

128 Global Media Ecologies and 2006, as well as statements such as “It’s fun to meet new people” and “I am here to support my girlfriend”. One significant difference between 2004 and 2006 is the doubling of responses in the ‘Fame/to win’ category. This is the result of successfully transmitting the “success myth” of the franchise, in addition to a growing emphasis on celebrities in tabloid-style television programming and newsprint. Statements such as “Fame and fortune” and “Because I love to sing and my dream is to become famous” in 2004 were similar, but amplified in 2006 with “To be the next ‘Canadian Idol’. Fame, fame, fame”, “To have fun and maybe get my 15 minutes of fame”, “To get rich and famous” and “To possibly get discovered”—all of which reveal the attraction of the program and the desire to gain access to the music/entertainment business in order to attain celebrity status. These responses also highlight the successful transmission of the ‘American dream’ and star transformation narrative that accompany all Idol franchises.

The Idol Glocalization Process Watching Canadian Idol and American Idol The unique Canadian geography, with many of its urban centers located along the Canada–U.S. border, exposes Canadian audiences to two adaptations of Pop Idol. In 2004, most of the respondents were familiar with American Idol while just over 50% had seen Canadian Idol. The discrepancy can be explained by the fact that Canadian Idol had launched only its second season that year, in contrast to American Idol’s third season. In comparison, in 2006, 83% watched Canadian Idol and 85% viewed American Idol, an indication that Idol’s popularity increased over the two years due to extensive inter-textual referencing and cross-promotion. In comparing categories within and across formats, it becomes clear that Canadian viewers enjoy watching ‘local’ talent, thus confi rming that if given a choice, most viewers prefer to watch programs with domestic references (Juneau, 1993). This sentiment was also expressed in the following response favoring the glocalized franchise: “[I enjoy] everything, now that the talent is in Canada and allows you to get to know the contestants”. Not surprisingly, the ‘Auditions’ and ‘Host-Judges’ are a favorite aspect of the show. Inscribed into the program’s bible as a key element for staging comical and entertaining scenarios, often intentionally accompanied by humiliating contestants on air, respondents commented on this aspect of the show with “I like to see how good (or bad) people are at singing. I mostly just watch the auditions”. However, in the Canadian franchise, Idol judges tend to have a friendlier approach in comparison to their American counterparts. A producer from Insight confi rmed that the Canadian franchise’s approach is ‘softer’ since this is “the Canadian way” (interview with the author personal communication, April 29, 2004). Significantly, in

Auditioning for Idol

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Figure 5.2 Reasons for watching Canadian Idol (CI) and American Idol (AI). (N=100 for 2004 and 2006).

2006, ‘Success Story’ and ‘Talent’ increased for the Canadian franchise, pointing again toward the successful transmission of the transformation narrative and its closely linked evocation of stardom. This is also reflected in comments that showed a preference for “Seeing all the rising stars” and “[It] gives people a chance to fulfill the dream” (see Figure 5.2). Perceived differences between Canadian Idol and American Idol In response to the question, ‘Do you think there is a difference between Canadian Idol and American Idol?’ 74% answered ‘yes’ in 2004, while 26% thought the franchises were the same. In 2006, 35% declared the formats to be similar. Comments about format differences reveal the extent to which viewers possess ‘surface’ knowledge of television production processes. The Canadian franchise with the lower budget is perceived as being less ‘glamorous’, whereas the American format is seen as better promoted and therefore better known. The majority of responses highlight the promotion of the formats underscored by comments such as “Bigger ratings for American Idol” and “The American budget is bigger and the judges have more status and character”. Attendees also remarked on differences in talent featured on the shows with “‘American Idol’ is better, better host, better talent, better judges” in contrast to “‘Canadian Idol’ lacks charisma”. Again, these

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comments point toward the recognition of production values and budgetary restrictions, which inevitably impact on the ‘look’ and ‘feel’ of a show as a result of technical aspects, sponsorship, crew and staging. These statements also reflect discrepancies between Canada and U.S. television markets in general, which translate into production processes and audiences numbers. At the same time, respondents commented favorably on Canadian Idol because of its local characteristics. This was expressed in statements like “‘American Idol’ is too ‘Hollywood’. ‘Canadian Idol’ is more talent than looks”, and “Canada has more diversity, less ‘candy’”. These statements indicate a preference for the Canadian format as well as loyalty to Canadian talent and its cultural context. They also point toward the successful glocalization of the format. Major differences between the formats are evident in responses to ‘Idol Career Advancement’. For both years, respondents stated that Canadian Idol contestants have less of a chance to advance their music career than their American counterparts. Statements like “‘American Idol’ guarantees fame for the top participants. ‘Canadian Idol’ requires more effort to make oneself known. Americans also seem much more ready to make ‘ordinary’ people into stars”, and “Yes, the American contestants get way more publicity” confi rm that viewers possess a good understanding of industry differences between Canada and the U.S.

Format Interactivity Format interactivity through cell phone voting and on-line purchases of program-related merchandise correlates with the increase of mobile technology use in Canada. The relatively late introduction of program interactivities in the Canadian market—due to incompatabilities between mobile service providers—is reflected in the high usage of landline phones versus cell phones, especially in 2004. At the same time, 80% of the respondents had used the Internet to fi nd out more about the programs, a figure that increased for the 2006 survey to 85%. Finally, in answering the question about ‘who viewers had voted for’, respondents showed greater favoritism toward the Canadian format, specifically 81% in 2004 and 91% in 2006.

Comprehension levels for Competitor’s Release form In 2004, 60% had signed the Competitor’s Release form for Canadian Idol, 40% had not. From the respondents who had signed the form, the majority stated that they understood the form ‘Very Well’ (42%) and ‘Well’ (39%). In contrast, in 2006, 84% had signed the Competitor’s Release form, which 41% understood ‘Very Well’ and 52% understood ‘Well’. This result has to be placed within the context of the Release form being the ‘Entry Ticket’ for the auditions. The fact that contestant cannot advance without signing the form probably influenced results. This is also reflected in verbal

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responses from several attendees, who raised concerns about participating in the study in case it might jeopardize their chances to audition for Insight producers and casting agents.

DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSION The Idol audience study yielded a plethora of perceptions, impressions, reflections and opinions on the North American franchises. Results therefore provide insight into the effectiveness of the ‘format mosaic’ and its translation into active audience engagement and interactivity. Moreover, they highlight the extent to which creative interpretations of the format translated into a learning opportunity for some attendees, while others enjoyed the events as a social experience. At the same time, the format’s bible and narrative inscription also informed comments about auditions, Idol judges, talent and their on-air representation. Finally, the study reveals a surface knowledge of television production processes as they relate to Canadian and U.S. markets as well as the correlation between budgetary restrictions and production values. Key fi ndings of the study include that most attendees at Idol auditions are women, which are, according to Schmitt et al. (2005), the predominant demographic for the format. Also, according to the authors, Idol generates its highest audience share in the 18- to 34-year-old demographic (pp. 147–148). Not surprisingly, many of the attendees are students, considering the age group and demographic that producers target for auditions. At the same time, attendees are equally representative of three groups of 16- to 18-year-olds, 19- to 22-year-olds and 22- to 28-year-olds (with the younger demographic slightly higher in 2006). Statements such as “It’s entertaining to watch because there are contestants around my age competing” confi rm Holmes (2004b) observation that the depiction of ordinary contestants on reality TV programs blurs the lines between on-air talent and viewers and consequently contributes to their own aspirations of stardom and fame (see Chapter 4). As discussed, media events such as shopping mall contests and auditions further heighten the sense of closeness to the ‘stars’ and the promise of fulfi lling the ‘dream’. The study emphasizes that audition experiences are as diverse and individual as interpretations of the format narrative itself. Many attendees seek out auditions as a personal challenge and a learning experience, which confi rms that viewers gain valuable insights from engaging with reality TV programs (Hill, 2005). Moreover, it verifies that viewers associate the television medium with entertainment as well as education, especially for programs that are rooted in the documentary genres. Not surprisingly, Idol auditions unleash unbridled creativity resulting from the active engagement of attendees, who appropriate diverse aspects of the events and transform them into ‘fun’ experiences for themselves and their friends. Jenkins

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(1992) and Fiske (1989) argue that fans create cultural meanings through the appropriation and recontextualization of cultural commodities. As described, the social aspect of auditions are as important as being part of the taped event, meeting the Idol host and participating in a much talked about television program. However, participants also contribute to the ‘buzz’ around the show by taking part in auditions and therefore actually ‘become’ the event. Within the parameters of format glocalization, audience participation enhances and deepens the Idol mosaic while adding value to the franchise for successful adaptations in other markets. In other words, producers are able to mine contestants’ creativity, engagement and social capital for ratings and future format trade, thus making Idol auditions another example of flexible consumption. Accordingly, media events around reality TV programs continue to spurn unorthodox job recruitments, characterized by thousands of people attending auditions in response to casting calls for programs like Idol and The Apprentice. At any time, a number of casting calls for semi-professional performers is advertised on Internet sites such as jobsearch.about. com, which provide recommendations on ‘how to audition’ for reality TV shows. In November 2007, over 50 (!) such casting calls for NBC, CBS, FOX, TLC, ABC, CW, BRAVO, VH1, MTV, HGTV, SciFi and the Food Network could be accessed for anything from ‘staring’ on cooking shows to singing and dancing contests, fi nding/trading spouses, as well as racing to the fi nish line after competing against other contestants in various locations around the globe (Reality TV World, 2007). Yet, the lack of guidelines and harsh contractual obligations result in highly exploitative conditions for semi-professional performers. These are amplified by misrepresentations on air, in addition to a general lack of awareness of production practices and work environments in the media industries. At the same time, a growing emphasis on celebrity culture adds to the lure of participating in reality TV formats. The doubling of responses in the ‘Fame/to win’ category of the study thus highlights an amplifier effect, produced by the programs themselves as well as their inter-textual references. The path to ‘celebrity status’ appears like a contemporary shortcut to personal advancement in life—circumventing traditional routes of fi nding a career—while highlighting the pervasiveness of a value system tied to capitalist notions of wealth accumulation and individualism. The promulgation of the success myth—the core of the transformation narrative in the program—also draws viewers to the shows to watch the talent and their progression played out in weekly episodes until the season’s fi nale. Statements in the ‘Talent’ and ‘Success Story’ categories (see Figure 5.2) were punctuated with key words such as ‘change’, ‘success’, ‘fame’ and ‘making it’ for both franchises. Yet, Idol programs also deliver entertainment through musical performances that appeal to a wide range

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of viewers and demographics. The study therefore highlights the complexities and variations that underscore audience engagement and interactivity with formatted texts. Consequently, the results emphasize the creative interpretations and active engagement by audiences as well as the successful translation of formatted narratives about confl ict, competition, stardom and success. In regards to format differences, the study shows interesting results regarding viewers’ knowledge of production processes and formatted content. As noted previously, Canadian audiences offer a unique study sample since they are familiar with both U.S. and Canadian reality TV formats. Comments about the programs therefore reveal insight into production processes, on the one hand, and spotlight the extent to which producers are able to successfully transmit formatted elements, especially in relation to Idol judges, on the other. For example, low expectations in the ‘Humiliation’ category for auditions indicate a correlation with the ‘softer’ portrayal of judges and their treatment of contestants in the Canadian franchise. Other comments reflect that viewers are convinced that scripted confl icts on the U.S. format were ‘for real’ rather than staged. The main differences between the formats were noted in regards to production values. Key words in statements by respondents included ‘bigger ratings’, ‘bigger deal’, ‘better promoted and advertised’, ‘more fi nancial support’, ‘larger scale’, more publicized’, ‘better quality’ and ‘more popular’ for American Idol, which were juxtaposed with comments such as ‘more real’, ‘less pretense’, ‘more diverse’, ‘more down to earth’, ‘more about the whole package’, ‘less superficial’, ‘more diversity’ and ‘less candy’ for Canadian Idol. Comments clearly indicate knowledge about market differences in the U.S. and Canada, and the correlation between production budgets and production values. Statements also reveal preferences for a local style and loyalty to a familiar cultural context, which highlight the successful glocalization of the format for domestic audiences. Within the broader context of format adaptation, this underscores the importance of consultations between licensor and licensee to create a locally recognizable program. Additional statements about differences between adaptations related to the inscription of the success story and possible career advancement of contestants, which, again, reflect knowledge of market differences and broader ramifications of the Canadian and U.S. entertainment industries. The following response from an attendee at the 2004 audition, “‘American Idol’ guarantees fame for the top participants. ‘Canadian Idol’ requires more effort to make oneself known. Americans also seem much more ready to make ‘ordinary’ people into stars” (also see p. 130)—indicates a different perception regarding celebrity culture and the centrality of the success myth in the two markets. However, the growing emphasis on ‘Fame/to Win’ in the ‘Reason for Audition’ category in 2006, indicates a change in

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motivation to participate in auditions, namely, to gain access to the entertainment industry and attain celebrity status. The doubling of responses in this category also points toward an amplifier effect, resulting from the program’s popularity, the promulgation of the success myth associated with celebrity culture as well as extensive inter-textual references across media and platforms in the U.S. and now also in Canada. Not surprisingly, more respondents commented on greater similarities between the two franchises in 2006. In noting common elements between the Idol programs, a respondent pointed toward the glocalization process itself by emphasizing the ‘copycat’ nature of the shows. Within the context of proliferating reality TV formats on U.S. and Canadian television, perceived similarities between programs also reflect the increasing ‘sameness’ across television program offerings in both countries. Increased use of on-line access portals to the Idol mosaic is evidenced by 2006 responses, in which more viewers voted for contestants than in 2004. The high usage of landlines in the voting technology section indicates a more conservative use of mobile technologies than anticipated. Yet, considering the age group, avoidance of cell phone and text-messaging charges are understandable. Nonetheless, an increase in both cell phone use and text-messaging is evidenced in the 2006 survey, which indicates growing popularity of these technologies. This is also confi rmed in the popularity of the on-line Canadian Idol forum with its 15,463 members in 2007 (CTV, 2007c). Finally, responses in relation to the Competitor’s Release form indicate that attendees understood the form ‘Well’ to ‘Very Well’. However, results for this section of the survey have to be placed within the context and purpose of signing the form. Since contestants are not able to audition without signing the form, responses were likely more positive than truly reflective of overall comprehension of a contract that entails complex legal language and terminology. This is disconcerting since contestants, through signing the form, “irrevocably” waive their “entire copyright and all other rights of whatsoever nature” to the producers, including their “moral rights”, and write off the receipt of “fees, royalties, residuals” or any form of payment for their performance in regards to broadcast, rebroadcast, retransmission or use in any type of media (CTV, 2006a, pp. 2–3). The Idol audience study stresses the complexities that underscore audience engagement with a reality TV format. On the one hand, audiences actively participate in events and creatively interpret formatted elements. On the other hand, the survey clearly shows that successful format adaptations are closely linked to producers inscribing format narratives with culturally specific connotations that appeal to local audiences. Auditions for Idol are therefore fi rmly embedded in the format’s mosaic, which defi nes the parameters of engaging with media events while allowing producers to take advantage of the sentiment around notions of ‘stardom’ promulgated by the show and its inter-textual references.

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The following chapter further details how producers and broadcasters increasingly target audiences for program participation and interactivities in order to generate new revenue streams, especially from multi-platform media. In developing ‘participation TV’ and centering on ‘content as currency’, they are introducing fundamental changes to film and television economies while countering the growing ‘audience coup’ emanating from file-sharing sites and peer-to-peer networks.

6

‘Content as Currency’ New Alliances between Media and Cultural Agents

In comparison to co-productions, which are regulated by official treaties and policies, fi lm and television formats fall outside government regulation. This is largely due to the fact that they are commercially driven and do not receive government subsidies. However, many official debates about new media developments are linked to formats because of their focus on interactive television services, branded entertainment and content regulations. As discussed in Chapter 3, formats of the reality TV genres were the fi rst to incorporate interactive elements in the late 1990s and, consequently, set the precedent for the development of new media ecologies and business partnerships across ‘non-traditional’ lines to include broadcasters, digital content developers and telecommunications service providers. Furthermore, format franchising is synonymous with product placements and therefore provides a business model for branded entertainment in markets around the world. And third, formats successfully circumvent content rules through contracting local production companies for program adaptations. This ‘loop-hole’ in content regulations is problematic, especially since reality TV formats increasingly marginalize more expensive genres like television drama. Since formats exemplify new business models for television production—including audience participation in content development—it is surprising that this important global production technology remains under the radar of cultural agents and policy analysts. As discussed in previous chapters, successful concept adaptations, program interactivity and seamless product integration have accelerated the global format trade. However, these developments not only amount to additional selling points for formats, but also make them central to the debate on how interactive media will shape the media economy of the future.

SETTING THE CONTEXT: REGULATING INTERACTIVE MEDIA Governments in the U.K. and in Canada seek to gain a better understanding of how digital media may impact tomorrow’s industries. In 2009, the

‘Content as Currency’ 137 DCMS outlined its vision of Britain’s creative industries in the Digital Britain report. The department proposed initiatives that ranged from extending broadband access to U.K households to stricter measures to combat intellectual property (IP) theft, ‘digital skills’ education in schools and a special role for the BBC in providing content across digital platforms. In particular, the DCMS (2009b) laid out how the BBC could collaborate with industry partners, as discussed in more detail next. In Canada, the CRTC has followed a ‘hands-off’ approach to new media regulation in order to open the market for competition, innovation and cross-fertilization. In contrast to the U.K., where the broadcast regulator Ofcom (2006) assumes a mediating role in negotiations over digital rights, the CRTC exempted broadcasting services, which are delivered and accessed over the Internet, from regulation under the Broadcasting Act (CRTC, 1999, 1991). This laissez-faire approach has drawn criticism from industry representatives, who believe that the Commission is missing an opportunity to generate benefits for Canadian productions in a mobile data environment that is increasingly fi lled with foreign content (Dinoff, 2006, p. 11). A key issue in the new media landscape is digital rights management. In the U.K., Ofcom (2006) assumes an active role—where necessary—by mediating negotiations about digital rights between producers and broadcasters. More specifically, Ofcom suggests two main rights windows: the primary window, which includes rights acquired by a broadcaster across distribution platforms for a specified duration of time and for free-toview distribution or on-demand basis; and a secondary window, which includes a holdback period (also referred to as the ‘blackout’ period) that allows broadcasters to restrict producers from subsequent exploitation of rights for a fi xed time period. The length of the holdback period remains a point of contention because broadcasters want at least a 30-day period, whereas independent production companies argue for a 7-day time-frame. For example, in a dispute between Channel 4 and Shed Productions, the broadcaster threatened to increase its in-house productions to prevent the re-sale of its commissioned programs shortly after their broadcasting date (Dowell, 2006). In response, Eileen Gallagher, chief executive of Shed Productions (as cited in Milmo, 2005), noted that a seven-day window “is a fair compromise. Channel 4 needs to protect its advertising and a seven day catch-up will allow it to conserve its advertising revenues” (p. 1). Similarly, the CFTPA proposed in 2002 and 2003 that the CRTC establish a Code of Conduct to regulate the relationship between broadcasters and independent producers. This binding code of practice would ensure that no party assumes a dominant role regarding interactive television services and thus bars access to content for Canadian audiences. As the lobbying group for Canada’s film and television producers, the association emphasized that digital broadcasting enhances the viewer’s experience through providing a variety of services that allow for greater interactivity

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with programs such as Jeopardy (Griffi n, 1984) and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? (Gentile, 1999). The CFTPA (2002, 2003) therefore insisted that producers exercise control over multi-platform programming, since interactive content is rooted in their IP. Digital rights management remains an important issue for newly emerging media ecologies. Yet, even though audiences increasingly take part in digital content development—through their creative contributions (i.e., to advance storylines), on-line interactivity and, in some instances, participation in actual programs—they have yet to be fully recognized as a vital link in the new production, distribution and interaction/consumption circuit. Audience interactivity adds value to programs, which ranges from basic voting to cross-promoting shows through blogs, to developing USG. Format franchising producers recognize the potential of on-line communities and mine their creativity for program promotion as well as content development. The blurring lines between production, reception and interactivity, therefore, have to be considered as key aspects in debates about multi-platform applications—a point that is addressed in more detail in the following sections.

INTERACTIVE TV AND NEW MEDIA USERS Interactive television services are shifting the boundaries between media production and audience reception. However, whereas producers, broadcasters and distributors share in the profits from interactive media, audience productivity has yet to be acknowledged as a vital contribution to new media developments. Meanwhile, companies like Endemol and FremantleMedia tap into revenue streams from mobile phone media, Internet distribution and the growing VOD market. In addition, they target peer-to-peer networks, which are generating a wealth of creative output in the form of blogs, written or in video form, open source-code software and information databases like the Wikipedia. Many of these on-line communities are based on a digital commons principle to allow access to everyone in the sharing of information, knowledge creation and social-networking (Benkler, 2006). Film and television producers recognize the potential to procure interest for their programs through these networks, evidenced in program related blogs and cross-promotions on file-sharing sites like YouTube. In fact, broadcasters and producers are increasingly deploying socialnetworking strategies, which are applied in peer-to-peer environments. Endemol, for example, is targeting Internet sites such as MySpace to gain access to promotional channels, on the one hand, and to source USG, on the other. The company is digitizing programs for on-line distribution and mobile TV, in addition to expanding program related Internet games and sale of merchandize. Endemol is also developing strategies for ‘participation TV’, which is based on generating revenues from interactive mechanisms

‘Content as Currency’ 139 such as voting for contestants and other forms of participation for payment. Endemol’s ‘Call TV’ programs in the Netherlands and India incorporate phone calls and Single Message Service (SMS) to fi nance short scripted and non-scripted shows (Cowley, 2006; Carvajal, 2005; Malviya, 2008). The goal is to create programming that is fully funded by viewers. Subsequently, business models in the digital economy are based on creating partnerships across non-traditional lines to include broadcasters, producers, digital content developers and telecommunications service providers as well as ‘semi-professional’ producers of USG. According to Peter Tortorici (2006) from GroupM Entertainment, Finding audiences across platforms necessitates collaboration between different creators, because no one is an expert in each medium . . . We have to co-operate, collaborate between platforms, advertisers and content developers . . . Never have we been more fragmented, while being more connected than ever. (n.p.) These new partnerships are a response to a changing media landscape, in which USG is changing the dynamics of production and reception. However, in spite of the ‘celebration of citizens media’, exemplified by Times Magazine’s focus on USG in 2006,1 the political-economic context of digital media reveals that consolidations between media conglomerates and Internet companies have steadily increased over the past years. In order to regain control over digital content distribution, News Corporation paid $580 million for MySpace in 2005, thus gaining access to over 50 million users. During the same year, Viacom, owner of MTV and CBS, purchased NeoPets (for $160 million) and iFilm. In 2006, Google purchased YouTube for $1.65 billion (Cloud, 2006) and NBC bought iVillage.com—frequented by 15 million on-line users—for $600 million. The rush to acquire Internet properties is largely in response to a downturn of 35% in prime-time audiences over the past decade (Stone, 2006). However, it is also the result of emerging opportunities across digital platforms—in particular, the accessibility to new audiences and interactive media users.

CONTENT: THE NEW CURRENCY In a keynote address to delegates at MIPCOM 2006, Beth Comstock, former president of digital media and market development at NBC Universal, emphasized the notion of ‘community’ and new forms of ‘engaging storytelling’ as a business strategy to stem the growing ‘audience coup’ resulting from the proliferation of file-sharing sites: Content is king, but the monarchy is being overthrown by MySpace, YouTube [and] iTunes. The consumers are in more control than ever.

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Global Media Ecologies What does it do to our business model? We have to create content that compels and connects. Compelling content at its core is about great storytelling. We need innovative storytelling that’s active and immersive, engaging people with a new depth of interactivity and intensity, like we’ve never seen . . . We have to be the absolute story-telling factory. We have to engage people minute after minute, for as long or short as possible. (n.p.)

NBC’s ‘360˚ approach’ therefore includes the development of interactive television programs, which incorporate the creative efforts of interactive media users: “Consumers want to be in control of the story itself or at least they want control in the story unfolding. We have to understand [this] and tap into the power of community” (n.p.). NBC’s purchase of iVillage allows the network access to an established on-line, predominantly female, user base that deals with health issues, beauty, fitness and entertainment news. The network uses the site for online video clips of the Today Show (Bell & Wald, 1952) and Project Runway (Holzman, 2005). The site also provides an additional platform for NBC’s experimental television programs such as the interactive daytime talk show iVillage Life (Bryant & Thomas, 2006), which premiered in 2006. Products from the show’s sponsors, General Electric and Estee Lauder, were featured in on-air segments, and viewers were able to buy them in real time while watching the program (Schiller, 2006). Craig Plestis (2006), responsible for reality TV formats at NBC, confi rms that there has to be a new business model in place . . . What are the marketing capabilities of a show, what are the businesses that can come from a show? You can’t just have a hit show anymore. You have to have it multi-platform, the 360˚ approach. Reality shows are heavily trafficked on the web. So it’s natural for us to extent our content to the web, especially for [programs like] The Biggest Loser, [which] started with 50 people across America loosing weight. Thirty-six people were eliminated [from the show] and they live on the web now. It’s a show within a show. It’s all about building community. If we don’t have a community, it’s not going to be successful. (n.p.)2 Digital content distribution allows NBC to focus on “the power of community” and to produce new and innovative programs. Through fostering an on-line user base for sites like iVillage and The Biggest Loser (Koops, 2004), the network maintains its traditional gate-keeper role by setting the parameters for the flow of content. Even though USG is shared on these sites, the chief editorial control remains with the network. NBC also benefits from immersive on-line environments because social-networking enhances the emotional engagement with programs and related branded entertainment.

‘Content as Currency’ 141 In order to assess the effectiveness of multi-platform applications, networks and advertisers are tracking consumer interactions with different media. In particular, they want to know how multi-media consumption amounts to different “touch points” throughout the day. Comstock (2006) predicts that $2 billion would be spent on ‘behavioral targeting advertising’ alone to track differences between the lean-forward engagement with the computer versus the lean-back experience with television. Indeed, behavioral advertising continues to grow with personally targeted ads accounting for one-fifth of all display advertising on the Internet (MacMillan, 2009). Search engines like Google and Yahoo, and the social-networking site Facebook, increasingly track consumers’ on-line browsing habits to target them more effectively through customized advertising (Helft, 2009). A key challenge for digital content developers is the effective indexing of vast amounts of information, which through USG is expanding exponentially across multiple digital platforms. Search functions and categories— based on ratings such as ‘best of’, ‘recommended by’, and so on—help users to identify what content is available. Web designers incorporate these functions to enable an editorial process, which prioritizes and promotes certain programs. According to Roma Khanna (2006), former senior vice president of content at CHUM Television in Canada, You need to provide choices. The most important thing after content is the context, the branding and the editorial. Why are you coming to this video? The value of the brand means out of the million things you could watch today, here are the two that you have to watch. (n.p.)3 Ownership of file-sharing sites therefore guarantees broadcasters and media companies a gate-keeping role for content accessibility. Within this corporate space, interactive media users can index their own preferences and viewing choices. According to Patrick Walker (2006), Google head of content partnerships EMEA in the U.K. “Users and participants are some of the best editors. They dig deep. They search. They browse. They e-mail each other. They post a blog and over time the videos they congregate around, or certain genres, become popular” (n.p.). Yet, it is exactly these social-networking activities that appeal to broadcasters and advertisers since broader parameters are set by site proprietors, and “content and commentary can be monitored to feed back into the fi nancial rewards of ownership” (Coombe & Herman, 2001, p. 925). While file-sharing sites enable broadcasters and advertisers to track the number of downloads, recommendations, actual viewing and programrelated commentaries, they also provide a source for creative talent and program ideas. For example, in 2007, Frito-Lay’s Doritos launched a campaign to generate USG submissions to the fi le-sharing site Yahoo for commercials to be featured during the annual Super Bowl (“Doritos Challenges Fans”, 2006, ¶ 2; “Doritos Reveals Final Five”, 2007). Similarly, Pepsi Cola

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launched a campaign to turn its television commercial in China into a reality TV-style contest. Consumers were invited to submit a 200-word script for a television add and then vote on other entries on the company’s web site. According to Leo Tsoi (as cited in Savage, 2006), Pepsi-Cola’s marketing director in Greater China, How the consumer is involved is much more important than the end product . . . If you were to make a submission, if you were to vote, you have to spend quality time to think, evaluate and create; that is the real interaction with the brand—the moment of truth. [Consumers] are now also the media, because they are the ones spreading it but, more importantly, they are also the marketer and the advertising agency. It is four or five roles in one. (¶ 2, 5) This recruitment of semi-professional producers has been criticized as a form of ‘crowd-sourcing’, based on tapping into a cheap labor pool that uses its spare time to create content, solve problems and “even do corporate R&D” (Howe, 2006). Similar to sourcing semi-professional performers for reality TV programs, this practice is another example of flexible consumption, discussed in Chapter 3. In this instance, broadcasters and advertisers are also claiming editorial control and corporate surveillance over fi le-sharing sites and peer-to-peer networks.

REFOCUSING BROADCASTING OPERATIONS Interactive television services are prompting broadcasting corporations to re-organize their operations in order to address a new generation of media users. In 2006, the BBC unveiled its ‘360 degree’ content strategy, also referred to as ‘Creative Futures’, to produce interactive media (Thompson, 2006).4 Plans for Creative Futures included streamlining BBC’s funding for commissioning and producing multi-platform media in order to ensure creative coherence in the fi nal products. The new division received a budget of $653 million and a staff of 1,500—an increase of almost 50% in both budget and employees (Interactive TV Today, 2006).5 In the same year, BBC Worldwide, the commercial branch of the public service broadcaster, entered a partnership with the interactive software developer Azureus to create the fi le-sharing site ‘Zudeo’. Consequently, the BBC (2006) moved several of its programs to the file-sharing site (renamed ‘Vuze’ in 2007), which offers high-defi nition videos that are protected by digital rights management software.6 BBC Worldwide also entered a global partnership with YouTube and began to license short-form content to MySpace (BBC Worldwide, 2009). And, since 2007, viewers in the U.K. are able to download BBC shows via the public service broadcaster’s own iPlayer.

‘Content as Currency’ 143 In 2009, the DCMS outlined the role for the BBC as a key “public service content partner” in collaboration with a variety of media organizations. These partnerships could range from sharing the broadcaster’s iPlayer technologies with other media agents to possibly collaborating on a common industry standard for digital content production. Channel 4, in particular, is seen as a potential partner for BBC Worldwide in strategically developing multi-platform media to engage audiences and interactive media users on-line. While Digital Britain centers on the BBC and Channel 4 for distributing necessary ‘public interest content’, it also refers to them as important ‘brands’ in the new digital economy, thus extending the now common neo-liberal rhetoric to broadcasters with a public service mandate (DCMS, 2009b). In Canada, the commercial broadcaster CHUM was the fi rst national broadcaster to launch interactive television programming for mainstream audiences. It is not surprising that CHUM pioneered interactive services in Canada, since it owned Much Music and Much More Music—two stations that focus on the young and ‘wireless’ demographic. Roma Khanna (as cited in Wireless Telecom, 2004), former senior vice president of content at CHUM TV, emphasizes the personal experience of viewers with interactive television, which offers “multiple points of contact” between audiences, content and brands. Furthermore, interactive services provide a “new dimension to socializing”, which allowed CHUM to tap into “virtual neighbourhoods” and thus expanded its viewership. According to Khanna (as cited in Wireless Telecom, 2004), viewers enjoy applications that “allow them to have a direct impact on television”, especially interactive modes such as “voting that affects the outcome of the show” (p. 36). In the end, the key is to extend the broadcaster’s relationship with the audience (Khanna, 2006) and to create brand loyalty. Smaller companies like QuickPlay Media also produce mobile video and transfer shows like Top Model for wireless access. According to QuickPlay Media co-founder Raja Khanna (as cited in McLean, 2006), every broadcaster is interested in ‘content snacks’, which can be viewed by commuters to work or school on their cell phones. Mobile TV clips include up-dates from the Report on Business Television (Omelus, 1999), CTV News (Wilson, 2006) and the 10 Spot Grab (Faibish, 2006) from MTV (McLean, 2006). In addition, advertisers are developing new ways for product promotion on mobile TV such as providing consumers with reasons to experience two- to three-second long ‘banner ads’ or ‘placement plugs’ in exchange for free content or ring-tones (Davis, 2006). In comparison to new media initiatives at the BBC, Canada’s public service broadcaster, the CBC, has been slow in embracing interactive formats of the reality TV genres. This reluctance is partly the result of former CBC chairman Robert Rabinovitch’s position that the public service broadcaster does “not do reality programming” (as cited in De Souza, 2006, ¶ 3). The

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threat of being compared to “shows that stress plastic surgery, sex and humiliation [and the] eating of insects” (Rabinovitch as cited in CBC Arts, 2006a, ¶ 7) is also the reason why the public service broadcaster prefers to call its new programming ‘factual entertainment’ and ‘high concept television’ in order not to be placed in the same category with ‘reality TV’. In the past, the CBC licensed formats like The Greatest Canadian (O’Sullivan, 2004), based on the BBC format Great Britons (Harrison & Moore, 2002), and The Antiques Roadshow (Lewis, 2007). The broadcaster also experimented with interactive features consisting predominantly of extended web content for programs such as Drop the Beat (Chapman, Lundman & Mitchell, 2000), Our Hero (Bolch, DeNure, Lee Hall & May, 2000) and ZeD (Lawrence, 2002) (CBC, 2002). However, since 2006, the CBC focuses on the licensing and development of interactive formats through its new division for ‘factual entertainment’ in order to create programming for a continuous 24-hour schedule and to expand its audiences. The CBC is also employing a 360˚ production and commissioning strategy to create multi-platform programs. The public service broadcaster’s fi rst attempt at producing a format based on a game-doc and talent-search contest titled The One (Carter, 2006) failed with critics and audiences, who preferred Canadian Idol (Bowlby & Brunton, 2003) and Rock Star Supernova (Simon, 2006), airing on competing stations, instead. However, in spite of this initial set-back, the CBC went ahead with the adaptation of another reality TV show called The Dragon Den (Coxe, 2006), a Sony format, which is based on a talent contest to fi nd a country’s best inventor and entrepreneur. According to an executive director at the CBC, The good thing about purchasing a format is that the creative R&D part is already done. It is less risky, because it has been tried by the BBC and other countries around the world. So structurally and creatively it works. What makes it a Canadian production are the ‘Dragon’s’ themselves, who are five Canadian multi-millionaires with their own characters and characteristics. They are entrepreneurs from across the country. So it’s Canadian through and through. The format itself is a proven format. We worked quite closely with Sony. It is their intellectual property and they were thrilled with the execution of the show. (interview with the author, October 23, 2006) Besides licensing program concepts, the CBC is also developing its own formats for international distribution. Yet, the public service broadcaster is late in joining the global format trade, which is now dominated by established companies (see Chapter 3). Most international formats are exported by the U.K, which, in addition, has a 10-year head start over Canada. Nevertheless, the CBC is aware of the potential of multi-platform applications to entice younger audiences to watch its programs. As part of its corporate

‘Content as Currency’ 145 plan (2007b), it intends to develop programs that will go entirely on-line. The broadcaster also considers the launch of mobisodes based on some of its successful programs. Consequently, it entered into a partnership with Bell Canada—for mobile highlights of the 2006 Winter Olympics—and considered teaming up with Yahoo Entertainment for joint program development: We were talking to Yahoo last week to see how we could partner with them, because they need new audiences. I think there are all kinds of partnerships created across media lines. Yahoo was involved with Canada’s Next Top Model, and that was a huge success for them, so they basically come to us and ask what TV ‘production properties’ do you have that make sense for us to partner with. We talked to Bell about interactive TV applications, so we’re constantly looking for what partnerships we can create that will get us new viewers or users . . . and these partners are also interested in having a television partner. I think almost any partnership is possible and we are exploring a lot of them. (CBC executive director, interview with the author, October 23, 2006) In addition, the public service broadcaster is trying to build ‘communities’ around personalities such as George Stroumboulopoulos, host of the talk show The Hour (Dettman, 2005): We are trying to build communities around personalities. If you have strong personalities like George Stroumboulopoulos on The Hour, you fi nd that his content makes it into all kinds of shared chat rooms. That demographic is much more on-line friendly than the traditional CBC demographic. So we are trying to fi nd ways to put his content on as many digital platforms as we can. (CBC executive director, interview with the author, October 23, 2006) Other plans for factual entertainment include ‘creating movements’ around programs in order to produce the desired ‘buzz’ factor that elevates a program above other choices. A CBC adaptation of a Dutch format called Test the Nation (Williamson, 2007) aired in spring of 2007 to good audience ratings, which resulted in the development of a second series.7 The concept is based on testing the national IQ of populations by surveying different intellectual abilities in various categories and social groups. Audience members can take the IQ test on-line and results are compared between populations across the country during the television show: For me the opportunity to participate in a TV program is very high and the opportunity to participate in a national event is very high. That for me is building a movement around a program. We are not going to do only Test the Nation. We will create some franchises as

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Global Media Ecologies well. We will test the nation on history itself. You can test the nation on its ability of using the language properly. We are looking for this notion of movement. (CBC executive director, interview with the author, October 23, 2006)

When the CBC addresses the notions of ‘community’ and ‘movement’ as part of its new programming strategies, the broadcaster is most close to its mandate—to provide programming for Canadian audiences—while at the same time, it could not be further apart. The CBC has the opportunity to engage Canadian audiences with original programs and diverse cultural forms of expression, but it focuses on formatting concepts, coproduction and program exports instead. Thus, the notion of ‘community’, in this context, encapsulates the dichotomy of the broadcaster’s mandate: to fulfi ll a public service mission, while creating economically viable productions, which, like co-productions, are focused internationally rather than locally. As this analysis has shown, global format franchising companies like Endemol and FremantleMedia continue to pave the way for interactive media and associated business models. On the other hand, cultural agencies are only gradually developing regulatory mechanisms to deal with converging media technologies and their potential impact on the broadcasting system. In the case of the CRTC, interactive television services are foremost defi ned as a technology, thus neglecting the development of strategies to improve Canadian content production. On the industry side, lobby groups such as the CFTPA describe interactive television as enhancing viewing experiences, while emphasizing the protection of digital rights for media producers. Meanwhile, the CBC follows suit in defi ning interactive services predominantly as a business opportunity. Rather than developing multiplatform ‘town-hall’ style discussion forums, the public service broadcaster adapts international formats that have been tried and tested in other markets to offset potential negative fallouts from low audience numbers. On the whole, both government and industry fall also short in addressing the social impact of digital media on audiences, which are increasingly interactive media users, collaborators and participants in media production. Integrally linked to this issue is the need for protecting peer-to-peer networks, which are based on a media democracy and digital commons principle. Where spaces for free flows of information exchange opened up through the Internet, corporate interests are now replacing these channels with commercially controlled networks and ‘peer-commerce’.

BRANDED ENTERTAINMENT An important development in the new media economy is the increasing focus on ‘branded entertainment’ and ‘product placements’. Branded

‘Content as Currency’ 147 entertainment is linked to marketing strategies that incorporate products into entertainment venues, which offer a high degree of engagement and interactivity. Three marketing avenues in particular target youth and other influential demographics: sponsorship of events, product placements in fi lm and television, and “advergaming and webisodes” (PQ Media, 2008). Since 1999, product placements in television programs have grown at an average rate of 21.5% annually—a trend that is largely attributed to the proliferation of reality TV programs.8 In 2004, product placements generated $1.87 billion in the U.S., an increase of 46% over the previous year. In 2005, the increase was 30%, with reality TV programs accounting for 7 out of 10 shows with the most placements (Graser, 2006). And in 2007, spending on branded entertainment reached an all-time high of $22.3 billion—a trend that continues to grow. Between 2007 and 2009, advertising on social-networking sites rose from $920 million to $1.85 billion. For example, 54% of on-line advertising was spent on MySpace, while Facebook accounted for 19% of total social-networking investments in the U.S. Similar developments can be found in the U.K. and Western Europe, where on-line socialnetwork advertising spending is expected to quadruple between 2007 and 2012 (eMarketer, 2008a; eMarketer, 2008b). Branded entertainment has been around since the 1950s; however, as Desker-Shaw (2005) points out, “The crucial difference is that branded content affords marketers so much more branding opportunities than the headline sponsorship of P&G’s soap operas” (¶ 3). Today, branded entertainment ranges from product placements to writing brands into storylines and creating ‘entertainment-led solutions’ such as the fully integrated campaigns of BMW Films, which included the production of eight short films for Internet distribution, directed by renowned talent such as Guy Ritchie, John Woo and Tony Scott (Desker-Shaw, 2005). The increase in branded entertainment is partly due to new technologies and services such as TiVo, DVRs, PVRs (personal video recorders) and VOD, as well as growing Internet use by the desired youth demographic, thus forcing advertisers to fi nd new promotional vehicles. For instance, between 2004 and 2005, General Motors, one of the biggest advertisers in the U.S., allocated large sums of its advertising budget to develop Apprentice-style product placements. Similarly, Proctor & Gamble cut its cable budgets by 20%, or $150 million, because of investments in event marketing, the Internet and branded entertainment, similar to tie-ins on The Apprentice (Atkinson & Klaassen, 2005). According to Betsy Lazar (as cited in Atkinson & Klaassen, 2005), GM’s general director, advertising and media operations, “We used to do 30-second spots on networks: now we think more about our video assets and how we use them across different mediums [sic]” (¶ 13). Consequently, GM sought tie-ins with various entertainment properties such as sponsorship of events and high-profile product placements in movies, television shows, music videos, video games and mobile-phone programs, in addition to on-line content on YouTube and MySpace (Graser, 2006).

148 Global Media Ecologies The most successful product placements and sponsorships deals are made with formats of the reality TV genres. In 2005, GM used Survivor (Burnett, 2000) (named CBS’s ‘most attractive property’ for that year) and The Apprentice (Burnett, 2004)9 to promote its new product lines. Coca-Cola’s $10 million tie-in with American Idol (Fuller, 2002) guaranteed the brand exposure for the entire television season. CW’s (formerly UPN) most successful product placement/sponsorship program for 2005 was America’s Next Top Model (Banks & Mok, 2004; “Road to the Upfront: CBS/UPN”, 2005), while NBC’s most lucrative tie-in deal was Bravo’s Project Runway, which incorporated sponsors such as Banana Republic and Cotton Inc. into its story lines (“Road to Upfront: NBC/Universal”, 2005). In fact, formats such as Survivor, The Apprentice and American Idol have set precedents for brand-integration fees: advertisers are now allocating between $100 million to $125 million for tie-in opportunities. These funds are taken out of the prime-time marketplace, which fell from $9.3 billion in 2004 to $9.2 billion in 2005 due to a shift toward new marketing strategies. Increasingly, companies collaborate directly with reality TV producers such as Mark Burnett, thus bypassing broadcasters and networks— much to the latter’s discontent (“In content war, everyone a loser”, 2005). They also enter partnerships with companies such as Endemol U.S.A. and FremantleMedia, which have devised successful branded entertainment campaigns around the world. According to Oliver Gers (as cited in Graser & Atkinson, 2005), senior VP-licensing at FremantleMedia, “I have a team making sure those Coke cups are displayed correctly . . . The networks don’t always know how to deliver that . . . The producer, agents, the buyers and the networks all need to come to grips with the new reality (¶ 16). In Canada, approximately $12.4 billion is invested in advertising on an annual basis, of which $2.85 billion is allocated for television. In comparison to the U.S., the Canadian market for branded entertainment is relatively small since there are fewer homegrown productions (Lund, 2006; McArthur & Robertson, 2005). However, due to an increase in reality TV formats and multi-platform program development, this is changing. In addition, advertising restrictions on television are gradually lifted, thus opening the door for new marketing strategies. In order to accommodate new business models, which underscore format adaptations such as Idol and Top Model, advertising restrictions had to be redefi ned. During the 2006 CRTC hearings, the Association of Canadian Advertisers (ACA) therefore ‘urged’ the Commission to “refrain from any attempt to re-classify this non-traditional program-integrated advertising as part of the 12-minute per hour limitation” (p. 4). The ACA also called for Canadian television to become “less interruptive and more engaging” through “innovation and creativity” (Reaume, 2006, p. 4) in order to respond to the changing economy of television production. Until 2007, the CRTC permitted 12 minutes per broadcasting hour for television advertising, or 14 minutes depending on the level of Canadian program

‘Content as Currency’ 149 participation, production budgets and air-time (“CRTC proposes”, 2004). These restrictions were eased in September 2008 when advertising limits were set to 15 minutes, followed by the removal of all restrictions in September 2009. To illustrate further, in 2005 –2006, 9 out of 20 top-rated programs on Canadian television were formats of the reality TV genres (with Survivor and American Idol among the top 10 positions, and Canadian Idol in 19th place) (CFTPA, 2006, p. 10). American Idol and Canadian Idol were also among the top-10 list of popular programs for the following seasons in 2007 and 2008 (CFTPA, 2009, p. 57). Inevitably, due to the popularity of reality TV formats, producers continue to embrace this production technology. For that reason, Insight Productions (Canadian Idol) adapted the Endemol game show Deal or No Deal (Brunton, 2007b) and Project Runway (Brunton 2007c) for the Canadian market. Most of the funding for Project Runway is derived from the “new order of advertising” (Brunton, as cited in Dinoff, 2006a), such as product placements with cosmetic companies and sponsors. To sum up, reality TV formats underscore the growing use of branded entertainment. Format franchising is therefore integrally linked to new business models, which use advertising channels across platforms to target youth and other desired demographics. Concomitantly, advertising restrictions in television programming are lowered to pave the way for new business models in television.

THE FORMAT LICENSE Unquestionably, the international format trade is leaving an imprint on television markets. It is therefore surprising that this global production technology remains largely unrecognized outside industry circles, even though it is dramatically changing television around the world. In fact, Canadian Idol is listed as a ‘local’ program among original Canadian productions such as Corner Gas (Butt & Storey, 2004) and the Royal Canadian Airfarce (Rosemond, 1993) (Our Public Airwaves, 2006). However, as illustrated, even though reality TV formats feature local characters and references, they are at their core global media products, which are glocalized to appeal to national audiences. Content rules in television aim to establish culturally specific programming, which reflects the characters, identity, shared experiences and talent of a country. Content requirements are also linked to creating employment and revenue opportunities for domestic industries (CRTC, 2004; Australian Communications and Media Authority, 2009). As previous chapters have shown, a format license creates the conditions for local adaptation. In the case of Canadian Idol, CTV owns the license to the format, while Insight Productions is contracted to execute the television production. Currently,

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this provides the basis for fulfilling content regulations, even though the actual copyright remains with the original creators. In fact, the original producers and copyright owners—in this case FremantleMedia and 19 Entertainment—reap most of the benefits from format adaptations, which include global revenue streams from licensing, merchandizing, talent promotion as well as program interactivity and participation for payment. Copyright holders are therefore at the hub of international operations through controlling their franchises around the world. Even though licensees are able to gain minor economic advantages, in the form of local employment and audience shares, their predominant role is that of a subsidiary production arm for the franchise owners. This means that from a creative point of view, local producers are limited to following a production matrix that ensures recognizability and copyright protection for the original owners. As a result, formats are not rooted in local realities, stories, histories or culture, as they merely juxtapose cultural references and symbolic elements to a production matrix, which allows for the endless adaptation and replication of the same blueprint. In order to understand the degree of control that copyright owners exert over adaptations, a closer look at the licensing process is necessary. According to Schmitt et al. (2005), a format license guarantees the licensee the right to produce and broadcast a program in a specified territory and for a duration of time. A license also stipulates the type and degree of the adaptation and whether modifications can be made to the original concept. For quality control reasons, the licensor may insist that the licensee needs to obtain approval before any major modifications are made. Ultimately, the licensor retains the sole ownership of the format, including the exclusive rights to any modifications. In other words, the licensor keeps ownership of rights for the format, the new production and the title of the new production. For the duration of the license, the licensor and licensee will split the rights for the territory, production cycles and types of program use. They also outline revenue shares, which result from ancillary exploitation such as viewer voting, merchandising and other forms of interactive activities. In addition, a license defi nes the use of production credits (i.e., producers, production companies, etc.) for each episode to ensure long-term benefits for the original producers through building a track record and to strengthen their bargaining power in future enterprises (Schmitt et al., 2005, pp. 58–60). Formats allow for less control than co-productions, in which copyright is shared between partners. By and large, formats provide only short-term benefits for local television industries, since licenses can expire and intellectual copyright for all ensuing products revert to the original producers. Formats are therefore not the answer for sustaining a local television industry, especially since this production technology is linked to a business model, which challenges content regulations and limitations on advertising.

‘Content as Currency’ 151 Most importantly, format adaptations highlight a grey area in content regulations, which are meant to underscore programs about shared cultural experiences from a local perspective. Within a short period of time, numerous reality TV formats have been added to the Canadian television roster, thus highlighting the quick pace by which formats can be adapted to new markets. Examples include Are You Smarter than a Canadian 5th Grader? (Brunton, 2007a), an adaptation from the format Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader? (Bank, Burnett, Poznick, Stevens, 2007), which airs on the Fox network; the U.K. formats Canada’s Worst Driver (O’Sullivan, 2005) and Who Do You Think You Are? (Barna & Silver, 2007). Similarly, television programming in the U.S. shows an increase in international formats, from America Has Talent (Cowell, Raff & Warwick, 2006), also a U.K. format, to So You Think You Can Dance (Fuller & Lythgoe 2005). In view of the proliferating global format trade, this trend will likely grow and continue to undermine the production of original drama, on the one hand, and labor power, on the other.

FORMATS AND COPYRIGHT Format producers are fighting hard to change copyright legislation because the law does not extend to general ideas, styles and genres in order to prevent the development of ‘creative monopolies’ and stifl ing of creative diversity (Harris, 2001). Since copyright protection is limited to the so-called ‘work’, formats are only covered if they express a perceptible form that conveys originality. As a result, formats tend to be unprotected because they represent a preliminary production whose only purpose is to be the basis for the development of further products, namely, the ready-to-air episodes of the show or series. From this perspective, the comparison offers itself to a concept in the sense of a blueprint or a plan that must still be implemented in production. (Fey, 2003b, pp. 6–7) However, interpretations of formats as IPs vary from country to country and legal case to case (Fey, 2003a). For example, in a legal precedent of Hughie Green against New Zealand Broadcasting Corporation in 1989, the judge ruled that Green’s program and script for Opportunity Knocks (Green, 1956) “did not do more than express a general idea for a talent quest and hence were not the subject of copyright” (as cited in Coad, 2003, ¶ 3), and consequently dismissed the case. In contrast, in the U.K., the Granada Media Group successfully defended its program I’m a Celebrity . . . Get Me Out of Here! (Gardener, Hall & Saade, 2002) against Castaway Television Productions’ claim that it resembled the program Survivor. Yet, a similar case was thrown out in the U.S. on grounds that the plaintiff,

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CBS (licensor of Survivor in the U.S.) failed to present enough evidence to show similarities between the programs (Coad, 2003).10 Since 2004, a group of entertainment lawyers, under the umbrella of the International Format Lawyers Association (IFLA), has emerged to stake their claim to a share of the $3.5 billion annual format trade. IFLA carefully monitors and documents international legal cases about format disputes to work, in association with FRAPA, toward greater copyright protection for TV formats. Referring to the international format trade as the “fast food industry of television, the driving engine of primetime entertainment, a ratings powerhouse, [and] the best way to transform a homegrown show into an international money spinner”, IFLA (2006) has created a network of lawyers in the U.K., U.S., Australia, Germany, Italy and Switzerland, and aims to extend its reach into Japan, Russia, China, Spain and Scandinavia. Formats can easily be copied since format developers have to work closely with a producer or production company, in which case their idea has to be disclosed. Also, once a format is being broadcast, it becomes a ‘publicly visible model’ that invites imitation. FRAPA therefore suggests to produce a ‘paper format’ that outlines a program idea, followed by a pilot of the show (the ‘program format’; see Chapter 3) and then the actual program or series. Schmitt et al. (2005) argue that a format’s originality is entailed in the ‘original combination’ of its elements, which are purposely joined into a unitary work to include (a) dramatic actions, from plotlines to role of presenters and contestants, characters, competition, games and audience interactivity; (b) filmed/taped representation of settings, visual and sound effects, lighting and camera angels; and (c) the combination of dramatic narrative and action with a specific audiovisual execution (p. 64). This conceptualization of a format attempts to place it on a similar level as other narrative forms, including dramas and sitcoms, which are protected by existing copyright laws.11 In a similar vain, David Lyle (as cited in Schmitt et al., 2005) defi nes a format as [i]n the making of a television programme, an ordering of television elements—each of which may or may not be original—such that a distinctive narrative progression is created. The ordering is such that a repetition of the same elements in the same narrative progression will cause the same television programme to be replicated. (p. 65) Thus, FRAPA and IFLA attempt to base format protection on the same principles that allow for a program’s recognizabilty and adaptability. Initiatives to redefi ne intellectual copyright laws to cover formats provide an example of the growing commercialization of the legal system. IFLA (2007a) itself proclaims that legal victories involving format disputes are linked to their growing commercial value and global popularity. Coombe (1991, 2003) has detailed the link between intellectual property rights

‘Content as Currency’ 153 (IPRs), trademarks and neo-liberal reforms with negative consequences on democratic discourse in society.12 She (1991) states, “Laws creating and enforcing intellectual property rights permit, maintain, and perpetuate the commodification of cultural texts and images by securing their market value” (p. 8). Moreover, “[b]y controlling the sign, trademark holders are able to control its connotations and potentially curtail many forms of social commentary” (p. 10). Extending full copyright protection to formats would therefore not only further increase the commercialization of cultural production, but also set an alarming precedent for restricting the full range and diversity of ideas, expressions, concepts and genres, which are currently part of the public sphere.

CONCLUSION As this analysis has shown, the international format trade highlights networked media ecologies involving media and cultural agents, which are integrally linked to a complex production–manufacture–distribution– reception/interaction circuit. Formats exemplify a global production technology, which, in the words of Schmitt et al. (2005), offers “the opportunity to convert a foreign experience into a local one” (p. 51) and thus improves the prospect of positive audience reception. They are linked to other collaborative production technologies such as co-production because they simultaneously target local and international audiences for maximum revenue exploitation. However, in contrast to co-productions, which occur predominantly within geo-cultural domains, formats are truly global as they transcend linguistic, cultural and political boundaries. Yet, in spite of the proliferation of format franchising, the current format trade exists within a cultural policy vacuum. This is even more surprising as their profusion in local markets has set precedents for interactive television services, new forms of fi nancing through participation for payment and branded entertainment. Therefore, policy analysts need to recognize this global production technology as a critical ‘business changer’, which undermines content regulations, challenges advertising limits and paves the way for greater consolidation between media sectors. A key development in the new television economy is the growth of interactive services that combine traditional broadcasts with ancillary digital features. Contrary to the perception that interactive media will replace traditional television, a consensus is forming that those mobile platforms will, for now, complement original television broadcasts rather than cannibalize them (CCAU, 2006). However, in spite of the important role interactive media users play in program collaboration, their involvement remains a marginal point in the official debate about interactive television. The result is a missed opportunity to learn about the diverse and creative uses of socialnetworking, especially as peer-to-peer networks exemplify the breadth and

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depth of alternative forms of communications, which could greatly improve contemporary television services. According to Benkler (2006), peer-to-peer networks are based on a radically decentralized authority with a practical capability to act for the benefit of information and knowledge creation. These networks evolve through self-selection and cluster around social-relational values that seek transparency. They are ‘humanizing’ because of a high trust factor in a peer-reviewed environment that operates on the principles of reciprocity (also see Becker & Clement, 2006). As a result, peer-to-peer networks are changing interactive media services by introducing a dynamic of collectivism and social intelligence that contrasts sharply with capitalist modes of production based on individualism and profit gain. In the ‘collision’ of these two contrary modes of production, an opportune space opens for the collaboration on content production, which is at its core citizen driven and highlights the diverse perspectives that mark a rich and vibrant society. It is therefore essential to address the free flow and collaborate spirit of peerto-peer networks as an integral part of any discussion about new television services and resulting policy development, especially in view of increasing commercialization of these networks and resulting corporate surveillance as exemplified in this chapter. In addition to virtual communities and their collaborative spaces for social-networking, the actual communities that coalesce around television programs such as the Idol franchise provide insight into the creative engagement with media events and texts. Social aspects are as much a reason for attending an Idol audition as are the hopes and dreams associated with fast tracking an elusive career in the entertainment business. Both virtual and actual communities give freely of their time, energy and creativity, which ultimately add value to any format’s package. Therefore, in the current interactive film and television markets, the exchange between producers, semi-professional performers and interactive media users is based on a distorted quid pro quo, which should not be ‘participation for pay’ but rather ‘pay for participation’. On some occasions, interactive media users are compensated for their work—as in the case of YouTube videos that attract a large viewership—but overall, the crowd-sourcing for cheap labor continues, thus exploiting the reciprocal nature of social networks. Cultural agents and policy analysts play a key role in recognizing audiences and interactive media users as an integral part of the production–manufacture– distribution–reception/interaction circuit. Therefore, audiences and their USG contributions have to become part of the debate on how interactive television services should evolve in the coming years.

7

Summary and Conclusion

Global media ecologies and the utilization of co-productions, co-ventures and formats provide the basis for increasingly networked fi lm and television industries. In particular, new partnerships and alliances along non-traditional lines effect changes in the economic, technical and cultural areas of the media field. As a result of these developments, media and cultural agents have to negotiate a new terrain, in which cultural policy is increasingly intertwined across jurisdictions to meet global market demands. And, flexible accumulation and consumption is shifting the focus onto the creative labor of audiences and interactive media users. At closer inspection, many of the ‘new players’ that have emerged on the international production scene are linked to established media conglomerates (i.e., FremantleMedia as a subsidiary of Bertelsmann) or have themselves, in a very short period of time, become mega enterprises in their own right (i.e., Endemol). In the case of Endemol, its sale to the Spanish telecommunications giant Telefónica, in 2000, marked a milestone, because it was linked to the development of multi-platform media distribution in Europe and Latin America (Schmitt et al., 2005). Similarly, the acquisition of social-networking sites signals a new era of conglomeration, which centers on Internet properties in order to access audiences and interactive media users. This concluding chapter summarizes and extends the main trajectories of the book by drawing attention to the impact of global media ecologies on highly concentrated media markets, which are undergoing dramatic changes in regards to new industry partnerships and alliances. At the same time, broadcasters around the world reveal a startling interdependency on transnational format franchising companies through contracted obligations and license agreements. Yet, in mapping the complex and dynamic topography of global media ecologies, challenges as well as opportunities become visible, especially in regards to interactive media users and socialnetworking on-line. While social-networking emphasizes the necessity for a digital commons, social praxis—in the form of activism, education, lobbying efforts and critical cultural policy—remains paramount for achieving an equitable and balanced communications architecture, underpinned by media democracy.

156 Global Media Ecologies CONVERGENCES OF INDUSTRIES AND TECHNOLOGIES Media convergence is synonymous with high concentration of corporate ownership. Markets in the U.K., Australia, Canada and the U.S. all feature a high degree of vertical and horizontal alignment across media organizations. Besides Australia, Canada has one of the highest media concentrations in the world, with only a few companies dominating its broadcasting and production sectors. This trend of corporate convergence was especially evident in 2007, when the sale of Alliance Atlantis to Canwest Global Communications and the U.S. fi rm Goldman Sachs represented just one example in a line-up of Canadian media mergers and acquisitions. The potential impact of these initiatives on the diversity of broadcasting operations and programming has raised concerns throughout the sector especially from unions, guilds and citizens’ groups, who fear that increased ownership concentration will seriously undermine Canada’s broadcasting system and independent production sector. Nordicity’s (2007) report on consolidations of the media sector highlights the problems associated with highly concentrated markets. The research and consulting group describes the situation as a ‘monopsony’, which is defi ned as a market with only a few buyers facing many sellers. The problem with a monopsony is that buyers determine conditions of pricing and terms of trade. More concretely, this translates into lower license fee rates for film and television producers, who are likely unable to negotiate better terms for their creative works, especially in regards to new media and multi-platform programming. This, according to Cooper (as cited in Nordicity, 2007), can lead to the “production of fewer and inferior products for sale downstream” (p. 2), or, more specifically, less independent production activity and ultimately less diversity in programming. The ‘seismic motions’ currently felt in the industry are linked to changes along the networked production circuit, especially in regards to new media developments and shifting alliances within and between production sectors. Key players in the new media economy now determine production and distribution of digital content. These include content ‘aggregators’, who develop and control search and recommendation engines for the Internet that allow for prioritizing and streamlining of data and information, and ‘curators’ and ‘taste-makers’, who collect, commission and organize content for on-line users in an appealing fashion (Foster, 2007). Khanna’s (2006) comment on the importance of ‘editorial’ and ‘branding’ of content, noted in Chapter 6, is worth reiterating here, as producers and broadcasters are entering new partnerships with ‘curating’ companies to promote programming across multiple platforms. Digital curation can also be defined as “[t]he activity of managing the use of data from its point of creation to ensure it is available for discovery and re-use in the future” (Digital Curation Centre, 2006, ¶ 2). This definition expands on-line data management to include non-proprietary utilization of digital content, discussed in more detail next.

Summary and Conclusion 157 Dramatic changes in the media field affect the role of government regulation of the communication sector. The question is being raised in how far regulators can maintain their authority in a sector that is becoming increasingly difficult to regulate—for example, on-demand access to media and time-shifting schedules undermine current content stipulations. Also, unlicensed Internet distribution channels compete with more strictly regulated broadcasters, which in turn challenge their obligation to contribute funding to programming in the form of payments to agencies like the Canadian Television Fund (CTF). The question of how to defi ne digital rights and their proprietorship is still under debate as broadcasters and producers are equally adamant about exploiting ancillary rights in new markets. At the same time, high start-up costs for new multi-platform programs are likely to reinforce the need for new partnerships between producers and broadcasters for program development, distribution and, especially, promotion. Regulators therefore may assume a mediating role in potential conflicts between the parties like Ofcom does in the U.K. Regulators also play a pivotal role in overlooking an increasingly converging media market. In January 2008, the CTRC, following similar Australian media ownership rules, stipulated that no single company can control more than two different types of media (television, radio or print) in one particular market (the limit is set at a 45% audience share), and that no single company can own all television delivery methods in a market (Robertson, 2008). Limiting media ownership is a step in the right direction; however, government regulators also have to recognize the necessity for maintaining a digital commons in order to facilitate the development and co-creation of content, information and knowledge, as discussed in Chapter 6. Here the role of interactive media users is key to understanding the paradigm shift from traditional analog systems to multi-platform applications that broaden participatory and collaborative opportunities for citizens. At a minimal level, the general public needs to partake in discussions around new media regulation, but ultimately has to gain access to protected digital domains for peer-to-peer dialogue in a public sphere free from commercial and political interests. Closely related to this issue is the government’s responsibility to reinforce ‘network neutrality’, which includes keeping Internet service providers from effectively becoming gatekeepers of web content through deciding which sites can be displayed and downloaded, and at what speed.1 Neglect to do so could lead Internet service providers to favor their own services in the form of search engines, phone applications and video streaming. Furthermore, regulation plays a role in monitoring the recruitment and treatment of semi-professional performers in fi lm and television. As a cheap and non-unionized labor pool, from which producers source on-air personnel for reality TV genres, semi-professionals need greater protection from exploitation and abuse. As an extension of the government’s responsibility to oversee portrayals on television (i.e., violence and children), a ‘code of

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practice’ in regards to recruitment, treatment, compensation and protection of semi-professionals could be made mandatory as part of the broadcasting licensing process. This code of practice could include measures to penalize transgressions in the form of compensation for semi-professionals, or other types of monetary remittances as outlined in the Channel 4 and Big Brother debacle discussed in Chapter 2. Yet, ultimately, semi-professional performers need to achieve greater protection through enforceable policies, labor laws, guilds and unions. In sum, the need for monitoring and regulating various sectors in the new media economy has never been greater. At the same time, increasing public awareness in regards to corporate conglomeration and convergence is essential to guarantee future means of information and knowledge exchanges based on a digital commons principle.

FILM AND TELEVISION PRODUCTION ECOLOGIES: THE ‘LABOR’ DIMENSION The discussion about global media ecologies highlights changing labor constellations in the media field, which are increasingly marked by ‘flexible’ arrangements based on contractual agreements. In the case of co-productions, the integrated approach to collaborative production, foreign location shooting and cultural policy exemplifies hierarchical relations in the new international division of cultural labor (NIDCL) (Miller et al., 2001) that introduce uncertainty in domestic labor relations and undermine local bargaining power. According to Miller et al. (2001), the NIDCL accounts for the differentiation of cultural labor, the globalization of labor processes, the means by which Hollywood coordinates and defends its authority over cultural labor markets, and the role national governments play in collusion with MNCs [Multi-National Corporations]. The NIDCL is designed to cover a variety of workers within the cultural industries whatever their part in the commodity chain. (p 52) For proponents of neo-liberal reforms, the NIDCL is a success of postfordist flexible accumulation, whereby unions work with government and business in a competitive environment. For critics of flexible industry organization, on the other hand, it is the result of policies that commodify and governmentalize locations as industrial sites and services rather than highlighting their unique cultural characteristics and diversity. An example is the extent to which location shooting for foreign fi lms and television productions (mostly from the U.S.) is promoted through Canada’s provincial film policies. Even though local production crews receive valuable training, important creative elements and their management are controlled from outside Canada (Gasher, 2002, pp. 81, 142; Coe, 2000). Furthermore, as a

Summary and Conclusion 159 result of the ‘integrated approach’—combining tax incentives, co-financing and other non-governmental resources—‘co-production’ is now mainly driven by international capital and markets. This delimits the opportunities of co-production between countries with marginal film and television production centers, which would benefit from collaborative ventures and add to diversity in representation across the media field. Also, as noted in Chapter 1, treaty co-productions are on the decline, while more ‘informal’ co-venture type collaborations and format franchising are supplanting this production technology because they provide greater flexibility, especially in regards to U.S. involvement. The NICDL is also exemplified in television series like the The Simpsons (Groening, 1989) because producers use offshore non-unionized workers in South-East Asia for the program’s animation (Miller et al., 2001, p. 14). Similarly, pressures exerted on the BBC in the 1990s to embrace a more commercial agenda—and therefore reduce its dependency on public funding allocations—resulted in the outsourcing of production, casualization of labor and lay offs, and ultimately broke Britain’s largest broadcasting union (Leys, 2001, pp. 115, 126). A similar case can be made for the CBC, which underwent dramatic funding cuts and lay offs as a result of deregulation in the 1990s (Crean, 2000). Miller et al. (2004) further point to the life-cycle of commodities such as computers, which are assembled and built by low-paid women in northern China for Japanese, Taiwanese and U.S. corporations, and disassembled by young Chinese girls to retrieve precious metals, before they are dumped in landfills (p. 63). In this later case, indepth analysis of the networked production–manufacturing–distribution– consumption circuit, with its diverse labor and social relations, sets the stage for political and social intervention in order to prevent exploitation and discrimination of labor based on gender, race, sex, age and abilities. Another dimension in the changing media field is the use of writers and semi-professional performers in reality TV. As outlined, the genres of reality TV evolved out of new political-economic conditions in industries, in which higher production costs, greater competition and globalization resulted in the utilization of a production technology, which meets the demand for cost-efficient programs that can be produced quickly and at low risk. According to Slocum (2005), almost everything is cheaper on reality TV programs when compared to drama productions and sitcoms, from sets, to crews and performers (¶ 11). The ‘flexibility’ of a production technology is indicative of the degree of protection and unionization of the labor force that forms an integral part of the overall media ecology. Writers of the reality TV genres are referred to as story editors, story assistant and segment producers to distract from the fact that as storytellers and story producers they are at the center of program development and production. Not until 2005, when reality TV storytellers began to sign up with the WGA, did abuses and exploitation in the field come to the fore: writers on many reality TV shows are working

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under circumstances, which according to WGA West president Daniel Petrie Jr. (as cited in WGA, 2005b) hark back to “conditions experienced in the early 20th century” (¶ 6). According to a WGA study (2007), 91% of reality TV writers receive no pay for overtime, 88% of reality TV writers’ workweek exceeds 40 hours, and 18% are not covered by health insurance (p. 2). In spite of a workweek averaging 84 hours, many writers receive only a flat fee, which amounts to an hourly rate of $7.41. Writers are also asked by their companies to enter incorrect information on time cards such as writing ‘worked’ into predetermined start and end time slots. They are refused breaks for meal times—required under Californian law—and are denied credit for their work. 2 As a result, reality TV workers began to organize in targeted petitions against format producers such as FremantleMedia and laid class action suits against several other production companies (Next Entertainment, Telepictures Productions, Syndicated Productions and Dawn Syndicated Productions) and networks, including ABC, CBS, WB and Turner Broadcasting (WGA, 2005c; Ryan, 2005). Organized labor also launched an ‘American Idol Truth Tour’ to highlight poor treatment of reality TV workers. To improve conditions, the 2007 WGA contract proposal demanded that ‘nondramatic programs’ such as comedy, variety and quiz shows with audience participation are defi ned as ‘reality programs’ and that writers and editors be recognized as ‘story producers’ and ‘supervising story producers’ (WGA, 2007b). As of 2010, the struggle continues because the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP), representing film and television producers in the U.S., rejected this proposal (Lawton, 2005; Young, 2005; “WGA contract 2007 proposal”, 2007; WGA, 2008). As discussed in previous chapters, work done by semi-professional performers in front of the camera also remains unrecognized, making claims of abuses and exploitation even harder to rectify. What is most disconcerting is that violation of labor standards are not restricted to the commercial production sector, but are also emerging from public service broadcasting, where producers form alliances with private companies for the development and production of shows. For example, in the case of the BBC/Lion TV reality program Castaways (Mills, 2000), contractual obligations of participants were “draconious” because contestants, kept on the Outer Hebrides for a year to challenge their survival skills, were required to sign a contract that banned them to talk or write about their experience ‘in perpetuity’. According to one of the contestants, We had to give three months notice to leave the project, as well—which caused a lot of upset. We were afraid that we would be kept prisoner, against our wishes, and for some people that was too harsh a prospect. In fact we later saw what happened when Ray [Bowyer] wanted to leave and Lion made it incredibly difficult to allow him to do so. (Julia Corrigan as cited in Kibble-White, 2004, ¶ 17)

Summary and Conclusion 161 In most cases, contestants perform for very little or no remuneration. In the example of Castaways (Mills, 2000), semi-professional performers received a mere £2,500 ($4,000) for the entire year, and then only if they completed the project. A more recent example in the U.S. reveals how networked media ecologies and the practice of subcontracting production companies cause the deterioration of labor standards. Here broadcasters, who own the copyright to a program through a subsidiary company, contract production companies to produce their programs. In many cases, contracted companies then employ non-unionized labor and consequently shield broadcasters from their obligations to unionized sectors in the industry. The extent to which broadcasters in the U.S. pursue this tactic is exemplified in the CBS program Kid Nation (Thompson, 2007), for which producers recruited children for a reality TV contest. First of all, Good TV Inc., a subsidiary of CBS, contracted children from U.S. states with less stringent child labor laws and then claimed that contestants were only ‘participants’ in a summer camp type setting, when in actuality the recruits worked for producers and the broadcaster (Fernandez, 2007). According to Jeff Hermanson (as cited in Fernandez, 2007), assistant executive director of WGA West, This is an area that the networks don’t really want to talk about because they don’t want to address the manner in which they try to divorce themselves from legal responsibility or moral responsibility for the conditions on the shows . . . The purpose of using these companies is to distance themselves from any liability for labor practices or lawsuits of any kind . . . But it’s an insidious practice in my opinion because when you look at who is deriving the benefit . . . it leads right to the network’s door. (¶¶ 9–10) Andrejevic (2004) states that reality TV producers avoid questions about labor and compensation by claiming that programs are inspired by documentary fi lmmaking and therefore are more than just ‘entertainment’. Also, they label semi-professional performers as mere ‘participants’ in programs that provide them with an ‘educational experience’. In more detail, he corroborates, In order to legitimate the free labor that they extract from cast members, every reality show producer claims that this is some kind of experience where people grow and learn about themselves . . . The producers rely on the tradition of the documentary to make this seem like it’s not exploitation when the only true commitment they have is to turn a profit. (as cited in Fernandez, 2007, ¶ 30) Yet, small improvements are evident in the Canadian market. In the 2007 labor negotiations between the CFTPA and ACTRA, semi-professional

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performers in reality TV became part of the settlement.3 According to the agreement, ‘performers’ who appear more than three times in a show will now be compensated at no less than the 50% of the daily minimum fee (ACTRA and CFTPA/APFTQ, 2007, p. 14). Nevertheless, the popularity of reality TV formats and their embeddedness in networked media ecologies raise the question in how far they are able to undermine domestic labor practices and regulations when they are adapted to a local market. Thus, in spite of slight improvements in regards to remuneration, contestants continue to be exploited through selective editing, with the result that they are portrayed as ‘real people’ even though representation of their actual persona is often altered to fit dramatic story lines. As noted in Chapter 3, the creation of confrontational situations in reality TV is intended to heighten dramatic elements in the narrative and to ‘spike’ interest in a program. Yet, in any other drama production, an actor would be familiar with the role and script and therefore has a chance to accept or decline his or her involvement in a project. In addition, audience expectations of the genre would separate actors from their real-life persona and consequently leave their integrity in tact. Finally, the claim of ‘reality’ in reality TV is based on a ‘myth’ since producers and editors manipulate semi-professionals, storylines and developments on the set and in the editing suite. The full consequences for semiprofessionals of living with a wrongful portrayal on television have yet to be seen since the genres have not been around long enough to extrapolate how their exposure on-air ultimately translates into real life. Also, since producers contractually delimit contestants’ free speech even after production has ended, evidence of abuse can only be heard from people engaged in law suits, or who are ‘brave’ enough to recount their experience in spite of contractual obligations to remain silent. As the audience study for Idol reveals, the attraction to audition and participate in a reality TV program is closely related to aspirations for fame and the ‘American dream’. At the same time, an essential aspect of the work performed by semi-professional performers in reality TV is their own evocation of ‘fame’ and ‘celebrity’ that underscore the transformation narrative. The ‘glamorization’ of stars functions as a promotional strategy through branding individuals and the entertainment products they are associated with. It is no coincidence that reality TV genres focus on the manufacturing of stars and their ‘success myth’ since they result from adapting production matrixes and branded entertainment across international markets and thus enable the migration of generic ‘star transformation stories’ around the world. The consequences of these strategies are evident in the successful recruitment of willing semi-professionals for reality TV programs such as Idol, who are more prone to seek ‘fame’ today than even a few years ago. Yet, the majority of respondents in the audience survey (see Chapter 5) reveal, for both years, that even though they had read and signed the Competitor’s Release form, many did not understand the form very well. Considering the

Summary and Conclusion 163 age group of attendees at auditions, more needs to be done to create awareness of media and consumption practices through educational programs and alternative media outlets. Increased understanding about copyright issues and program contributions would allow audience members to make better, more informed decision about access, use and challenges associated with media production, interactivity and participation.

THE TOPOGRAPHY OF NETWORKED MEDIA PRODUCTION ECOLOGIES The concept of networked media ecologies is key to understanding the success of production technologies such as formats. The capacity to face changing conditions in the global economy and to adapt programs to various markets, as well as the ability to circumvent cultural policy and official regulating bodies, have paved the way for increased franchising of television programs—with scripted formats likely to be the next evolution in television program development. The combination of Bourdieu’s field theory (1979/1984, 1993, 1996/1998) with network analysis (Latour, 1997; Law, 1992; Benkler; 2006) allows for a detailed topographic mapping of global media ecologies to illustrate the intricate network of media and cultural agents in their respective fields of local and global cultural production. The analytical and theoretical paradigms complement each other. While network analysis allows for highlighting dynamic interconnections between agents, field theory clearly demarcates power relations between them, especially in regards to autonomous or heteronomous cultural production. Yet, Bourdieu’s field theory tends be limited to national dimensions; networks, on the other hand, open the analysis to international and even global relations between media and cultural agents. A network-field theory is therefore necessary to account for an increasingly global media system including the trade of cultural goods and interactivities in digital domains. The topography of co-productions reveals the following: in contrast to format franchising, co-production is more ‘traditional’ in its organizational structure and pre-established guidelines, mandated by governments and regulated by appointed authorities. Co-production also tends to be based on hierarchical structures and relations throughout the networked production circuit. Yet, at the same time, narrative development is more ‘independent’ and autonomous because it does not follow a production matrix in the form of a bible or copycat product. On the contrary, the script, in spite of its tendency to be contrived, taps into the full diversity of human stories than can be collaboratively produced and distributed internationally. In its networked topography, co-production is more linear as it follows the production–distribution–consumption circuit based on treaty stipulations, contractual agreements between parties, subcontracted production

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crews and distributors. Co-production is not yet concerned with audience interactivity, but follows a more traditional sender–receiver model in which media texts provide the basis for discussions. But in contrast to formats, audience feedback does not re-enter a new production cycle for a valueadded product. However, this is likely to change for future co-productions with multi-platform access. As discussed, ‘co-production’ increasingly means co-venture type arrangements based on an integrated approach that combines tax incentives for location shooting, co-fi nancing and pooling of other non-governmental resources. As highlighted in Chapter 1, co-production treaties with countries offering more than government subsidies are signed to access locations, cheap labor, products and services. In addition, more flexible arrangements allow U.S. investors to partake in co-production. Co-ventures are therefore characterized by a more complex topography, which allows for various constellations of co-financing, labor allocation, production and distribution. Within this paradigm co-production tends to be driven by international capital and markets rather than creative reasons. In contrast, the ‘topography’ of format franchising networks is very different in its widely dispersed interconnections between nodes of media and cultural agents. It consists of a hybrid network of hierarchical, lateral and cluster-like formations, differentiated by contractual terms, copyright, collaborations between partners and companies, labor relations and social relations (see Map 7.1). For this production technology, the ‘organizational level’ is only the fi rst layer of an intricate network of companies, format consultants, subcontractors, sponsors, advertisers, digital content developers, telecommunications providers and interactive media users. Another layer in the franchising process is the ‘narrative level’, which includes the allocation of cultural and symbolic capital essential for successful format localization (see Map 7.2). The third level is composed of technical elements and the ‘tools’ of the format trade such as contracts, copyright, program bibles, consultancy services and digital technologies (see Map 7.3). The organizational level of format franchising reveals the corporate dynamics of this production technology, which is predominantly driven by format franchising companies such as FremantleMedia and Endemol, which control the majority of formatted content in circulation today. Lobbying organizations such as FRAPA play an important role in representing these international companies and popularizing their products. Social relations in the network combine hierarchical relationships between licensor and licensees, which are characterized by a certain level of trust (considering the weak case for copyright protection of formats) and linear flows of communication based on consultancy, business meetings and supervision of adaptation processes. Content developers and copyright owners (i.e., FremantleMedia) hold a central position in the network from which they are able to extend networking relations into new territories and global markets. Format franchising companies also cluster with other corporate

Summary and Conclusion 165 entities in global centers such as London, where, for example, FremantleMedia, SONY BMG Music Entertainment, 19 Entertainment and CKX co-locate their headquarters. In addition to their contractual relationship with a licensing company, licensees (i.e., CTV) are also linked to a myriad of subcontracting companies, industry guilds and labor organizations. Furthermore, they are subjected to government and industry regulations—located in the political field—which stipulate broadcast licensing requirements, cultural policy, content rules and production funding. Due to the flexibility of networked production, licensees are able to assume the role of licensors for a new production circuit when they create their own format concepts. As format developers, they are then able to control copyright and networked relations across newly emerging terrains. The topography also includes a social field of cultural and knowledge production (i.e., interactive media users), which is relatively independent from traditional production processes, but is linked to format narratives through interactivity and adding value to the overall franchise package. At the same time, interactive media users are connected to the vast network of peer-topeer collaborative activities that occur in the digital commons. Therefore, the social field straddles the boundary between cultural production for mass consumption and collaborative activities for social-networking situated in national and international social space. In this sector of the media field, the topography is marked by a myriad of interconnections characterized by predominantly decentralized, lateral forms of communication and information sharing. At the narrative level the format adaptation process is linked to the concept, script and story-telling aspects of a format’s bible and their hybridization through insertion of local cultural symbols, national signifiers as well as individual stories from participating semi-professional performers (i.e., Canadian Idol). The allocation and utilization of cultural and social capital at this level is key for successful format adaptation. Also, media events play a crucial role for creating ‘buzz’ around a franchise, as well as localizing program narratives for national and local communities. Interactivity with the programs through digital technologies extends the narrative into virtual communities and embeds them fi rmly into peer-to-peer networks. However, this level is not restricted to the narrative of one particular format or the story of transformation for a selected group of individuals, but it also extends to an overarching ‘narrative of success’ that is associated with the effectiveness and popularity of the production technology itself. As shown, the impact of the Idol franchise has resulted in shifting priorities for television program development. As a ‘business changer’, the format’s production matrix acts as a powerful motivator for copying, adapting and repeating the shows’ success story for program development in the same or similar genres. As noted, Idol-type contests are ironically reminiscent of the ‘broadcasting’ era, and their reinvention in the age of narrowcasting

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and specialty channels is the result of targeting a broader demographic in order to increase ratings. Yet, the success story also conceals the ‘darker’ side of format franchising, especially in regards to reality TV genres, which are ‘ethically messy’ because of their exploitation of contestants, undermining established and hardly fought for labor protection, and falsification of individual accounts through selective staging and editing. Consequently, the ‘real success story’ is restricted to proprietors of copyright—producers, broadcasters and advertisers—but excludes contestants and semi-professional performers. The exception of few contestants, who have moved on to successful careers in their own right, proves the exception to the rule. At the technological level, the ‘tools’ of the format trade reveal the extent to which contractual relations and copyright drive the globalization of this production technology. As discussed, technical aspects of the format bible as well as consultancy play a pivotal role in the franchising process, as do digital technologies for interactive use with program materials. Therefore, at this level, the development of new relationships with digital content creators and telecommunications service providers extends the network into previously unknown domains of viewer and content interactivity. This is accomplished through high broadband width, which improves transmission, reception and interaction with digital data, as well as innovative narrative designs that allow for enhanced audience engagement. Also, at this level, contractual relations and obligations between media and cultural agents create strong—yet, in some instances, short-term—bonds between nodes. In summary, topographies of networked media ecologies are defi ned by the utilization of co-production, co-ventures or format franchising, and are differentiated according to their degree of centralization, lateral or vertical communications and hierarchical relations between media and cultural agents. At the same time, topographies differ in regards to hybridization of organizational structures, corporate clusters, social networks and peer-topeer collaborations. In the case of format franchising, the topography consists of a hybrid network characterized by hierarchical structures, especially where contractual obligations result in extracting labor from contracted parties, on the one hand, and decentralized peer-to-peer collaborations, on the other. Since the networked production circuit is ultimately bounded by IP, peer-to-peer networks are drawn into a center–periphery dynamic, which is defi ned by copyright. At the same time, new entrants into a field challenge traditional social relations and potentially transform the composition of the field (Bourdieu, 1979/1984, 1996/1998). However, in the case of interactive media, the social and cultural capital remain in ‘flux’ as ‘newcomers’ to the field, in the form of interactive media users, are shaping it as social-networking agents through their ubiquitous activities. Peer-to-peer networks have symbolic and cultural capital due to their highly efficient decentralized communications architecture, which impacts on all areas of public life (i.e., the growing importance of the ‘blogosphere’ in politics). On the other hand,

Summary and Conclusion 167

Map 7.1 Format topography: organizational level. Note: The subfield of ‘large scale cultural production’, usually associated with ‘massmedia production’, has been replaced with ‘global media production’ since media and cultural agents here are inevitably linked to international business practices, finances and networks. Also, the map extends network theory through (a) revealing power relations between media and cultural agents, and (b) delimiting the network to a particular media ecology, defined by a technology (i.e., format franchising).

telecommunications companies and broadcasters are able to shape the digital media field because of their economic capital, in spite of the fact that they depend on social-networking practices for keeping interactive services popular and in demand.

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Map 7.2 Format topography: narrative level. Note: The narrative level of the Canadian Idol franchise is composed (a) of the ‘success myth’, which, through the ‘story of transformation’ and evocation of ‘fame’ (see Chapters 4 and 5), underscores the format; and (b) the overarching ‘narrative of success’ of the format franchising technology itself as a ‘business changer’ in regards to contracting low-cost labor (i.e., contestants); interactivity to access demographic information of viewers; and to provide immersive and social experience for e-loyalty and ‘peer-commerce’ (see Chapters 3 and 6). The map highlights key media and cultural agents involved in these processes.

Summary and Conclusion 169

Map 7.3 Format topography: technological level. Note: The technological level of the Idol franchise consists of key media and cultural agents, who enable, utilize and apply different technologies (i.e., interactive media, contracts, and licenses, etc.) as part of the format adaptation process.

The impact of networked media ecologies on the field of cultural production is therefore manifold. For one, global media ecologies delimit autonomous forms of cultural production as control over production processes shifts increasingly to commercial proprietors due to convergences in the media field—in the terms of Bourdieu (1998), cultural production is closer

170 Global Media Ecologies to the heteronomous pole in the field. At the same time, networked production affects operations of public service broadcasters because their mandate is challenged by global market forces. Changes in the media field also impact on other fields (Bourdieu, 1998), especially the social field where production within a digital commons paradigm is faced with infringements on free flow of information—the result of copyright restrictions and peercommerce. However, social-networking agents also introduce new dynamics to the media field, which may result in transforming a predominantly economic capital driven domain into a field characterized by increasing collaborative action for the attainment of social and cultural goals (Baltruschat, 2007, 2008).

NETWORKED PRODUCTION WITHIN A MEDIA DEMOCRACY PARADIGM Networked production facilitates greater interconnectedness and integration between media sectors. Even though its impact is far from ‘homogenizing’ cultural production and media content, it nonetheless influences the prioritizing of certain genres and narratives. As highlighted, the proliferation of format franchising under the radar of policy analysts raises concern as to its impact on television production in general, especially where branded entertainment is concerned. The direct involvement of advertisers and sponsors in media development poses a challenge to autonomous cultural production as it becomes increasingly subjected to the influence of commercial imperatives. This is amplified by corporate convergence as well as conglomeration in the media industries, which are delimiting spaces for public service broadcasting and alternative channels of communication. In addition, broadcasters, producers and digital content developers increasingly target interactive media users and peer-to-peer networks for creative program contributions. Within the context of ‘participation TV’, viewer engagement results in value-added programs and enhanced narratives. In addition to discussed interactive media modes, new initiatives through incorporating SMS and multimedia messaging services (MMS) allow producers to extract economic capital and surplus value from viewers. Examples include the Italian reality TV program Isola dei Famosi (an Italian version of Celebrity Survivor; Ventura, 2007), which invites viewers to send text messages directly to contestants, and text messages in response to questions posed on game shows such as Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? (Gentile, 1999). The next evolution in viewer interactivity is ‘text to speech’, which involves viewers’ SMS messages being read on-air by virtual hosts and animated characters: within this paradigm, viewers ‘become the program’. A variation of this type of interactivity is the use of MMS for sending photographs and video to television channels for a fee. Advertisers are interested in these interactivities for one-to-one marketing

Summary and Conclusion 171 campaigns based on viewers registering their name and profile through SMS in exchange for free product samples or entry into a contest.4 Another approach is ‘Transaction TV’, which allows viewers to purchase items as seen on television and interact with programs through live chat, call-in and SMS participation (Van Dusseldorp, 2005). Without a doubt, digital content across multiple platforms will defi ne future film and television production.5 Yet, what remains are viewer expectations that media deliver something of ‘value’, be it educational or entertaining. This is evidenced in viewer commentary about the discussed co-productions and formats. In particular, expectations from public service broadcasters continue to fuel debates about their significance in a changing media environment characterized by multi-platform media and interactivity. Traditionally, public service broadcasters offered programming geared to domestic audiences (Keane, 1991). In the context of Canada’s broadcasting system, the CBC has consistently provided more hours in drama and documentary than its private competitors. Even though audience numbers may not be as high as for programs on private channels (Attallah, 2000), its public service broadcasting mandate nonetheless results in programming that is distinct from commercial productions, even when co-produced with international partners. However, far from being a perfect alternative to commercial broadcasting systems, public service broadcasting exemplifies but one in a myriad of diverse media constellations that can provide better access to ‘public interest content’. In addition, alternative media and independent productions play a key role in challenging mainstream content and forms of representation. Their communications architecture tends to be decentralized and facilitated through grants, non-profit groups, community initiatives and novel uses of technologies (such as E-cinema) for independent film and video, community television and on-line publishing.6 Thus, in spite of decreasing conventional channels, artists, journalists and civil society groups are joined in initiatives to resist corporate conglomeration through alternative media production, public awareness campaigns, protests and lobbying efforts. As part of a broader media democracy movement, diverse citizens’ groups therefore pursue greater transparency in mainstream media, open communication channels and representation of alternative voices. Their goal is the creation of a media system that is closely aligned with democratic values of accessibility and equality. These groups exist in many countries around the word and involve people from all backgrounds and ages. Klinenberg (2005), for example, describes youth activism in the U.S., which, in reaction to stereotypical portrayals of youth groups in the 1990s, resulted in the production and distribution of alternative media throughout neighborhoods and cities. A media and democracy group also emerged in the U.S. in the mid-1990s (McChesney, 2004, p. 255), as well as in the U.K. and Canada in the early 2000s, in response to growing convergences of industries and content. Since 2001, annual events in Vancouver, B.C., focus on media democratization

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in the form of debates and community activism. Based on the Campaign for Press and Broadcast Freedom (CPBF), a non-profit organization with chapters in London (U.K), Toronto and Vancouver (Canada), various community organizations, non-profit groups and alternative media outlets call for greater diversity of media ownership, protected rights for media professionals, and generally raise awareness of key developments in the news and information industries (Campaign for Press and Broadcast Freedom; 2003; Media and Democracy Day, 2003). Furthermore, the growth of peer-to-peer networks highlights an alternative form of communication, which is based on new ways of interaction, collaboration and co-creation. These networks are characterized by a high degree of creativity, experience and motivation. In contrast to networked production circuits in film and television, they are based on decentralized, collaborative production that is not defined by property rights but is rooted in a digital commons instead. Here contributions are shared equally between interactive media users, and individuals are free to choose how to manage the resources that are available to them. Collaborative activities benefit the network as a whole and as a result increase the global circulation of information, public opinion, educational materials and creative goods. What is remarkable about networked peer-to-peer collaborations is their increasing centrality in the information economy, not at least due to their effectiveness and efficiency in production that is equivalent and, at times, even surpasses market driven projects (Benkler, 2006). Tapscott and Williams (2006) cite numerous examples such as the Wikipedia, which relies on thousands of contributing editors, continuously enhancing this on-line global dictionary. In addition, free open-source software benefits from co-creating developers from across the globe. When tested against market-based software, it proves that it can easily compete in quality and endurance, evidenced by the fact that 70% of web server software is based on free software. The critique that networks of communication may possibly drown out individual voices due to vast amounts of information—also referred to as the ‘Babel objection’—is tempered by aggregators and curators of information, who select, group and peer-edit user contributions into manageable data bases and theme-specific Internet sites. The example of the search engine Google proves this point as web sites with the most links to their content are graded more relevant to a request (they are a consistently nominated by users as good sites for particular kinds of information) and therefore appear as top choices in a search. Also, interactive media users cluster around Internet sites of interest, which fulfi ll their information and social-networking needs. As a result, peer-produced filtration and accreditation combat information overload and enable easy navigation of digital domains. In addition to independence from commercial imperatives, peer-to-peer networks thrive in an environment that is autonomous from state intervention. According to Benkler (2006), the state, just as the market, has to

Summary and Conclusion 173 adjust to the “emerging modality of human action” and restrict its role to facilitating neutral broadband networks, city-wide open wireless networks, prevention of monopoly control as well as committed funding for research and resources for creating digital domains (pp. 16, 21). The protection of a digital commons constitutes an important aspect in media democratization because the growing non-market sector of information sharing, knowledge and cultural production “moderates the power of the traditional mass media model” (p. 9). Furthermore, social-networking within a digital commons enables information and knowledge production that is not profit driven but rather motivated by social connectedness. As a result, a culture of reciprocity has emerged at the center of the networked information economy, which challenges capital driven production as it foregrounds social and psychological needs as well as human behaviors that “cannot be commodified for market exchange” such as friendship (p. 96). According to Benkler (2006), It is the feasibility of producing information, knowledge, and culture through social, rather than market and proprietary relations—through cooperative peer production and coordinate individual action—that creates the opportunities for greater autonomous action, a more critical culture, a more discursively engaged and better informed republic, and perhaps a more equitable global community. (p. 92) However, opposition from digital content developers in film and television, as well as the recording industries, poses a challenge to a networked environment based on a digital commons principle. The Millennium Copyright Act from 1998 and the WTO administered agreement on Trade-related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPs) delimit the free flow of information across digital networks through reinforcing copyright for cultural productions and corporate entities.7 The notion of strict IPR management underscores the ‘enclosure movement’, which is amplified by the acquisition of Internet properties popularized by social-networking activities. Moreover, in addition to enabling surveillance of interactive media users, corporate territorialization of the Internet is intricately linked to how [i]ntellectual property laws structure a field of semiotic possession— control over a sign—and thereby shape forms of symbolic practice. They create proprietary rights in a cultural commodity or commodity-sign— the trademark—and capacities to control its potential meaning and interpretation. Proper signifying activity that connects the product, the brand name, and the corporate source in the mind of the consumer in a closed circuit of meaning and affect forms the basis for the trademark holder’s legal entitlement to fully exploit and appropriate the exchange value of the commodity-sign in the marketplace. Commodity production and consumption are linked through this symbolic economy of

174 Global Media Ecologies meaning and the corporate persona is strengthened through strategic possessive activities designed to constrain surplus meaning and prevent the dilution of symbolic value . . . Unauthorized appropriations of corporate trademarks and alternative forms of signification that disrupt this closed circuit must be monitored and, ideally, strictly prohibited. The law functions as a form of governmentality by shaping the appropriate use of commodity-signs in mass-mediated commercial culture. Its capacities to do this are both provoked and challenged in digital contexts. (Coombe & Herman, 2001, pp. 920 –921) An important aspect in challenging corporate enclosure is the notion of disrupting this “closed circuit of meaning” through creating increased awareness about corporate convergence and surveillance, as discussed previously. A critical political economy approach entails the notion of ‘social praxis’ as the next logical step in bridging research with constructive solutions for social and cultural transformation. The analysis of networked media ecologies therefore leads to questions about how cultural production can be transformed to reflect greater diversity and alternative perspectives. Various answers are given in previous chapters. In addition, networked media production topographies reveal that intervention on several levels is required to prevent further globalization in media production. First of all, intervention into growing convergence between media industries is as important as disclosing the underlying narratives and tools of the trade that drive global media production. In regards to corporate convergence, governments have to become more transparent and accountable for creating a legislative environment that facilitates corporate concentration and undermines media diversity. This includes effective foreign ownership rules and cultural policies that promote a balanced communications system and facilitate a viable public sphere for democratic discourse. At the same time, the protection of a digital commons is a necessary step to increase information and knowledge sharing that is pivotal for any democratic media system. As discussed, international fi lm and TV co-production represents the dichotomy of economic and cultural priorities in media production. At the same time, co-production reflects a shift toward greater market integration, thus missing an opportunity to create media for increasingly diverse audiences. However, in spite of its shortcomings, this production technology remains a promising approach to collaborative project development, especially when mandated to address subject matter that is critically reflective of global issues. A greater commitment to pursue co-production for different aims, especially cultural merits, therefore necessitates the promotion of collaborative activities between countries that are representative of the global diaspora but are currently not sought out as co-production partners because of less-developed media industries. Equally important is the emphasis on advancing cultural goals as part of new co-production treaty negotiations.

Summary and Conclusion 175 In addition, the myths that underscore ‘star transformation stories’ and the proliferation of format franchising have to be addressed through disclosing transgressions where workers and semi-professional performers in reality TV are concerned. Again, corporate conglomeration tends to underscore the integration of promotional narratives across programming (including news broadcasts, entertainment programs, etc.), media (broadcasting and print) and multi-platform applications, thus contributing to the problem rather than mitigating it. Other means—in the form of alternative media, discussion blogs about the ‘darker side’ of reality TV programming, as well as educational efforts—are therefore pivotal for elucidating how this production technology and associated genres are undermining labor regulations and ethical standards. But ultimately, a ‘code of practice’, greater labor protection and unionization are necessary to stop the abuse of semi-professional performers, reality TV writers and editors, who are currently trapped in exploitative contractual relations with format franchising companies. Finally, the extent to which overarching ‘narratives of success’ drive the adaptation and localization of formats requires more awareness as to their impact on program development, especially where branded entertainment is concerned. Likewise, the ‘tools’ of the format trade exemplify how corporations proliferate the trade of formats as well as the production technology itself. First, attempts at extending copyright to formatted concepts could have serious implications for monopolizing ideas and challenging diversity of expression. Second, licensing agreements between broadcasters and international format franchising companies create center–periphery relationships, which result in the loss of control over domestic content development because local narratives become part of the overall format package to be sold to other markets. Third, extracting surplus value from viewers through interactive engagement is setting a precedent in the industry, which requires greater awareness and change on several levels. As established, ‘participation TV’ creates a false quid pro quo since audience contributions actually enhance a program’s narrative, provide valuable feedback to producers in the form of demographics and program reception (i.e., favorably/unfavorably, with implications for future productions) and may even extend to actual content development. This active involvement therefore results in differing degrees of program participation (from feedback to actual content development), which has to be recognized in the form of either direct remunerative contributions (i.e., to content developers and ‘co-producers’) or indirectly through remitting payments to a fund that facilitates the development of local, independent programs and new media. In light of fi nding a sustainable media democracy paradigm, Curran (1996) proposes a system that fulfills the requirements for greater transparency, access, participation and diversity of representation in the media. He emphasizes the democratic function of the media to “assist in the

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realization of the objectives of society through agreement or compromise between opposed groups” (p. 104). He further states that the democratic function of the media system is to act as an agency of representation. It should be organized in a way that enables diverse social groups and organization to express alternative viewpoints . . . Part of the media system should function in a way that invigorates civil society. It should assist collective organizations to mobilize support; help them to operate as representative vehicles for the views of their supporters; and aid them to register effective protests and develop and promulgate alternatives . . . [U]nderlying the stress on diversity of expression is also an implicit commitment to promoting participation in the democratic structure of society as a means for enabling different groups to define and articulate their interests in societies where differences and confl icts are often repressed. (p. 103) Curran’s four-fold system is therefore composed of various media constellations, which already exist in some form in countries with strong public service broadcasting traditions. It has at its core a ‘general interest channel’ that appeals to mass audiences and diverse communities. He suggests to base this core on a ‘public service broadcasting’ model independent from commercial and political interference. The core is connected to four peripheral media sectors, of which three are based on the principle of dissenting and minority views. First, a ‘civic media sector’ links core media to different civil society groups and provides a channel for intra-organizational communication between political and activist groups rallying for greater societal exposure and support. A second ‘professional media sector’ facilitates independent journalistic activities and allows journalists to reflect and report on issues from a wide variety of angles. The third sector, the ‘private enterprise sector’, is designated for the production of entertainment media. Finally, a ‘social market sector’ allows for the proliferation of alternative media, funded through state subsidies. Curran’s (1996) ‘working model’ aims to facilitate the expression of a plurality of perspectives and “to give rise to a media system that is broadly representative of the society it serves” (p. 106). In addition, it is meant to achieve an “equilibrium between conflict and conciliation, fragmentation and unity”(p, 104), which inevitably ensue in any society with diverse interests, class distinctions, political influences and socio-cultural goals. Due to opportunities for increased participation across digital platforms, Curran’s (1996) model has to be extended to include ‘social-networking media’, which serve a valuable, and possible transformative, function in the media field. As part of the core, ‘social-networking media’ have to be composed of digital spaces that can flourish outside commercial and political influences. They require protection from heavy surveillance and need to be excluded from the trade in Internet properties. Their subsidies could be sourced through grants and special funds from governments, and

Summary and Conclusion 177 contributions from private media and cable companies to a ‘digital media fund’ (see Figure 7.1). A system based on media democracy has to be able to respond to unique cultural and social environments. Therefore, additional sectors in the form of ‘multi-cultural’, ‘community access’, ‘indigenous media’ (especially in North and South American contexts, as well as in Australia and New Zealand) and ‘wireless/interactive media’ complete the model. Multi-cultural media allow for access to multi-lingual programming, presented and informed by diverse groups in society. Aboriginal (First Nation) media, on the other hand, provide an outlet for indigenous groups for the exchange of information and knowledge. Its connection to a core shared by social-networking media highlights the importance for Aboriginal producers to access and control the entire production and distribution chain for indigenous film and television programming. Community-based media are similar to the civic sector described by Curran (1996), but are broader in application, as they provide outlets for non-organized groups and individuals to partake in media production and distribution processes. Due to the growing importance of ‘wireless and interactive media’, they deserve their own sector, which is in a state of ‘flux’ to allow for experimental collaborations between media corporations, nonprofit groups and interactive media users on diverse forms of expression. The model represents a balanced media ecology, which thrives due to equitable access to the means of production and distribution. In spite of

Figure 7.1 Alternative media ecology. Note. Italic print highlights extension of Curran’s (1996) media system.

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overlaps, as in the case of community-based media and the civic media sector, there are also distinct boundaries between sectors for the sake of keeping pivotal media independent from economic and political influences. Overall, the model reflects a media democracy paradigm that allows for greater participation in media developments, operations, applications and interactivities with the result of a more equitable communications architecture. Other measures, such as content requirements, import quotas, effective foreign ownership rules and critical cultural policies, committed to a balanced communications system, are essential in facilitating a viable public sphere for democratic discourse. It is here where the work of media and cultural agents as well as citizens begins: to open communication channels for diverse forms of representations and keep sectors, such as socialnetworking media, free from commercial and political influences in order to enhance media democratization in the field of cultural production.

CONCLUSION Co-productions, co-ventures and format franchising are part of networked media ecologies, which underscore dramatic changes in the fi lm and television economies. They are synonymous with media convergence—on the corporate, technical and content levels—and the prioritization of genres and narratives that correspond with each production technology. Within the context of neo-liberal reforms, privatization and trade liberalization, they also represent a growing focus on capital-driven media for global markets. As detailed, this delimits spaces for free flow of information and affects media diversity. Greater awareness and social praxis—through activism, lobbying and educational campaigns—are therefore essential for increasing access to communication channels, which are fundamental to an informed citizenry. Indeed, alternative channels in the form of socialnetworking media facilitate the cross-fertilization of ideas and enable new forms of (collective) expressions. The recognition that independent socialnetworking practices are necessary for the evolving media field is the fi rst step to counter the ‘enclosure movement’ that resides outside the digital commons and threatens its very existence. Relational dynamics between media and cultural agents ultimately defi ne film and television project developments, proliferate different production technologies and, as a result, affect cultural production on a global scale. At the same time, new forms of collaborations—based on alternative and social-networking media—challenge global media ecologies while offering an opportunity to transform the media field and enhance democratic discourse in society. Accordingly, equitable access to the means of production and distribution remains key for creating a transparent communications architecture, which lies at the core of a viable public sphere.

Appendix International Format Production and Distribution Companies

According to Moran (2006), the MIPTV catalogue from 2004 listed over 471 companies that were linked to the international format trade either through production, distribution, consultation or a combination of format franchising activities. Most of these companies were located in Europe (291), notably the U.K., and North America (68). In addition, 12 companies operated out of South America, 63 out of Asia, while 19 were in Australia and New Zealand, 14 in the Middle East and 4 in Africa (p. 86). Yet, considering the ease by which a popular local program can be franchised and enter international trade (e.g., the CBC; see Chapter 6), in addition to the changing networks between and among companies, the list of format producers and distributors remains subject to considerable flux and change. The following corporate profiles provide additional information about the main format production and distribution companies, which were mentioned in previous chapters. Starting with the largest format producer and distributor in the world, Endemol in the Netherlands, the list continues with the second most important global format trading company, FremantleMedia, which is also located in one of the key format producing markets, the U.K. The profiles conclude with Distraction Formats, one of the oldest format distributors, and two recently established U.S. format franchising companies, which are branch operations of established global media conglomerates.

ENDEMOL INTERNATIONAL (NETHERLANDS) With over 700 formats, of which more than 80 have been licensed worldwide, the Dutch company Endemol is one of the largest format production and distribution companies in the world, as outlined in Chapter 3. Its globally recognized format ‘brands’ such as Big Brother and Fear Factor have been licensed to more than 30 countries around the world. Endemol was founded in 1994 when television producers Joop van den Ende and John de Mol merged their companies to enter the international format trade. During the 1990s and early 2000s, Endemol expanded its

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Appendix

operations across 22 countries where it operates production facilities through subsidiaries or joint ventures. In 2000, Endemol, then one of Europe’s largest independent production companies, was sold to the Spanish telecommunications and media group Telefónica (for $8.2 billion), which intended to expand into multi-platform content production and delivery for Internet and third-generation mobile outlets across Europe and Latin America (Schmitt et al., 2005). In 2001, Endemol entered a joint venture agreement with one of Latin America’s largest media conglomerates, Globo in Brazil. While Endemol now has access to Latin America’s largest market, Globo benefits from Endemol’s extensive program catalogue. In 2003 alone, Endemol produced over 15,000 program hours for television (Endemol, 2002, as cited in Moran, 2006). In 2004, Endemol came on the market again. Even though it attracted interest from buyers like Time Warner, the company was floated on the stock market until 2007 when Telefónica sold 75% of its shares to Edam Acquisition, owned by Mediacinco (a joint venture of Telecinco and Mediaset, one of Silvio Berlusconi’s companies), GS Sachs Capital Partners and Cyrte Investments for $3.9 billion. As of 2007, the company’s total value is estimated at $5.2 billion (Schmitt et al., 2005; Endemol, 2007; Pfanner, 2007; Mediaset, 2007). Key formats include Big Brother, Fear Factor, Deal or No Deal, Operación Triunfo, Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, All You Need Is Love, Ready Steady Cook, Changing Rooms and The Match.

FREMANTLEMEDIA (U.K.) FremantleMedia is one of the largest format franchising companies in Europe with additional sales offices in North America, Latin America and Asia. FremantleMedia develops, produces and distributes over 260 television programs per year in more than 39 countries. The Idol franchise, which it jointly owns with 19 Entertainment, is one of its most lucrative and popular formats. FremantleMedia’s corporate history dates back to 1995. That year Pearson International (U.K.) acquired the Australian television production company Grundy, which controlled local television production through subsidiaries around the world (see Chapter 3). Similarly to Grundy’s corporate strategy, FremantleMedia operates as a ‘local producer’ in its markets today (see Chapter 4). In 1997, Pearson Television also bought All American Television, which owned the Mark Goodson catalogue of popular U.S. game show formats like Family Feud and The Price Is Right (Moran, 2006). Then, in 2000, Pearson Television merged with CLT-UFA, and the company was renamed FremantleMedia. Today, FremantleMedia is fully owned by the RTL Group (part of Bertelsmann’s corporate empire), which operates and controls 26 television channels and 24 radio stations in nine countries, and, in addition, produces or distributes 9,000 hours of programming per year.

Appendix 181 FremantleMedia is organized into Worldwide Production and FremantleMedia Enterprises. The latter, FremantleMedia Enterprises, overlooks FremantleMedia Licensing, which focuses on brand licensing and merchandising, and Fremantle International Distribution, which is responsible for distributing the company’s content. FremantleMedia’s annual revenues in the mid-2000s ranged from $1.3 to $1.4 billion (Schmitt et al., 2005; FremantleMedia, 2006). As a result of its takeover of Grundy, FremantleMedia owns many wellknown drama serials, which have been adapted in Europe and Asia. The company also licenses different sitcoms such as I Love Lucy and The Honeymooners (Moran, 2006). Key formats include Idols, Family Feud, The Price Is Right, The Apprentice, and the scripted formats The Restless Years and Sons and Daughters.

GRANADA TELEVISION (U.K.) Granada is one of the U.K.’s largest commercial television producers. The corporation develops dramas, documentaries, sport and lifestyle shows, as well as television formats, of which I’m a Celebrity –Get Me Out of Here is one of the most popular and best known. Granada’s corporate history dates back to 1934 when it was incorporated to acquire the theater and cinema companies from the Bernstein brothers in the U.K. Then, in 1953, Granada received one of the first commercial broadcasting licenses in the U.K. for a franchise broadcasting channel of ITV. In the 1990s, the company acquired additional broadcasting and production outlets (i.e., Yorkshire Tyne Tees Television, another regional ITV franchise) while divesting itself of its non-media business interests (Moran, 2006). By the 2000s, Granada had expanded its operations to control seven out of 13 ITV franchises across the U.K. In comparison, Granada’s main competitor at that time, U.K.’s Carlton Communications, owned only four. The other part of the story includes Carlton Communications, a prolific producer of television programs, which were developed through its subsidiary company Action Time. In 2004, Carlton and Granada merged their operations, thus extending their control over ITV to 11 broadcasting franchises under the umbrella of ITV plc. The merger also transformed the former rivals into a large production company, under the name Granada Media, with an annual profit of £375 million ($613 million) for 2006. While Granada focuses on the development of reality TV shows and entertainment, Action Time concentrates on game and quiz shows. Both divisions develop, create, produce and trade formats such as I’m a Celebrity –Get Me Out of Here, Celebrity Fit Club and Hell’s Kitchen. Through its distribution arm, Granada International, the company licenses its own formats, in addition to some independently acquired franchises, on a global scale. Over 100 formats from the company’s catalogue have been glocalized

182 Appendix through its subsidiaries in the German, U.S. and Australian markets. Granada International is also involved in the fi nancing and co-production of television programs with producers and broadcasters around the world.

BBC WORLDWIDE (U.K.) Since 1994, BBC Worldwide licenses all formats for the BBC, ranging from scripted dramas to game shows, sitcoms and lifestyle programs. In addition to exporting and licensing formats, the commercial arm of the public service broadcaster also exploits other BBC products and brands across different media such as DVDs and magazines. Between 2003 and 2004, BBC Worldwide licensed over 40,000 hours of content to different broadcasters and producers around the world, including The Weakest Link and Top of The Pops. Before BBC Worldwide was established, the BBC only licensed its formats when it was approached by interested producers or broadcasters. This changed when BBC Worldwide began to actively promote the public broadcaster’s catalogue. Even though the BBC owns BBC Worldwide, the commercial operator has to make an offer to the BBC for program rights just as any other external distribution company would do. However, rather than paying a license fee, BBC Worldwide commits to investments in future BBC productions. BBC Worldwide streamlines its format business along two tiers. The fi rst tier includes major markets in Europe and the U.S. When licensing a format, BBC Worldwide enters into a local production joint venture or coventure partnership. In its second tier operations, the commercial operator acts as a consultant for format adaptations in different territories around the world. BBC Worldwide tends to license its formats to broadcasting corporations rather than production companies, which allows it to choose the channel on which the adaptation will be transmitted, thus allowing for greater control over its programs. Profits for all of BBC Worldwide exploits—including format licensing, income from foreign channels and digital media—amounted to over $200 million in the mid-2000s (Schmitt et al., 2005; BBC, 2008). Some of the BBC’s key formats include The Weakest Link, Top of The Pops, The Sack Race and Strictly Come Dancing (Dancing with the Stars).

DISTRACTION FORMATS (CANADA) Distraction Formats was founded in 1997 by Michel Rodrigue, who began his career as a television producer. Distraction focused predominantly on the distribution of formats from international producers. The company also specialized in consultation for format adaptations and conducted its

Appendix 183 business in over 40, mostly European, countries (Moran, 2006). Chapter 3 provides a detailed history of this former Canadian format distributor.

FOX WORLD (U.S.) Since 2001, Fox World produces or co-produces formats for Fox Television Studios, mainly through setting up co-venture arrangements abroad (with the exception of the U.K. and Australia, where Fox owns production facilities). The company also acts as a consultant to production companies and broadcasters that have acquired format rights through 20th Century Fox International Television Distribution. Fox’s entry into the international format trade occurred relatively late. Only after the successful introduction of formats such as Big Brother and Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? to the U.S. market did 20th Century Fox’s decide to establish Fox World. Today, the company is an integral part of the global media conglomerate News Corporation, which generated annual revenues over $28 billion in the mid-2000s (this does not include profits from News Corporation’s DirecTV and British Sky Broadcasting). Fox World acts as (co-)producer and consultant for all formats it holds international distribution rights for. For example, the company takes on format (co-)production once a program has been licensed and aired on the Fox Broadcasting Company, or Fox’s cable broadcaster (FX). In addition, Fox World manages all formats, which are created and produced by Fox Television Studios and 20th Century Fox Television, such as The Simple Life (a 20th Century Fox Television/Bunim/Murray co-production/co-venture). Other key formats include the following: Temptation Island, Joe Millionaire and The Swan (Schmitt et al., 2005; News Corporation, 2007).

SONY PICTURES TELEVISION (U.S.) Sony Pictures Television International (U.S.) acts mainly as a distributor of formats, which are sourced from its extensive motion picture and television libraries. In some instances, the company also licenses formats and produces them in European and Asian markets, where it has several production outlets. Sony Pictures Television International was established long before it entered the lucrative format franchising business. The company’s history dates back to 1949 when it was inaugurated as the Tokyo Telecommunications Engineering Corporation in Japan. The name was changed to Sony Corporation in 1955. Initially, Sony focused on the research and manufacture of telecommunications and media equipment such as magnetic tape recording devices, transistor radios and television sets. Then in 1960, Sony established a corporate branch in the U.S. where it became the fi rst

184 Appendix Japanese company to offer shares on the New York Stock exchange. Other oversee operations include Sony-run companies in Switzerland (1960), the U.K. (1968), Germany (1970), Spain and France (1973) and China (1996). In 1968, Sony entered into a 50–50 joint venture with CBS in the U.S. to form CBS/Sony Records Inc., which was renamed CBS/Sony Group Inc. (in 1983) before it became a wholly owned Sony subsidiary to be relaunched as Sony Music Entertainment Inc. in 1991. In the 1980s and 1990s, Sony moved into different business enterprises such as life insurance, camera equipment, computers and cell phones. Other important milestones in the company’s history include the establishment of Sony BMG Music Entertainment in 2004, and Sony’s acquisition of Metro-Goldwyn Mayer (MGM) in the U.S. in 2005 (Sony, 2007) Sony distributes the following formats on a worldwide basis: Blind Date, The Newlywed Game, The Pyramid Game and Russian Roulette (Schmitt et al., 2005).

Glossary

BDU: stands for Broadcast Distribution Undertakings and includes cable and satellite service offerings in Canada licensed by the CRTC (see Maps 7.1–7.3). Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission (CRTC): in Canada, the CRTC regulates and supervises the domestic broadcasting and telecommunications systems. The CRTC reports to Parliament through the Minister of Canadian Heritage. Capital (economic, cultural, social and symbolic): a term defi ned by French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu in respect to field theory. Economic capital refers to monetary assets and property, whereas cultural capital encompasses educational expertise, technical skills, artistic abilities and general knowledge. In comparison, social capital relates to friendships and networks, as well as to family. Symbolic capital includes honor, prestige and recognition. Commodification: relates to the transformation of goods and services, which are valued for their use, to commodities, which are valued for what they can earn in the market place (see Mosco, 2009). Co-productions: are governed by official (bilateral) treaties or consist of co-venture type arrangements between producers for the duration of film or television production and distribution. Co-productions allow producers to pool resources such as government funding, talent and labor into a production package that exceeds most budgets for domestic feature films and television programs. Treaty co-productions guide administrative and regulatory processes involved in the international movement of goods and services as well as equipment. Copyright: one aspect of intellectual property law, which protects the intellectual and intangible nature of an object, in contrast to the physical and tangible aspects of an object. It gives owners of creative works (i.e., literary, dramatic, musical or artistic) the sole and exclusive right to publish or

186

Glossary

reproduce a work. A work is copyrightable if it meets three criteria for protection: (a) originality, which is measured as the expression of ideas (neither ideas nor facts are copyrightable); (b) fixation, which means that this expression has been given material form; and (c) nationality (i.e., Canadian citizen or resident are covered by the Canadian Copyright Act) (Harris, 2001). Crowd-sourcing: a term that refers to the recruitment of semi-professionals for reality TV programs, as well as the ‘mining’ by professional producers of the creative content from interactive media users, who often do not receive (proper) remuneration. It is an exploitative practice and constitutes another example of flexible consumption, Department of Culture, Media and Sports (DCMS): British agency responsible for government policy on the arts, sport, the National Lottery, tourism, libraries, museums and galleries, broadcasting, creative industries including film and the music industry, press freedom and regulation, licensing, gambling and the historic environment. Eurimages: the Council of Europe fund for co-production, distribution and exhibition of European feature films. Festival Rose d’Or: an annual television festival, which is held in Lucerne, Switzerland. Flexible accumulation: according to Harvey (1990), flexible accumulation relates to flexibility with respect to labor processes, labor markets, products, as well as patterns of consumption. It is characterized by the emergence of new sectors of production, new ways of providing fi nancial services, new markets, and greatly intensified rates of commercial, technological, and organizational innovation (p. 147). Fordism/Post-fordism: in contrast to standardized, state-controlled fordist modes of production, post-fordism is characterized by the increasing decentralization and vertical disintegration of corporate structures to facilitate greater flexibility in production, especially in response to global market fluctuations (Webster, 2002). Formats: are based on popular concepts and programs, which are licensed to broadcasters and producers, who adapt these recognizable blueprints for national film and television audiences. As a result, program concepts are localized or ‘glocalized’ to fit the domestic media environment. Format Bible: a manual for program production and adaptation. It contains specific guidelines as to a program’s ‘look’, set design, logos, sequence of events, story lines, character description, role of presenter and contestants,

Glossary 187 game elements, audience interactivity, music, sound effects and camera work, and so on. Format License: creates the conditions for the local adaptation of a program. The license guarantees the licensee the right to produce and broadcast a program in a specified territory and for a duration of time. It also defi nes the number of episodes and language versions, as well as the type and degree of adaptation, and whether modifications can be made to the original concept. Format Recognition and Protection Association (FRAPA): the international format industry association dedicated to the protection of formats. FRAPA mediates disputes arising out of claims of format plagiarism. Gemini Awards: annual Canadian television award, determined by members of the Academy of Canadian Cinema & Television and other industry professionals. Glocalization: the creation of niche markets for globally distributed products and programs. Heteronomous Pole: according to Bourdieu’s field theory, all fields are subjected to oppositional forces, which are either centered around external influences—referred to as the heteronomous pole (mostly economic as in the case of Bourdieu’s [1998] analysis of French television)—or field-specific forces (i.e., scientific or artistic skills), which are centered around the autonomous pole. Horizontal Integration of Industries: ownership and control across a variety of media and industries. International Format Lawyers Association (IFLA): since 2004, IFLA monitors and documents international legal cases about format disputes to work, in association with FRAPA, toward greater copyright protection for television formats. Inter-textuality: Fiske (1990) defi nes inter-textuality as “[t]he meanings generated by any one text are determined partly by the meanings of other texts to which it appears similar” (p. 166). In Global Media Ecologies, the term also refers to industry practices that cluster films and television programs around thematic themes as a cross-promotional strategy (see case studies in Chapter 2). Marché International des Programmes de Communication (MIPCOM): annual television market held each fall in Cannes, France.

188

Glossary

Marché International des Programmes de Télévision (MIPTV): annual television market held each spring in Cannes, France. MEDIA: provides funding support to the European audiovisual industry, including feature films, television drama, documentaries, animation and new media. Media and Cultural Agents: includes producers, broadcasters, advertisers, sponsors, funding agents, cultural policy analysts and—in regards to multiplatform media—digital content developers, telecommunications service providers and interactive media users (audience members who use interactive technologies, such as computers and wireless communication devices, to engage with media texts). Media Production Ecologies or Media Ecologies: emphasize relational dynamics and processes between agents, in particular their lived professional realities marked by collaboration as well as competition in an evolving media economy. They are constituted of a vast array of media and cultural agents that are inter-linked through networked relations and production (including legal obligations), business alliances, innovative business practices (i.e., post-fordist modes of production) and the application of collaborative production technologies (i.e., co-production). Media ecologies also reflect the different environments in which agents operate such as markets and film festivals. Furthermore, they extend to organizational cultures defi ned by agents as well as policies (i.e., public service broadcasting or government agencies). National Association of Television Program Executives (NATPE): NATPE is an industry organization that provides information, marketing and meeting opportunities for television producers in the U.S. In addition, it holds an annual NATPE Conference & Exhibition for international television agents. Participation Television: based on generating revenues from interactive mechanism such as voting for contestants and other forms of participation for payment. Production Circuit: extends the notion of global commodity chains to address the ‘non-linear’ circuit of production–manufacture–distribution– consumption/reception and interaction. Networked production is global and includes commodities, services, as well as non-tangible items such as intellectual property and copyright laws. The circuit is non-linear because of the myriad and complex interrelations between the elements. Analysis of networked production circuits provides valuable insight into how

Glossary 189 production processes unfold, how they are interlinked and, most importantly, how they can be modified and improved. Production Technologies: include international treaty co-productions, co-ventures (or non-treaty co-productions) and formats, as well as multiplatform and interactive media, which connect media and cultural agents through global networks of collaborative production, distribution and reception/interaction. Production technologies are connected to the transfer of knowledge in the form of expertise in media production. Public Sphere: the notion of a ‘public sphere’, fi rst introduced by Habermas (1989), relates to an open forum, which is free and accessible to all citizens for the exchange of ideas, information and debate underscoring the formation of public opinion. Reality TV: Television programs that are linked to different documentary forms such as documentary journalism, cinema verité traditions and the observational documentary. They also entail elements from popular entertainment programs, such as talk shows, game shows and soap operas. The notion of a fact–fiction continuum best describes the sliding scale of factuality in reality TV programs, which cover contemporary documentaries as well as popular factual entertainment ranging from docu-soaps to gamedocs, make-over shows and quiz shows (see Chapter 4). Screen Australia: formerly known as the Australian Film Commission, Screen Australia is a government agency that provides funding for Australia’s film and television production sectors. Screen Australia also administers international co-production treaties. Telefilm: Canada’s federal cultural agency dedicated to the development and promotion of Canada’s audiovisual industry. Telefilm administers international co-production treaties for the Department of Canadian Heritage. U.K Film Council: a government agency that overlooks fi lm production in the U.K. It seeks to effectively represent economic, cultural and educational aspects of film on a national and international basis. User-generated Content (USG): refers to content that is developed and published by interactive media users in digital and mobile forums. USG is comprised of blogs, vlogs, wiki’s, video, podcasts, chats and posts in Internet forums and social-networking sites. Vertical Integration of Industries: The control over cultural production, distribution and exhibition.

Notes

NOTES TO INTRODUCTION AND OVERVIEW 1. Straubhaar (1997) describes ‘glocalization’ as the “deliberate adaptation of a foreign or global model to fit national circumstances” (p. 290). 2. Bourdieu uses spatial metaphors to situate fields (i.e., the journalistic field) in relation to other fields and the wider social world referred to as ‘social space’. Fields are subjected to oppositional forces, which are either concentrated around external influences—referred to as the heteronomous pole (mostly economic. as in the case of Bourdieu’s [1998] analysis of French television)— or field-specific forces (i.e., scientific or artistic skills), which are centered around the autonomous pole. Fields are also defi ned by vertical and horizontal axes to measure the volume of various types of capital. When studying a field from left to right, cultural capital decreases and economic capital increases; moving from the bottom to the top of the field, all forms of capital increase (see Map 7.1). 3. Michael Porter (1985) is accredited with introducing the notion of ‘value chains’ to identify the value(s), which can be extracted and enhanced from production, marketing and distribution processes. Originally a tool for economists and corporate strategists, value chain analysis can also be used to discern how the extraction of value along the chain is linked to the exploitation of labor and resources, thus setting the stage for intervention, change and improvement (see discussion on interactive audiences in Chapter 4, and ‘crowd-sourcing’ in Chapter 6) (Gereffi & Korzeniewicz, 1994). 4. Global cities are an amalgam of local and global orientations, as well as diverging interests, exemplified in the sprawling metropolises of Latin America (i.e., Buenos Aires or Santiago de Chile) where stratification along class lines determines global affi liations between the mobile upper class with economic centers around the world. Yet, impoverished local communities divide along urban and rural configurations.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 1 1. Most favored nation (MFN) status is given to countries and partners of trade agreements (i.e., GATS and WTO) to ensure they are treated equally. 2. In Canada, co-ventures allow for greater flexibility in production but may not be eligible for government funding. However, under CRTC regulations, co-ventures may qualify as 100% Canadian content productions if they meet specific guidelines, such as Canadian co-producers having equal decision

192 Notes

3. 4. 5.

6.

7.

8.

9. 10.

11.

12. 13. 14.

15. 16.

making responsibilities and sharing responsibility for the Canadian portion of the budget (Telefi lm, 1999). All figures are in US dollars, unless otherwise specified. Canadian funds only cover the costs of Canadian elements in the production. The average budget for Canadian feature fi lms is approximately $1.5 million, and usually less than $2.3 million—which is comparable to European figures of $5 million or less (Strover, 1995, p. 108; Mandate Review Committee, 1996, p. 210; Morawetz, Hardy, Haslam & Randle, 2007, p. 435). However, compared with average U.S. fi lm budgets of $30 million and higher (Hoskins, McFadyen & Finn, 1997, p. 64), European and Canadian figures are significantly lower. The U.K. has bilateral agreements with Australia, Canada, France, India, Jamaica, New Zealand and South Africa. It has also access to numerous other co-production partners throughout Europe through the ‘European Convention of Cinematographic Co-production’. This unequal correlation results from changes in the national status of countries in the Balkan and the former Soviet Union in the 1990s. In addition, Canada and France have separate agreements for cinema and television, as well as three mini-treaties for cinema, television and animation. Australia’s co-production program was launched in 1986. Today the country has treaties with the U.K., Canada, Ireland, Italy, Israel, Germany, China and Singapore, as well as memoranda of understanding with New Zealand and France. Based on a tax-deferral scheme, this mechanism enabled investors to reclaim previously paid taxes, which were then repaid over the duration of the lease. Inland Revenue changed its tax deducting scheme to end alleged abuses of its existing co-production rules. According to Iacono (as cited in Careless, 2005), a chartered accountant with Weisbord, “Certain U.K. equity funds providing substantial funding to co-productions were ‘double-dipping’— using the rules to deduct their expenses not once, but twice” (¶ 11). As of 2005, 182 different support mechanisms for feature fi lm development exist in different European countries, amounting to €1.3 billion ($1.95 billion) (with the exclusion of tax incentives) (Morawetz, Hardy, Haslam & Randle, 2007). These tax incentives are either direct as in the case of waivers of capital tax, wage credits or sales tax rebates, or indirect to promote private investments (Dhaliwal & Russel, 2005). The U.K. and the U.S. do not have an official treaty. The use of the star system in U.S.–U.K. co-ventures is evident in the numerous matching of British and American actors, especially in romantic comedies—notably the actor Hugh Grant (U.K.) with U.S. actors Andy MacDowell (Four Weddings and a Funeral, 1994), Julia Roberts (Notting Hill, 1999), Renée Zellweger (Bridget Jones, 2001 and 2004), Sandra Bullock (Two Weeks Notice, 2002) and Drew Barrymore (Music and Lyrics, 2007). A similar case can be made for Jude Law and Kate Winslet and, to a lesser degree, Colin Firth, Emma Thompson and Ewan McGregor (all actors from the U.K.). For Troy and Cold Mountain, the U.K. provided predominantly post-production services in the form of special effects. Troy and Alexander also used locations in Morocco for production. The success of the Harry Potter feature fi lm series (produced by Warner Brothers, U.S., and Heyday Films, U.K.) marked an important milestone for the U.K. industry because of its special effects work.

Notes

193

17. The Test was originally conceived as part of the co-production application process (Blaikie, 2005), but is now mainly used to determine the certification of a British fi lm under the U.K. Films Act. 18. The EEA is comprised of Austria, Belgium, Cyprus, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Malta, Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Slovak Republic, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Iceland, Norway, Liechtenstein, Bulgaria and Romania. 19. The Canadian key creative point system for live action and continuousaction animated productions consists of the following: director (2 points), screenwriter (2 points), fi rst lead performer or fi rst voice (1 point), second lead performer or second voice (1 point), production designer (1 point), director of photography (1 point), music composer (1 point) and picture editor (1 point) (Macerola, 2003, p. 8). Similarly, the Australian co-production point system lists writer, director, director of photography, composer, editor, production designer, and each of the four major cast roles as key creative personnel (Hammett-Jamart, 2004a). 20. However, this 5% margin does not apply to projects with less than 30% of Canadian involvement. 21. ‘Service productions’ or ‘run-away productions’ are fi lm and television productions that are organized from outside the region, mostly by U.S. companies. O’Reagan and Ward (2008) refer to these productions also as ‘satellite production sites’ that extend from larger production centers (i.e., Hollywood). Canadian cities such as Toronto and Vancouver, but also Australia’s Gold Coast, are increasingly targeted for service productions. 22. Twinning involves the matching of a Canadian production with a foreign production, which, except for fi nancial involvement, has no Canadian connection. On the other hand, production packages are defi ned as two or more co-ventures or co-productions, which are developed by several Canadian production companies. The package consists of a qualified Canadian production with minor foreign involvement, which is matched with a foreign project that has minor Canadian involvement (Macerola, 2003, p. 10). 23. In 2007, Australia’s Media Entertainment and Arts Alliance expressed similar concerns regarding its domestic labor force in its submission to the Department of Communications, Information Technology and the Arts (DCITA). The DCITA had proposed to amend its international fi lm co-production program to allow for third-party nationals to perform lower-wage post-production as well as visual and digital effects work (a burgeoning industry in Singapore). The Alliance made a convincing point that the DCITA proposal contradicted its official co-production policy to foster industries in co-producing countries and increase employment for Australians. 24. In the case of the CBC, this resulted in a 30% budget reduction (over $392 million) by 2000 and the loss of 3,000 jobs (Gurd, 1998, p. 47; Posner & Bourette, 2000). Telefi lm Canada’s annual parliamentary appropriation was also reduced from $137 million in 1991–1992 to $74.5 million in 1999–2000 (Telefi lm, 1999, p. 18).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 2 1. Pro-fi lmic is a term that relates to what actually happens in front of the camera lens (Kilborn & Izod, 1997). 2. Voice relates to “the speech or other overt means through which events and existents are communicated to the audience” (Chatman, 1978, p. 153).

194 Notes 3. Channel 4 is predominantly a commissioning broadcaster and therefore collaborates with smaller, independent production companies throughout the U.K 4. Sex Traffic was also recognized by the Directors Guild of Canada, the Directors Guild of Great Britain, the Monte-Carlo Television Festival, the Prix Italia and the Royal Television Society in the UK. 5. Human trafficking is estimated at $7 to $9 billion annually and ranks at the top of international crime activities after the global arms and drug trade (Belser, 2005). 6. The U.S. State Department estimates that between 600,000 and 800,000 people are trafficked across international borders each year. Both UNICEF and Amnesty International commend Sex Traffic and provide links to the program from their web sites. 7. Channel 4 derives its funding from commercial revenues but is classified as a not-for-profit public broadcaster. The broadcaster receives free spectrum in return for fulfi lling its mandate as set out in the Broadcasting Act and license requirements from Ofcom (Channel 4, 2005b). 8. One hour of U.K. drama costs about $1.8 million dollars (MacDonald, 2004). This compares with $190,000 to $940,000 for one hour in Canadian drama (CBC, 2005b). 9. The distinction between North and South highlights that globalization is mostly a “northernization”, since more economically advanced countries in (Western) Europe and North America, but also Australia and New Zealand, tend to reap greater benefits from industrial growth in contrast to Russia, South America, Central Asia and Africa. 10. Other awards for The Hamburg Cell include Best Director, Best Actor (Karim Salah), Critics’ Award and Jury’s Award at the Best International Film Festival in Bucharest. 11. Linden MacIntyre has been an award-winning Canadian journalist for over 30 years. He joined the CBC in 1976 (CBC, 2007a). 12. The lack of critical discourse in the media is disconcerting as the widely publicized ‘terrorist threat’ has resulted in the suspension of civil liberties with far ranging consequences for detainees in Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay; ‘shoot to kill’ orders for U.K. police, which resulted in the death of the innocent Brazilian immigrant to Britain, Jean Charles de Menezes, in July of 2005; the Maher Arar case in Canada, and “no fly lists” in both Canada and the U.S, in addition to wide-spread surveillance on citizens through legislation such as the American Patriot Act (also see Miller, 2007). 13. A report by Nordicity (2006) points out that Canada’s public service broadcaster receives the third lowest level of public funding among 18 Western countries. In contrast to the U.K., where broadcasters like the BBC are fi nanced through television license fees at $114 per capita, the Canadian system only receives $30.35 per capita. In comparison, Australia’s public service broadcasters fare slightly better, with $40.50 per capita of support. 14. The yearly budget of the CBC amounts to $1 billion, in comparison to the BBC’s annual budget of £3.5 billion (or $5.6 billion). 15. In addition to the CBC, Canada has five provincial educational broadcasters (Access Alberta, Saskatchewan Communications Network, TV Ontario, Knowledge Network and TéléQuébec). 16. Human Trafficking was produced by Muse Entertainment for Lifetime Television in the U.S. and aired in Canada on the commercial broadcaster City TV in January of 2006. 17. The budget was generated from revenue guarantees, Canadian tax credits and presales to international broadcasters: the French broadcaster M6, Australia’s Seven Network and Lifetime.

Notes

195

18. According to Shales (2005), the awareness campaign associated with the program served more as a cross-promotion for Walt Disney Co., owner of ABC and Lifetime. 19. The same policy stipulated that ‘entertainment’ and magazine-style programs account for priority programming. This was meant to encourage the development of a Canadian ‘star system’. However, many of these programs such as e-Talk Daily and Inside Entertainment focus on Hollywood celebrities rather than on Canadian talent. 20. Reality TV programs can be made for as little as $200,000 (Hill, 2005, p. 6).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 3 1. Format franchising also existed for feature fi lms such as Sternberg’s Blue Angel and Browing’s Dracula, which were simultaneously shot in two different languages (Gough as cited in Schmitt et al., 2005). 2. In comparison, in 1951, the BBC paid Goodson-Todman 25 guineas ($73.50 in 1951) per episode for What’s My Line? (Fates, 1950; Fey, 2003b). 3. In 2004, Carlton merged with Granada Communications to create ITV plc. (Schmitt et al., 2005; also see Appendix). 4. According to Schmitt et al. (2005), game shows represent 50% of global format broadcasting hours. Reality TV comprises the most important genres in terms of production value. 5. A Cave Automatic Virtual Environment (CAVE) consists of a virtual reality theater space, which provides users with an immersive experience in a three-dimensional world. More precisely, it is a computer generated projection space situated in a 10’x10’x10’ cube, which is outfitted with surround display screens and sound system. Designed by the University of Illinois at Chicago, the CAVE is primarily used by researchers to explore interactive and spatially engaging environments such as the reconstruction of disaster areas, archeological sites, or the visualization of medical experiments (University of Michigan, 2006). 6. In addition to the 2002 profit from telephone votes for Pop Idol in the U.K., producers expected revenues of $110 million from television sales, recordings and performance rights, as well as another $8 million from the Idol winner’s CD sales, merchandizing and product endorsements. 7. A survey of the March 2006 edition of the Canadian television schedule yielded the following programs on celebrities and stars: Star Daily (Adams, 2005), E News (Seacrest, 2002), e-Talk daily (Schwartz, 2002), Inside Edition (Lachman, Tomlin & Young, 1988), Celebrity Poker Showdown (Mulé & Scott, 2003), Movie Television (Znaimer, 1997), The Insider (Mann, 1999), Star! Inside (Star TV, 2002), Inside Hollywood: Mysteries, Scandals Exposed (Hickey, 2005), The E! True Hollywood Story (Shore & Neal, 1996), and Star! Close Up (Star TV, 2003). 8. Mosco (1996) defi nes processes of commodification as the transformation of goods and services, which are valued for their use, to commodities, which are valued for what they can earn in the market place. 9. Value chain analysis is the managerial process designed to allocate revenue potential along the chain (also see discussion in the introduction).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 4 1. Propp analyzed the structures of Russian folktales to discern similarities and differences across a body of work. He isolated recurring patterns in three

196 Notes

2.

3. 4. 5.

6.

7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18.

characteristic components of the folktale: (a) functions, which represent a single action to advance the narrative, (b) characters and their spheres of action and (c) a chronological order of events. Canada’s Next Top Model (Manuel, 2007) is based on America’s Next Top Model (Banks & Mok, 2007). The U.S. has been lagging behind the U.K. in international format development, but is gaining recognition through formats such as Top Model, which has been adapted to 30 international markets so far. The Canadian format is produced by Temple Street Productions and airs on CTV. This selection process has variations, especially where telephone votes from audience members also determine who will enter the next round of the competition. In contrast to ‘narrowcasting’ and programming on specialty channels. In an interesting twist on the Pop Idol story, Simon Cowell developed the concept for the talent contest/game-doc X-Factor, which led Simon Fuller to launch a £100 million copyright case against Cowell’s company Simco and Syco and FremantleMedia (BBC News, 2005b). Also see Chapter 6 and section on format franchising and copyright. CKX acquires globally recognized and established entertainment content and intellectual properties (i.e., the rights to the image, name and likeness of Elvis Presley and Muhammad Ali) in order to enhance the marketing and branding of this content. The C and K in the company name stand for ‘Content is King’ (CKX, 2007). Pop Stars is a format based on an Australian and British concept. Countries taking part: Algeria, Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, United Arab Emirates, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Libya, Morocco, Oman, Palestine, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, Syria, Tunisia and Yemen. Canadian Idol’s high audience ratings can only be compared to viewership of the Stanley Cup fi nals, which in 2006, for Game 7, achieved a rating of 4,789,000 viewers (Doyle, 2006a). CTV claims that Canadian Idol participants have released 34 CDs and sold over 1 million units of the seasons’ fi nalists (CTV, 2007a). Janet Murray (1997) borrows the notion of the ‘mosaic’ from Marshall McLuhan to describe multiple entry points into stories, as well as news media and fi lms, which are instantaneously recognizable by users of multiple media (p. 156)—that is, a reader of newspapers has learned to process multiple types of information in one quick ‘snapshot’ of the front page. Sponsors of events such as Vancouver Idol are predominantly merchants with outlets in shopping malls. Bell Globe Media owns both the CTV Network and The Globe and Mail newspaper. Instant Star is described as “[t]he O.C. meets Canadian Idol” and is part of the Canadian Idol commentary and blogger forum (CTV, 2006c). In addition, on-line discussion forums are scrutinized by web editors and administrators, who scan and censor blogs for their content. Cowell has gathered extensive publicity in the U.K. and the U.S. for his blunt style, which includes calling contestants “wretched”, “horrid” and “pathetic”. His ‘character’ is inscribed and copied by Idol judges around the world. Moral rights cover the following: attribution right, the right to publish a work anonymously or pseudonymously, as well as the right to the integrity of the work. Contestants on America’s Next Top Model have also been featured as inebriated. In addition, the application for Canada’s Next Top Model includes a

Notes

197

questionnaire with questions such as “How do you act when you get drunk? . . . Do you get quiet, or are you wild?” (CityTV, 2006b). 19. Grundy has formatted several telenovelas for the German market, including Bianca, Road to Happiness, and Julia: Road to Happiness (for the ZDF station), as well as Storm of Love and The Reluctant Bride (for ARD).

NOTES TO CHAPTER 6 1. In 2006, Times Magazine’s person of the year was ‘You’, which celebrated the proliferation of Internet fi le-sharing sites as a new form of ‘media democracy’ (Grossman, 2006). 2. The reality TV program The Biggest Loser (Koops, 2004) has an on-line membership of 40,000 people, who pay a fee to belong to the ‘club’. 3. In 2007, CTV and Rogers Media acquired different properties and assets of CHUM for $1.6 billion (Tillson, 2007). Roma Khanna is now working for NBC Universal International, in London, where she holds a position as president of global networks and digital initiatives (Davidson, 2007). 4. In an address to the BBC, Mark Thompson, the corporation’s director general, warned that the broadcaster could become ‘irrelevant’ to younger viewers, unless the BBC develops new multi-platform services and programs for wireless reception (Dowell, 2006). 5. During the fi rst quarter of 2006, the BBC’s interactive TV services reached 11.05 million users. Its enhanced TV services, in comparison, had an average monthly reach of 3.2 million (Interactive TV Today, 2006). 6. Interactive media users can link from the programs to blogs, social networking and fan sites. 7. Test the Nation was created by the Dutch company BNN and has been adapted by 26 broadcasters around the world, including the BBC and RTÉ. 8. In comparison, product placements in fi lms grew by an annual rate of 11% since 1999. 9. Mark Burnett asked upward of $5 million from marketers for The Apprentice. 10. On the contrary, Judge Preska identified several distinctive differences between the programs such as tone, production values, elimination sequence and benefits to contestants (IFLA, 2007b). 11. Ironically, while producers are defi ning reality TV formats in a similar vein as dramatic programs, reality TV writers are currently not recognized as storytellers and therefore have to fight for better working conditions and proper accreditation (see Chapter 7). 12. Coombe (1991) and Coombe and Herman (2001) note how companies from Mattel to Coca-Cola and Warner Brothers restrict the use of their trademarked goods, even by fans of their own products. For example, Warner Brothers launched a cease-and-desist action against two teenagers for using the name ‘Harry Potter’ in the URL of their homemade web sites.

NOTES TO CHAPTER 7 1. For example, during a labor dispute in 2005, the Canadian telecommunications company Telus blocked access to the Telecommunications Workers Union’s web site for all of its clients and subscribers. In addition, Telus prevented its clients from visiting 766 pro-union sites such as ‘Voices for

198

2.

3.

4. 5.

6. 7.

Notes Change’ managed by a locked-out Telus employee (Benkler, 2006, p. 398; Barrett, 2005). The role of editors in reality TV programs is also changing due to their intense collaboration with writers to edit down countless hours of footage to create a narrative with elements of drama, confl ict and character development. Consequently, reality TV editors have more in common with writers and producers of dramatic programs. In the contract between the CFTPA and ACTRA, reality TV programs are defi ned as ‘fact-based and lifestyle’ productions with budgets below $257,000 per half hour. They include reality TV programs as well as cooking, travel and home-renovation shows. Examples range from Canadian Idol (talent contest), Lofters (reality TV program) and Meet the Folks (reality TV contest) to Trading Places (lifestyle reality TV) and A Wedding Story (fact-based reality TV) (ACTRA and CFTPA/APFTQ, 2007, p. 14). For example, marketers for Coca-Cola launched a campaign in Shanghai where viewers were asked to send SMS messages in a “Guess tomorrow’s temperature” advertising campaign, which generated 4.5 million responses. Like interactive TV producers, fi lmmakers are exploring ‘performative cinema’, which allows audience members to make sequencing choices in real time through the use of a remote control or computer mouse. For example the NFB–Canadian Film Centre co-production titled Late Fragment (Cloran, Doron & Guez, 2007) lets audience members choose different story trajectories to influence narrative development. E-cinema is based on the digital or electronic projection of films (Documentary Association of Canada, 2004). Similarly, the Canadian equivalent, Bill C-60, is being proposed as an amendment to the Canadian Copyright Act, but has yet to be passed by parliament (Banks & Kitching, 2005; Murray, 2006; Anderson, 2007).

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Index

A ABC, 17, 63, 89, 122, 132, 160, 195n18 Acheson K. and Maule, C., 25, 46, 52 actor-network theory, 9 adaptation, 82, 85, 87, 108, 112, 115, 125. See also format franchising Adorno, T., 119, 199 advergaming, 147 advertisers, 7, 18, 21, 68, 74, 93–94, 113, 117, 121, 139, 141–143, 147–148, 164, 166, 170, 188; advertising restrictions, 148 aggregators, xi, 156, 172 Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists (ACTRA), 44, 161–162, 198n3 Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP), 160 alternative media, 120, 163, 171–172 America’s Next Top Model, 94, 98, 101, 196n18. See also reality TV American dream, 103, 107, 121, 128, 162. See also reality TV; success myth American Idol, 16, 20, 89, 94, 98, 105–111, 113, 118–119, 128–130, 133, 148–149. See also reality TV American Idol Truth Tour, 160. See also Writers Guild of America amplifier effect, 132, 134 ancillary exploitation, 105, 150. See also format franchising, interactive media trade liberalization, 24, 178. See also neo-liberalism Appadurai, A., 15 Apprentice, The, 93, 101, 132, 147–148

AT&T, 94, 121 audience interactivity, xiii, 20, 77, 121, 138, 152, 187 audience share, 36, 62, 131, 150, 157 audio-visual policies, 37, 46 auditions, 104–105, 108–112, 118–119, 123–128, 130–134, 154, 162– 163, 206. See also reality TV Australian Film Commission. See Screen Australia Australian film policy, 33 Australian point system, 52 autonomous pole, 187, 191n2. See also Bourdieu, P.

B Baltruschat, D., 14, 31–32, 51, 170 BBC, 3, 17, 71, 73–74, 84–87, 92, 99, 137, 142–144, 159–160, 182, 194n13, 195n2, 197n5. See also public service broadcasting behavioral targeting advertising, 141 Bell Canada, 145 Benkler, Y., 9, 154, 163, 172–173 Bertelsmann, 83, 155, 180 Big Brother, 72, 81, 83, 88, 91–92, 101, 122, 179–180, 183. See also reality TV blogs, 8, 10, 79, 88, 90, 97, 102, 104, 113, 118, 120–121, 138, 175, 189, 196n15; blogosphere, 166. See also interactive media Bollywood, 39, 72 Bourdieu, P., 8, 10, 13, 69, 71, 163, 169, 185, 187, 191n2. See also field theory Brainpool, 86 branded entertainment, xiv, 21, 79, 87, 136, 140, 146–149, 153, 162,

228

Index

170, 175; brands, 110, 143, 147, 179, 182, 225; branding, xii, 48, 88, 141, 147, 156, 162, 196n6 British Academy of Film and Television Arts (BAFTA), 58 British Broadcasting Corporation. See BBC British Screen Advisory Council (BSAC), 43. See also co-production review Broadcast Distribution Undertakings (BDU), 185 business models in television, 136, 149 business networks, 50

C Canada’s Next Top Model, 95, 101–102, 121, 145, 196n2. See also reality TV Canada’s Walk of Fame, 86, 95 Canadian Association of Broadcasters (CAB), 44–45 Canadian Broadcasting Act, 71, 137 Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. See CBC Canadian content, 36, 43, 45, 47, 73–74, 146, 191 Canadian Film and Television Producers Association (CFTPA), 44–45, 137–138, 146, 161 Canadian Idol, 20–21, 86, 94–95, 98, 101, 103–114, 117–118, 123, 125–130, 133–134, 144, 149, 165, 168, 196n9. See also format franchising; Insight Productions; reality TV Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission. See CRTC Canadian talent, 34, 45–46, 86, 130 Canadian Television Fund (CTF), 75, 157 Canwest Global, 8, 17, 156 capitalist market, 2, 6 career advancement, 127, 130, 133. See also auditions Carlton Communications, 84, 181 Castaways, 99, 100, 160, 161 Castells, M., 7, 95 casting, 52, 66, 80, 94, 95, 99–100, 117, 120, 132; casting agents, 59, 99, 124, 131; See also auditions; reality TV

CAVEs, 92 CBC, 3, 17, 20, 31, 50, 58, 61–64, 66–67, 70–75, 84, 87, 90, 114, 143–146, 159, 171, 179, 193n24. See also public service broadcasting CBS, 83, 89, 122, 132, 139, 148, 152, 160–161, 184 Celador, 84 celebrity, xvi, 21, 90, 94–95, 103–104, 123–124, 127–128, 132–134, 162; celebrity cult, 95, 103, 127; celetoids, 103, 112. See also reality TV; stars Celebrity Big Brother, 72 cell phones, xii, 1, 88–89, 90–92, 96, 111, 136, 143 Channel 4, 17, 31, 50, 58, 60–64, 66–67, 70, 72–73, 122, 137, 143, 158, 194n3. See also public service broadcasting chat rooms, 91, 100, 102, 118, 145 cinema verité, 55, 99, 189. See also documentary Cingular Wireless, 94, 121 civic media sector, 176 civil society, 13, 15, 25, 71, 171, 176 CKX, 105–106, 165, 196n6 claim to authenticity, 58, 61, 64, 99–100. See also docudramas class, 48, 73, 95, 176 closed circuit of meaning, 173–174 Coca-Cola, 89, 94, 107, 148, 198n4. See also American Idol code of conduct, 137. See also CFTPA; digital rights code of practice, 21, 137, 158, 175 commercial sponsorship, 48. See also branded entertainment; sponsors commercialization, 13, 21, 48, 52, 69, 152–154 commodification, 95, 153, 185 communications architecture, xiv, 9, 11, 22, 155, 166, 171, 178. See also public sphere community-based media, 15, 177–178 Competitor’s Release form, 118, 124, 130, 134, 162; competition rules, 11. See also American Idol; Canadian Idol complexity theory, 14 computer games, 91–92 conglomeration, 5, 7, 8, 47, 120, 155, 158, 170–171, 175

Index content regulations, 23, 27, 136, 150, 153; content rules, 43, 81, 136, 149, 165 contestants, 10, 79, 88, 91–94, 96, 98–99, 101–104, 107, 109–113, 117–120, 123–124, 128, 130, 131–134, 139, 152, 160–162, 166, 168, 170, 188, 196n16. See also semi-professional performers contractual obligations, 10, 21, 59, 118–120, 132, 160, 162, 166 convergence, xi, 1, 14–15, 18–19, 23, 69, 87, 114, 116, 156, 169–170, 171, 174, 178. See also conglomeration co-production, xi, xiii, 2–3, 5–6, 14, 16–20, 22–40, 42–53, 58, 60–63, 73–74, 76–77, 79, 81, 83, 122, 153, 159, 163–164, 166, 174, 185–186, 193n23; co-production budget, 29; coproduction guide, 38; co-production reviews, xiii, 19, 36, 40, 49; co-production studies, 29, 51–53; co-production treaties, xii, 6, 27, 30, 33, 36–37, 44, 47, 49, 164. See also global production technology copyright, xii–xiv, 4, 11, 21, 28, 82, 84–85, 105, 118–119, 134, 150–153, 163–166, 173, 175, 185–186; copyright infringements, 85; copyright laws, 3, 9, 19; Millennium Copyright Act, 173 corporatization, xiv, 25 Cottle, S., 4, 69, 71, co-venture, 6, 19, 22, 26–27, 32, 35, 50, 63, 73, 122, 126, 159, 164, 166. See also co-production creative commons, 25. See also peer-topeer networks creative control, 46, 52 creative grid, 43 cross-promotion, 111, 114–115, 121, 128, 136 crowd-sourcing, xii, 7, 142, 186 CRTC, 61, 74–75, 90, 95, 137, 146, 148–149, 185 CTV, 108, 114, 123 cultural agencies, xiii–xiv, 13, 47–49, 81. See also CRTC; Screen Australia; Telefilm Canada; U.K. Film Council

229

cultural agents, xii, 1–6, 8, 11, 16, 18, 20, 49, 76, 81, 120, 136, 153, 163–164, 166–168, 178, 188–189. See also media agents cultural capital, 10, 166, 185, 191n2. See also Bourdieu, P. cultural diversity, 1, 15–16, 24–26, 40 cultural import quotas, 24 cultural industries, xi, 23, 25, 46–48 cultural policy, xii–xiii, xv, 1, 3–4, 14, 19–20, 24–25, 27, 33, 37–38, 47, 50, 52, 82, 153, 155, 158, 163, 165 cultural production, xii, 2, 4–5, 10–11, 13–14, 18, 21, 25, 33, 39, 47–49, 70, 81, 95, 163, 167, 169–170, 173–174, 178 cultural protectionism, 46–47 cultural references, 114, 150 cultural rights, 26 cultural test, 41–43. See also DCMS curators, xi, 156, 172 Curran, J., 13, 76, 175–177. See also media democracy

D DCMS, 27, 34, 37, 41–42, 137, 143, 186 democratic media, 47, 174. See also media democracy Department for Culture Media and Sport (DCMS). See DCMS Department of Communications, Information Technology and the Arts (DCITA), 27, 193n23 deregulation, 1, 8, 13, 48, 73, 126 Deuze, M., 5 diaspora, 16, 47–48, 76, 174. See also globalization Digital Britain report, 137, 143. See also DCMS digital commons, 117, 120, 138, 146, 155, 157–158, 165, 170, 172–174, 178. See also creative commons digital content developers, 1, 7–8, 18, 21, 136, 139, 141, 164, 170, 173, 188 digital domains, 22, 157, 163, 172–173 digital platforms, xiv, 32, 83, 93, 95, 98, 137, 139, 141, 145, 176. See also interactive media digital rights management, xii, 137–138 digital technologies, 1, 9, 19, 20, 164–166

230 Index digital TV, 91. See also interactive media direct cinema, 55. See also documentaries Directors Guild of Canada (DGC), 44–45 Disney, 8, 17, 40–41, 106 Distraction Formats, 80–81, 83, 85–86, 179, 182. See also format franchising docudrama, xiii, 20, 50, 53–58, 60–69, 71, 73, 75–77. See also genre documentary, 29, 31, 50–51, 53–58, 60, 62–67, 70, 73, 77, 98–99, 120, 131, 161, 171, 181, 189; expository, 55, 66; interactive, 55; observational, 55; reflexive, 55 docu-soaps, 98–99, 104, 189. See also genre domestic production, xiii, 6, 13, 76 drama, 13, 31, 50–51, 53–58, 62–63, 65–66, 73–77, 82, 89, 92, 94, 99, 101, 122, 125, 136, 151– 152, 159, 162, 171, 181–182

E E-cinema, 171, 198n6 economic capital, 10, 167, 170, 191n2. See also Bourdieu, P. e-loyalty, 88, 168 Emmy, 64 enclosure movement, 173, 176 Endemol, 4, 81, 83, 85–86, 122, 138–139, 146, 148–149, 155, 164, 179, 180. See also format franchising Eurimages, 34, 186 European Convention on Cinematographic Co-production, 35 European point system, 43 Euro-puddings, 51. See also co-production

F Facebook, 141, 147 fact-fiction continuum, 54, 64, 99, 189. See also docu-drama; reality TV factual entertainment, 87, 99, 144–145, 189 fame, 7, 21, 100, 127–128, 130, 131–133, 162, 168. See also celebrity; stars fan-fiction, 10, 96

field of cultural production, 5, 10–11, 69–70, 169, 178 field theory, 8, 10–11, 14, 163, 185. See also Bourdieu, P.; network-field theory file-sharing sites, 135, 138–139 flexible accumulation, 4, 7–8, 21, 95, 155, 158, 186 flexible consumption, 20, 96, 132, 142, 186. See also neo-liberalism flexible specialization, 2 foreign-service production, 45–46; foreign location production, 26. See also location shooting; run-away productions format franchising, xi, xii, 3, 56, 18–21, 32, 36, 74, 77–79, 81, 87, 106, 120, 125–126, 136, 138, 146, 149, 153, 155, 159, 163–164, 166–168, 170, 175, 178–180, 183, 195; format adaptations, 109, 112, 126, 146, 150–151, 182; format bible, 80, 107–108, 121, 123, 131, 165–166, 186; format franchises, xiii–xiv, 1, 98, 126; format license, 149–150, 187; format trade, xiii, 79, 82–84, 86, 98, 121–122, 126, 132, 136, 144, 149, 151–153, 164, 166, 175, 179, 183. See also global production technology; production technologies Format Recognition and Protection Association (FRAPA), 3, 84, 85–86, 152, 164, 187 Fox network, 69, 89, 105, 107, 151; Fox Reality Channel, 78, 106; Fox Television, 183 Frankfurt School, 116 free trade, 25–26. See also neo-liberalism FremantleMedia, 3, 82–83, 85, 105–108, 111, 146, 148, 150, 155, 160, 164, 179–181. See also format franchising Fuller, S., 16, 78, 89, 101, 104–107, 148, 151, 196n5. See also American Idol; Pop Idol funding agents, xiii, 8, 18, 188

G game-docs, 98–99, 120, 121, 189. See also genre

Index Garnham, N., 8, 48, 69, 72 gatekeeper, 101–102 Gemini Awards, 58, 187 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), 23–24, 52 General Agreement on Trade and Services (GATS), 24, 26 genre, xiv, 1, 13–14, 20–21, 31–32, 36, 39, 50–51, 53–57, 61, 70, 72, 75–79, 81, 85–86, 88, 92–93, 97–99, 114, 117, 120–121, 131, 136, 141, 143, 148–149, 151, 153, 157, 159, 162, 165–166, 170, 175, 178, 195n4; genre analysis, xiii, 8; genre hybridization, xii, 14 Giddens, A., 8, 9, 14 global capitalism, 2 global commodity chains (GCCs), 11 global format business, 78. See also format franchising global issues, 14, 30, 71, 76, 103, 174 global market, xiv, 5, 24, 26, 35, 37, 39, 42, 44, 47, 49, 66, 73, 96, 155, 170, 186 global media production, 6, 18, 27, 59, 84, 96, 167, 174. See also media ecologies global production technology, 23, 27, 36–37, 153. See also co-production; format franchising; production technologies global terrorist movements, 53. See also Hamburg Cell, The global trade agreements, 52. See also GATT; GATS;WTO globalization, xii–xiv, 1–2, 14–16, 20–21, 25, 39, 51, 62, 68, 70, 74, 76, 95, 158, 166, 174, 194n9 global-local dualism, 14 glocalization, xiv, 15, 21, 96, 122, 125, 128, 130, 132–134, 187, 191n1; glocalized, 6, 82, 128, 149, 181, 186 Google, 116, 139, 141, 172 gossip, 103, 115 Granada Media Group, 151; Granada Television, 3, 58, 181 Greatest Canadian, The, 87, 144 Grundy, R., 3, 82–83, 121, 126, 180–181, 197n19; Grundy, R., 82; Grundy-UFA, 122 guilds, 26, 28, 42, 44, 46, 75, 156, 158, 165

231

H Habermas, J., 12–13. See also public sphere Hamburg Cell, The, 17, 20, 50, 63–68. See also docudrama Harvey, D., 2, 7–8, 25, 68, 95, 186 Heritage Canada, 36, 47 heteronomous pole, 170, 187, 191n2. See also Bourdieu, P. high concept television, 144 Hollywood, 2, 39–40, 48, 51, 67, 74, 76, 95, 107, 130, 158 horizontal integration, 187. See also vertical integration host-judges, 128. See also American Idol; auditions; Canadian Idol human trafficking, 16, 50, 53, 58–59, 62, 194n5. See also Sex Traffic

I Idol franchise, 83, 87, 98, 123, 128, 154, 165, 168–169, 180. See also American Idol; Australian Idol; Canadian Idol; Pop Idol immersive on-line environments, 20 indigenous media, 177 individuation, 95 industry strategies, 6–7 informed consent, 119. See also semiprofessional performers Insight Productions, 86–87, 108, 123, 149 integrated approach, 26, 158–159, 164 intellectual property, xiii, 7, 19, 21, 137, 144, 152–153, 185, 188; agreement on Trade related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPs), 173. See also copyright interactive media, xii, 1, 5–8, 13, 19–20, 90, 93, 104, 113, 120, 136, 138, 142, 153, 169–170, 173, 177; interactive audience, 115; interactive media users, 7, 9–11, 18, 102, 113, 116, 121, 139, 146, 153–157, 164–166, 172–173, 186, 188–189; interactive narratives, 116; interactive storytelling, 90. See also usergenerated content (USG) International Format Lawyers Association (IFLA), 106, 152, 187 International Network for Cultural Policy (INCP), 25 International Network on Cultural Diversity (INCD), 25

232

Index

international television paper format registry, 84. See also FRAPA Internet, xiv, 1, 18, 20, 62, 64, 87–88, 90, 96, 102, 116, 130, 132, 137–139, 141, 146–147, 156, 157, 172–173, 180; Internet properties, 21, 155, 173, 176 inter-textual references, xiii, 53, 64, 114–115, 121, 134 iVillage Life, 140

J Jäckel, A., 27, 33, 38, 51–52 Jamaica, 59. See also co-production; location shooting Jenkins, H., 10, 96, 116, 131 journalistic field, 13, 69, 191n2. See also Bourdieu, P.

K Keane, J., 13, 15, 72, 171 key creative positions, 33, 43, 45, 59 KirchMedia, 84

L labor, xii-xv, 1–6, 11, 15, 20–21, 24, 27–28, 30, 44–46, 53, 59, 73, 76, 82, 94–96, 118, 142, 151, 154–155, 157–162, 164–166, 168, 175, 185–186, 193n23, 197n1; fordism, 2, 186; peripheral Taylorism, 2; post-fordism, 2, 18, 158, 186, 188 laissez-fair economics, 25. See also neoliberalism license, 66, 71, 74, 82, 107, 118, 149–150, 155–156, 169. See also format franchising licensee, xiv, 19, 120, 133, 150, 164–165, 187 licensor, xiv, 19, 79, 82, 133, 150, 152, 164–165 life-cycle of commodities, 159 light-weight camera equipment, 98 local stories, 56, 109, 111, 121. See also drama localization, xiii, 14–16, 98, 111, 120, 164, 175 location shooting, 2, 28, 30, 36, 158, 164

M MacIntyre, L., 66–67, 70, 194n11. See also Hamburg Cell, The Mann, M., 68

Marché International des Programmes de Communication (MIPCOM), 29, 187 Marché International des Programmes de Télévision (MIPTV), 29, 188 McChesney, R., 7–8, 12–13, 171 measuring of audiences, 88 MEDIA, 34, 188 media agents, 79, 81, 87, 143 media and cultural agents, xi–xii, 1–2, 4–6, 11, 18, 20, 49, 136, 153, 163, 166, 176, 188 media concentration, 114. See also conglomeration media democracy, xiv, 9, 11, 13, 76, 146, 155, 170, 175, 177–178; media democratization, 15, 171, 173, 178 media diversity, 9, 12, 16, 20, 48, 174, 178 media ecologies, xi–xv, 1–2, 4–6, 8–9, 13–14, 18–20, 24, 31–32, 51, 53, 63, 74, 76, 79, 106, 120, 138, 153, 155, 158–159, 163, 166– 167, 169, 177–178, 187–188; alternative media ecology, 177; media production ecologies, xi–xii, 1, 4, 16, 18, 21–22, 42, 163, 188 media economy, xi–xii, 1, 4, 18, 136, 146, 156, 158, 188 media events, xiii, 7, 20, 98, 100, 111–113, 115, 121, 123–124, 132, 134, 154, 165. See also Canadian Idol media field, xi–xii, xiv–xv, 8, 22, 68, 71, 155, 157–159, 165, 167, 169–170, 176, 178 media industries, 1, 170, 174 media mergers, 156. See also conglomeration media ownership, 53, 157, 172 media plurality, xiv, 1, 7 media regulation. 137, 157. See also CRTC media texts, 8, 10, 12, 18–19, 57, 97, 115–116, 164, 188 mediating agents, 5. See also guilds; unions Metro-Goldwyn Mayer (MGM), 184 Miller, T., 2, 6, 24, 27, 52, 68–69, 92–93, 158–159 mobile phone, 18, 121, 138 mobile TV, 90, 93, 138, 143. See also digital TV

Index mobile video, 90, 143 mobisodes, 89, 145 monopsony, 156. See also conglomeration moral rights, 118, 134, 196n17 Moran, A., xv, 6–7, 79, 81, 83–85, 121, 125–126, 179–181, 183 Morley, D., 15, 116 Morocco, 59, 192n15. See also coproduction; location shooting mosaic, 113–114, 121, 131–132, 134, 196n11; narrative mosaic, 113 Mosco, V., xv, 8, 11, 95, 97, 185 motivations, 9, 21, 64, 126, 127. See also auditions multi-cultural media, 177 multimedia messaging services (MMS), 170 multi-media strategies, 87 multi-platform, xii, 7, 14, 18–20, 88–90, 96, 115–116, 120, 135, 138, 140–144, 148, 155 157, 164, 171, 175, 180, 197n4; multi-platform applications, xii, 89–90, 116, 138, 141, 175; multi-platform media, 14, 18, 96, 120, 142–143, 155, 171; multiplatform production, 20. See also digital technologies; interactivity Murdoch, R., 8, 107. See also Fox network Murdock, G., 30, 69 MySpace, xiv, 8, 89, 138–139, 142, 147 myth, xiv, 40, 48, 103, 128, 132–134, 162, 168, 178. See also American dream

N narrative, xiv, 7, 14, 16, 21, 48, 50, 53–54, 58, 62, 65–66, 69, 73, 79, 81, 90–95, 101–104, 113–116, 120–123, 127–129, 131–134, 152, 162, 165–166, 170, 174–175, 178; narrative analysis, 8; narrative arc, 91, 93, 97; narrative development, xiii, 20, 51, 55, 63, 120, 163; narrative level, 164–165, 168; narrative models, 93; narrative mosaic, 113; narratives of personal transformation, 7 National Association of Television Program Executives (NATPE), 84, 188

233

national signifiers, 165 NBC, 82, 84, 89, 114, 122, 132, 139–140, 148 neo-liberalism, 8, 23, 25, 39–40, 48, 143; cutbacks, 2, 20, 47, 72; neo-liberal reforms, 1, 19–20, 67, 69, 71, 153, 158, 178 network analysis, 8–9, 11, 14, 163 network-field theory, 11, 163, networked media ecologies. See media ecologies networked production circuit, 3, 11, 12, 18–19, 21, 156, 165–166, 172, 188. See also global commodity chains new international division of cultural labor (NIDCL), 2, 158 new media economy, xii, 1, 146, 156, 158 News Corporation, xiv, 8, 107, 139, 183. See also Murdoch, R. niche markets, 15, 187. See also glocalization Nordicity, 32, 35, 156, 194n13 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 23, 52

O Ofcom, 72–73, 137, 157 commodification, 95, 195n8 on-line community, 103. See also reality TV; virtual communities organizational level, 164, 167

P paper format, 80, 85, 152. See also format franchising parasocial relationships, 93 participation for payment, 139, 153 participation TV, 117, 135, 138, 170, 175, 188. See also interactive media partnerships, 3, 6, 7, 136, 139, 141, 143, 145, 148, 155, 157 Pearson Television, 82, 83, 180 peer-to-peer networks, 21, 116, 121, 135, 138, 142, 146, 153–154, 165–166, 170, 172; commonsbased peer production, xii, 9; peer-commerce, 146, 168; peerto-peer networking, xi, 79; peerto-peer production, xii, 9, 173 personal challenge, 123, 126–127, 131. See also auditions; Canadian Idol

234 Index pod-casts, 118 point system, 41, 43, 52, 193n19 policy analysts, xiii, 3, 6, 8, 18, 81, 120, 136, 153–154, 170, 188. See also media and cultural agents political economy, xv, 8–9, 11, 14, 16, 97, 116, 174 political field, 165 Pop Idol, 78, 88, 98, 104–105, 107–109, 128, 195n6. See also format franchising primary window, 137. See also Ofcom private enterprise sector, 176 privatization, 1, 8, 13, 69, 73, 126, 178 Producers Alliance for Cinema and Television (PACT), 42–43 product placements, xiv, 79, 81, 94, 101, 136, 146–149, 197n8. See also branded entertainment production circuit. See networked production circuit production matrix, xiv, 150, 162–163, 165 production networks, xiii, 1, 5, 9–10, 74, 76 production technologies, xiii, 3, 5–6, 8, 13–14, 18–20, 23–24, 26–27, 29, 31–33, 36–37, 39–37, 45–47, 49–51, 53, 63, 68, 70, 73–74, 78, 85, 96–97, 120, 122, 126, 136, 150, 153, 159, 163–166, 174–175, 178, 188, 189. See also co-production; format franchising production values, 13, 50, 61, 66, 75, 110, 130–131, 133 production–manufacture–distribution– consumption/ interaction circuit, xii, 9, 11, 19, 96, 153–154, 188. See also networked production circuit professional media sector, 176 professional organizations, 42 program bible, 28, 79–80, 107–108, 110, 121, 123, 128, 131, 163–166, 186. See also format franchising program formats, 80–81, 86, 97, 152. See also format franchising program franchise. See format franchising program participation, 8, 10, 135, 175 promotional narratives, 89, 175. See also branded entertainment

Propp, V., 100–101, 195n5 public interest, 1, 32, 76, 143, 171 public service broadcasting, 13, 20, 47–48, 50, 54, 63, 71–73, 76, 160, 170–171, 176. See also BBC; CBC; Channel 4 public sphere, xv, 1, 9, 12–13, 22, 72, 96, 102, 153, 157, 174, 178, 189. See also Habermas, J.

R reality TV, xiii–xv, 1, 7, 10–11, 13, 20–21, 32, 36, 55, 75, 77–79, 81, 83–84, 86–89, 91–94, 96–105, 114–115, 117, 119– 122, 124–127, 131–134, 136, 140, 142–144, 147–149, 151, 157, 159–162, 166, 170, 175, 181, 186, 189, 195n20, 197n11, 198n2; reality TV contestants, 10. See also semi-professional performers recognizability, 57, 79, 108, 150. See also format franchising Romania, 59–60. See also location shooting Rose d’Or Television Festival, 84–85, 186 run-away productions, 193n21. See also location shooting

S Screen Australia, 3, 27–28, 30, 36, 189. See also cultural agents secondary window, 137. See also Ofcom semi-professional performers, xiv, 7, 11, 21, 127, 132, 142, 154, 157, 158–159, 161–162, 165–166, 175. See also reality TV Sex Traffic, 17, 20, 50, 58–64, 66, 68, 73. See also co-production; docudrama single message service (SMS), 139; SMS chats, 118 soap operas, 82, 89, 98–100, 102, 105, 116, 121–122, 147, 189 social aspects, 88, 126–127, 132, 154 social capital, 132, 165, 185. See also Bourdieu, P. social field, 165, 170 social intelligence, 154. See also peer-topeer networks social market sector, 176

Index social-networking, xi–xiv, 8, 113, 117, 120, 138, 140–141, 147, 153– 155, 166, 167, 170, 172–173, 176–178, 189; social networks, 9, 154, 166; social-network advertising, 147. See also peerto-peer networks social praxis, 11, 155, 174, 178 social transformation, 11, 101, 104 Sony BMG Canada, 111 Sony BMG Music Entertainment, 105, 165 Sony Pictures Television, 3, 84–85, 183 specialty channels, 78, 166 sponsors, 18, 56, 89, 93–94, 101, 111– 113, 121, 123, 140, 148–149, 164, 170, 188; sponsorship, 21, 48, 81, 106, 118, 130, 147–148 stars, 7, 39–40, 51, 95, 102–103, 105, 112, 129–131, 133, 162, 195n7; star system, 38, 40, 86, 95, 192n14, 195n19. See also celebrity stories of change, 7, 100–101, 104 story editors, 159. See also Writers Guild of America (WGA) story structure, 14, 56, 100 Strix, 84 Strover, S., 14, 31, 51 structuration, 8–9 success myth, 103, 128, 132, 134, 162 success story, 129, 132–133, 165–166. See also American Idol; auditions; Canadian Idol surplus value, 5, 96, 170, 175 surveillance, xiv, 9, 65, 92, 102, 142, 154, 173–174, 176, 194n12. See also reality TV Survivor, 83–84, 89, 93, 96, 101, 107, 122, 148, 151–152, 170. See also format franchising; reality TV suspend disbelief, 56. See also drama symbolic capital, 10, 12, 164, 185. See also Bourdieu, P. synthetic space, 92. See also interactive media; narrative

T tax incentives, 35, 39, 41, 159, 164, 192n11 Taylor, P.W., 3, 30, 51–52 technological level, 166, 169 telecommunications providers, xi, 7, 21, 79, 164

235

tele-confessionals, 99 tele-factuality, 99, 121. See also reality TV Telefilm Canada, 3, 24, 27–30, 32, 34, 36, 38, 43–44, 47, 189. See also cultural agents Telefónica, 83, 155, 180 telenovelas, 79, 121–122 Television without Frontier, 23, 33 Telus, 89, 111, 121, 197n1 terrorism, 16, 66–68, 70 textual analysis, 8 third-country personnel, 38, 40, 44, 45 Time Warner, 8, 17, 116, 180 Top Model, 98, 102–103, 117–121, 143, 148, 196n2. See also America’s Next Top Model; Canada’s Next Top Model topographic mapping, 163 topography, 22, 155, 163–169, 174 trade liberalization, 1, 24, 178. See also neo-liberalism treaty co-production. See co-production

U U.K. Film Council, 3, 27, 37–39, 42. See also cultural agents U.S. investors, 164 United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO), 26 unions, 5, 23, 27–28, 42, 44, 46, 52, 75, 156, 158–159, 161, 197n1; unionization, 175 Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity, 26 Urry, J., 14, 68 user-generated content (USG), xi, 138–141, 154, 189

V value chain analysis, 11, 96, 191n3 Verizon, 89 vertical integration, 7, 48, 189; vertical disintegration, 2, 186. See also horizontal integration Vietnam Idol, 108. See also format franchising viewer engagement, 91, 97, 170 virtual communities, 7, 92–93, 97–98, 154, 165. See also interactive media; reality TV voting behavior, 123–124 voting technologies, 124–125

236

Index

W web-casts, 118 webisodes, 147 Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, 78, 82–83, 183 Wikipedia, 138, 172, wireless communication devices, 18, 188. See also interactive media World Trade Organization (WTO), 23, 229

Writers Guild of America (WGA), 46, 94, 99, 159–161 Writer’s Guild of Canada (WGC), 44–46, 74–75,

Y Yahoo Entertainment, 89, 102, 141, 145 YouTube, 102, 117, 138–139, 142, 147, 154