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è uscito il numero 1, giugno 2012, di Dada. Rivista di antropologia post-globale, la Rivista diretta dal prof. Antonio Palmisano, che si può scaricare gratuitamente all’indirizzo

Di seguito l’indice del nuovo numero della rivista:



Diritto d’onore, ordine tribale e Stato
Ariane Baghaï

Political anthropology and social order
Antonio L. Palmisano

Communitarian water management in Bolivia: The case of Cochabamba’s
Comités de Agua
Francesca Minelli


The “transforming power” of EU Enlargement policy in Serbia. An
anthropological reflection
Francesco Florindi

Giochi linguistici e ordine giuridico
Fabio Ciaramelli

Alcune note a proposito di “basi morali di società arretrate”: tra inferenze
causali e descrittive
Sergio Lo Iacono


– Cassese, Sabino L’Italia: una società senza Stato? Bologna: Il Mulino, 2011
di Francesca Spirito

– Arlacchi, Pino La Mafia Imprenditrice. Dalla Calabria al centro dell’inferno. Milano: Il Saggiatore, 2007
di Carlo Paganessi

– Lévi-Strauss, Claude Lezioni giapponesi. Tre riflessioni su antropologia e modernità. Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino Editore, 2010
di Lucia Medori


è uscito il n. 4 (2012) della rivista spagnola FOTOCINEMA. Revista científica de cine y fotografía. Di seguito l’indice completo:

Tabla de contenidos


Chorégraphie sentimentale
Claude Murcia
En el limbo de lo invisible
Carmen Arocena, Nekane Zubiaur
Lo melodramático en la fotografía escenificada: el fotodrama como tipología artística
Maribel Castro Díaz 
Iron lady, reflexiones sobre la imagen y el liderazgo  
Maria Arnal  

La Escuela de Dusserdolf y el cine de Wim Wenders  
Pilar Mayorgas  

El doble y el espejo en Cisne negro (Darren Aronofsky, 2010) 
Ana España  

El Sur: convergencias y divergencias entre novela y adaptación cinematográfica  
Marcos Díaz Martín  

Contexto e intertextualidad en los títulos de crédito de Watchmen  
Raúl Polo  


La piel de la imagen. Ensayos sobre la gráfica en la cultura digital 
José Ramón Alcalá  

Solos ante la cámara. Biopics de fotógrafos y cineastas  
Ramon Esparza Nekane Parejo  

Jornada de Arquitectura y Fotografía 2011
Iñaki Bergera  

España en la tarjeta postal. Un siglo de imágenes 
Bernardo Riego  

Del bodegón al porn Food. Fotografia gastronómica
Yanet Acosta  

Directory of World Cinema. Spain 
Lorenzo Torres  

El sistema estético de Luis Buñuel  
Pedro Poyato 


Nel numero 2 (2011) di Cinema: Journal of Philosophy and the Moving Image, rivista portoghese pubblicata dall’Instituto de Filosofia da Linguagem Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas dell’Universidade Nova de Lisboa, si può leggere un interessante articolo di Tom McClelland sul rapporto tra cinema e filosofia, dal titolo The Philosophy of Film and Film as Philosophy.




La filosofia di Indiana Jones

è da poco uscito per Mimesis il volume, curato da Claudio Bonvecchio e dedicato alla figura di Indiana Jones, di cui si pubblica l’indice. La collana Il caffè dei filosofi, che ospita il testo, già da alcuni anni si occupa di “fare filosofia in stretto confronto con l’attualità storica e dare spazio a quelle elaborazioni concettuali che non temono di arrischiarsi sul presente. In particolare, Il caffè dei filosofi raccoglie spunti e riflessioni sui più attuali miti della cultura di massa (fumetti, cinema, serie televisive) e sui temi più sentiti nel dibattito contemporaneo, offrendo saggi di interessante vivacità, provocatori, con una motivata vocazione divulgativa, privi cioè di una specialistica autoreferenzialità”.

Ecco quindi l’indice:

di Claudio Bonvecchio

di Claudio Bonvecchio

di Paola Bonvecchio Yachaya

di Luca Daris

di Giorgio E. S. Ghisolfi

di Kim Grego – Alessandra Vicentini

di Elio Jucci

di Errico Passaro

di Roberto Revello

di Fabrizio Sciacca

di Adriano Segatori

di Andrea Spiriti

di Teresa Tonchia




This film is the phenomenon of melancholy itself: immagini della malinconia/melancholia.

nell’ultimo numero di Senses of Cinema, rivista online australiana, si trova un interessante articolo sull’ultimo film di Lars von Trier che si riporta di seguito

 The Lonely Planet: Lars von Trier’s Melancholia


(Judit Pintér is a film critic and psychologist from Hungary).

Lars von Trier has a bent for sacrificing his protagonists (mostly women), and for him, more is not less. In his Breaking the Waves (1996), the Christ-like Bess (Emily Watson) inaugurates the series of self-sacrifices: goodness is her sin, and it leads her to discard her life to prostitution rather than save the life of her husband, like Dancer in the Dark‘s (2000) Selm (Björk) who sacrifices herself for her son. The next stage would be Dogville (2003), whose Grace (Nicole Kidman) is in many respects their successor, offers herself up to an entire village, though by the story’s end she pulls herself together like some postmodern Cinderella to take revenge – with an automatic weapon – on the community that has taken her in and exploited her. Then comes Antichrist (2009), where the woman is no longer Christ-like, or indeed even good, but instead brings to life human nature’s most destructive tendencies, offering up her son for the sake of her own orgasms.

Now Mr von Trier has become such a gourmand of sacrifice that he can only be satisfied by the immolation of the entire world. In Melancholia (2011), he makes no bones about his subject: as the film opens, a small planet called Melancholia is hurtling toward Earth. Whether the impact will come is uncertain. While it is unusual of Trier to choose a theme from science fiction to train our eyes on the soul, the end result remains a romantic and shocking meditation that leaves the viewer stumbling out of the theatre. The movements of the spirit parallel astronomical events throughout the arc of the story. The drama played out by the Earth and the approaching planet shows us the relationship of humans to the world at large.

During the eight minutes of the prologue, time seems to stand still, or at least slow to an absolute adagio. From the outset the viewer experiences firsthand the ruthlessly slow wait for the approaching heavenly body. Here, Trier’s references are not difficult to interpret: Kirsten Dunst, in her wedding dress, floats in the water like an Ophelia, and we see set afire Breughel’s Hunters in the Snow, a painting familiar from Andrei Tarkovsky’s Solaris (1972). The play on Solaris prepares us to recognize that the soul and planet Earth are stand-ins for each other, and the colours of the soul change as shapes on the horizon of the universe.

Two sisters, Justine (Kristen Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), are polar opposites: Justine, the younger one, is sensitive and prone to depression, while her older sister Claire is rational, protecting of her sister, nurturing and tolerant. The film begins as a catastrophic family wedding melodrama in the most extreme Danish vein. In contrast to Antichrist, there is room in this movie for humour: more than once we laugh at scenes that hold a mirror up to intramural family animosities, while the whole manages to remain deeply affecting. It does not take long for us to feel how suffocating is the familial milieu in which Justine remains hopelessly the outsider.

After the wedding reception, the film turns to the approach of the planet from space. But even this impending threat fails to bring the sisters into any kind of harmony. While Justine roasts (quite literally) in the shadow of death – the glow of Melancholy – her sister is numbed motionless in expectation of the planet’s impact. Claire, the all-controlling one, now finds herself unable to deal with a reality that has outgrown all human dimensions. There is no place in her world for an instant end to everything, for her son never seeing adulthood, and all futures preempted. But for Justine “the Earth is a cruel place that is nothing to mourn for.”

Her remark comes as no surprise. The lens of depression deprives its wearer of seeing the world as a hopeful place. Cognitive psychology explains depression as threefold in cause: it comes from a more realistic view of the world, of ourselves, and of the future, than that of the average person. It is the absence of illusion, in other words. We may even call this triad “the cognitive illusions” that protect the ego from reality. Justine’s vision, though, is unobstructed by any such illusions; she is unprotected from reality – but this means she does not fear death either, as her depression has long led her to accept “the bloody mathematics of our condition,” as Albert Camus puts it in his Myth of Sisyphus.

The silent horror of the banquet scenes serves to expose Justine’s agony in this all-too-familiar hell. This impermeable and monolithically dark experience of melancholy sheds its own pure, raw light on things, obliterating the distinction between life and death. No tears here for the death of a planet. The film’s slow pace, its recurring leitmotif-like sentences and images in place of a narrative, offer the viewer a condition rather than a story. Here, Wagner’s music, with its characteristic stasis, its unwillingness to develop freely, serves Trier as an appropriate backdrop. There is no other way to put it: this film is the phenomenon of melancholy itself. Call it existentialist: we are ruthlessly thrown into the universe with no chance of escape. Even the Earth itself is vulnerable.

The parallel between the Earth and humankind gradually disintegrates, making it clear to us how unprotected both are, on so many levels. Just as the rational, therapist husband (Willem Dafoe) of Antichrist is helpless to rescue his wife, played by Charlotte Gainsbourg, from her personal disintegration, so in Melancholia, where the same actress this time plays the rationalistic nurse, who finds herself powerless to sustain her sister. Something similar is happening to our planet as well: the Earth, moment by moment, falls ever deeper under the shadow of the mercilessly approaching planet, friendly as it might appear, earth-like when seen through the telescope, enveloping our planet nightly in a magical blue light.

But this film manages to avoid the savagery of Antichrist, and the extremes typical of Trier’s films more generally. In fact, despite its subject, this is not a depressing film. It offers the familiar Trier-esque scenario of protagonists endowed with an understanding deriving from their weaknesses, illness, or obsessions, an understanding that always becomes a powerful force at the moment of crisis, their own lives be damned. We might think of the sacrifices made in Breaking the Waves or Dancer in the Dark, or Grace’s transformation when she borrows a machine gun in Dogville.  Here again the director chooses a female protagonist who is strong by virtue of her weakness, but who here moves no mountains, and makes no sacrifice of herself or others. Her power lies merely in her understanding the merciless, impartial logic of the heavenless sky. She leads her loved ones, Charon-like, through the cataclysm.

Maybe his bout with Antichrist so exhausted Trier that he had no choice but to hibernate under the silent bell jar of Melancholy, which only an approaching planet can shatter. On the other hand, perhaps the purgatory of Antichrist has taken on such dimensions in Melancholy that it consumes the entire world in a kind of purgative fire. The Apocalypse here is not the ultimate one, but merely a state of normalcy. More precisely, the interesting thing is that the depressive Justine, who has always lived in a liminal state produced by melancholy, ultimately finds her way in the prelude to the end of the world that Melancholia brings. The scene playing out around her is already overshadowed by what she is long accustomed to, so for her there is no struggle.  But for Claire, the threshold is at hand: the true force of the Apocalypse stares her down, letting her see “face to face.” Here it is revealed that Claire is the defenseless one who has always been shielded from reality by mere illusions. Now these illusions – and with them reality itself – are coming apart.

Translated by J. Tucker




la fine del mondo: le cinéma a été notre contemporain

l’editoriale di Stéphane Delorme che si può leggere nel numero 673 – dicembre 2011 della rivista CAHIERS DU CINEMA situa il cinema attuale tra le due estreme: rimando all’apocalisse ed alla catastrofe, ricerca delle origini, del fondamento. Ecco il testo completo:

Décembre 2011 – n°673 : Notre contemporain

par Stéphane Delorme

Fukushima, révolutions arabes, crise financière, crise grecque, mort de Ben Laden et Kadhafi. Dix ans après 2001, au point que l’anniversaire du 11-Septembre paraît bien loin, comme s’il appartenait au siècle dernier. Le dérèglement financier a provoqué un dérèglement global, la tectonique des plaques semble se remettre en branle : une Europe exsangue, un continent arabe qui fait table rase, une Chine d’autant plus fantasmatique qu’elle est lointaine.

Et le cinéma dans tout ça ? Événement rare, le cinéma a été à la hauteur de cette période de trouble. On se souvient de la plainte de Godard, regrettant que le cinéma n’ait pas prévu la guerre ni montré l’horreur des camps, faillant à son devoir. On se souvient aussi à l’inverse, en 2001, des critiques en mal d’inspiration cherchant du côté des films-catastrophes pour prouver que ces images on les avait « déjà vues » et qu’elles avaient été préfigurées par Hollywood. Sottise puisque précisément, ces images terrifiantes, on ne les avait jamais vues : elles renvoyaient d’un coup tout le cinéma-catastrophe à son statut de fiction divertissante. Il faut avoir perdu le sens de la réalité pour mettre au même niveau La Tour infernale et les Twin Towers.

Or cette année, par une coïncidence rare et troublante, le cinéma a été notre contemporain. C’est le même tissu du monde qui passait de la ville à la salle, au point que les échos du chaos se mêlent dans notre mémoire, de l’effondrement du pape dans Habemus Papam à la dernière fête avant la fin du monde de Melancholia. Partout, le cinéma nous a renvoyé des métaphores élaborées de notre situation, que la catastrophe soit passée, présente ou à venir, avec un étrange mélange d’« appel » de l’apocalypse, de terreur et de désir de l’origine. Plus important encore, ces films n’étaient pas n’importe quels films, mais les meilleurs de l’année, les grands auteurs prenant le pouls du monde. Ce sont les films que nous retrouvons dans notre Top Ten.

Plus généralement, 2011 aura été, du point de vue du cinéma, une année très excitante, bien plus que 2010, dominée par le seul Oncle Boonmee. Si on prend par exemple les films français cités dans nos classements, on y retrouve des grands cinéastes proposant des œuvres fortes (Un été brûlant de Philippe Garrel et Pater d’Alain Cavalier), des réalisateurs parvenant à maturité (Hors Satan de Bruno Dumont et L’Apollonide de Bertrand Bonello) et des révélations inattendues (La BM du Seigneur de Jean-Charles Hue et Donoma de Djinn Carrénard), sans compter la victoire critique et populaire de La guerre est déclarée de Valérie Donzelli. Rarement l’éventail aura été aussi ouvert.

Autre fait notable, enfin, l’année a été très riche en disputes cinéphiliques. The Tree of Life gagne le pompon à ce petit jeu, mais il faut aussi citer Black Swan, Drive, Melancholia, qui ont suscité des débats animés jusque dans la rédaction des Cahiers. Gageons que ce mois de décembre livrera aussi son lot de disputes, avec le film archi-apocalyptique de Béla Tarr Le Cheval de Turin, que les thuriféraires zélés ne manqueront pas de défendre, la fable nain de jardin d’Aki Kaurismäki Le Havre, et le sérieux risible de Shame de Steve McQueen, portrait de l’artiste en DSK – autant de films qui auront les suffrages d’autres rédactions et feront débat sur Internet. Là ce n’est pas du chaos, mais de la dispute. Tant mieux.


è uscito il numero 1, dicembre 2011, di Dada. Rivista di antropologia post-globale, la Rivista diretta dal prof. Antonio Palmisano, che si può scaricare gratuitamente all’indirizzo

in questo numero:

Numero 1 – Dicembre 2011


Jan M. Broekman, A Goddess for semiotics of law and legal discourse

Antonio Luigi Palmisano, Anthropology in the post-Euclidean State, or from textual to oral anthropology

Prem K. Khatry, The Nepalese traditional concepts of illness and treatment

Testimonianze e riflessioni

Ronald R. Reminick, Landscapes of the mind: it isn’t just in your head

Veronica Boldrin, Khush Hal Nameh: dal teatro all’emozione etnografica

Nicoletta Velardi, Fototeca Andina: Fotografía y cultura en el Cuzco del siglo XX


– Didi-Huberman, Georges La conoscenza accidentale. Apparizione e sparizione delle immagini. Torino: Bollati Boringhieri, 2011 di Fabio Corigliano
– Krueger, Alan B. Terroristi, perché. Le cause economiche e politiche. Bari: Laterza, 2009 di Carlo Paganessi
– Latouche, Serge La scommessa della decrescita. Milano: Feltrinelli, 2007 di Andrea Snaidero
– Niola, Marino Si fa presto a dire cotto. Un antropologo in cucina. Bologna: Il Mulino, 2009 di Pamela Bravo
– Chang, Leslie Operaie. Milano: Adelphi, 2010 di Andrea Quadrini

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