JUCS 3 (1) pp.

3–11 Intellect Limited 2016

JournalofUrbanCulturalStudies
Volume3Number1
©2016IntellectLtdArticle.Englishlanguage.doi:10.1386/jucs.3.1.3_1

d avidB.Clar KeandMar C usa.d oel

SwanseaUniversity

Cinematicity:Cityandcinema
after deleuze

aB straC t Keywords
In light of Deleuze’s conception of cinema as an autonomous thinking machine – a Deleuze
‘spiritual automaton’ in which moving images are substituted for human thought – cinema
the article presents the cinema as a pre-eminent thinker of the city. It contextualizes city
a range of scholarship committed to exploring the potential of Deleuze’s thought in cinematicity
relation to the ‘cinematic city’ – precipitating a Deleuzian encounter with a process movement-image
that we have chosen to call cinematicity: the automatic thinking of the city by the time-image
cinema. In the course of their remarkable co-evolution, cinema’s unhinging of space– spiritual automaton
time has projected the unhinging of the space–time of the city, forcing its inhabitants
to think otherwise about space, time and the human condition in the machine age.
Taking these notions as a point of departure, the contributions to this issue, which
variously serve to explicate the connections between city and cinema, are introduced,
framed by this sense of cinematicity.

What is specific to the image, as soon as it is creative, is to make percep-

tible, to make visible, relationships of time which cannot be seen in the
represented object and do not allow themselves to be reduced to the
present.
(Deleuze [1985] 1989: xii)

In the city, time becomes visible.

(Mumford 1938: 4)

3
David B. Clarke | Marcus A. Doel

Beyond the Fragile Geometry of Space is the title of the book authored by
Donald Sutherland’s character, the architect John Baxter, in Nicolas Roeg’s
(1973) film, Don’t Look Now. A British-Italian co-production (known in
Italy as A Venezia… un dicembre rosso shocking), Roeg’s hauntingly beautiful
psychic thriller, adapted from a short story by Daphne du Maurier, spans not
only space – from an English country home to the floating city of Venice – but
also, more disconcertingly, time: through disjunctive editing, flash-backs, and
flash-forwards. The present – the Now of the title – hinges precariously on a
premonitory future (a death foretold) in search of lost time (a life cut short):
premonitions become memories of the future and memories become premo-
nitions of the past; all of which come to converge on John Baxter’s rendez-
vous with death at the hands of a serial killer whom he had mistaken for the
ghost of his dead daughter. Time is evidently what lies ‘beyond the fragile
geometry of space’ in Baxter’s fictive book – although so too does cinema,
with its capacity to engineer time through all of those practices of film-
making and editing that transform time into a material to be worked over,
processed and manufactured, like any other raw material in the machine age
(Clarke and Doel 2005, 2007); and which may, on occasion, reveal ‘a little
time in the pure state’ (Deleuze [1985] 1989: 169). Since cinema is essentially
time unhinged, Beyond the Fragile Geometry of Space is a title that might have
been given to the two volumes that Gilles Deleuze chose, instead, to call
Cinema 1: The Movement-Image ([1983] 1986) and Cinema 2: The Time-Image
([1985] 1989).
The present theme-issue is not concerned simply with bringing Deleuze’s
two great cinema books to bear on the city, even if they form a touchstone for
the majority of the articles it comprises. It is, rather, intended to contribute
a broader appreciation of the way in which Deleuze’s thought per se might
illuminate the ‘cinematic city’ (Clarke 1997). For Deleuze, cinema acts as a
spiritual automaton; an autonomous thinking machine driven by its own inner
logic. In its wake, as Georges Duhamel famously proclaimed, ‘moving images
are substituted for my own thoughts’ (cited in Deleuze [1985] 1989: 166). In
other words, cinema thinks for itself – and thinks by itself. It does not need
anyone to think for it, and it certainly does not aspire to mimic (or indeed
surpass) human thought. Cinema is an artificial intelligence, a machinic intel-
ligence, and an inhuman intelligence that possesses its own powers, logics and
styles. To which we would add: cinema is first and foremost a thinker of the
city. From its very inception in the 1890s, cinema emerged into the world of
‘moving pictures’ and ‘animated photography’ as something of a pre-eminent
thinker of the city (Doel and Clarke 2002). Given their long-term intimacy, one
might say that, as far as the cinema is concerned, cities are far too precious to
be left to the thought of experts (architects, planners, developers, etc.), whose
thinking has more often than not ended up butchering them (see, e.g., Berman
1983; Harvey 1985; Lefebvre [1974] 1991). The city, itself a cinéaste, would
doubtless concur, having gestated cinema in response to certain profound
transformations in the fabric of space and time wrought by urban industri-
alization: speed and acceleration; dynamism and agitation; proliferation and
fragmentation. The space–time of the city is just as unhinged as the space–
time of the cinema. With this in mind, the articles included in this issue set
out to explore the automatic thinking of the city by the cinema: to engage in a
Deleuzian encounter with a process that we have chosen to call ‘cinematicity’.
The cinematic city forces its inhabitants (both human and nonhuman) to think
otherwise about space, time and the human condition in the machine age.

4
 Cinematicity: City and cinema after Deleuze

To the extent that the context governing the initial reception of Deleuze’s
two volumes on cinema in the English-speaking world was dominated by a
body of semiotic-cum-psychoanalytic film theory inimical to his way of think-
ing (Deleuze and Guattari [1972] 1984), it is hardly surprising that there was
a protracted delay before Deleuze’s contribution achieved the impact in the
English-speaking world that it was destined to receive. Today, we enjoy the
fruits of a veritable explosion of Deleuzian film scholarship (e.g. Bogue 2003;
Boljkovac 2013; Buchanan and MacCormack 2008; Colman 2011; Duarte 2014;
Flaxman 2000; Holland et al. 2009; Marrati 2008; Martin-Jones and Brown
2012; Rodowick 1997, 2010; Rushton 2012). Moreover, a better understanding
of the overall shape of Deleuze’s thought, with its devotion to seriality and
multiplicity (Deleuze [1969] 1990, [1968] 1994), has allowed a clearer appre-
ciation of the place of cinema in relation to that body of thought and as a
worldly endeavour – and here one might well mark Serge Toubiana’s words:
‘Cinema is Deleuzian’ (cited in Dosse [2007] 2010: 399, original emphasis).
In light of the ever-expanding corpus of work on Deleuze and film, and
the fact that each of the articles in this issue of the journal fleshes out a selec-
tion of key Deleuzian concepts on its own terms, we will limit ourselves here
to introducing some of the cinematic master keys and passwords, so to speak,
before offering an overview of the selection of articles comprising this issue.
Perhaps the most general point to emphasize concerns the distinction
captured by the division of Deleuze’s cinema books into two volumes – a
distinction to which we have already alluded by referring to the engineering
of time (and space), through editing, for example; and a (contrasting) sense of
time in its ‘pure state’. The first alludes to the ‘movement-image’ (Cinema 1,
[1983] 1986), in which motion marks time (but note that Henri Bergson
expressed concerns that the cinematograph dealt in a false approximation of
motion inasmuch as it granulized – that is to say, spatialized – time by render-
ing it as a succession of photographic stills or static instants to which move-
ment must be added in order to reconstitute the flow of time); the second to
the ‘time-image’ (Cinema 2, [1985] 1989), where the sensorimotor situation
that otherwise locates a sequence of events in time (moving, predictably,
from perception to recognition and thence to action) breaks down, leaving time
to shine forth in its pure and empty state: a cut-out state in which something
new may take place. It is in association with this conception of an ‘open
outpouring’, so to speak, that Deleuze’s notion of ‘any-space-whatever’
arises, the term conveying a space detached from any pre-given framework,
like a jigsaw piece that will never have been part of any whole; where all prior
familiarity and expectations dissolve; where – to invoke Samuel Beckett –
one can no longer go on but one must go on; a space that is no longer a
destination but a pure departure. An ‘any-space-whatever’ is the occa-
sion for what Deleuze variously refers to as deterritorializations, becomings
and lines of flight. For Deleuze, cinema is the exemplary ‘static vehicle’ for
‘motionless trips’, and will always remain a ‘phantom ride’ at heart.
Deleuze discerns cinema’s own movement over the twentieth century
from the movement-image to the time-image, which equates to the move-
ment traced, broadly chronologically, across the two Cinema volumes. The
movement-image that the cinema initially endeavoured to explore delivered
an indirect image of time, while the time-image delivers a direct image of time.
It is worth noting, for the uninitiated, that the concept of ‘image’ deployed by
Deleuze, which derives from Bergson, resolutely does not imply an image as
a secondary representation of an underlying reality: anything and everything

5
David B. Clarke | Marcus A. Doel

is an image in the sense that it records everything else in the universe from its
own unique vantage point. An image is not, then, a derivative reflection; and
so – for example – a movement-image or a time-image is not a re-presentation
of movement or of time. Images are trans-scriptions. As such they open out
onto innumerable ‘regimes of signs’, most of which are a-signifying (Deleuze
and Guattari [1980] 1988). Cinema works directly on the raw material of space
and time. It trans-scribes them into ever-new articulations. For Deleuze, the
engineering of nomadic and monadic time-images means that the cinema is a
factory of transcription rather than a theatre of representation. Cinema is the
crystal palace in which unhinged time takes its place in an unhinged space: a
labyrinth of time spliced with a labyrinth of space, to purloin a fine image of
thought conjured by Borges (2000).
It may already be apparent from this summary that the oft-noted elec-
tive affinity between cinema and city directly lends itself to Deleuze’s most
basic distinction between the movement-image and the time-image. Or,
rather, Deleuze’s distinction is capable of casting new light on this elec-
tive affinity. The earliest cinematic (and pre-cinematic) animated images
were movement-images: the affective response to ‘living pictures’ found an
underlying fascination with the reproduction of the motion and agitation
of cityscapes – movement in space marked time. As the densest concentra-
tions of movement yet known, modern industrial cities functioned as capti-
vating centres of great motion and commotion – as everything from the
rush of an oncoming train arriving at a railway station to full-blown city
symphonies, recording a day in the life of a great metropolis, powerfully
attest. The time-image, to which the cinema’s evolution eventually gave
rise, and the attendant notion of ‘any-space-whatever’, readily lend them-
selves to the city as a space of encounter and possibility; a space where
quotidian time opens itself to life-changing and earth-shattering events; an
evental space of revolutionary transformation that was already evident in
the very earliest films in the form of – to give but one example – humdrum
park benches, which facilitated all manner of comic encounters between
different social types. The capacity of Deleuzian concepts to provide a range
of insights into the cinematic city is precisely what the articles collected in
this issue serve to demonstrate.
In the first of these articles, ‘Cinema, thought, immanence: Contemplating
signs and empty spaces in the films of Ozu’, Andrew Lapworth provides a
thoughtful and lucid exposition of the cinema as a thinker of the city, deliver-
ing a beautifully paced meditation on the ‘cinema of contemplation’ brought
into being by the Japanese director, Ozu Yasujiro¯ . Carefully positioning Ozu’s
work in relation to the conceptual framework provided by Deleuze’s two
cinema volumes so as to allow the qualities of such a contemplative mode
of cinema to emerge, and drawing on Deleuze’s ([1968] 1994) Difference and
Repetition to clarify the qualities of Ozu’s cinema in relation to certain received
accounts of Ozu’s aesthetic, Lapworth effectively develops a notion of the
screen as a contemplative ‘event-space’ that contracts and manufactures new
signs, as pure qualities or sensations, which detach subjects from the imme-
diate demands of action and spaces from programmed territorial logics. The
insights this provides, as Lapworth demonstrates, carry profound implica-
tions, which, in much the same sense highlighted by David H. Fleming in the
second article of the theme-issue, involve the capacity of cinema to disrupt
the habitual, forcing us to think and feel anew. The manner in which such
cinematic encounters hold open the possibility for a redirection of thought by

6
 Cinematicity: City and cinema after Deleuze

virtue of the affective spaces they create is brought to the fore; a possibility
Lapworth frames in terms of a politics of the virtual.
The second article, David H. Fleming’s ‘The architectural cinematicity of
Wang Shu and the architectonic cinema of Jia Zhangke: Diagrammatically
decomposing the “Main Melody” in monu-mental assemblage art’, imagina-
tively juxtaposes Wang Shu’s Ningbo Historic Museum (built in 2008) and Jia
Zhangke’s Shanghai World Expo film, I Wish I Knew (2010). Fleming discerns
in these works a respective becoming-cinema of architecture and becoming-
architecture of cinema, deriving from a common ‘abstract diagram’ mobilized
independently by each artist. Focusing on the recycling of found materials and
their recomposition within what Fleming specifies as ‘agential assemblage
artworks’, their political resonances are explicated in terms of the introduction
of ‘new rhythms’ that complicate China’s ‘main melody’: a state-sanctioned
push for rapid urbanization. They do so by creating conditions that provoke
thought – force thought to take place – by means of affective encounters
with new milieux. Fleming develops ‘a hybrid model of Deleuze’s different
image regimes from Cinema 1 and Cinema 2’ that allows us to see ‘how these
macropolitical “monuments” critique the very narratives of progress that their
commissioners charge them with celebrating’. Offering a nuanced apprecia-
tion of these works in relation to one another and in terms of their broader
context, Fleming’s article works to provoke thought with respect to what a
Deleuzian perspective might deliver as it encounters the cinematic city.
In ‘Paris vs. providence: Framing the crystalline city in Jean Renoir’s
La Chienne (1931)’, Barry Nevin offers an original and illuminating study of
Deleuze’s characterization of Renoir’s use of ‘deep space’ as articulating a
‘cracked crystal’ of time. Via a close analysis of La Chienne (1931), Nevin holds
Deleuze’s formulation up to careful scrutiny, suggesting that it is significantly
modulated by narrative setting – to the extent that vital aspects of Renoir’s
framing of the city are missed in the characterization delivered by Deleuze’s
taxonomy. This is vital to understanding the ways in which urban topography
is mobilized in the dialectic of imprisonment and escape that grants the city a
leading role in the drama that unfolds on the screen: ‘formal tensions between
Renoir’s mise-en-scène of the theatre and the city foreground the active role of
the city as a catalyst of the characters’ individual trajectories in a world where
social identity remains crucially unfixed’. Nevin marshals a wide range of
work to inform his own reading, such as André Bazin’s remarks on the rela-
tions between visibility and invisibility achieved by framing, which Deleuze’s
purposive characterization arguably forfeits. The nuanced reading that results
delivers some crucial insights into the relations between the cinema, urban
topography and social space.
New York, an archetypal cinematic city – seen through the lenses of
two independent film-makers and spanning two transformative decades in
that city’s history – forms the focus of the next two articles. In the first of
these, ‘Topographies of liminality in 1960s New York underground cinema:
Peter Emanuel Goldman’s Echoes of Silence (1965)’, Berit Hummel offers a
compelling assessment of the ‘co-production’ of filmic and urban space in
1960s underground cinema. Hummel takes Deleuze’s notion of the balade
form – the French term conveying both a stroll and a ballad – to inform her
own peregrination through New York’s cinéscape as screened in Goldman’s
neglected film, ‘asking how the movements of a drifting protagonist produces
a spatiality that relates to constitutive societal conflicts’, and – tracing the
undercurrents of artistic production through a shifting urban scene – arguing

7
David B. Clarke | Marcus A. Doel

that ‘filmic images contribute to the way its viewers conceive of their environ-
ment in that they generate new concepts, not only of cinema, but also of the
city’. Echoing the potency of the cinematic noted by a range of other contrib-
utors to this theme-issue, Hummel’s focus on a film-maker not discussed
directly by Deleuze provides a perfect opportunity for extending Deleuze’s
insights, particularly given the intensity achieved by Goldman’s work.
A second article on New York, Marlon T. L. Fink’s ‘Held captive in frames:
Reconstructing 1970s New York through Chantal Akerman’s Hotel Monterey
and News from Home’, not only features a film-maker whom Deleuze discusses
but whom also attended some of Deleuze’s classes before her move to New
York. Fink draws on Akerman’s 2011 dialogue with Nicole Brenez – published
as ‘The pajama interview’ (Brenez 2012) – to launch a detailed analysis of
Akerman’s relation to the city, principally as it is expressed through two
films shot on location in New York, Hotel Monterey (1972) and News from
Home (1976), both of which feature the cinematography of Babette Mangolte.
Fink deftly develops a parallel reading of these films and the urban context
of their filming, mobilizing a number of key Deleuzian concepts and simul-
taneously demonstrating their saliency. Deleuze’s ‘any-space-whatever’, as
a notion crucial to the genesis of the time-image; spaces of transience and
transition; and milieux are put into circulation by Fink, allowing the spaces
(e.g., ‘the hotel: its lobby, floors, corridors’) and flows of the city (such as
‘public transportation: subways, overground lines, cabs, the ferry’) captured
by Akerman to create ‘autonomous, material realities and spaces for the spec-
tator to contemplate in a cinema of the seer par excellence’.
The final full-length article of the issue is provided by Ella Harris, whose
‘Exploring pop-up cinema and the city: Deleuzian encounters with Secret
Cinema’s pop-up screening of The Third Man’ builds from an ethnographic
account of a themed, interactive, ‘immersive’ screening of Carol Reed’s (1949)
film in London in 2012 (a simultaneous screening apparently took place in
Kabul). Directing attention to the experiential dimension of film spectatorship,
and recalling the importance of exhibition practices to early cinema, Harris
offers a first-hand account of this high-profile London event, staged by Secret
Cinema – a commercial organization that transformed a small corner of the
city to enact a recreation of the International Zone of Allied-occupied Vienna
at the start of the Cold War: the context of Reed’s film. The event occasions
a variety of questions concerning the relationship between filmic texts and
urban sites. Harris focuses on two in detail: first, the question of the impact
of this kind of experiential event on participants, particularly in terms of ways
of seeing the urban, which takes Deleuze’s ‘any-space-whatever’ as a fillip;
second, the question of the reciprocal transformation of text and context – film
and urban space – brought to the fore by this kind of screening, using notions
of ‘the out-of-field and its differing functions within the movement-image and
the time-image to address how Secret Cinema’s dramatized site of spectator-
ship’ took place. In focusing on film spectatorship, Harris deploys Deleuzian
notions in the context of a new co-production of filmic and urban space.
Lastly, a short-form article, ‘Of other worlds’, written collaboratively
by the artist and film-maker, Heidi Vogels, and Halbe Hessel Kuypers, and
stemming from Vogels’ visual documentary, Gardens of Fez, focuses on the
gardens of the medina of Fez in Morocco – the oldest and largest medina
in the Arab world. Vogels’ documentary grew out of a 2011–2013 research
project (www.gardensoffez.com). This reflective article takes the labyrinthine
structure of the medina as its basis. The authors interweave Jorge Luis

8
 Cinematicity: City and cinema after Deleuze

Borges’ (2000) short story, ‘The Garden of Forking Paths’, Michel Foucault’s
(1986) essay on heterotopia, and Deleuze’s reflection on Borges’ tale to
suggest a conceptual parallel between the heterotopic properties of cinema
and the enclosed garden within the city (itself exemplifying one of Foucault’s
heterotopic spaces). Like the cinema, the gardens of Fez function as a
passageway to other sites: in thought, memory and imagination. It is also the
passageway that brings us back to the question of what lies beyond the frag-
ile geometry of space: ‘that of an outside more distant than any exterior, and
that of an inside deeper than any interior’ (Deleuze [1985] 1989: 261). As the
lights fade to ‘utmost dim’, and the projectors start their ‘stirrings still’, the
cinematicity that opens up before you, with its memories of the future and
premonitions of the past, appears to be saying: Don’t Look Now! Look on …
You have been forewarned.

r eferen C es
Berman, M. (1983), All That is Solid Melts into Air: The Experience of Modernity,
London: Verso.
Bogue, R. (2003), Deleuze on Cinema, London: Routledge.
Boljkovac, N. (2013), Untimely Affects: Gilles Deleuze and an Ethics of Cinema,
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Borges, J. L. (2000), ‘The garden of forking paths’, in D. A. Yates (ed.),
Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings, London: Penguin, pp. 44–54.
Brenez, N. (2012), ‘Chantal Akerman: The pajama interview’, LOLA, Issue
2 (June), Devils, http://www.lolajournal.com/2/pajama.html. Accessed
18 January 2016.
Buchanan, I. and MacCormack, P. (eds) (2008), Deleuze and the Schizoanalysis
of Cinema, London: Continuum.
Clarke, D. B. (ed.) (1997), The Cinematic City, London: Routledge.
Clarke, D. B. and Doel, M. A. (2005), ‘Engineering space and time: Moving
pictures and motionless trips’, Journal of Historical Geography, 31: 1,
pp. 41–60.
—— (2007), ‘Shooting space, tracking time: The city from animated photogra-
phy to vernacular relativity’, Cultural Geographies, 14: 4, pp. 589–609.
Colman, F. (2011), Deleuze and Cinema: The Film Concepts, Oxford: Berg.
Deleuze, G. ([1968] 1994), Difference and Repetition (trans. P. Patton), New
York: Columbia University Press.
—— ([1969] 1990), The Logic of Sense (trans. C. V. Boundas), New York:
Columbia University Press.
—— ([1983] 1986), Cinema 1: The Movement-Image (trans. H. Tomlinson and
B. Habberjam), London: Athlone.
—— ([1985] 1989), Cinema 2: The Time-Image (trans. H. Tomlinson and
R. Galeta), London: Athlone.
Deleuze, G. and Guattari, F. ([1972] 1984), Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and
Schizophrenia (trans. R. Hurley, M. Seem and H. R. Lane), London:
Athlone.
—— ([1980] 1988), A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (trans.
B. Massumi), London: Athlone.
Doel, M. A. and Clarke, D. B. (2002), ‘An invention without a future, a solu-
tion without a problem: motor pirates, time machines, and drunkenness
on the screen’, in R. Kitchin and J. Kneale (eds), Lost in Space: Geographies
of Science Fiction, London: Continuum, pp. 136–55.

9
David B. Clarke | Marcus A. Doel

Dosse, F. ([2007] 2010), Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari: Intersecting Lives
(trans. D. Glassman), New York: Columbia University Press.
Duarte, G. A. (2014), Fractal Narrative: About the Relationship Between Geometries
and Technology and Its Impact on Narrative Spaces, Bielefeld: Transcript-
Verlag.
Flaxman, G. (2000), The Brain is the Screen: Deleuze and the Philosophy of Cinema,
Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
Foucault, M. (1986), ‘Of other spaces’, Diacritics, 16: 1, pp. 22–27.
Harvey, D. (1985), Consciousness and the Urban Experience: Studies in the History
and Theory of Capitalist Urbanization, Oxford: Blackwell.
Holland, E. W., Smith, D. W. and Stivale, C. J. (eds) (2009), Gilles Deleuze:
Image and Text, London: Continuum.
Lefebvre, H. ([1974] 1991), The Production of Space (trans. D. Nicholson-
Smith), Oxford: Blackwell.
Marrati, P. (2008), Deleuze: Cinema and Philosophy (trans. A. Hartz), Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press.
Martin-Jones, D. and Brown, W. (eds) (2012), Deleuze and Film, Edinburgh:
Edinburgh University Press.
Mumford, L. (1938), The Culture of Cities, London: Secker and Warburg.
Rodowick, D. N. (1997), Gilles Deleuze’s Time Machine, Durham: Duke
University Press.
—— (ed.) (2010), Afterimages of Gilles Deleuze’s Film Philosophy, Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press.
Rushton, R. (2012), Cinema After Deleuze, London: Continuum.

suGG estedC itation

Clarke, D. B. and Doel, M. A. (2016), ‘Cinematicity: City and cinema after
Deleuze’, Journal of Urban Cultural Studies, 3: 1, pp. 3–11, doi: 10.1386/
jucs.3.1.3_1

Contri B utordetails
David B. Clarke is Professor of Human Geography, Head of Department and
Director of the Centre for Urban Theory at Swansea University in Wales (UK).
He is the author of The Consumer Society and the Postmodern City, editor of
The Cinematic City, and co-editor of The Consumption Reader; Jean Baudrillard:
Fatal Theories; Moving Pictures/Stopping Places: Hotels and Motels on Film; and,
most recently, Jean Baudrillard: from Hyperreality to Disappearance – Uncollected
Interviews. He has published widely on urbanism, film, and a range of topics
relating to social theories of space, particularly post-structuralist theory.
Contact: Swansea University, Swansea SA2 8PP, UK.
E-mail: d.b.clarke@swansea.ac.uk

Marcus A. Doel is Professor of Human Geography at Swansea University in

Wales (UK), where he is also Co-director of the Centre for Urban Theory and
a Deputy Pro Vice Chancellor. He is the author of Poststructuralist Geographies;
co-author of Writing the Rural; and co-editor of The Consumption Reader; Jean
Baudrillard: Fatal Theories; and Moving Pictures/Stopping Places: Hotels and
Motels on Film. He has written extensively on post-structuralism and spatial
theory, critical human geography, and cinematic cities, and is currently work-
ing on a book on violent geographies.

10
 Cinematicity: City and cinema after Deleuze

Contact: Swansea University, Swansea SA2 8PP, UK.

E-mail: m.a.doel@swansea.ac.uk

David B. Clarke and Marcus A. Doel have asserted their right under the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the authors of
this work in the format that was submitted to Intellect Ltd.

11
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www.intellectbooks.com
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