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Edited by Diego Bonelli · Alfio Leotta
Audiovisual
Tourism Promotion
A Critical Overview
Audiovisual Tourism Promotion
Diego Bonelli • Alfio Leotta
Editors
Audiovisual Tourism
Promotion
A Critical Overview
ISBN 978-981-16-6409-0 ISBN 978-981-16-6410-6 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6
© e Editor(s) (if applicable) and e Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Singapore
Pte Ltd. 2021
is work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether
the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and
transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar
or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed.
e use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication
does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant
protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
e publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book
are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or
the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any
errors or omissions that may have been made. e publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional
claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
Cover illustration: Matteo Colombo, GettyImages
is Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore
Pte Ltd.
e registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721,
Singapore
Editors
Diego Bonelli
Victoria University of Wellington
Wellington, New Zealand
Alfio Leotta
Victoria University of Wellington
Wellington, New Zealand
v
is book would have not been possible without the invaluable support
provided by Joshua Pitt and MD Saif at Palgrave Macmillan.
We would like to thank those colleagues and friends who volunteered
their time and knowledge to this project. We are particularly grateful to
Paige Macintosh and Nirmal Kumar Gnanaprakasam (for assisting with
the editing and proofreading process) and the anonymous reviewers for
their insightful suggestions.
We are indebted to ierry Jutel, Miriam Ross, and Missy Molloy for
providing sage advice and encouragement at various stages of the project.
We would also like to thank Victoria University of Wellington for the
research grant that allowed us to complete the volume.
Our gratitude also goes to our families and friends for their uncondi-
tional support throughout this project.
Acknowledgements
vii
1 Introduction 1
Diego Bonelli and Alfio Leotta
Part I Media Forms 11
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia
in the Age of Government-Led Film Production 13
Diego Bonelli
3 More than Just Safety: A Critical History of In-flight
Safety Briefing Videos 37
Rowan Light
4 e Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves 63
Luís Bonixe and Gorete Dinis
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time
of COVID- 19: Tourism Ireland’s Online Film
I Will Return 87
Alessandra De Marco
Contents
viii Contents
6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study
of the Faroe Islands’ ‘Remote Tourism’ Campaign 107
Alfio Leotta
Part II Recent Developments in Screen- Induced Tourism 127
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy 129
Giulia Lavarone
8 How Do Video Games Induce Us to Travel?: Exploring
the Drivers, Mechanisms, and Limits of Video
Game- Induced Tourism 153
Jiahui (Yolanda) Dong, Louis-Etienne Dubois, Marion Joppe,
and Lianne Foti
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and
Critical Evaluation of the First Decade of Smart
Screen Tourism 173
Cathrin Bengesser and Anne Marit Waade
Part III Tourist Gaze, Identity, and Race 197
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and
Realist Tendencies in Amateur Tourist Films 199
Rosina Hickman
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in
Tourism Promotional Videos of Regions and
Metropolitan Cities 221
Piotr Dzik and Anna Adamus-Matuszyńska
xi
Anna Adamus-Matuszyńska is a sociology and public relations special-
ist, and a professor at the University of Economics in Katowice, Poland.
Her research interests focus on public relations as the scientific discipline
and visual identification of places. She lectures in sociology, conflict man-
agement, and public relations. She is the author and co-author of around
140 articles and 8 books.
Panizza Allmark is the Associate Dean of Arts, and an associate profes-
sor in the School of Arts and Humanities at Edith Cowan University,
Perth, Australia. She leads the Media and Cultural Studies programme.
Allmark is also the chief editor of the international journal Continuum:
Journal of Media and Cultural Studies.
Cathrin Bengesser is Assistant Professor of Digital Media Industries at
Aarhus University, Denmark. She researched screen tourism, transna-
tional audiences, and European Creative Industries policies during her
Post-Doc in the Horizon 2020 project DETECt (2018–2021). She
received her PhD from Birkbeck, University of London.
Diego Bonelli holds a PhD in Film from Victoria University of
Wellington, New Zealand, and an MA in History from the University of
Parma, Italy. His academic work deploys archival research and his primary
research interests focus on tourism film, documentary film, the relation-
Notes on Contributors
xii Notes on Contributors
ship between media and tourism, and Italian cinema. Bonelli’s work has
been published in Studies in Australasian Cinema, e Journal of New
Zealand Studies, e Journal of New Zealand and Pacific Studies, Journal of
Tourism History, NEKE—e New Zealand Journal of Translation Studies,
and the Journal of Italian Cinema and Media Studies.
Luís Bonixe holds a PhD in Communication Sciences, with a speciali-
sation in journalism from Faculty of Social and Human Sciences
(FCSH)—Universidade Nova de Lisboa, Portugal. He is the author and
co-author of four books. He has written several chapters and articles in
national and international academic journals on radio, journalism, local
journalism, online journalism, and media and tourism. He is Professor of
Journalism at the Polytechnic Institute of Portalegre, Portugal, and a
researcher at Instituto de Comuniçãcao da Nova (ICNOVA).
Alessandra De Marco is SEO Webwriting and Localisation Specialist at
Arkys Digital Marketing. Former Lecturer in Language and Linguistics,
she carries out independent scholarly research in digital marketing, tour-
ism, and advertising. Among her latest publications is Destination Brand
New Zealand. A Social Semiotic Multimodal Analysis (2017).
Gorete Dinis holds a PhD in Tourism; an MSc in Innovation, Planning,
and Development Policies; and a BSc in Tourism Management and
Planning from the University of Aveiro, Portugal. She is coordinator and
professor of the BSc in Tourism at the School of Education and Social
Sciences of the Polytechnic Institute of Portalegre, Portugal, and member
of the Research Unit ‘Governance, Competitiveness and Public Policies’
and of the ‘CITUR Algarve.’
Jiahui (Yolanda) Dong holds an MSc in Tourism and Hospitality
Management from Gordon S. Lang School of Business and Economics,
Canada. During her graduate and undergraduate study, Dong partici-
pated in several research projects in the organisational behaviour domain.
She is interested in tourism studies with particular emphasis on media-
induced tourism.
Louis-Etienne Dubois is Associate Professor of Creative Industries
Management at Ryerson University’s School of Creative Industries,
xiii Notes on Contributors
Canada. He is the director of the Future of Live Entertainment lab, a
research partnership with Cirque du Soleil Entertainment Group. Dubois
holds a PhD from HEC Montréal and from MINES ParisTech.
Piotr Dzik is a sociologist and political scientist, consultant and practi-
tioner, and lecturer at the Academy of Fine Arts in Katowice, Poland. He
conducts research in the field of visual identification systems of local gov-
ernment units, and he is the author and co-author of over 20 peer-
reviewed papers in this field. He is also the co-author of the book (with
Anna Adamus-Matuszyńska) Visual Identity of Polish Provinces, Cities and
Counties. Identification, Presentation, Meaning.
Lianne Foti is an associate professor in the School of Hospitality, Food
and Tourism Management at the University of Guelph, Canada. She
received an MBA from EDHEC Business School, France, and a Doctorate
from the University of Bradford, UK. Prior to her academic career, she
worked in both the food and energy industries. Foti’s body of research
largely focuses on consumer behaviour, ethical decision-making, and
online marketing.
Rosina Hickman is an experimental filmmaker, film historian, and edu-
cational video producer based in New Zealand. Her research explores the
history of home movies and their archival afterlife in the public sphere.
She holds a PhD in Film from Victoria University of Wellington.
Marion Joppe is a professor in the School of Hospitality, Food and
Tourism Management at University of Guelph, Canada. She specialises
in destination planning, development and marketing, and the experi-
ences upon which destinations build. She has extensive private and pub-
lic sector experience, having worked for financial institutions, tour
operators, consulting groups, and government, prior to joining academia.
Giulia Lavarone is Research Fellow in Film Studies at the University of
Padova, Italy. She has authored several scholarly articles and chapters in
edited books, as well as the book Cinema, media e turismo (PUP, 2016).
Her research interests mainly concern the relationships between cinema
and other arts, cinema and the city, film landscapes, and film-induced
tourism.
xiv Notes on Contributors
Alfio Leotta is Senior Lecturer in Film at Victoria University of
Wellington, New Zealand. His primary research interests focus on the
relation between film and tourism, national cinema, the globalisation of
film production, and fantasy cinema. His first book Touring the Screen:
Tourism and New Zealand Film Geographies (2011) examines film-induced
tourism in New Zealand. Leotta is also the author of e Bloomsbury
Companion to Peter Jackson (2016) and e Cinema of John Milius (2018).
Rowan Light is Lecturer in History at the University of Auckland, New
Zealand. His research focuses on histories of remembrance and represen-
tation shaped by cultures of nationalism in transnational and compara-
tive contexts.
Anne Marit Waade is Professor of Global Media Industries at Aarhus
University, Denmark. Her research interests include location studies,
Nordic noir, transnational television series, and screen tourism. Her
recent publications include ‘Screening the West Coast: Developing New
Nordic Noir Tourism in Denmark’ (2020), Locating Nordic Noir (2017),
Wallanderland (2013), and ‘When Public Service Drama Travels’ (2016).
xv
Fig. 9.1 Typology of smartphone and technology use in screen
tourism. (Developed from Waade and Bengesser 2020) 188
Fig. 10.1 Publicity poster designed by Marcus King, c.1955.
Reproduced courtesy of Tourism New Zealand 200
Fig. 10.2 Romantic New Zealand: e Land of the Long White Cloud
(1934). Public Domain 204
Fig. 10.3 Maori Village: A Concert Rehearsal Near Rotorua (1945) and
Meet New Zealand: e People (1949). Collection of Archives
New Zealand (CC BY 3.0) 209
Fig. 10.4 Women at Whakarewarewa recorded by Bernadine Bailey,
1956. Reproduced courtesy of Indiana University Libraries
Moving Image Archive 215
List of Figures
xvii
Table 4.1 Criteria and parameters used for the analyses of radio
programmes 74
Table 4.2 Characterization of the corpus 76
Table 8.1 Game descriptions 155
Table 11.1 Number of promotional videos analysed—voivodesips 230
Table 11.2 Number of promotional videos analysed—cities, capitals
of the regions 230
Table 11.3 ‘Others’ in Polish promotional videos 235
List of Tables
1
© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_1
1
Introduction
DiegoBonelli andAlfioLeotta
Media play a key role in both shaping discourses about travel and tourism
and constructing tourist experiences (Lester and Scarles 2013, 255).
Dean MacCannell argues that mass media boost the appeal of tourism
destinations by inuencing the way in which they are represented and
perceived (1999). Similarly, John Urry claims that tourism practices are
intrinsically associated with visual consumption, particularly with the
commodication of images produced by movies and television (2002).
Although the relationship between media and tourism has been receiving
increasing academic attention over the last two decades (Urry 2002;
Crouch etal. 2005;Beeton 2016; Beeton etal. 2000), the way in which
tourism destinations and activities are promoted in audiovisual media
remains severely under-researched. For example, despite the fact that a
number of scholars argue that advertising is crucial to the survival of the
tourism industry (Morgan and Pritchard 1998; Urry 2002; Govers etal.
2007; McCabe 2010), relatively little attention has been devoted to the
D. Bonelli (*) • A. Leotta
Victoria University of Wellington, Wellington, New Zealand
e-mail: alo.leotta@vuw.ac.nz
2
analysis of both the aesthetic characteristics of tourism TV commercials
(TVCs) and the contexts of their production and circulation (Pan etal.
2011, 2017; Pan and Hanusch 2011; Gong and Tung 2017; White
2018). Even fewer studies have attempted to investigate what media
objects as diverse as movies, TV travel series, and Virtual Reality (VR)
share with TVCs in terms of their promotional potential.
Drawing upon our previous work (Bonelli 2018; Bonelli etal. 2019;
Leotta 2020), this volume deploys the concept of ‘audiovisual tourism
promotion’ to account for the shared promotional functions performed
by a vast array of diverse media texts including tourism lms, feature
lms, promotional videos conceived for online circulation, video games,
and TV commercials. From this point of view, this book aims to ll a
major gap in the literature by providing the rst comprehensive critical
overview of audiovisual tourism promotion as a distinct media eld.
Audiovisual Tourism Promotion
Tourism promotion has often been conceived as an element of destina-
tion image formation (Beerli and Martín 2004; Govers et al. 2007).
Gartner (1994), for example, suggests that tourism depends on ‘image
formation agents’ to construct appealing destination images for prospec-
tive tourists. Similarly, Urry claims that advertising plays a key role in the
tourist decision-making process:
Overtime via advertising and the media, the images generated of dierent
tourist gazes come to constitute a closed self-perpetuating system of illu-
sions which provide the tourist with the basis for selecting and evaluating
potential places to visit. (2002, 7)
However, despite recognising the importance of advertising, the existing
scholarship on tourism promotion lacks a shared theoretical framework
and terminology to account for the multiplicity of its media forms. Scott
McCabe (2010), for example, acknowledges the wide range of tourism
advertising channels, but does not engage in a discussion of their speci-
cities. Pan etal. (2011), Pan and Hanusch (2011), and Pan (2011) focus
D. Bonelli and A . Leotta
3
on the examination of tourism TVCs, while Shani et al. (2010) and
Leung etal. (2017) discuss promotional videos conceived for online dis-
tribution which they dene as Destination Promotion Videos (DPVs).
Neither Shani etal. (2010) nor Leung etal. (2017), however, attempt to
explore the dierences and similarities between tourism TVCs and DPVs.
Similarly, Gong and Tung (2017) dene certain types of online promo-
tional videos as ‘mini-movies,’ while Fullerton and Kendrick (2011) refer
to similar videos as simply ‘tourism advertising.’ Finally, in his pioneering
work in this eld, Bonelli used the concept of ‘tourism lm’ as an umbrella
term that encompasses a number of dierent media objects including
TVCs, DPVs, and actual lms. His theorisation of the tourism lm,
however, did not account for technologies such as VR and AR or user-
generated videos. None of the terms mentioned above—TVC, DPV, or
tourism lm—manages to cover eectively the variety of tourism audio-
visual promotion media forms which include texts as diverse as tourism
and travel lms (both short and feature length), travel TV shows, safety
videos produced by airlines to promote their countries as tourism desti-
nations, user-generated content (such as amateur footage circulated by
tourists on social media), and so on.
Drawing upon the work of Leotta (2020), in this volume we will use
the concept of ‘audiovisual tourism promotion’ to refer to a variety of
media technologies, aesthetic forms, and platforms for distribution.
Despite their signicant formal, thematic, and production dierences,
media texts such as the ones discussed in this edited collection share a
certain commitment to both place and the shaping of the viewer’s tourist
gaze. One of the challenges associated with the eld of audiovisual tour-
ism promotion relates to the fact that not all these texts are originally
designed to have a primary promotional purpose. By contrast, some
audiovisual texts that are explicitly conceived as destination promotional
tools often serve other functions, such as the promotion of civic pride
and the forging of national identity (Hillyer 1997; Peterson 2006;
Fullerton and Kendrick 2011; Pan etal. 2017).
Audiences’ decoding processes play a crucial role in determining the
way in which texts featuring tourism destinations are read. From this
point of view, it is the audience that ultimately lters the way in which a
media text contributes to their perception of a given destination. e
1 Introduction
4
‘mediated places’ featured in audiovisual tourism promotional texts are
structurally anchored to meaning by a ‘discursive framework’ (Leotta
2020). French philosopher Michel Foucault (1969) dened discourse as
a way of organising knowledge that structures the constitution of social
relations through the collective acceptance of the discourse as a social
fact. According to Foucault, discourse produces ‘practices that systemati-
cally form the objects of which they speak’ (Foucault 1969, 135). In turn,
the discursive framework, namely the way in which place and space are
understood in audiovisual tourism promotional texts, is informed by tex-
tual and contextual factors (Leotta 2020).
Textual factors include aesthetic conventions, enunciative strategies,
and narrative structures that have the potential of appealing to the so-
called tourist imagination of the viewer. Crouch etal. (2005, 1) articu-
lated the concept of tourist imagination to account for the sense of global
physical and virtual mobility engendered by the daily consumption of
digital media. At the aesthetic level certain generic conventions of tour-
ism lms and TVCs (e.g. bird-eye views of spectacular natural landscapes)
may generate certain visceral responses in the viewer, possibly inuencing
their desire to visit the locations depicted on screen. Similarly, as argued
in the chapter by Dong etal., the immersive potential of media such as
video games can play a crucial role in shaping prospective tourists’ atti-
tudes towards a given destination.
Narrative structures may also stimulate the viewer’s ‘tourist imagina-
tion’ by developing a certain construction of space in the story. For exam-
ple, a series of textual factors such as the foregrounding of landscape as
spectacle, the production of space as an active character, and the focus on
the journey as the main narrative drive might explain the tourist spin-o
of a lm franchise such as e Lord of the Rings (2001–2003) (Leotta
2015). Enunciative strategies refer to the way in which the intended
receiver of the text is inscribed in it. For example, many tourism TVCs
address viewers as prospective tourists by featuring images of travellers
enjoying the interaction with the landscape. ese TVCs often encourage
the identication with these characters while suggesting potential ways of
relating to place and space. Enunciative strategies often aect the con-
struction of certain narrative structures. For example, the foregrounding
of the tourists as onscreen simulacra of the viewers in tourism TVCs
D. Bonelli and A . Leotta
5
often implies a narrative which revolves around notions of travel and
exploration. Faroe Islands’ Remote Tourism, the case study analysed in
Leotta’s chapter, pushes this logic to the extreme by encouraging prospec-
tive tourists to control a local guide in an attempt to enhance the authen-
ticity of the virtual tourist experience.
e contextual factors are the dierent ways in which the promotional
texts are circulated and received. ese factors comprise platforms and
modes of distribution, the space and time of exhibition, media discourses
surrounding the circulation of the texts, and audiences’ backgrounds and
expectations (Leotta 2020, 208). e context of circulation and recep-
tion of these texts plays a crucial role in determining their performative
function. For example, the screening of a tourism TVC about Dublin for
an audience of Dubliners might foster a sense of civic pride rather than
stimulating tourism growth. By contrast, the screening of a feature lm
such as Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (2001) within the context
of a tourism trade event might be considered as a promotional tool,
potentially contributing to an increased interest in visiting Britain. In
their respective chapters on screen-induced tourism, Lavarone, and
Bengesser and Waade discuss how the way in which certain screen loca-
tions are mediated and promoted might lead to radically dierent out-
comes in terms of their success in attracting tourists.
As Morgan and Pritchard (1998) point out, the production and circu-
lation of audiovisual promotional texts about tourism both express and
reproduce dominant power relations. Many of the chapters featured in
this collection highlight how the discursive framework, namely the tex-
tual and contextual factors that inform the reading of audiovisual promo-
tional texts, is inuenced by power dynamics. Usually, these texts are
produced by institutions or companies endowed with signicant eco-
nomic and political power; therefore, the way in which place is repre-
sented reproduces certain economic and political interests. Similarly, the
way in which audiovisual promotional texts are distributed, exhibited,
and discussed is also often framed by such economic and political inter-
ests. For example, in order to produce and distribute a TVC, a Destination
Management Organisation (DMO) needs to have access to signicant
nancial resources. DMOs that possess more nancial or political
resources than others can therefore guarantee a more widespread and
1 Introduction
6
eective media coverage of certain destinations. Similarly, the strategic
decisions of a DMO, which in turn might aect the representation of the
destination itself, are also informed by internal power dynamics such as
dierent national stakeholders competing for hegemony. In turn, this
might potentially result in the over-representation of certain places or
activities (Leotta 2020).
Due to the heterogeneity of its specic manifestations, we argue that
the analysis of multiple case studies is the best approach to illustrate the
dynamic character and scope of audiovisual tourism promotion. is
edited collection includes 11 interdisciplinary contributions that deploy
various theoretical and historical perspectives to examine case studies
located in geographical areas such as Australasia, Europe, and North
America. e chapters will be divided into three parts. Part I, ‘Media
Forms’, examines the role that media as diverse as tourism lms (Bonelli),
digital commercials (De Marco), in-ight safety videos (Light), radio net-
works (Dinis and Bonixe), and virtual interactive media (Leotta) play in
tourism marketing. Some of these contributions, particularly the chap-
ters by De Marco and Leotta, also analyse the impact of the COVID-19
global pandemic on digital destination marketing and audiovisual tour-
ism promotion. Part II, ‘Recent Developments in Screen-Induced
Tourism’, examines emerging phenomena like fantasy lm-induced tour-
ism in Italy (Lavarone), lm location phone apps (Bengesser and Waade),
and video game-induced tourism (Dong etal.) as new tendencies within
the broader eld of screen-induced tourism. Finally, Part III, ‘Tourist
Gaze, Identity, and Race’, analyses the role played by both amateur holi-
day lms (Hickman) and tourism marketing campaigns (Allmark, and
Dzik and Adamus-Matuszyńska) in shaping, conveying, and promoting
cultural, racial, and gender identities. e themes treated in the three
parts often intertwine—for instance, the tourist gaze which informs the
making of amateur holiday lms (as discussed by Hickman in Part III)
often reects the governing vision conveyed by tourism lms produced
by government-led production companies (a topic explored by Bonelli in
Part I). Similarly, the study of the deployment of new digital mobile
media to promote lm locations as tourism destinations (Bengesser and
Waade) intersects with some of the debates analysed in Part I of the book
(‘Media Forms’). It is our hope that by focusing on the analysis of a
D. Bonelli and A . Leotta
7
number of dierent media platforms and case studies, the chapters fea-
tured in this volume demonstrate how audiovisual tourism promotion is
a discursive framework which is constantly renegotiated by technological
innovations, power dynamics, economic imperatives, and historical
contingencies.
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1 Introduction
Part I
Media Forms
13
© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_2
2
Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975:
Promoting Australia intheAge
ofGovernment-Led Film Production
DiegoBonelli
Introduction
Over the last 25years, academic research in Commonwealth countries
such as Britain, New Zealand, Canada, and Australia has been drawing
increasing attention to understudied aspects of lm history such as insti-
tutional, utilitarian, educational, and ephemeral lms, as shown in works
by Hillyer (1997), Leotta (2011), Anthony (2012), Weckbecker (2015),
Bonelli (2018), and Williams (1995, 2008), amongst others. Such stud-
ies emphasised how government-led lm production was often informed
by the attempt to foster a sense of nationhood in former British colonies.
More specically, some of them examined the role settler culture played
in shaping early travelogues and tourism lms (Leotta 2011; Hillyer
1997; Bonelli 2018, 2020).
Studies in institutional lmmaking generally identify the early 1930s
as a turning point in government-led lm production in most settler
countries. In 1932, Stephen Tallents, secretary of the Empire Marketing
D. Bonelli (*)
Victoria University of Wellington, Wellington, New Zealand
14
Board between 1926 and 1933, claimed that “no civilised country can
today aord either to neglect the projection of its national personality or
to resign its projection to others” (1932, 11). In fact, Britain’s government-
led lm production in the pre-WWII era was informed by what Anthony
dened as Tallents’s “educational and patriotic conception of public rela-
tions” (2012, 29). Tallents’s emphasis on national visibility and on the
manufacturing of a specic, easily recognisable, and well-marketable
national character—as well as his eorts towards the production of edu-
cational, promotional, and propaganda lms—characterised government-
led lm companies not only in Britain but also in British dominions and
colonies. Films released by government agencies such as the New Zealand
National Film Unit, the Australian Commonwealth Film Unit, and
Canada’s National Film Board, besides showing a very similar ideological
approach to lmmaking, shared patterns of circulation and distribution.
ey targeted domestic as well as international audiences, and besides
being screened in movie theatres (and, from the mid-1960s onwards,
broadcast by TV networks), they were circulated in a variety of contexts
such as schools, churches, men’s clubs, women’s organisations, exhibi-
tions, educational associations, international lm festivals, embassies,
trade legations, travel clubs, and travel agencies (Anthony 2012; Rice
2019; Bonelli 2020).
British documentarist and lm theorist John Grierson visited Canada,
New Zealand, and Australia from 1938 to 1940, representing the Imperial
Relations Trust, which employed him to provide assistance and advice to
various national lm boards and to supervise and assess their work. In
Canada, the government Motion Picture Bureau was established in 1917;
its “mandate was to publicize and promote Canadian products abroad as
well as to support the tourist and other industries at home” (Rodger
1989, 260). It was replaced in 1939 by the National Film Board, whose
establishment was encouraged and inspired by John Grierson. Similarly,
in New Zealand, the government-driven National Film Unit—estab-
lished in 1941 following Grierson’s visit to New Zealand—was character-
ised by the production of didactic documentaries as well as promotional
and tourism lms (Bonelli 2018, 2020).
Within such a cultural and creative climate, Australia was no excep-
tion. Grierson’s visit to the country in 1940—as well as the subsequent
D. Bonelli
15
importation and proliferation of Grierson’s disciples who developed new
directions in Australian lm production—was considered fundamental
for the establishment, in 1945, of the Australian National Film Board
(NFB), which was modelled on the British and Canadian Film Boards
(Williams 1995; Ansara and Milner 1999; Greenhill and Tyo 1949;
Shirley and Adams 1989). According to McKenzie and Rossiter (2018),
throughout the 1940s the Australian government started to be increas-
ingly involved in lmmaking. Grace (1982) highlights how, after
Grierson’s visit to Australia, Australian government-led lm production
gradually moved from entertainment to national publicity and to an
open and systematic promotion of Australia’s national character mainly
aimed at foreign audiences. John Grierson’s inuence on Australia’s
government- sponsored lmmaking is similarly stressed by Williams
(1995), who highlights how the Commonwealth Film Unit (CFU)—
which replaced the NFB from 1956—was headed by Stanley Howes, a
committed Griersonian. e role government-led lmmaking played in
the process of Australia’s nation building is widely acknowledged (Moran
1988); in this regard, Foster highlighted how academic literature in
Australian cinema “naturally recognizes and even critically assesses the
place of government lm in promoting an Australian national identity”
(2001, 64). However, as Bertrand (1997) and Williams (2008) noted,
institutional lm production dates back much further than Grierson’s
visit, starting, in fact, at the dawn of the twentieth century with the estab-
lishment of the Limelight Department of the Salvation Army in 1901.
e majority of the lms produced and released by government-led
lm production companies in the Commonwealth, besides sharing simi-
lar platforms of circulation and distribution, was characterised by a strong
promotional goal. While documentaries, didactic, and educational lms
constitute the majority of Commonwealth government-sponsored lms,
a relevant percentage of institutional lms focuses on the tourism promo-
tion of specic locations. In this regard, Bonelli (2018, 2020) and Bryson
(2002) came to similar conclusions. According to the former, a consider-
able number of institutional lms produced during the golden age of
New Zealand government-led lm production companies can be catego-
rised as tourism marketing tools; similarly, the latter argued that the lms
produced by the CFU, established in Australia in 1956 as the natural
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
16
continuation of the NFB, “were totalising representations of Australia in
a form which could easily be compared to tourist brochures” (7). Such
lms display a promotional purpose and are an integral part of an overall
tourism marketing and place-branding strategy, thus falling under the
denition of tourism lm provided by Bonelli. According to him, tour-
ism lm is a media form that has an explicit or implicit promotional goal
as the result of cross-institutional collaborations. e tourism lm can
have dierent purposes and is framed by a socially organised way to look
at the land, shaped around certain pre-existing representations and expec-
tations about the landscape (2018, 49).
rough the textual analysis of 28 case studies, 26 produced and released
by Australian government-driven lm production companies and 2 early
lms from unidentied producers, this chapter aims to identify and anal-
yse Australian tourism lm’s narrative and stylistic trajectories between
1926 and 1975. e choice of this time frame was determined by the
earliest and latest production years of Australian tourism lms currently
available in the online archives of the National Film and Sound Archive of
Australia. is chapter will rst examine Australian tourism promotion’s
recurring emphasis on specic geographic and cultural spaces such as the
beach, suburbia, and urban centres. It will then describe tourism lms’
narrative and stylistic patterns, identifying in their formal hybridity and in
their multiple purposes their most relevant characteristics.
The Beach: Australia’s Favourite
Tourist Playground
From a thematic point of view, the textual analysis of tourism lms pro-
duced in Australia in the 1926–1975 time period displays a prevailing
focus on urban and seaside tourism. Until the 1970s, wilderness tourism
still played a minor role in Australia’s tourism marketing compared to
geographically and culturally proximate countries such as New Zealand,
where, on the contrary, the representation of the extra-urban space had
traditionally taken the lion’s share in tourism promotion (Bonelli 2018;
Leotta 2011). While extra-urban locations such as the outback, moun-
tains, and tropical forests are only occasionally present, Australia’s
D. Bonelli
17
tourism marketing is characterised by a constant visual and narrative
emphasis on the beach as Australians’ leisure space and tourist destina-
tion par excellence. Academic discourse has focused extensively on
Australia’s beach- going and on the Australian suburban beach as the priv-
ileged, egalitarian, and democratised meeting point for the urban masses.
e beach, in fact, besides being a cornerstone of national publicity and
tourism marketing, has been playing a fundamental role in shaping the
country’s cultural identity.
Fiske etal. (1987, 54) describe the Australian beach as a mythical place
and an integral part of modern Australian identity. According to Dutton
(1985) the beach in Australia is an equaliser, a place able to harmoniously
encompass multiple ethnicities, shapes, sizes, and genders, while Metusela
and Waitt noted how during the twentieth century, “the beach became
naturalised and bounded as an idyllic leisure place for British Australians”
(2012, xix). In his seminal work on Australian beach culture, Booth simi-
larly recognises the foundational role the beach plays in Australian cul-
ture. In his words, “Australians are surrounded by beaches. But this
enclosure is more than a geographical fact for the inhabitants of an island
continent; the beach is an integral part of the cultural envelope” (2001, 1).
e representation of the Australian beach, far from just being the
mere celebration of scenic coastal landscapes, goes hand in hand with the
promotion of a specic lifestyle. Tourism lms’ narratives about the
Australian beach mostly revolve around its celebration as a reassuring,
family friendly, and commodied space, and a playground for sports and
outdoor activities. is is evident from the dawn of Australian tourism
lm. In the pre-NFB era, the black and white, silent Beautiful Bondi
(1926)’s intertitles describe Sydney’s most famous beach as a mecca for
‘care-free worshippers of the glorious sunshine,’ showcasing the sur-
rounding tourist facilities and celebrating the eciency and reliability of
local lifeguards. is lm relies on a large number of panning extreme-
long shots able to capture the vastness of Bondi’s coastal landscape. On
the contrary, beach life and beach-goers are mostly depicted through pan-
ning long and medium shots. e Sunny South-West (1936) revolves
around the celebration of ‘pure white sand’ and ‘golden sand’ beaches
depicted through a succession of long and medium shots. Call of the Surf
(1935) describes Australia as “a land of incomparable beauty, a surfer’s
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
18
paradise (…)” adding that “Australia possesses innumerable sandy beaches
(…) directly facing the open ocean.” Stylistically, like in Beautiful Bondi,
in this lm coastal landscapes are mainly portrayed through panning
extreme-long shots, while the dynamism of beach life is often framed
through high-angle, tracking or panning long shots
A few years later, during the NFB’s era, new narratives unfolded, the
most recurring of which focused on the beach as Australians’ preferred
meeting place and family playground. In Souvenir of Sydney (1954), the
voice-over narrator, after claiming that “there is no other city in the world
that has so many beaches, so many places in which to play,” comments on
shots of crowded beaches stating that “everybody goes to the beach in
Sydney, some to swim, some to watch, some just to stand around doing
nothing,” thus highlighting the multiple leisure opportunities available
for kids and families. In Souvenir of Sydney, Sydney’s beaches and coastal
landscapes are mainly framed through high-angle, panning extreme-long
shots. e 1948 lm Famous Beach is Popular Summer Playground relies
on a very similar camera style, revolving around the depiction of Manly
Beach, another popular and commodied Sydney suburban beach. In
1955, Gold Coast is Attraction for Sun Worshippers depicts the Gold Coast
as a perfectly functioning tourist system, in which an ecient network of
tourist facilities is available to all holidaymakers. In 1956s A Day at the
Beach an unusually female voice-over narrates the ctional Mitchell fam-
ily’s day at the beach, stating that they “come to the beach nearly every
Saturday during summer.”
e lms produced in the CFU era (1956–1972) are similarly charac-
terised by family centred narrative and thematic patterns, often relying
on ctional plots in which actors play the Australian Everyman. Australian
Weekend (1960) emphasises the centrality of the beach and beach-related
activities in Australian leisure; Queensland Playground (1957) places
emphasis on the outdoors and beach life, depicting children playing on
the beach. e beach is not only portrayed as a holiday and leisure space,
but also as an integral part of Australians’ everyday life. Another Sunny
Day in Western Australia (1961) describes a day in the life of local children
starting their day at one of Perth’s beaches, before heading to their subur-
ban house and having breakfast with their parents. In Life in Australia:
Cairns (1964), family man Tony starts his day at the beach, shing and
D. Bonelli
19
providing food for his family. Similarly, in Life in Australia: Sydney (1966),
static and panning long and extreme long shots taken from both high and
low angles emphasise the size and dynamism of urban beaches, mainly
focusing on Sydney’s main tourist hotspot, Bondi Beach. By utilising a
common narrative trope in Australian tourism lms, this lm depicts the
life of a family holidaying on the beach. e omniscient narrator intro-
duces the protagonists: “e Donalds, like every other family in Sydney,
look forward to the summer. Spring comes in September and October
and the Pacic Ocean is warm and welcoming again.” A family man—
embodying the quintessential Australian adult male—sets the beach
umbrella after emptying the car boot, while his kids rush to the sea with
their surfboards. As extensively shown in this lm, the beach is the ideal
leisure space for children, who engage in all kinds of water games, espe-
cially surng and sailing.
Similarly, Life in Australia: Brisbane (1964) opens with a high-angle
long shot of the beach portrayed, as usual, as the ideal family playground;
by adopting a docu-drama approach reminiscent of Life in Australia:
Sydney, it then depicts a young couple having a picnic on the sand.
Towards the end of the lm, a high-angle extreme-long shot frames the
vastness of Brisbane’s coastal surroundings. Surf Beach (1965) provides an
overview of Australia’s beach lifestyle, mainly focusing on the widespread
and ecient national surf life-saving system. According to the voice-over,
“over the past 10years, board riding has become a major surf sport in
Australia.” Moreover, the voice-over narrator stresses how “surf life-saving
developed on metropolitan beaches, [and] today there are more than 230
of these clubs in Australia alone.” After emphasising the safety of beach-
related activities, the voice-over narrator highlights how “visiting the
beach has become a family custom, a national tradition.” In its nale,
which portrays families happily returning home after a day at the beach,
this tourism lm showcases the usual emphasis on family tourism and
leisure. e 1964 lm Life in Australia: Mount Gambier is similarly char-
acterised by a narrative focus on family life, portraying a typical Australian
family whose day starts and ends on the local beach.
e early 1970s marked a turning point in global tourism that was
increasingly characterised by the spread of long-haul ights, by growing
tourist ows to Australasian destinations, and by a new focus on the
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
20
diversication of tourist options, as pointed out by Pearce etal. (1998).
According to these scholars, “in tourism the recognition of market seg-
mentation came (…) in the 1970s and 1980s. Today most tourism mar-
keters regard market segmentation as a prerequisite for eective market”
(55). According to the global changing nature of tourism, a whole range
of new activities began to be promoted in Australia. In fact, from the early
1970s and throughout the late CFU and early Film Australia (FA) period,
Australia’s tourism marketing and tourism lm showed a shift from family
based narrative to an unprecedented focus on youth tourism. CFU’s e
Big Island (1970), for instance, while providing the audience with an over-
view of the country, places particular visual emphasis on groups of tourists
in their twenties while engaged in beach-related activities. e crucial role
still played by Australian beaches as tourist magnets is apparent in the
lm’s structure, characterised by an opening scene specically focused on
young people surng, and ending with an aerial shot of a young couple
running on a large and unusually deserted beach. 1975 FA’s Travellin’
Round, a ction lm made for the Australian Tourism Commission whose
narrative structure and stylistic features closely recall road movies, follows
the adventures of a group of young friends travelling by campervan across
Australia and features a number of recent trends in tourism such as camp-
ing, snorkelling, kayaking, as well as an unprecedented focus on the out-
back as an appealing tourist destination. Travellin’ Round marks a turning
point in the representation of the Australian beach. is 30-minute lm
barely depicts coastal areas and when it does, it portrays rocky, unspoilt
landscapes. Common visual and stylistic tropes such as high-angle,
extreme-long panning shots, bird’s-eye views, or aerial shots are dismissed
and suburban beaches are not portrayed. Such new tendencies represent
an exception in the representation of Australia’s coastal areas during the
time frame considered in this chapter, and openly contrast with previous
depictions of the beach as a highly commodied, well-organised, and safe
suburban fringe provided with tourist facilities, a proper playground for
city dwellers, and an essential complement to the city itself.
As noted above, until the early 1970s the beach was portrayed in
Australian tourism marketing as a natural complement to the city. Within
this framework, Australia’s urban and suburban areas also assume an
essential role in the country’s tourist representation and promotion.
D. Bonelli
21
Lush Suburban Gardens andSummer All Year
Long: Suburbia inAustralian Tourism Films
Interestingly, along with the celebration of urban and suburban beaches
and beach life, the majority of Australian tourism lms regularly feature
depictions of city suburbs as an integral part of tourism promotion. Such
cinematic representations are often characterised by slow tracking shots
of detached suburban houses and their lush private gardens. ese recur-
ring portrayals of the suburban ‘quarter acre paradise’ convey a wealthy,
attractive, and reassuring image of suburbia. In this ideal world, subur-
banites are often portrayed while gardening, relaxing in the sun, or
returning home after a day spent at the beach.
According to Brown (2008) “there is no denying that Australia is a
suburban country.” Bunker identies in the 1945–1975 time frame “the
suburban long boom” (1985, 83), a phenomenon that has lasted up to
the present day, as shown by the recent and apparently unstoppable
expansion of Australian cities (McGuirk and Argent 2011). Due to
Australian cities’ striking suburban sprawl—and the high percentage of
people living in suburbia—the suburban space has assumed a major cul-
tural importance, becoming an integral part of the Australian way of life
(Hogan 2003; Rowse 1978). From this perspective, the suburban
world—or ‘suburbia’—is a specic cultural space that can be considered,
in Silverstone’s (1996) words, “as the embodiment of the same ideal as
well as the same practical solution, imperfectly realized in both cases, and
arguably unrealizable: the attempt to marry town and country and to cre-
ate for middle class middle cultures in middle spaces in middle America
or Britain or Australia” (3). e main aesthetic feature of Australia’s sub-
urban development is its lateral rather than vertical structure: indeed,
single, detached dwellings rather than high buildings are the predomi-
nant housing units of the commuter suburbs that surround every major
Australian city. Such urban structure reects the national aspiration of
owning a home of one’s own. Sociologists and urbanists have focused on
the aesthetic features and urban characteristics of Australia’s main urban
centres, with particular attention to their impressive, distinctive subur-
ban expansion. According to Kilmartin and orns (1978) the lateral
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
22
structure of national suburban development and the predominant hous-
ing units of the commuter suburbs reect a capitalistic, individualistic
ethic. ey noted how residential building densities have dominated
Australia’s urban areas; a rapid growth of this suburban form occurred in
the 1950s and 1960s as a result of migration (both internal and from
overseas) and the baby boom. e suburban world was characterised by
single-family, one-storey houses, typically the three-bedroom bungalow,
each on its own ‘quarter acre section.’ Over time the size of the section
has decreased, so that subdivisions are now more likely to be one-fth of
an acre (around 600square metres). e ownership of a small piece of
land, according to Perkins and orns (2001), inuenced suburban hab-
its: “the presence of sections around most houses has resulted in garden-
ing—both for production and leisure—being a signicant part of many
people’s experience” (37). Suburbs are, once again, a liminal space where
landscape and the city merge and integrate, and suburbia is still a geo-
graphic and cultural space in limine, on the threshold, on the fringe of
nature and civilisation (Bonelli 2018; Hogan 2003).
In tourism lm, Australia’s suburban sprawl is constantly celebrated
alongside the country’s best-known attractions. In NFB’s North to the Sun
(1951), the voice-over of a tourist describes Cairns as a quintessential
Australian city, characterised by warm climate, broad streets, and a sprawl
of suburban houses with large verandas and lush private gardens where all
sorts of tropical plants, owers, and fruits grow spontaneously. A panning
extreme-long shot taken from a high-standing point portrays Cairn’s sub-
urban expansion. In NFB’s Brisbane City in the Sun (1954), the narrator
emphasises how in Queensland’s capital city tourists enjoy both the warm
climate and the many facilities and a more general “sense of well-being.”
ese cities are advanced, besides being warm, friendly, and well-
organised; they have industries, hospitals, and schools and in suburban
gardens “all types of fruits grow here,” as a close up of blooming owers
in a lush suburban garden intends to show.
e celebration of Australian suburbia as a national attraction becomes
even clearer from the 1960s onwards. Life in Australia: Cairns focuses on
Cairns as the favourite choice of tourists who “seek the warm climate all
year long,” and points out how the locals are fortunate enough to always
wear summer clothes. Local suburbanites are described in this lm as
D. Bonelli
23
people who “take life at an easy pace,” in love with their relaxed lifestyle,
their detached houses, their private gardens, and driveways. is lm
utilises a common narrative trope in Australian tourism lm: that is, to
describe life in the suburbs by following a day in the life of an Australian
ctional family. Such narratives reect a traditional family culture where
the family man provides for the family by going to work in the morning
while his wife—who is normally a mother-of-two—deals with household
chores. Overall, life in the suburbs is depicted as idyllic. According to the
voice-over narration, “the Taylors enjoy their life in Queensland, they
wouldn’t live anywhere else but in the tropical far North of Queensland.”
Life in Australia: Sydney, after providing bird’s-eye views of the city sub-
urbs, focuses on the city’s commuter culture through the idyllic depiction
of a ctional, patriarchal family characterised by a working family man
and a stay-at-home wife and mum. According to the voice-over, Sydney’s
suburbs are eciently linked to the city centre through a network of
electric trains. e suburban family is shown spending a weekend at the
beach after which they return to their thriving suburb where “everywhere
houses are going up”. A similar plot is repeated in Life in Australia:
Melbourne, that similarly portrays families in their suburban quarter-acre
paradise, and in Life in Australia: Brisbane, that revolves around a family
based suburban narrative. A Place to Live (1972) describes life in lush
suburbia as one of Australians’ main ambitions. While depicting subur-
ban streets through a succession of tracking shots, the voice-over states
that “most prefer to be away from the city centre with a surrounding
block of land where a variety of fruits and vegetables may be grown.”
In the Life in Australia series, produced by the CFU between 1964 and
1966, the coexistence and intertwining of tourism promotion and colo-
nial agenda become apparent. ese lms were made for the Department
of Immigration to attract English-speaking immigrants from Europe;
they were used as a marketing tool and Australia was presented as an ideal
destination where everyone led happy lives (Gonzalez n.d.). Australia is
depicted—through the images spread by tourism lms—as a land where
prosperity is directly linked to suburban lifestyle; according to this self-
congratulatory narrative, Australia is celebrated as the land where
Australians themselves can legitimately aspire to the suburban ‘quarter
acre paradise.’ e emphasis on Australia as an egalitarian society appears
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
24
to be linked to attempts to enhance national pride and reinforce national
identity. e recurring focus on suburbia and suburban life also stresses
the possibility of belonging to a new country and forging a sense of iden-
tity which arises out of the experience of a new land. e emphasis on the
suburban sprawl seems to fully embody the identication with a newly
settled land and their projection towards the future. Such cultural and
ideological perception of suburbia is reected in Australian tourism lms
from the NFB and the CFU’s eras. While a partial turning point in the
choice of themes and displayed locations is apparent only starting from
the early 1970s, the variety of Australian tourism lm’s stylistic and nar-
rative trajectories, and the duplicity of its goals and purposes, traverses
the entire historical period analysed in this chapter.
Stylistic andNarrative Trajectories
inAustralian Tourism Film
From the Tropics to the Snow, a 1964 CFU lm, perfectly embodies the
dialectical tensions underpinning Australia’s national publicity, tourism
marketing, and tourism lm production during the 1960s. is
25- minute ctional lm (that the opening credits describe as “a lm
about a lm about Australia”) portrays a script meeting between CFU’s
Producer-in-Chief, a scriptwriter, and a director. While discussing the
production of a new tourism lm about Australia, the director endorses a
conventional approach that recalls well-established government tourism
lms’ narrative and stylistic tropes. According to the director, this new
lm’s plot should revolve around a family of American tourists arriving in
Sydney on a cruise ship, enjoying Australia’s typical outdoor activities and
gradually discovering the beauty and diversity of the country. e lm’s
main focus would be Australian tourist icons such as Sydney’s Harbour
Bridge, the Gold Coast, the endemic wildlife, as well as Australia’s quint-
essential beach-related and outdoor sports activities. Strongly disap-
pointed by the banality of such family based and reassuring narratives,
the scriptwriter would like to do “something dierent, something cre-
ative,” and declares that the lm should instead be “fresh, and show the
o-beat side of the country, the sort of things you can’t nd anywhere else
D. Bonelli
25
in the world, examine ‘em with new eyes, reveal their hidden beauty.” In
his point of view, rather than focusing on worn-out ideas and narratives,
the lm should be based on o-beat characters such as a solitary painter
on a lush remote island in the Great Barrier Reef, or a crocodile hunter in
the wild far North. Instead of indulging in the reassuring and commodi-
ed representations of Australian nature, it would showcase the pristine
and untouched environment of the outback or the Far North’s lush and
untamed beaches. Even though the ctional protagonists of From the
Tropics to the Snow do not seem to get to any clear and nal agreement,
this lm’s self-reexive and ironic take on national tourism marketing
perfectly succeeds in pointing out the thematic, narrative, and stylistic
clichés that characterised Australian tourism lm production in the pre-
vious decades, as well as the naivety of most of the innovators.
From the spread of the talkies in the early 1930s until the mid-1960s,
the vast majority of government-sponsored Australian tourism lms
shared a number of narrative and stylistic similarities. According to
Aveyard etal. (2017) and Moran (1987) one of the recurring characteris-
tics in this period was the use of a particular type of expository voice-over,
known as ‘Voice of God.’ In Aveyard etal.’s words, such a voice was
“always condent and authoritative” (70). Moreover, it is described as
“invariably male, neither obviously young, old, nor ethnic and appar-
ently classless in accent. In other words, as a means of arming and
maintaining its authority, this voice is impersonal, objective, acting on
behalf of the general interest” (70). Wolfe, similarly, describes this narra-
tive style, common in documentaries from the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s,
as “disembodied (…), fundamentally unpresentable in human form, con-
noting a position of absolute mastery and power outside the spatial and
temporal boundaries of the social world the lm depicts” (1997, 149).
e ‘Voice of God,’ along with the careful selection of represented themes
and the use of specic cinematic techniques, shows the extent to which
government-sponsored lmmaking was the expression of strategically
planned governing visions of national publicity, tourism promotion, and
tourism marketing. However, during the 1960s, in Wolfe’s words, such
narrative devices started to be “rejected as authoritarian, didactic or
reductive” (1997, 149). In fact, over the 1960s, within Australia’s
government- sponsored lms dierent stylistic tendencies emerged.
According to Moran:
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
26
Whilst the classic documentary style is the dominant style of documentary
produced, other styles were adopted in a signicant body of lms. If the
classic documentary style typically uses an o screen, voice-over exposition
of a problem and has the visual images acting as both illustrations and
anchor for commentary, these other styles might utilise dramatic ctional
codes and tend toward a lyrical and observational (rather than rhetorical)
treatment of their subject matter. (1988, 57)
Fitzsimons et al. pointed out how “the Commonwealth Film Unit
between the mid-1960s and mid-1970s included attempts to create zones
of independence inside the bureaucratic structure” (2011, 65).
Such attempts to pursue a more original narrative style (albeit within
well-dened parameters) and to break away from well-established formal
and stylistic patterns are also apparent in the gradual change of tourism
lms’ narrative structure. In fact, while the majority of NFB and CFU
tourism lms released until the late 1950s rely on the ‘Voice of God,’ a
number of CFU lms released throughout the 1960s and early 1970s
such as Australian Weekend (1960); Life in Australia: Perth (1965); Life in
Australia: Hobart (1966); Life in Australia: Melbourne (1966); Life in
Australia: Launceston (1966); and At e Beach (1971)—although visu-
ally and thematically very similar to other contemporary Australian tour-
ism lms—no longer utilise an omniscient voice-over narrator. Instead,
to convey a sense of place, they exclusively rely on the dynamic intertwin-
ing of images and instrumental soundtracks.
While tourism lms released in the pre-WWII era were characterised
by the juxtaposition of postcard-like images and intertitles or, from the
early 1930s, Voice-of-God narration, throughout the 1950s and 1960s
resorting to ctional narratives became a common practice in tourism
lm production. In order to provide foreign audiences with a portrait of
the Australian lifestyle, a large percentage of government-sponsored lms
relied on ctional family narratives. In many of these lms, the Voice of
God tells the story of a day in the life of a white middle-class, English-
speaking, traditional family of four. Life in Australia: Cairns provides an
overview of the town, its attractions, and facilities while following the
Taylor family in their daily tasks—the father and son while going to town
D. Bonelli
27
to work, the daughter while biking to school, and the housewife and
mother-of-two while engaged in her daily household chores. Life in
Australia: Sydney portrays a day in the life of the Donalds, a similarly
suburban family. A Day at the Beach follows the Mitchell family while
enjoying their outdoor weekend leisure. Life in Australia: Melbourne and
Life in Australia: Brisbane are equally characterised by suburban, family
based narratives. In 1953s e Melbourne Wedding Belle narrates the
adventures of a group of relatives all heading to a wedding in Melbourne;
their trip is used as an original narrative device to display the city’s main
attractions and best scenic views. However, Australian tourism lms do
not exclusively rely on family based narratives. For instance, in order to
showcase Tasmania’s capital city’s best locations, Life in Australia: Hobart
exclusively relies on the visual narration of a day in the life of a local post-
man. In North to the Sun (1951) it is the enthusiastic voice-over of a tour-
ist that enumerates Queensland’s attractions and qualities; in Travellin’
Round there is no voice-over, and the story of a tourist trip through
Australia is narrated by the very protagonists of the lm, a group of
friends in their twenties.
Alongside the above-mentioned shifts and turning points in narrative
devices and thematic tendencies, tourism lms’ aesthetics also embody
the conation between tourism and the settler gaze. As Gibbons noted,
through the lens of the colonial gaze, images depicting colonial land-
scapes became “as important as words” (2002, 9). Such images were char-
acterised, according to Pratt (1992), by a multilayered complexity and a
density of meaning. Australian tourism lms’ cinematography, and more
specically the tendency to frame coastal areas’ landscapes through the
use of high-angle, panning, extreme-long shot, and suburbs through
bird’s-eye views and aerial shots, closely embodies what Byrnes dened as
“the colonial utilitarian attitude towards land” (2002, 8), reected in the
strong visual focus on the land’s “commercial potential and value” (2002,
41)—an attitude previously displayed in a number of nineteenth-century
paintings characterised by landscape views taken from high standpoints,
a colonial pictorial leitmotiv that encouraged viewers and potential set-
tlers to take possession of the land.
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
28
Tourism Promotion andColonial Agenda:
ATight Intertwining
roughout the period considered in this chapter, images of Australia’s
cities, beaches, and suburbs were employed inlocal tourism marketing
and local tourism lm production as a means to convey to the audience
a set of specic, multilayered meanings. In fact, settler culture and the
related settler gaze have always been a persistent ideological factor able to
adapt to dierent socio-economic conditions and to regularly inform the
representation of Australia in government-sponsored tourism lms. e
persistence of settler culture traversed like an unbreakable thread the rep-
resentation of Australia’s tourist spots to the extent that, because of the
duplicity and tight intertwining of their purposes and objectives, the
boundaries between tourism promotion and colonial agenda in these
lms are often blurred. In fact, the intention of addressing and attracting
not only tourists, but also potential settlers from overseas and especially
from English-speaking Europe, is apparent in the majority of case studies
analysed here.
In North to the Sun, the voice-over narrator of a tourist, after highlight-
ing “the very enjoyable time” he had in Queensland “cruising on the
Barrier Reef, shing, sailing and water-skiing,” enthusiastically describes
the North-eastern Australian state. In his words: “I was very impressed
with what I saw in the North. ey seem to have everything up there
(…). e only thing they are really short of, is people (…). But now
people are moving in all the time. ey can make a good life for them-
selves in the North.” In Life in Australia: Wagga Wagga, the Voice of God,
after praising the well-organised and ecient tourist bureau and the
town’s tourist facilities, states that “there’s plenty of space around it.”
Along with the celebration of Wagga Wagga as a tourist destination, this
emphasis on the abundance of land clearly seems to address an audience
of potential settlers. A similar coexistence of dierent purposes is shown
in Brisbane City in the Sun. In this tourism lm the Voice of God, while
focusing on the city’s tourist attractions and leisure options, emphasises
Queensland’s “huge territory,” the warmth of its climate, and the abun-
dance of tropical fruits that grow everywhere, even in private suburban
D. Bonelli
29
gardens. It concludes by stating that Brisbane gives you “a sense of well-
being.” Similarly, in Life in Australia: Cairns, the voice-over, after pro-
moting the town’s tourist attractions and facilities, claims that the ctional
protagonists of the lm, the Taylor family, “wouldn’t live anywhere else
but in the tropical far north of Queensland.” e underpinning role of
the settler gaze and settler promotion that have been playing in Australian
tourism lms is even more evident in the above-mentioned From the
Tropics to the Snow. During his meeting with the producer-in-chief, the
scriptwriter wishes to include in his representation of the country shots of
Australian steelworkers in a blast furnace. When the producer-in-chief
objects, “What are steel workers in a factory doing in a tourist lm,” the
scriptwriter replies, “We are building you the image of a nation on the
go.” is dialogue from CFU’s lm makes explicitly clear the multifac-
eted nature of Australia’s government tourism lms, as well as the con-
stant duplicity of their goals.
Conclusions
is chapter, through the analysis of 30 case studies released by Australian
government-led lm production companies from 1926 to 1975, high-
lighted Australian tourism lm’s three most relevant aspects: their sub-
stantial thematic consistency, their stylistic variety within dened
parameters, and the explicit duplicity of their goals.
ematically, the celebration of the beach as the favourite, commodi-
ed, suburban space for urban masses traverses the whole period anal-
ysed, with only few exceptions. Similarly, the depiction and promotion of
Australia’s suburban areas have constantly played a crucial role in the
promotion and marketing of Australia to foreign audiences. By contrast,
in the 1926–1975 time period, natural extra-urban areas unsuitable for
settlement (i.e. the Outback, deserts, forests, and untamed beaches) are
rarely portrayed. Similarly, there is no reference to Australia’s indigenous
culture. Such thematic silence suggests a carefully planned suppression of
themes and narratives considered at the time unsuitable to an audience of
white-European potential tourists and settlers.
2 Australian Tourism Film 1926–1975: Promoting Australia…
30
Stylistically, the variety of solutions adopted in the analysed time frame
makes Australian tourism lm a hybrid, opportunistic, and overall hardly
denable media form. While in the representation of urban and subur-
ban landscapes these lms largely rely on high-angle, extreme-long shots,
bird’s-eye views and aerial shots; in terms of narratives they show a grad-
ual shift from conventional documentary tropes such as the use of the
omniscient ‘Voice of God’ narrator to the adoption of more experimental
devices such as the total disappearance of the voice-over narrator or the
use of ctional plots and narratives and professional actors.
Finally, tourism lms’ multilayered nature and diversity of goals emerge
from the examination of chosen themes, stylistic features, and narrative
choices. e representation of Australia as a commodied, advanced, and
well-organised urban and suburban playground addressed an audience of
both potential tourists and settlers. Similarly, recurring narratives revolv-
ing around the depiction of middle-class typical Australian families aimed
to convey the reassuring image of a country whose ‘safe’ appeal potentially
suited family tourism and, at the same time, represented the promise of a
new beginning for a white, European audience of potential settlers.
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https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_3
3
More than Just Safety: ACritical History
ofIn-flight Safety Briefing Videos
RowanLight
Introduction
Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to direct your attention to your monitor—
even if you fly with us often.
Variations of these words open one of the seminal scripts of global moder-
nity, the in-flight safety briefing video. In the synonymy between globali-
sation and air travel, safety videos are a ubiquitous part of global aviation
and its homogeneity, while also reflecting its “dynamic mobility”—the
experience of flying as unsettling, disruptive, and threatening—as sug-
gested by the common addendum, “even if you fly with us often”. is
chapter explores the in-flight safety video as a cinematic “demonstration”
that, accompanied by flight attendants and borrowing from the aesthetics
of tourism film, paradoxically performs safe airspace even as it calls atten-
tion to this displacement and transformation. Stephen Groening (2013)
R. Light (*)
University of Auckland, Auckland, New Zealand
e-mail: rowan.light@auckland.ac.nz
38
points to in-flight cinema as a form of filtering; both part of the affecta-
tion of flying as “carefree” (285) and part of the architecture of aerial
practices that allow passengers to simultaneously focus and look away,
“from each other, from the risk and uncertainty of air travel (and moder-
nity itself); from their own fears and anxieties and boredom” (295). In
his seminal work Cinema Beyond Territory, Groening (2014) outlines how
in this “atmosphere” of globalisation, in-flight cinema sits at the heart of
a techno-fantasy: a universal, immaterial, and invisible network of con-
stant communication. e airplane itself becomes a “harbinger and sym-
bol of globalisation”:
Airline passengers are instructed in the protocols of globalisation inside the
plane: the inflight magazine is full of travel articles, tips on negotiating a
business deal, advertisements for language-learning software, not to men-
tion the maps of airline route networks and floor plans for airports of dif-
ferent nations, and of course, inflight entertainment menus of movies,
television shows, museums and talk shows. (22)
is chapter extends Groening’s framework around cinematic airspace to
focus on in-flight safety videos as a central product and practice within
aviation marketing. In-flight safety videos are crucial to the rendering of
airspace as usable, manageable, and consumable. Indeed, in mediating
airspace as safe, in-flight cinema—from its earliest history—reinforced
the connection between aviation and tourism, promoting the world as
“accessible through technology and available for European exploration
and inspection” (Groening 2013, 288). e “jet age” history of these
texts shows how the intersection of Anglo-American cultural authority,
new screen technologies, changing roles of flight attendants as safety
experts, and political economies of air travel were extended and height-
ened with the advent of in-flight safety videos. Post-9/11 air travel gave
new impetus for affecting safe airspace, and a new nostalgia for a lost
world where flying was sexy and carefree.
A second boom in commercial flying—a 50% growth since the 1990s
(Boeing 2018)—has produced a convergence of aviation safety and mar-
keting through the in-flight safety briefing video. Whereas historically
airlines did not use safety in advertising, at best discussing maintenance
R. Light
39
without directly referring to its implications for safe flying, the introduc-
tion of the in-flight safety video brought the issue of safety to the fore of
airline marketing. In-flight cinema would inform, reassure, and distract
passengers from their fear of flying. Conversely, as if to underscore this
latent advertising, research suggests in-flight safety videos are less useful
for imparting actual safety information as passengers “switch off” from
the now familiar practice (Hood 2009). As safety has become a consumer
product, briefing videos of increasingly high production value have
become central texts in marketing campaigns to differentiate airlines
from their competitors. Humour, sex, and celebrity have been deployed
to “sell safety” (Molesworth et al. 2016). American airline Delta Airways
successfully branded itself as a cool, retro airline with its linking of safety
demonstrations with its marque personality ‘Deltalina’ (Brown 2008).
More recently, Qantas, Australia’s national carrier, produced a legacy
video to mark ‘100 years of safety’; the 8-minute video now looking like
something of a swansong after the collapse of global aviation during the
COVID-19 pandemic (Qantas 2019).
e chapter then presents an analysis of in-flight safety videos through
a case study of marketing campaigns by Air New Zealand, New Zealand’s
national carrier, since 2007, with a special focus on the convergence of
marketing, tourism, and Peter Jackson’s Middle-earth film franchise. Air
New Zealand offers a rich example of in-flight safety video marketing for
several reasons. As tourism film, Air New Zealand’s safety campaigns
offer an important example of “an audiovisual media form that features
one or more geographical locations”, which is often the result of “cross-
institutional collaborations” with both implicit and explicit promotional
purposes, “inviting viewers to visually or physically experience the loca-
tion depicted” (Bonelli et al. 2019, 33). Air New Zealand is also a rela-
tively minor aviation player willing to risk experimentation. Furthermore,
New Zealand’s relative geographic isolation in the South Pacific has made
it crucial for the national carrier to perform narrations of the country as
an otherworldly fantasy (and thus desirable) but also accessible through
safe technology. is has been particularly critical during the contempo-
rary period when global aviation has been critically cast as both an acces-
sory to terrorism and a contributing factor to climate change. Finally, Air
New Zealand has taken advantage of the advent of social media,
3 More than Just Safety: A Critical History of In-flight Safety…
40
especially YouTube, which constituted the single most important techno-
logical change in aviation marketing since the development of in- flight
screens (Sahin and Sengün 2015; Avraham and Ketter 2012). ese com-
ponents of the Air New Zealand safety marketing reflect the interdepen-
dence of commercialism and national identity (Jutel and Leotta 2014).
rough this dynamic of distraction and attention, the regimentation
of passenger behaviour and responses—to the experience of flying, to
crew and to each other, and to their destination—points to the way that
the shared global scripts of in-flight safety videos condition the mobility
and representations of captive audiences. Certainly, what is at stake is
more than simply the conveying of safety information. e fusion of Air
New Zealand as a carrier of national consumer products and identity, and
of filmic imaginaries, relies less on the experience of flying per se and
more on the global ubiquity, homogeneity, and transience of this modern
narration. If international flying is “to experience and participate in the
financial, informational, and ecological customs that constitute globalisa-
tion” (Groening 2014), then in-flight safety videos are a key script.
Now we request your full attention as the flight attendants demonstrate the
safety features of this aircraft.
Part 1: In-flight Safety Briefing Videos—A
Historical Overview
Pre-flight or in-flight safety video demonstrations evolved from the con-
vergence of regulation, personnel, and technology in commercial avia-
tion flying from the 1930s to the 1970s. is was shaped by a simple,
underlying imperative: as more and more people began to travel on
increasingly reliable aircraft, there was an increasing need to reassure fly-
ing was safe and secure. In-flight safety demonstrations were part of the
set of practices and procedures that attempted to make manageable what
Peter Pigott (2016) refers to as the “tight coupling of interacting systems”
(2) that leads to aviation catastrophe. e interaction between private
firms and the power politics of states competing for control over
R. Light
41
emerging airspace added complexity to the standardisation of aviation
safety practices. Airlines supported by national governments or ‘flag car-
riers’ very much blurred the division between national and private, local
and global.
e first vector of the changing world of aviation was the early regula-
tion of global commercial aerial navigation across British and North
American authorities. Freight and then passenger air travel became
increasingly dependable and profitable in the late 1920s. Industry lead-
ers, such as Pan American Airways, Western Airways, and Imperial
Airways, launched commercial passenger services that would dominate
trans-Atlantic and Pacific air travel for the better part of the twentieth
century. A burgeoning aviation industry demanded increased regulation
and standardisation of aircraft and aviation infrastructures to ensure sus-
tainable and safe air travel and commerce. Air traffic control centres were
established across the continental United States by airlines, for example,
under the encouragement of a newly minted Bureau of Air Commerce,
established in 1926. is was a patchwork of commercial, state, and fed-
eral authorities; a new “juridical regime” of airspace (Groening 2014). It
was not until after the Second World War, in which much of the aviation
infrastructure was co-opted for strategic and defence purposes, that the
operation of airport towers became a permanent part of state
responsibility.
e 1944 Chicago Convention on International Civil Aviation estab-
lished the International Civil Aviation Organization under the auspices
of the United Nations. Article 29 required signatory states to regulate
airlines through certificates of registration, airworthiness, and crew train-
ing, although this was weighted towards mechanics and ground crews
preparing aircraft for transit (Convention 1944). e Convention, above
all, asserted the continued control over airspace by the nation state, cou-
pled with “the liberalisation of airspace via the creation of an interna-
tional network of air pathways for civil aviation” (Groening 2014).
e Federal Aviation Authority was established in 1958 under federal
law to ensure American interests in international air travel. e FAA, as
well as encompassing Air Traffic Control as part of an emerging architec-
ture of air travel, provided grants for airport construction, as well as pro-
ducing the Federal Aviation Regulations (FAR). e FAR regulated many
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aspects of aviation, including airport safety, issuing compliance for air-
craft design and build—part of the tacit control the FAA wielded over
international aviation. e law also attended to regulating aircraft spaces:
it was now a crime to interfere with an active flight crew or carry weapons
onboard an aircraft.
FAA interventions reflected the advent of mass commercial flying. e
British Overseas Aircraft Corporation introduced its first commercial jet
service in 1952. By the 1950s, a range of jet airlines was being flown
along international routes, many designed by US companies. e expan-
sion of the Federal Aviation Administration under the Department of
Transportation in 1967 marked the apogee of American aviation power.
ese “foundations of modern commercial safety regulations” (FAA
2019)—relating to the design of aircraft and on-board safety features—
remained dominant up until 1973.
is broader context of shifting state authority had a profound impact
on international aviation safety. FAA prescriptions around safety proce-
dures emerged from American attempts to dominate airspace. Requiring
a complex set of safety requirements to be signed off by the Federal
Aviation Authority placed the United States in the centre of an interna-
tional network of commercial aviation, crucial to the standardisation of
aviation safety. In-flight safety demonstrations emerged as part of the
practices of safety, alongside increased standardisation, that ensured “the
freedom of the air” was, in fact, tightly regulated—state sovereignty
remained intact in airspace by controlling this movement of people
(Budd 2009).
e traditional method of the in-flight cabin safety demonstration,
dating from the 1950s, involved a flight attendant silently showing the
proper method to fasten a seatbelt, how to wear an oxygen mask, and
miming the location of the exits. Meanwhile, another attendant verbally
instructed passengers over the public address system of the airplane. e
split between the image and sound portions of the demonstration was
mainly a practical solution to the problem of cabin noise. e early form
and context of safety demonstration pointed to the second vector in the
scripts and practices of global air travel: the changing role of cabin crew.
Growing technological innovation and passenger numbers in the 1960s
normalised aviation as part of global travel, which gave new attention to
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the experience of flying. During the inter-war period, when American
and British airlines were established as commercial ventures, flight atten-
dants, most famously the ‘first stewardess’ Ellen Church, were hired from
the ranks of trained nurses to provide care and reassurance for male pas-
sengers (Nolan 2010).
As flying became increasingly mainstream in the post-war period, ‘the
art of flying’ was repackaged with a new emphasis on glamour, rather
than safety, as evidenced in the changing perception of flight attendants
themselves. Flight attendants evolved from ‘flying nurses’ with a broad
range of skills, to a service-oriented role which would make flying more
pleasant and carefree for commercial passengers. “No longer a flying
nurse or mother figure in a utilitarian uniform and sensible shoes bring-
ing comfort to queasy passengers”, Drew Whitelegg argues, “she was now
pimped out to be a Playboy bunny in the sky” (2007, 81). Flight atten-
dants increasingly ‘auditioned’ for their roles as cabin crew, rather than
interview for what was an ‘informationally dense safety role’; they were
entertainers, rather than safety professionals (Whitelegg 2007).
Conversely, in the face of this objectification of cabin crew the safety
demonstration provided a way to secure their place in a fluid labour force.
Safety was strategic: “a labour force composed of experienced permanent
safety experts, rather than transient co-eds” (Whitelegg 2007, 102).
Crucially, the image of the flight attendant became the central pillar in
aviation advertising. By embedding themselves in the safety demonstra-
tion, flight attendants were able to assert their roles or ‘space out’ as pro-
fessional safety experts in a burgeoning commercial industry that sought
to sexualise them.
Adding to this mix of regulation and practice of air safety was the
changing technological context of in-flight aviation screens, through in-
flight cinema projectors to embedded display screens, and, later, to the
emergence of personal devices and social media beyond the space of the
cabin. In-flight entertainment first appeared on Trans World Airways
(TWA) flights across the Atlantic in August 1961. e promise of flying
now offered access to cinema. is innovation provoked challenges simi-
lar to the demands for aerial architectures of safety and control. As TWA
increased its share of trans-Atlantic passengers, European airlines com-
plained that TWA was violating fare regulations; passengers were, in
3 More than Just Safety: A Critical History of In-flight Safety…
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effect, paying for a double service—flying and cinematic—and so needed
to pay for a more premium ticket (Groening 2014, 70). Attempts to ban
in-flight films by the International Aviation Transport Authority, how-
ever, were struck down by the federal government which saw this as a
threat to the American film industry’s ability to sell its products (Groening
2014, 71).
e Transwestern Airlines incident pointed to a convergence in the
experience of flying and cinema, and set an important international prec-
edent. By 1965, for example, Philippines and Pakistan airlines had fol-
lowed suit. Groening (2014) rightly notes how the innovation marked
the end of the ‘imperial era’ of aviation, and signalled a new epoch of
globalisation in which air travel was increasingly de-territorialised. With
this came new juridical regimes of airspace, now encompassing the screen
fantasies of passengers. e World Airline Entertainment Association
(WAEA) was established in 1979 to bring together disparate groups,
including airlines, aircraft manufacturers, content producers, and dis-
tributors, to regulate, standardise, and create greater coherence in the
development of in-flight entertainment.
Airline executives cited fear of flying as the reason for the introduction
of in-flight video entertainment. In a 1972 interview, United Airlines
former vice-president of external affairs, Robert F. Johnson, noted that
while airlines were never going to make money from the provision of
movies, entertainment was necessary to overcoming the “monotony” of
long-distance flying and giving people “something to do”; moreover, this
entertainment would “distract them if they’re nervous” (Friedlander
1972, 29). ere was a clear subtext here: idleness breeds anxiety, and
passengers needed assistance to diminish their fear of flying.
Adding to the challenge of groups like the World Airline Entertainment
Association was the fact that different in-flight systems were needed to
accommodate the diversity of aircraft types and capabilities. is was met
with rapid technological change over the late twentieth century: 16 mm
projection, 8 mm cassettes, videotape, and closed-circuit television sys-
tems, all came and went until DVD technology came to dominance in
the 1990s, which, crucially, coincided with the introduction of user
interfaces and interactions (Norman White 2009, 4–5). is created a
period of continuity into the 2000s after two decades of rapid
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technological change which, as we will see, allowed for an embedding of
safety video practices and corporate marketing strategies.
Underpinning these three contexts—emerging national and interna-
tional regulations, the “spacing out” of flight attendants, and the rise of
in-flight cinema—were the demands of an increasingly globalised com-
mercial aviation. Flying needed to be marketed as safe and consumable:
excitingly cosmopolitan, but also a passive form of travel. e tension
between FAA as regulator and promoter; the significant use of flight
attendants to sell flying, in which ‘auditioning’ for the role and perfor-
mance of safety professionalism became increasingly important; finally,
cinematic technology in commercial aviation was treated as a crucial way
to pacify, entertain, and reassure passengers during the experience of fly-
ing. In this way, aviation safety was as much a marketing performance as
it was prudential; aviation safety helped modulate airspace, not least the
cabin itself, as a human environment.
is convergence of entertainment and the need for passive passengers
were underscored by a Boeing-sponsored survey in 1980 that suggested
one in three American adults was anxious or afraid to fly. e aviation
industry’s response to the problems in cultural attitudes to flying was
technological development. “e distraction of the audio-visual on the
screen gives the passengers the opportunity to imagine themselves some-
where else” (Groening 2014, 8); at the same time, airlines were required
by international regulations to inform passengers of procedures and pro-
tocols in case of an accident, hence the in-flight safety demonstration.
e year 1984 proved to be a seminal year in this marketing of aviation
safety. On 9 October 1984, advisory circular FAA 135-12 was released to
the aviation industry informing airline companies that pre-flight safety
demonstrations were now approved for video. As if to underscore the
logic of the 135-12 circular, a 1985 National Transportation and Safety
Board found the majority of passengers viewed less than half of the safety
presentation. “In an airplane environment”, the survey stated, “passen-
gers are passive participants who, for the most part, are unaware of ‘why’
the safety information they are given is important” (NTSB 1985). e
circular also introduced the underlying assumption that the video screen
would be more absorbing than the flight attendants miming the safety
procedures and practices.
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is led to experiments around video programmes by some airlines to
increase attentiveness. Animated videos could be mass produced by spe-
cialist production companies. Nine airlines used an animated safety brief-
ing video produced by Windmill Lane Pictures, an Irish video and film
production company over the early 1990s (Flight Safety Digest 2000).
By purchasing this global product, airlines saved expenses which would
have otherwise been spent on using actors and aircraft for a briefing
video. Importantly, this international production also meant the briefing
video script became more standardised.
Aviation marketing and safety concerns were increasingly entwined.
is reflected burgeoning commercial passengers; some 480 million peo-
ple flew in the United States alone in 1991, for example (US Department
of Transportation 1994). Alongside this growth, passenger surveys
increasingly pointed to the perception of an airline’s safety record as a
factor in consumer choice. A National Business Travel survey found that
over 85% of passengers surveyed would be willing to pay more for
increased safety procedures on flights, while also identifying in-flight fea-
tures that made them feel safer (Becker 1992).
A circular issued by the FAA in 1999 encouraged airlines to make the
safety briefing ‘interesting’ and ‘meaningful’, as well as informative (FAA
1999). e FAA reiterated that “every airline passenger should be moti-
vated to focus on the safety information in the passenger briefing”, while
adding that “motivating people, even when their own personal safety is
involved, is not easy”. One way to increase passenger motivation is to
make the safety information briefings and cards “as interesting and attrac-
tive as possible”. is reflected the FAA’s dual role as promoter, as well as
regulator, of air travel (Flight Safety Digest 2000).
e impact of 9/11 and “the war on terror” underscored the role of
video on flights as a form of pacification. A Wall Street Journal article
quoted WAEA spokesperson Robert Brookler saying that he believed,
following 9/11, “in-flight entertainment increased its importance because
jittery passengers needed soothing and entertaining” (McCartney 2001).
Newly introduced headphones acted as a way to block out engine noise,
further disconnecting image and sound (Groening 2014). Nostalgic
imagery of flight attendants accompanied this growth of safety market-
ing. If flight attendants performed airspace as healthy and safe as “flying
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nurses” and, in the 1960s, as glamorous entertainers, their performance
has been a key text by which this post-9/11 transformation has played
out. Just as safety was a strategy for securing professional status in an
emerging jet-age consumerism, flight attendant professionalism was re-
ordered, as safety is increasingly simulated and projected through chore-
ography on screen. is calls for careful attention to generic styles and
conventions deployed by safety films.
A burgeoning suite of pre-safety videos, to frame the safety briefing,
emerged as one strategy at the turn of the century. In 2001, Northwest
Airways introduced a monthly “safety open”: a high-production preface
to signal passengers the need to pay attention to the safety briefing.
Described by Northwest as pulling passengers “away from what [they] are
doing to the screen, that is what gets everybody started” (Flight Safety
Australia 2001). e content of the safety video opens ranged from a
story about the family members employed by the airline to a music video
featuring American blues guitarist and singer B. B. King. ese produc-
tions were explicitly identified as a way to market the airline to a captive
audience. Northwest’s manager of on-board communications Kellie
Schechinger stated how “our videos are a critical part of a communica-
tion with passengers. We change our video safety briefing every couple of
years to have a different look and feel. Each time, we think through the
need to capture and keep passenger’s attention” (Flight Safety Foundation
2000). Rather than simply a technical script, the Northwest “safety open”
was meant to entertain passengers in order to hold their attention; to
distract from other distractions, in order to regiment their responses to
emergency situations.
is “captive audience” became a common refrain in tourism safety
marketing. Julie Martin, senior air safety auditor for cabin safety at CASA,
in an interview in Flight Safety (2001), stressed how difficult it was “for
cabin crews to maintain interest and contentiousness in regard to attract-
ing passengers”, because of the briefing’s repetitive nature, as well as com-
mercial pressures to ensure an efficient departure. Martin added that:
Not enough emphasis is put on the importance of the pre-flight safety
briefing during initial and recurrent training. Training often emphasises
the passenger briefings required during a prepared emergency, but not so
much the everyday pre-flight safety briefings.
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Martin’s comments, and the experimentation by Northwest Airline,
pointed to the growing production values of safety briefings and invest-
ment by airline marketing teams—especially as surveys continued to
indicate that fewer passengers listened to or watched the safety briefing.
e mix of cabin crew instruction, screen technology, and cinematic
production offered a paradoxical emphasis on “distracted attention”. In
the growing diversity of technological platforms, airlines competed for
passengers’ attention—reflected in the use of a range of strategies, such as
emitting a signal which, Pavlov-like, aims to signal to passengers the need
to pay attention to the safety briefing, or conveying the safety narrative
over the public address system, rather than through the individual head-
sets—to overcome the possibility of passengers using their own listening
devices. e safety video audio, at least, becomes inescapable.
e introduction of new faster, interactive display screens in the 2000s,
as well as the license provided by a FAA 2003 circular, saw increasing
experimentation around the safety briefing video. Flight attendants occu-
pied an uncertain place here. e strategic response to expanding com-
mercial flying over the 1960s and 1970s by flight attendants, as identified
by Whitelegg, was increasingly brought into question by the mid-2000s.
Flight attendants’ desire to present themselves as safety workers was
undermined by both passengers “who do not take them seriously” and
the tacit downplaying of their importance by airlines themselves
(Whitelegg 2007). A marketing campaign by Independence Air, for
example, removed the airline staff from the briefing video entirely. Instead,
comedian Darren Miller narrated the requisite safety information, a mar-
keting gimmick that CEO Kerry Skeen defended by claiming that his
airline had “come up with an approach that’s not only innovative and fun,
but will create more awareness of the safety information from being pre-
sented” (quoted in Groening 2014). Conversely, in the mid- 2000s, a new
period of official corporate strategies aligned with new safety concerns
after 9/11, the burgeoning media platform provided through YouTube
(launched in 2005), and the increasing ubiquity of smartphones.
is intersection was exemplified by Delta Airways, which launched a
series of marketing campaigns over 2006 and 2007. Later lauded as “turn-
ing a page” in airline marketing strategies, the Delta campaigns centred
on crafting a celebrity persona around model flight attendants, most
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famously, Katherine Lee (Martin 2014). In 2006, Lee modelled new
Delta Airways’ flight attendant uniforms while giving a live safety brief-
ing on a 2007 episode of e Ellen DeGeneres Show, when the entire show
took place aboard a Delta flight. ‘Deltalina’ offered a nostalgic image of
aviation safety following the purchase of Delta by United States Airways,
as part of a wider attempt to restore the national airline industry post-9/11
(Economist 2006). is was a re-assertion of familiar tropes of aviation
history: the alignment of American power with its airline industry,
embodied in a “sassy and sexy” flight attendant as Forbes magazine put it
(‘a lesser known Angelina Jolie, serving you a drink at 35,000 feet’); while
connected to marketing air travel, ostensibly through safety (Martin
2014). As scholar Ian Bogost noted in his book How to Do ings With
Videogames (2011), Delta’s marketing had very little do with actual safety
instructions, and more with the “minor celebrity” of Lee; a “weird histori-
cal inversion”, as Bogost put it, in which the red-haired Deltalina “very
much is your father’s Pan Am” (143). In this “safety theatre”, airlines
perform the appearance of safety, “to comply with regulations while
imposing the lowest cognitive and emotional burden possible on the pas-
senger so as to suppress fear and agitation” (Bogost 2011, 144).
Bogost reiterates the “techno-fantasy” of safety videos as forms of gam-
ing, engaging passengers’ interest in order to regiment and drill responses.
is ‘gamification’ of air safety was underscored by Virgin Airways’ release
of its 2007 marketing campaign ‘What’s Wrong with this picture?’, based
on a comedic animated version of the safety announcement. e video
begins by asking passengers to check out the safety card in the seat pocket
in front of them—‘Not only does it have pretty pictures, but it has impor-
tant information’. Flying fish, matadors, and a multitasking nun were
part of the ‘game’ played by passengers to identify what was atypical. By
subverting passengers’ expectations, Virgin Airways were pointing to
what was otherwise shared and assumed in the script of safety brief-
ing videos.
Although “Deltalina” offered something of a strategy for flight atten-
dants in a new period of aviation labour and capital, the loss of profes-
sional respect for flight attendants, as Whitelegg (2007) warns, “is the
first step towards removing [the profession’s] sense of permanence”.
Cabin crew became perceived as complicit in trivialising the safety
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purposes of the in-flight briefing video. is was underscored in an ‘hon-
est safety video’, produced by tourism consultant Doug Lanksy, premised
on telling passengers what “Airlines Are Afraid to Show You” (YouTube
2020). “ere’s some stuff we should know about airline safety”, Lansky
writes on the video’s description, “but they’re not telling us”—they being
airlines. Lansky posits, in the video, that the in-flight safety video—which
he ironically notes “cost the airline millions of dollars to produce by mar-
keting team”—is a broken product. ere is a need for “a more truthful
telling” of the safety briefing, in which the survivability of passengers is
expressed in statistical data. Instead of a flight attendant, it is the pilot
who delivers “the real safety demonstration” over the intercom—a repu-
diation of the fantasy of the briefing as regimented by civil and corporate
authorities, performed by safety specialists, and projected through in-
flight cinema.
Part 2: Destination Middle-Earth—Air New
Zealand Safety Marketing
e in-flight safety video has developed into a form of tourism market-
ing, enmeshed in the logic of tourism film and shaped by safety rooted in
regulation, flight attendant professionalism, and technology. Air New
Zealand provides a useful case study to explore the ways in-flight safety
videos borrow from the aesthetic of tourism commercials. Because of its
marginal economic and geographic position, Air New Zealand needs to
resort to ‘unconventional publicity tools’, such as in-flight safety videos,
which are circulated extensively on social media to promote both the
airline and the country. Ongoing tensions between safety as a profes-
sional standard and a source of marketing can be seen with the role of
flight attendants as “actors” in in-flight safety videos, increasingly tied to
multimedia marketing campaigns.
Air New Zealand’s development as a national carrier reflects some of
the global history of aviation safety. e New Zealand Civil Aviation
Authority was established in the 1990s to protect the country’s stake in
the international circulation of global aviation. Similarly, Air New
Zealand was nationalised under the Clark Labour Government to secure
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consistent air travel to New Zealand, as tourism became increasingly vital
to the national economy. e airline thus constituted the ‘flagship’ of a
new national branding heading into the new century, positioning New
Zealand culture as a global consumer product and becoming increasingly
central to marketing strategies by the New Zealand government and a
cooperative private sector to shape the country’s tourism images.
Air New Zealand’s marketing is, therefore, as much about non-flying
audiences as “captive audiences” in its aircrafts. e airline has drawn
international attention since 2009 (New Zealand Herald 2009) with a
reputation for experimenting with the in-flight safety video as a form of
tourism marketing. For example, Air New Zealand’s first major safety
video production, Bare Essentials of Safety (2009), was the centre of a
wider marketing campaign rolled out on television, airport billboards,
and the airline’s own website. e premise of the video—to capture the
attention of passengers by having cabin and ground crew perform the
safety briefing naked, with Air New Zealand “uniforms” displayed with
body-paint—was intended to convey the airline’s low airfares and trans-
parency as New Zealand’s national carrier, as well as “capturing” passen-
gers’ attention. “Even if you fly with us often”, the central narrator Flight
Attendant Michaela says with a coy smile, “we’d appreciate it if you’d
take … a second look”.
Subsequent media campaigns have extended much of these elements,
focusing on New Zealand travel destinations and the use of celebrities.
Bear Essentials of Safety (2013) was centred on UK television personality
and celebrity survivalist Bear Grylls who narrated the safety briefing—
part of an international boom in the use of celebrities to market safety
(Molesworth et al. 2016, 989), linked to increased audience engagement
(Molesworth 2014). e narration given by Grylls directly addresses the
intention to capture the audiences’ attention: “even if you’ve been flying
for years, it’d pay to watch carefully, as I’ve learnt some things in the wild
you might not have seen before”. Although Grylls provides the majority
of the comedic narration, there is a strategic use of Air New Zealand
Flight Attendant Marina Roodt, who delivers the actual safety informa-
tion. e voice of Roodt, the safety expert, rather than the comical celeb-
rity of Grylls, pulls the audience back into the reality of the cabin space.
e range of styles produced in Air New Zealand’s safety videos point to
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52
common themes: the cinematic experience of the safety videos are
premised on removing audiences from the cabin space, and placing them
in a techno-fantasy simulation performed and embedded in the New
Zealand landscape. Air New Zealand imagery coalesces around flight
attendants as stylish and carefree entertainers, rather than professionals or
safety experts.
Air New Zealand’s in-flight safety video productions would become
central to the airline’s most significant marketing campaign, e Most
Epic Safety Video Ever Made (2014). e campaign was tied to the wider
pivot of New Zealand tourism around the Middle-earth films. Following
the success of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the marketing strategy around
the Hobbit ‘prequels’ was expanded with an increase in government and
private sector investment. Whereas during the earlier films, Air New
Zealand was a junior partner in the marketing strategy, the airline took a
more central role in the Hobbit campaign. “Just as Peter Jackson is able
to transport audiences to the magical world of Middle-earth”, one Air
New Zealand spokesperson stated when the Hobbit films went into pro-
duction, “Air New Zealand brings people to the breath-taking landscape
that has been home to these epic productions” (YouTube 2014). To
underscore this partnership, the official start of filming began at an Air
New Zealand hangar, with film cast and crew welcomed to the backdrop
of an Air New Zealand 777. If New Zealand was to become Middle-
earth, then Air New Zealand would bring “the magic to life for travellers”
(ibid.). is was to be a multifaceted marketing campaign, centred on the
in-flight safety video which formed the basis of viral online marketing.
e “most Epic safety video ever made” was released to coincide with the
final instalment of the Hobbit trilogy in 2014, e Battle of the Five
Armies, and was a key foundation for the entire three-year campaign,
reflecting the global history of the safety briefing as one of the central
practices of aviation culture. e briefing video provided the necessary
anchor for this multifaceted campaign, precisely because it is a consistent
and legally necessary practice of aviation safety.
is was, in fact, the second hobbit-themed safety video produced by
Air New Zealand. e comparatively modest “An Unexpected Briefing”
safety briefing video, first screened in 2012, featured mostly passengers
and cabin crew in Middle-earth garb, with a celebrity cameo from Jackson
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inside an Air New Zealand jet. Whereas this earlier video featured mostly
crew and passengers in an Air New Zealand aircraft cabin, the 2014
instalment was a four-and-a-half-minute affair, directed by New Zealand
director Taika Waititi and produced on a big budget. e changes between
the first and final safety briefing video reflected not only the greater role
of Air New Zealand in the wider publicity of the films and the greater
state and corporate investment in the marketing, but ultimately in the
abstraction of the flying experience—through safety—from its potential
for catastrophe. e safety video was a literal and figurative rendering of
the flying experience.
“e Most Epic Safety Video”, in this way, built on the success of ear-
lier safety campaigns. e video itself revolved around the story of two
movie fans who, flying with Air New Zealand, are magically transported
to Middle-earth. e safety briefing was performed in various spectacular
locations throughout New Zealand. Cabin seating and parts of the fuse-
lage were embedded in the landscape, while characters both mythical and
real engaged in various adventure activities—bungee jumping and white-
water rafting—pointing to the imagined destination of New Zealand-as-
Middle-earth. In the globalised air space, full of possibilities of departures
and arrivals, Air New Zealand—“e official airline of Middle-earth”—
transported its passengers across time and space in their journey to the
techno-fantasy of Middle-earth; at once timeless, magical, and storied
with myth, but also rendered by the CGI and cinematic experiences of
the safety briefing video itself. At the end of the briefing, Peter Jackson
signs off, saying “I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey”—referring simulta-
neously to the Air New Zealand flight the passengers were embarking on,
physically or virtually, and also the production of the films themselves
which, with the final film, brought a close to the Middle-earth film fran-
chise under Jackson’s direction.
e aesthetic of the video was also distinctly cinematic, in part due to
the partnership between Air New Zealand and Weta, the special effects
company, which created high-quality costumes, set designs, and CGI
graphics. Basic tenets of air safety, such as the storing of luggage and elec-
tronic devices, life jackets, and oxygen masks, are incorporated into the
video’s narrative and landscape. Visually stunning, the video incorpo-
rated the epic panning shots of the landscape from helicopters which
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54
were the signatures of the Jackson films, to recreate a cinematic velocity
and pictorialism. is connection between the aviation video and the
epic spectacle of this fantasy was reinforced by the airplane seats and
fuselage being physically embedded in the various locations. In this sense,
the video was a clear marketing of the plummeting, sweeping experience
of air travel wrapped around the safety of the cabin space, what Claudia
Bell and John Lyall call “accelerated sublime”, in which individual con-
sumption and self-expression occur not through pictorial capture but
through embodied motion and immersion. e safety demonstration, by
drawing on the operations of the film, immersed passengers in the tour-
ism marketing, rather than making them passive viewers of it. e high-
production values were reflected in an international design award and the
video’s 60 million views on YouTube (Air New Zealand 2014).
e video was wrapped around two broader marketing components.
e first consisted of Air New Zealand working with Weta to turn two of
its planes into “flying billboards”. A Boeing 777-300 and 777-200 were
painted with film characters to coincide with the film premieres and the
release of the viral safety video. ese “flying billboards” provided exclu-
sive content for American audiences, being, for example, the first glimpse
of the mythical dragon Smaug made available to the public. e experi-
ence of flying with Air New Zealand would be linked to the experience
of the films and, by extension, a participation in the magical world of
Middle-earth/New Zealand. is was capped off by the creation of a
“real” Smaug in Wellington Airport—a prosthetic dragon head whose
eyes glowed as passengers walk out of the terminal—the city itself mod-
elled as the “creative capital” of this innovative fantasyland (Bonelli
et al. 2019).
e aesthetics of the tourism film was reinforced by the second com-
ponent of the campaign, made up of fan events, competitions, and spe-
cial online media content. ese included opportunities to attend the
film premieres and meet the stars of the movies, all tied closely with the
safety marketing campaign. e Hobbit Fan Fellowship, for example, was
an international competition in which 75 winners (selected from 140,000
entries) were given a 6-day trip around New Zealand, visiting some of the
locations associated with the films. Middle-earth, Is Closer than you ink
was a promotional competition run by Air New Zealand which gave
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three Hobbit movie fans from around the world the opportunity to
attend the world premiere screening of e Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
(Air New Zealand 2017). e by-line, ‘closer than you think’, was tied to
a series of videos, such as ‘Just Another Day in Middle-earth’, which
could be consumed by a broader viewership (YouTube 2017). e video
was released with the description, “here in Middle-earth, everyday tasks
can reveal out of this world surprises and before you know it everything
can turn a bit Hobbit-shaped” (ibid.). It depicted a “typical” operating
day for Air New Zealand staff and crew, undertaking various safety pro-
cedures and checks, “with a cheeky film-inspired twist” (Air New Zealand
2017). As the video progressed, Air New Zealand crew were magically
transformed into dwarves, hobbits, and elves, and New Zealand place
names were converted into Middle-earth locations.
In these journeys to New Zealand, passengers were transported sym-
bolically to an imagined landscape populated with magical creatures. e
Just another Day in Middle-earth video aimed, according to the Air New
Zealand YouTube channel, “to inspire travellers from around the world to
take their own unexpected journey”—with the key message at the end of
the video: “You know, a lot of people believe that what we see at the cin-
ema is just a load of fanciful imaginings, but I’ll have you know that
Middle Earth is closer than you think”, narrated by the voice of Sylvester
McCoy, the Hobbit trilogy’s Radagast the Brown (YouTube 2017). e
video, which received over two million views in two weeks of being
released online, plays on airspace as dynamic and changing. e space of
the airline becomes a kind of ‘portal’ to Middle-earth which—being closer
than you think—threatens to burst into reality. In the flying experience,
the fuselage, the filmic imaginary of the safety briefing videos, and the
destination of Middle-earth meld into one. e conceptual space of fly-
ing as a transformative “portal” is repeated in the airline’s sponsorship of
New Zealand’s national rugby team, the All Blacks. is video shows
passengers ‘becoming’ All Blacks as they pass through the security gate to
board an Air New Zealand jet (Air New Zealand Facebook 2017).
Cabin crew were deployed as part of this aesthetic: By having Air New
Zealand crew become the mythical races by dressing as elves, hobbits,
and dwarves with prosthetics and CGI enhancements, the video deliber-
ately blurred the spaces of the cabin and destination. Cabin staff were
3 More than Just Safety: A Critical History of In-flight Safety…
56
themselves branded as “middle-earth”, as their identity became a vacant
category equating literally and figuratively the selling of services. As in
historical patterns of air cabin personnel, cabin crew embodied the air-
line’s brand—cool, innovative, and playful. e role of film stars was a
recurrent feature of the broader publicity videos and experiences of the
Hobbit publicity campaign. Actors appeared as their character or at least
with the distinction between real and imaginary intentionally blurred.
Interviews with cast and crew imbued the Air New Zealand campaign
with a perception of authenticity, rather than pre-scripted marketing slo-
gans, while constructing the central tourism image: New Zealand as an
ancient, timeless landscape to be read and consumed through the epic
story of the films.
is positioned host and tourist in the narrative of epic spectacle, cen-
tring on the European-American audience, and the transformative space
of the airline. ese American ‘voices’ of the campaign were intended to
attract American audiences, even as they constructed the national brand
identity for New Zealand. Media scholar Alfio Leotta notes how tourists
see “this fantastic universe of Middle-earth through the eyes of characters
who have [also] never seen these places before”, so that viewers are able to
identify with them as they travel and collaborate in the imaginative trans-
formation of the land (Wilderness Magazine 2016).
e logic of tourism film in the safety campaign was taken to its fullest
extent in the final major Tourism New Zealand/Air New Zealand col-
laboration before the release of the final Hobbit film in 2014. A publicity
event featuring the stars of the film was held in Los Angeles for media and
exclusive VIP guests titled “the Book of New Zealand” (Tourism NZ
2014). e premise of the event was a ‘pop-up book’, in which the sets
from the film were rebuilt to the backdrop of scenes of the New Zealand
landscape. Guests were invited to pose for photos with actors and immerse
themselves in the magical world of Middle-earth/New Zealand; experi-
encing, as MC Nancy Jay put it, “a unique merging of the fantasy of
Middle Earth and the reality that is a slice of heaven, New Zealand”
(ibid.). e phrase “slice of heaven” invoked the song of the same name
by David Dobbyn, one of New Zealand’s iconic musicians, used as the
soundtrack of the New Zealand 100% Pure campaign (Dobbyn 1986).
“e Book of New Zealand” launch entailed a specific representation of
space embedded in the safety demonstration.
R. Light
57
Kevin Bowler, Tourism New Zealand chief executive, described the
objective of the “Book of New Zealand” as supporting the international
story of the country as a fun, must-see destination, an innovative and
creative nation, with a viable film industry. “All our campaign work”,
Bowler said, “aims to connect the fantasy, movie landscapes of Middle-
earth with the actual experiences of New Zealand and demonstrate how
easy it is for people to come to New Zealand, see Middle-earth first-hand
and experience all the country has to offer” (Scoop 2014). e ease of
travel was enmeshed in the safety practices of the airline: Air New Zealand
staff moved throughout the crowds, also posing for photos with guests
and film stars—providing the visual connection between ‘the Book of
New Zealand’ and the wider airline campaign, and rendering actors, film
creators, and airline cabin crew as part of the same (safe) continuum of
film experience. e ‘Book of New Zealand’ was linked to an online ver-
sion of ‘the book’ on Tourism New Zealand’s primary website, which
aimed to show how visitors can ‘experience key film locations amongst
some of New Zealand’s most spectacular landscapes’, divided into differ-
ent tour packages (ranging from the one-week ‘Halfling’s Ramble’ to the
three-weeks ‘Great Wizards tour’), which, as the book stressed, “ensure
[tourists] get to experience the very best of what this mythical commu-
nity has to offer” (Tourism New Zealand 2016).
In 2014, Air New Zealand signed a Memorandum of Understanding
with the New Zealand Government according to which the two partners
would collaborate to develop the country’s tourism marketing into the
future. As a kind of victory lap, Air New Zealand sponsored a celebratory
exhibition, Air New Zealand 75 Years: Our Nation. e World. Connected,
to mark the 75th anniversary of Tasman Empire Airways, the airline’s
predecessor established in the imperial age of aviation travel. As part of
the roadshow, the exhibition displayed the “future of safety”; a VR-headset-
based safety video into which passengers are immersed in a total fantasy.
Released in 2018 as a prototype, the premise of the VR was the transpor-
tation of passengers “to a magical world where they witness a giant kauri
tree grow, meet a grumpy Hobbit, get splashed by a breaching whale, and
have a bird’s eye view of a helicopter bungee jump”—stemming from the
idea of families and friends coming together to play a board game when
travelling (Ideolog 2018). is new phase of Air New Zealand safety
3 More than Just Safety: A Critical History of In-flight Safety…
58
marketing to three-dimensional gaming points to the future of “safety
distraction”, an immersion through a cinema of safety tourism especially
evident in the Middle-earth marketing campaign.
Conclusion
In his review of e Spectacle of Flight: Aviation and the Western Imagination,
1920–1950 by Robert Wohl, novelist J. G. Ballard satirised safety brief-
ings in this way:
Before take-off the cabin crew perform a strange folkloric rite that involves
synchronised arm movements and warnings of fire and our possible immer-
sion in water, all presumably part of an appeasement ritual whose origins
lie back in the prehistory of the propeller age. e ceremony … has no
meaning for us but is kept alive by the airlines to foster a sense of tradition.
(Ballard 2005)
Ballard’s playful invocation of a “sense of tradition” points to the qualities
of in-flight safety demonstrations and videos as a shared script which
regulates relationships and responses. Like any moral story, in-flight
safety offers a double-inscription. It is organic, unseen, part of the cul-
tural rhythms of life. Conversely, and paradoxically, the very experience
of global aviation throws into doubt any permanence of order. Regimented
responses create a sense of airspace as a human environment, even as it
calls this ‘state’ into question.
is chapter brought to the fore this history of in-flight safety videos
as a practice and genre firmly embedded in global air travel. ere is
nothing essential to these videos for the purposes of air travel, yet their
development sits at different intersections of aviation history. e ten-
sions between aviation authorities as both regulators and promoters, for
example, point to the way safety demonstrations are required to fulfil
essential safety checks and also be “innovative” and entertaining to keep
passengers interested—even as the videos form part of the “weary ennui
of contemporary air travel” (Bogost 2011, 142).
R. Light
59
Air New Zealand, as a case study, also points to the value of historical
perspectives in analysing the advent of safety marketing in aviation. As a
national carrier bringing global passengers to the “edge” of a global net-
work of aviation travel, we see the connection between safety and the
ongoing commercial viability of safe air travel. In Air New Zealand’s
safety tourism, cabin crew have inserted themselves into the safety dem-
onstration in new ways, especially in the era of social media in which
authenticity is marked by access to “real” people. Moreover, the safety
video continues to be shaped by new technology in which the “screen” is
now located outside of the fuselage of the aircraft. e generic elements
of the tourism film are, in this way, amplified in the context of social
media marketing. In e Most Epic Safety Briefing Video campaign, social
media shape passengers as active participants in the safety demonstration,
which is subsumed into a cinematic experience of aerial sublime. In one
of modern aviation’s many, ongoing paradoxes; the success of this dynamic
marketing belies the fact that it is conveyed through a safety procedure
premised on conformity, regulation, and repetition.
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© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_4
4
The Promotion ofTourism onRadio
Waves
LuísBonixe andGoreteDinis
Introduction
Due to its unique industrial characteristics and peculiarities, the tourism
sector is strongly dependent on information. Tourism stakeholders there-
fore need up-to-date and credible information so that they can justify
their decision-making in a timely manner. ere are various sources of
information that they can use, and their choice depends on several dier-
ent elements: for example, the type of information they need and the
characteristics and interests of each stakeholder. Among these, the
L. Bonixe (*)
Polytechnic Institute of Portalegre, Portalegre, Portugal
Instituto de Comuniçãcao da Nova (ICNOVA), Lisbon, Portugal
e-mail: luisbonixe@ipportalegre.pt
G. Dinis
Polytechnic Institute of Portalegre, Portalegre, Portugal
Governance, Competitiveness and Public Policies (GOVCOPP),
Aveiro, Portugal
e-mail: gdinis@ipportalegre.pt
64
traditional media and the so-called new media stand out as important
vehicles for information; this contributes to the construction of citizens’
desires and aspirations and to the early formation of an image of the des-
tination or tourist service.
In information or advertising channels, the media has the great advan-
tage of reaching a large number of citizens or targeted groups of people
who may be located in dierent places. us, the organizations responsi-
ble for communicating and promoting a tourist destination or service face
a great challenge, which consists of choosing the communication channel
which is best suited to the strategy or action they intend to carry out.
However, consumer behaviour in tourism has changed over the years
and consumers currently consider the information circulating in the
media—disseminated by journalists or by other consumers who use these
means to share their tourist experiences—as being more credible com-
pared to the information disclosed in the form of advertising. As Tasci
and Gartner (2007) maintain, high credibility and ease of access gives the
media the power to inuence the formation of the image of the tourist
destination and is thus fundamental for tourism organizations to under-
stand how and why consumers make decisions (Heitmann 2011).
e role of the media in helping consumers make travel decisions is
also changing, making it essential to understand how the media—as well
as autonomous information sources—have considered the theme of tour-
ism. Radio has certain characteristics that distinguish it from other media.
Knowing such characteristics is the only way to understand the potential
of this channel to convey tourist information; however, studies that link
the area of tourism with journalism and radio programming are still
incipient.
e purpose of this chapter is to ascertain what information tourism
content radio stations are disseminating and how this channel has been
used by organizations to promote destinations and tourist resources.
is study is structured in four parts. e rst part focuses on the lit-
erature review on the intertwining nature of tourism, promotion, and
media; the second part deals with the description of the methodology;
and the third part with the presentation and discussion of the results.
Finally, the conclusions are presented, along with the limitations of the
study and suggestions for further research.
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
65
Tourism, Promotion, andMedia
Over the past six decades, tourism has become one of the largest and
fastest-growing economic sectors in the world. e sustainable growth of
this sector contributes to the socio-economic progress of many destina-
tions through the creation of jobs and enterprises, export revenues, and
infrastructure development (UNWTO 2017).
In Portugal, tourism is fundamental to the development of the econ-
omy, with around 7% of the Portuguese population employed in this
sector, and international tourism revenues contributing 8.7% of the gross
domestic product (TP 2020a). It is a major category of international
trade in services (UNWTO 2017) and is the leading sector in the
Portuguese export market (representing 18.6% of the total). In the last
three years, Portugal has been awarded several accolades—including best
tourist destination by the World Travel Awards—which has contributed
to the sector’s development and international recognition.
However, the evolution of tourism at an international and national
level is strongly aected by the spread of the global pandemic COVID-19,
which is causing stagnation or breaks in the sector: prospects for 2020
point to a 58% to 78% decline in tourist international arrivals
(UNWTO 2020).
e impact of this crisis in the tourism sector will vary between dier-
ent countries, destinations, and segments of the sector. However, the
eects of the crisis are expected to have a permanent impact on consumer
behaviour (OECD 2020) and on the criteria for selecting destinations.
is conjunctural reality can also be seen as an opportunity to rethink the
tourism system (OECD 2020) and to establish a new development model
for the sector that should be based on three pillars: (i) portfolio of prod-
ucts and services; (ii) human resources; and (iii) marketing and commu-
nication (Costa 2020). To face and respond to the crisis, a growing
number of countries, including Portugal, have applied measures to restart
the sector, particularly safety protocols, in order to promote the country
as a safe destination, with domestic tourism as a priority (OECD 2020).
Communication was already an indispensable function in the face of
the increased competition in tourist destinations (Arino 1999); however,
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
66
in this context, communication and marketing are essential areas for the
sector to recover and achieve the desired performance levels.
By tourist communication, Baldissera means “all communication that
takes place within the scope of tourism relations, in its dierent pro-
cesses, supports and contexts” (Baldissera2010a, 68). Communication
thus consists of updating or materializing meanings related to tourism
ideas and practices, which can be at a formal (ocial) or informal (unof-
cial) level. is comprises features such as (i) promoting and dissemi-
nating ideas; (ii) persuading and seducing in order to consume a product/
service; (iii) informing dierent stakeholders (e.g. the press, the govern-
ment, the private sector, visitors, and the community); (iv) training
through communication actions that aim at the development and quali-
cation of human resources to work in the tourism area; (v) qualifying
relationships and being predisposed to collaborative actions; (vi) aiming
at people’s commitment; (vii) sensitizing and raising awareness of tour-
ism and the need to preserve or conserve natural and historical and cul-
tural heritage (Baldissera 2010b).
According to Ruschmann, communication will be eective when “the
communicator (sender) is able to detect the tastes and preferences of peo-
ple (recipients), creating images that favorably inuence them, encourag-
ing them to travel to a specic destination” (2006, 43). On the one hand,
he adds that the success of communication depends on how “messages
are communicated, using the most inuential channels and the most
eective means of communication in the market” (2006, 43).
On the other hand, “tourist promotion” means the communication
process between the agents of the destination (or their intermediaries in
the communication channels) and the potential consumers (Mill and
Morrison 1985in Fakeye and Crompton 1991). In recent years, tourism
communication has evolved rapidly alongside developments in wider
media practices inuenced by social, economic, and political forces and
advances in technology (Pace 1997in Park 2015).
ere are dierent types of media: (i) media that includes communica-
tion channels through which news, entertainment, education, data, or
promotional messages are disseminated; (ii) media that includes every
broadcasting medium such as newspapers, magazines, TV, radio, bill-
boards, direct mail, telephone, fax, and internet; (iii) the internet and
social media.
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
67
Technological advances and the development of the internet have
contributed to potential consumers having access to varied informa-
tion about a certain tourist destination in an easier and instantaneous
way; it has become the most eective means of communication with
regard to the dissemination and exchange of tourist information
worldwide (Marujo 2008). e internet has allowed potential con-
sumers to control the amount of information and the moment at
which they intend to view it, as well as consumer-to-consumer infor-
mation exchanges (Francesconi 2014).
e consumer currently assumes a decisive role in online communica-
tion, as it is “his interest in a particular subject that activates communica-
tion and not the company’s interest in making him know about his
product” (Brandão 2001, 3). e search for information from other con-
sumers is now an increasingly commonplace occurrence, with the prolif-
eration and popularization of social networks. In the opinion of Curtichs
etal. (2011) in Bernardo (2012), social media works as a source of infor-
mation because, at their core, these sites are constructed from stories,
stories that can be shared, known, praised, and memorized. e content
of the message transmitted thus assumes a role that is as decisive and
signicant as the form in which it is presented to consumers
(Brandão 2001).
Communication has become global, informal, and democratic
(Francesconi 2014), so in order to inform, convince, or capture the atten-
tion of potential consumers, the organizations responsible for promoting
and communicating the tourist destination must adapt their speech to
what consumers nd interesting, relevant, and accessible (Okaka 2007).
Dening a media communication strategy therefore involves taking
into consideration decisions such as (i) knowledge of the audience’s
familiarity with and exposure to dierent media; (ii) characteristics of the
target public; (iii) eectiveness of dierent media; (iv) opinion leaders
that can be engaged in the project. In relation to this subject, Hubley
(1980) in Okaka (2007) states that there should be a deliberate eort to
understand the communication environment, including target groups,
appropriate media platforms, messages, and forms of interaction.
e relationship between tourism and media is vital and complex, and
tourism is highly dependent on the media. e characteristics and par-
ticularities of products, services, and tourist destinations—especially
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
68
their intangibility and inseparability—reinforce the needs and the role of
information in tourism. When starting the process of selection and plan-
ning of the trip, tourism consumers look for tourist information that
helps their decision-making. ere are several sources of tourist informa-
tion on which consumers can base their choices; how and where the trav-
eller searches for information depends on personal, situational, and
product-related factors (Fodness and Murray 1999).
Since potential consumers cannot visit the destination before their
tourist experience, the promotional discourse seeks to anticipate the
experience with the potential consumer, portraying as faithfully as possi-
ble what the visitor will nd at the destination; however, visitors must
“know how to transform any trip into something that above all reects
the universe, the tastes and aspirations of those who want to travel”
(Conceição 1998). is promotional information recommended to the
potential consumer remains in his memory, helping him to idealize and
create a preconceived image of the destination, reinforcing his relation-
ship with the site (Trauer and Ryan 2005). e primary objective in a
promotional speech is to project an image of the destination that corre-
sponds to the interests of the potential consumer and that arouses in him
a need and desire to travel and an interest in that destination (Fakeye and
Crompton 1991; Reisinger and Turner 2004).
Although the factors that interact with information and aect the for-
mation of tourism destination images in the minds of travellers are
diverse, “the media is a primary source of destination images” (Daye 2005,
14). When the image that potential consumers hold of destinations is
formed through messages that come from “non-tourist” sources, these are
called organic images and are deemed to be more inuential and credible
than induced images formed based on tourism advertising, promotions,
and campaigns (Daye 2005).
e information conveyed through the media contributes to inform-
ing, inuencing, and encouraging tourism consumers. e media elabo-
rate on and transmit information about dierent places through images,
sounds, and words, helping the potential traveller to build an image of
the destination. In fact, the narratives conveyed by the media are funda-
mental for the target audience’s imaginary (Gotardo and Ferreira Freitas
2017). However, because of its capacity to reach potential consumers on
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
69
a large scale and in a short period of time, and given their geographical
reach and high credibility, the media can exert inuence on changing
individuals’ perceptions of a destination in a positive or negative fashion.
e eect of bad news or a developing crisis on a tourist destination can
be devastating, and relations with the media must be carefully managed
in order to avoid potential undesirable impacts (Jihwan 2015) because
“e way the image of a place is conveyed by the media can be funda-
mental to the tourist decision process when visiting a country or region”
(Marujo and Cravidão 2012, 282).
As mentioned earlier, in the last few years we have witnessed the spread
of the internet as a source of information and a communication channel;
however, the traditional communication channels (television, radio,
press) continue to be relevant for certain market segments, such as baby
boomers, who still prefer to receive information about destinations
through these channels. In a study carried out annually from 2007 to
2012, Xiang etal. (2015) concluded that some traditional media have
become even more important in recent years, which means that travellers
consciously seek a variety of information in order to form a more com-
prehensive and less biased opinion about tourist destinations and
products.
e developments that have occurred in the media industry over the
past few years have increased the quality and variety of programmes, from
commercial, entertainment, educational, and infotainment formats,
meaning that a “variety of media contents (e.g. podcasts, voices, texts,
pictures) can be digitally retained, retransmitted and transported,
enabling an interaction by the user, exactly at the moment that is conve-
nient to the user” (Emilija 1999in Okaka 2007).
World tourism is facing changes and experiencing a period of some
uncertainty; Yeoman (2008) points out the search for new experiences,
luxury, culture, and authenticity as tourist trends. In his opinion, inter-
ests in culture, food, and sport are increasingly shaping the way people
approach their choice of holiday, and tourist consumers want to sample
the ethnicity of the destination. e pandemic crisis brought new impli-
cations for tourist destinations, making factors such as hygiene and health
important considerations in travel decisions (Chebli and Said 2020). e
author recommended that tourism managers focus on a media strategy,
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
70
cultivate positive images, and stimulate tourism during and after the
crisis, namely in low season by presenting the advantages of such travel
and destination resources (attractions, activities, services, etc.). is also
constitutes an opportunity to build customer loyalty.
Radio andTourism
e radio sector in Portugal consists of national, regional, and local radio
stations. With the possibilities that the internet oers, there are also web
radio stations. Despite competition with other media and new media, on
the one hand, the radio continues to have a stable audience in Portugal.
According to data referring to the rst half of 2020, “78.3% of residents
in the Continent aged 15 and over listened to the radio at least once a
week and 50.7% did it the day before” (Marktest 2020). On the other
hand, internet radio listening is growing in Portugal, which gives radio a
degree of importance in the daily lives of the Portuguese.
In fact, radio is an important way to get to know the world, not only
through hard news but also through the diversity of information it con-
veys about places, communities, and heritage.
e characteristics of mobility, proximity, and immediacy give it some
advantages for listeners who choose it when they commute from home to
work, for example. Its capacity to adapt to a context marked by the new
media has also allowed verbal communication to continue to be a valu-
able option in this new era of media consumption.
In fact, in spite of other potentialities, it is the specicity of its sound-
based language that gives radio a unique and even innovative character,
both in terms of the production of content and formats, such as podcasts.
e language of radio is composed of four sound elements: word, ambient
sounds, music, and silence (Balsebre 2004), and it is through their use that
the radio message is constructed. Since it has no image, radio combines
these expressive elements, creating mental images in the mind of its listeners.
For this reason, radio has the ability to create its own space generated by
the sounds that make up the object of the message. is sound narrative—
in conjunction with the listeners’ repertoire—is seductive and appealing,
calling audiences to a sonosphere that characterizes the radio message.
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
71
Arnheim (1986) recalls that the world is mainly represented through
images and that only two forms of communication do not do this: music
and radio. Without image or written word, radio establishes a communi-
cative link with its listeners based on the codes and icons of reality that
the dierent sounds build when emitted. rough radio, it is possible to
build an image of events using the sounds that compose them, combin-
ing the expressiveness of radio (word, music, ambient sounds, and silence)
to build the message that will be received by the listeners.
Soengas (2003) identies three functions of sounds in radio journalis-
tic discourse: (i) informative, as they help to understand the content of
the information, facilitating its decoding; (ii) referential, since they estab-
lish a connection between the listeners and the reported geographical
space; and (iii) expressive, because it is through the sounds that listeners
receive sensations that help them to assimilate connotative aspects of
messages. For this process to occur, the same author emphasizes, it is
necessary to consider two distinct spaces: the real and the audience. It
means that the radio subtracts the sounds that compose it from the real,
manipulating them, conjugating them, and creating a sound narrative.
e real space is where the facts take place. e audience space is multiple
since it depends on the referents of the real space that the listeners have.
e role of radio journalists is to transmit signicant sounds from the real
space so that they are apprehended and understood by the audiences.
is can be done by describing the space, using the word for it, or
through sounds captured at the place of events. In this case, the sounds
emitted must be known to the receiver, or the message will be lost. As
Schafer recalls, the sounds we capture result from our own experience
and the environments around us:
For instance, we found that at rst when men were scarce and lived a pas-
toral existence the sounds of nature seemed to predominate: winds, water,
birds, animals, thunder. Men used their ears to read the sound-omens of
nature. Later on in the townscape men’s voices, their laughter and the
sound of their handicraft industries seemed to take over the foreground.
Later still, after, the Industrial Revolution, mechanical sounds drowned
out both human and natural sounds with their ubiquitous buzz and whirr.
(Schafer 1969, 6)
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
72
Radio is, therefore, the result of the work of capturing and editing sounds
on the spot, listening to testimonies, silences, and music with meaning
that are introduced in the narrative and that together reconstruct the
events, places, and people. e sound of waves on a beach is intended to
mean exactly waves on a beach. In this sense, the sound eects accentuate
the impression of reality (Balsebre 2004) in the radio message. e com-
bination with other constituent elements of the radio language creates a
positive redundancy that helps to assimilate the meaning of the message.
e sequence of sound segments in a radio space is often ensured by
sound eects. When this is the case, they are performing a narrative func-
tion. It means that they aim to complement the radio message. e trans-
position from one space to another is transmitted to the listener by a
sound eect:
(…) we can say that sounds, whether in the world or on the radio, are
generally indexical. We could of course say that recorded sound on the
radio is iconic in the elementary sense that it is an icon or image of the
original sound or that a sound in a radio play is an icon of a sound in the
real world (…). (Crisell 1994, 44)
e expressive potentials of radio—combined with the relevance it still
has in the lives of individuals—make this medium an important platform
for promoting tourism. Radio emerges as an important communication
and advertising channel for tourism organizations, especially if the objec-
tive is to reach local audiences, constituting an obvious choice when it
comes to publicizing events. Its advantages over advertising media when
compared to other media are (i) it is relatively cheap; (ii) the message can
be repeated many times; (iii) audiences can be targeted geographically;
(iv) production costs are low; and (v) voice and sound can be used.
A study conducted by Alhmedat (2013) in Al-khasawneh (2018) con-
cluded that radio programmes can explain the services and facilities avail-
able in tourist destinations, and also inuence the behaviour of people
during the practice of tourism activities, increasing the demand to visit
some tourist attractions.
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
73
Methodology
e objective of the study is to ascertain how Portuguese radio represents
and promotes tourism in Portugal. To this end, nine programmes that
focus on tourism broadcast in 2019 and 2020 on the three main radio
stations in Portugal were analysed.
e research method used in this study is content analysis. is is a
method commonly used in social sciences to research various forms of
human communication, as is the case with videotapes and/or audiotapes
(Berg 2009). rough this method, the programmes were analysed in
detail and systematically, using broadcasts from 2019 and 2020 included
in the radio programming of the three main information radios in
Portugal: TSF, Antena 1, and Renascença (RR), and whose thematic area
falls within the eld of tourism.
We chose to analyse Portugal because of the tourism sector’s growing
importance in the country and its increasing visibility in national and
international media. Domestic tourism has been encouraged by govern-
mental entities in the face of a global pandemic. Furthermore, it was
decided to address the radio sector.
e radio panorama in Portugal consists of broadcasters with national,
regional, and local coverage. Within this classication, we found the-
matic radio stations, which are dedicated to a specic theme (musical,
sports, and information) and generalist radio stations, those with a diver-
sied programme. We can also classify Portuguese radio stations as pub-
lic, as they are part of the state’s audiovisual sector and have a public
service and private function. Also noteworthy is the strong presence of
the Catholic Church in the Portuguese radio sector. e Catholic Church
owns one of the main radio groups with national coverage and many
others with local coverage.
For the present study, on the one hand, the choice of radio stations is
determined by those that, in the national context, have more presence
and are dedicated to informative content, with more programmes report-
ing on tourism. On the other hand, the choice of these radio stations
provides a sample of what is broadcast on a general public service radio
(Antena 1), Catholic generalist radio (Renascença), and private news-
radio (TSF). We analysed the content of ve programmes on TSF, two on
Antena 1, and one on RR.
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
74
Taking the objectives of the study into account, the following criteria
and parameters were dened for analysis (Table4.1).
Results andDiscussion
Characterization oftheProgrammes
e observations made allowed us to identify various periods of the day
for the broadcasting of programmes on tourism; however, there was a
trend towards broadcasting programmes at night or weekends. e length
Table 4.1 Criteria and parameters used for the analyses of radio programmes
Criteria Parameters
Characteristics of the programmes Definition
Schedule
Subject
Duration (time)
Partnership Tourism institutions/enterprises
Political entities
Public institutions linked to heritage
Voices Politicians
Destination management organization
Host/journalist
Building heritage specialists
Restaurant owners
Local population
Themes Building heritage
Cultural events
Religious heritage
Natural heritage
Tourist destination
Health and well-being
Sport and adventure
Gastronomy and wines
Local traditions
Language and sound narrative Interview
Local sounds
Voice (of the host or journalist)
Local music
Others music
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
75
of such programmes ranged between 15 and 45 minutes. Also, we found
programmes of shorter duration, albeit in smaller numbers, which aim to
provide listeners with a brief overview of specic locations, restaurants, or
events. Such programmes do not exceed ve minutes in length, since they
are broadcast in the morning when the radio is mainly aimed at an active
audience, on the move from home to work or in the workplace. Our
sample also revealed that there is no xed timing for this type of pro-
gramme. Half of such content is broadcast daily and the other half weekly
(Table4.2).1
Most of the radio programmes studied that deal with tourism promo-
tion result from partnerships with organizations linked to the sector or
local politics. us, in the corpus analysed, we found programmes on the
radio in partnership with city councils (Oeiras Cultural Agenda), the spe-
cialized press (Essência do Vinho), regional entities in the tourism sector,
and structures for preserving cultural heritage—as is the case of the
Serralves Foundation.
We can, however, divide partnerships into two types. In permanent
partnerships, the programme is co-produced with the radio and circum-
stantial partnerships that provide support for the production of certain
programmes. erefore, the entities change from programme to pro-
gramme. is type of partnership can be seen in the programme “Terra
a Terra”.
Programmes without identication of partnerships are mainly those
that are based on tips for visits, gastronomy, shows, and so on, as is the
case of “Boa vida” and “TSF à mesa”.
The Voices ofTourism
As devices of social representation, the media nd one of their main roles
in society in the diversity and plurality of discourses, which is to serve as
a stage for the discussion and representation of themes of public interest.
e call for protagonists from dierent walks of life in society helps to
1 e titles of the programmes were freely translated in Table4.1. e original titles, in Portuguese,
will be used in the text.
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
76
Table 4.2 Characterization of the corpus
Rádio
Radio Programme Characterization Schedule
Duration of
the
programme
TSF
(Private
radio.
News-
radio)
“Encontros
com o
Património”
(Encounters
with
Heritage)
Programme that
addresses places
with history,
landscapes, and
people, past and
the present.
Suspended in
July 2020.
40 minutes
Agenda
Cultural 30
dias em
Oeiras
(Oeiras
Cultural
Agenda)
Programme focused
on cultural, built
heritage and
gastronomic
initiatives that
take place in
Oeiras.
Weekly.
Wednesday.
7:45 a.m.
4–5 minutes.
“Terra a
Terra” (Land
to Land)
Conversations and
reports reveal the
wonders of the
landscape, the
heritage, and the
stories and
characters from all
corners of the
country.
Traditional
knowledge,
gastronomy, past
and modern.
Saturdays in the
morning.
Since October
20, 2020, and
for 12 weeks,
it started
being
broadcast on
Tuesdays and
entirely
dedicated to
the theme
Lisbon “Green
European
Capital”.
120 minutes.
Weekly.
In the special
edition
dedicated
to the
theme
Lisbon
“European
Green
Capital”, it
lasts 60
minutes.
“Magazine
Serralves”
(Serralves
Magazine)
Exhibitions, music,
dance, cinema,
family
programmes
promoted by the
Serralves
Foundation.
Weekly.
Thursdays at
5:45 p.m.
4–5 minutes.
“TSF à Mesa”.
(TSF at the
Table)
Brief information
about gastronomy
and restaurants.
Daily. 12:45 pm.
The programme
was
suspended in
July 2020.
3 minutes.
(continued)
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
77
Table 4.2 (continued)
Rádio
Radio Programme Characterization Schedule
Duration of
the
programme
“Boa Vida”
(Good Life)
Restaurants, hotels,
exhibitions,
activities, new
trends, bars,
places, foods,
wines, what is in
fashion but also
the most hidden
stories.
Weekly.
Thursday. 6:45
p.m.
8–10
minutes.
Antena 1
(Public
radio)
“Vou ali e já
Venho”,
(I’m Going
There, and
I’ll Be Back
Soon)
Local people.
Activity promoters.
“European
cultural heritage,
we will discover
people and places,
even those that
exist only in tales
or legends”.
Monday to
Friday 2:10
p.m.
2 minutes.
“Visita
Guiada”
(Guided
Tour)
Television and radio
programme about
the treasures of
Portuguese
cultural heritage.
Weekly.
Wednesdays.
Midnight
45 minutes.
(continued)
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
78
create a favourable environment for a better perception of the events
reported.
e media in general, and radio in particular, build information by
giving space to information sources as a strategy for crediting messages.
is logic is particularly important when it comes to themes that refer to
a signicant degree of specialization. e approach that the radio pro-
grammes analysed take to tourism refers to that same specialization by
giving priority to history, heritage, gastronomy, and wines; for this reason
the use of specialists in these areas is evident in the programmes analysed.
It is through these voices that the interpretation of a given topic is dened.
us, it is important to understand who is speaking in order to under-
stand the framework the programme is utilizing and, also, because they
are the ones that guide and transmit information.
In the case of the programmes we analysed, we found a proliferation of
experts’ voices in the areas being addressed. In this regard, we often found
Table 4.2 (continued)
Rádio
Radio Programme Characterization Schedule
Duration of
the
programme
RR
(Catholic
radio)
“A Essência
do Vinho”
(The Essence
of Wine)
Programme where
wine, gastronomy,
and culture are
talked about.
Here, you will
discover stories
told in the first
person, in
conversations with
producers,
winemakers, chefs,
sommeliers,
writers, artists,
and thinkers from
various areas and
explore and
communicate the
best that is done
in Portugal.
Weekly.
Tuesdays.
11:30 p.m.
15 minutes.
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
79
historians, university professors in the area of heritage, researchers, and
curators, among others. ese voices appear mainly in the programmes
on built heritage, such as “Encontros com o Património” or “Visitas
Guiadas”.
We also found, with some frequency, voices from the local political
eld. Mayors appear in the programmes “Agenda Cultural em Oeiras” and
“Terra a Terra”, promoting activities and events that take place in the area
of their municipality. is role of the mayor is sometimes mixed with the
function of organizing events, thus increasing their presence on the radio
waves through these types of programmes.
On the one hand, the evidence found in the programmes analysed is
in line with media standards, whereby the media include sources from
the political eld that presumably strengthen their institutional power.
e presence of voices from the political eld is justied by their almost
permanent availability to the media and, on the other hand, by signifying
the reproduction of popular representation and decision centres for citi-
zens (Meditsch 1999). e media coverage of the political eld (Serrano
2002) translates into the demand on the part of politicians for participat-
ing in media spaces and thus gaining visibility for their actions. is hap-
pens in the programmes analysed in which politicians appear, giving a
voice to events that are organized by them or in the geographic space that
they manage.
ere is also space in these programmes for entrepreneurs in the area
of tourism, wines, and restaurants. ese sources of information thus
represent the tourism sector itself more directly and give a voice to those
directly connected to the business.
A signicant feature of these programmes that seems worthwhile
underlining is the limited presence of voices from local populations. We
nd these voices mainly in the programme “Vou ali e já venho”, by Antena
1 and in “Terra-a-Terra”, by TSF.With regard to the promotion of the
regions, priority thus goes to the mayors, local event organizers, and tour-
ism promoters.
e reduced presence of voices from the population is echoed in some
critical media studies that note the lesser presence of popular voices in the
news and in the media in general, pointing to an underrepresentation of
the community in the media space. As a rule, the media reproduce a
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
80
closed circuit between politicians, businessmen, and advisers (Reiel
2003). e radio programmes analysed are in line with this perception,
giving priority to institutional and political voices and, in doing so,
reducing the possibilities of a wider reproduction of the traditions and
experiences of the community and places—which is relevant when the
objective is promoting tourism. is aspect was also identied by
Ledhesma when he mentioned that it is almost impossible to see pro-
grammes committed to local populations: “e goal always seems to be
for companies and the government to pay for radio space and wages
whenever possible” (Ledhesma 2014, 17).
The Themes oftheProgrammes
Listening to the programmes that make up our sample allows us to make
a rst observation. e radio spaces related to tourism in Portugal have,
in their entirety, thematic diversity, ranging from built heritage to gas-
tronomy and including sport and leisure, environment, and wines. is
does not mean, however, that all programmes have this thematic scope.
On the contrary, in our sample we found several programmes dedicated
to exploring only one theme, such as “A Essência do Vinho” or “Magazine
Serralves”. Programmes dedicated to built, religious, and natural heritage
were also found.
Heritage programmes are, in fact, of great relevance within our case
studies, especially with regard to built heritage. ese are programmes
that address historical monuments, museums, castles, palaces, and that
work, in many cases, to explore stories around characters and certain
places. Even though such programmes often explore dierent elements,
their starting point is heritage, in particular built heritage.
Cultural events, such as exhibitions, musical concerts, or theatre shows
also occupy an important space on Portuguese radio waves, as a result of
the institutional partnerships that radio stations have made. Of equal
importance, the presence of gastronomy and wines is a constant in several
programmes analysed, doing justice to the enormous tourism potential of
the Portuguese gastronomy and wine sector.
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
81
e strategy for Tourism 2027 developed by Tourism of Portugal (TP
2017) reinforces the diversity of tourism resources existing in the country
as a strong point. Cultural heritage, including gastronomy, culture, and
the hospitality of the Portuguese people, are dierentiating elements of
tourism in Portugal and are highly valued by the people who visit us. e
national marketing strategy focuses on people (residents, industry profes-
sionals, and visitors), and its aims for the future are for the sector to
resume post-COVID-19 with the construction of a sustainable and safe
destination (TP 2020b).
In line with this strategy, the regional tourism entities (there are seven
in the country) and city councils (there are 308)—who are also public
tourism agents—dene their strategies and operational plans, based on
the tourist resources and products with potential development in their
territories.
From the analyses carried out, we found that the themes addressed
reect the tourist potential of the place, with an emphasis on built cul-
tural heritage but also, on cultural events and activities that take place
more regularly. erefore, it is necessary to proceed with its dissemina-
tion among potential visitors in order to channel public interest and
mobilize it for their enjoyment.
Less common in the programmes studied is the presence of lifestyle,
health, and sport. In addition to TSF’s “Boa Vida” programme, references
to these themes are made only occasionally. An important feature that
our analysis revealed is that the themes and focus of the programmes are
local or national. We did not nd any international approach or pro-
grammes with the theme of sustainability.
The Expressiveness ofRadio andTourism
Radio is a medium that constructs reality through sounds, be it via words,
music, silence, or ambient noise (Crisell 1994; Hendy 2000; Balsebre
2004). is sound construction of reality has the eect of generating
mental images in the listener from what he hears, and, in so doing, trans-
porting him symbolically to the reported places, which may work as an
excellent form of tourism promotion.
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
82
e combination of these expressive elements of the radio with the
listener themselves creates semiotics of sound (Balsebre 2004) that trans-
lates into the sound reproduction of reality that is then interpreted in an
image-based/visual way by those who listen. e sound of waves suggests
a coastal location to listeners. e accuracy of the reproduction of places
and events in the radio message is, therefore, dependent on the sound
codes that it deploys, as well as on the fact that it will nd in the listener
a receiver able to decode and reconstruct that reality according to his/her
cultural repertoire. rough sound messages, listeners recreate places
and spaces.
e programmes we analysed, as they deal with themes related to
places, spaces, and buildings, would benet from the more assiduous
presence of the various expressive elements of the radio language, insofar
as, in the absence of the image, they would facilitate the creation of men-
tal images in the listeners, taking advantage of the suggestive character of
the sound (Soengas 2003). However, the observation made did not lead
us that way. In fact, the analysis of our case studies allows us to see that
such sound potential is not exploited by their authors. While it is true
that most programmes have background music behind the voice, others
present small musical excerpts during the breaks between interviews or as
a separator of themes within the programme. However, we found that the
presence of ambient sounds is practically non-existent in the programmes
analysed, with the exception of the programme “Vou ali e já venho” from
Radio Antena 1.
e analysed programmes rely, above all, on the voice: the voice of the
presenter (who is sometimes a journalist) and the interviewees who are
invited to the programme. In several examples, the interviewee assumes
the role of a “tour guide” who guides the listener through the “route” of
the space or building that is the subject of the programme.
e programmes analysed do not greatly explore the sound tools of
radio language. ere are very few programmes with the introduction
of ambient sounds from the places, which is very important in the sense
of transporting the listeners to the places of action. Radio is not
enhanced in these programmes in its ability to generate contexts of
imagination in the listeners about the spaces that are being reported.
e absence of ambient sounds in most programmes is somewhat
L. Bonixe and G. Dinis
83
compensated—although not fully—by the descriptions of the loca-
tions, whether by the announcer/journalist or by the interviewees.
Music is also frequently used and appears as a background sound for
the statements of the protagonists, or as a way to create a rupture between
the radio spaces in the programme. Very rarely, traditional music from
the places reported was used.
Most programmes use a similar formula that includes statements by
the protagonists, descriptions of places, spaces, monuments, dishes, and
so on by announcers/journalists. e statements of the protagonists
appear in the programmes, sometimes with brief excerpts, alternated by
the interventions of the announcers, sometimes in a running interview.
at is, in the absence of ambient sounds that allow the mental recre-
ation of places by listeners, the role of this construction is played by
words, which are the most used resource for the transmission of messages
on the radio (Balsebre 2004). e programmes analysed adopted a dia-
logical strategy; that is, they promote interaction and dialogue between
the actors in the programmes and this conveys emotion and closeness at
the same time as, through the constant descriptions of the space, helping
the listeners to mentally recreate the places of the events.
Conclusion
e aim of this exploratory study is to characterize the way in which
Portuguese radio represents and promotes tourism, through the analysis
of programmes that focus on this theme on the radio stations TSF, Antena
1, and RR.
We concluded that the theme most often addressed is built heritage.
Concretely, most programmes are focused on promoting historic build-
ings, namely castles, museums, palaces, and historic villages. In terms of
approach, we found that the programmes focused on a local and national
context, with the aim of publicizing the tourism potential and cultural
activities in each territory. We did not nd any programmes dedicated to
destinations or tourist resources outside the country.
e vision transmitted through the analysed programmes is that of
public and political entities. In addition to these, tourism in radio is
4 The Promotion of Tourism on Radio Waves
84
translated by specialists, especially in historical heritage. Local people
rarely have a voice in these programmes. e programmes analysed are
based on conversations with interviewees and tips from the presenters.
Sound narratives were very rarely used.
On the one hand, this study will contribute to an understanding of the
importance and the role of radio in the dissemination of resources, activi-
ties, and tourist destinations. On the other hand, the study can also con-
tribute to understanding media coverage and trends in the selection of
content for tourism dissemination, which, in view of the inuential
power of the media, can help stakeholders in the sector to understand
consumer behaviour in tourism.
is is an exploratory study; to our knowledge there is no other study
that has addressed this topic. A limitation of the study was the sample size
used, as it was only possible to analyse a selection of programmes. For
future investigations, it would be important to extend this analysis to
more programmes from these radio stations in order to consolidate these
results and to use other methodological approaches, namely interviews,
to have the perception of the authors of programmes and/or tourism
organizations.
Acknowledgements is work was nancially supported by the research unit
on Governance, Competitiveness, and Public Policy (UIDB/04058/2020) +
(UIDP/04058/2020), funded by national funds through FCT—Fundação para
a Ciência e a Tecnologia.
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© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_5
5
Digital Content Creation
andStorytelling atthe Time
ofCOVID- 19: Tourism Ireland’s Online
Film I Will Return
AlessandraDe Marco
Introduction
e outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic in March 2020 has had a
devastating impact on the tourist industry. With travel restrictions in
place in most nations, grounded air carriers and the forced closure of
hospitality facilities, several countries went from “overtourism to no tour-
ism in a matter of days” (Richards 2020, np). In May 2020, international
tourist arrivals had gone down by 98% with US $300 million in losses
(UNWTO 2020), while air companies had lost $419 billion in total rev-
enues by October 2020 (IATA 2020). In the summer, with the easing of
travel restrictions, people timidly returned to forms of tourism guaran-
teeing safety and social distancing, such as “staycations,” local travel, and
holidays in the outdoors (Vowinkel 2020). However, because of the dura-
tion of the pandemic, the future of the tourism industry continues to
remain bleak (Gretzel etal. 2020).
A. De Marco (*)
Cosenza, Italy
88
Lockdowns, social distancing, and other forms of restrictions redened
pre-COVID-19 consumers’ habits, needs, education, work routines, and
sociality, leading to an unprecedented growth in online shopping, enter-
tainment, Internet, and social media usage (Donthu and Gustafsson
2020). Digital platforms became the privileged tools for coping with the
unfolding crisis and the emotional distress derived from home isolation,
fear of the virus, and other stressors. ey became the primary source of
information to navigate the highly unstable COVID-19 landscape; they
oered a substitute for established lifestyles and forms of sociality (Garn
2020). Within such a scenario, businesses in various sectors—including
tourism and travel—sought to increase or maintain online visibility,
brand awareness, and customer relationships. To this aim, they incre-
mented their communication activities and produced new or updated
content able to generate consumer sentiment and engagement due to its
relevance to the moment of crisis (Balis 2020).
IT, the Internet, and social media provide the infrastructure through
which every facet of the travel process—from place promotion to
information- seeking and decision-making—occurs. erefore, tourism
and travel organizations were among the most active players catering to
increased users’ demand for digital travel content (Gretzel etal. 2020). In
eect, digital content marketing aimed at providing prospective tourists
with inspirational information at the pre-travel stage (and initiating the
customer journey) is central to the industry (Minazzi 2015; Jiménez-
Barreto etal. 2019). National tourism organizations (NTOs) generally
use Web 2.0 and mobile apps content (360° videos, mini-lms, Instagram
stories, online exhibitions, image galleries, blog articles) or virtual reality
to provide a preliminary experiential encounter between destinations and
tourists able to generate a positive—albeit technologically mediated—
tourism experience (Jiménez-Barreto et al. 2019). During lockdowns,
virtual tourism on digital channels became a proxy for actual travel
(Gretzel etal. 2020). us, NTOs updated, modied, or implemented
their online content to oer users a variety of virtual travel experiences
catering to various tourist segments.
For example, Great Britain’s ocial tourism website www.visitbrit-
ain.com became the departure point for an “armchair journey” that
could still oer users a “true taste of Britain” and transform the current
A. De Marco
89
moment of forced immobility into one of discovery and inspiration
(Visit Britain 2020). e website featured expanded thematic sections
with updated online editorial and image content (e.g. “Stories,” “Local
Flavours,” “Adventure,” “Culture,” “Discovery,” “Relaxation,”
“Unexpected,” and “Fun”) capturing selected distinguishing elements
of the destination (Visit Britain 2020). Tourism Portugal, instead,
readapted its early 2020 promotional video “Can’t Skip Portugal,”
releasing it with a new voice- over and the title “Can’t Skip Hope.” e
video treated an end to travel as an act of social responsibility, necessary
to defeat the virus and to return to an improved normality (Visit
Portugal 2020). Tourism Ireland devised a similar initiative, launching
a short online lm entitled I Will Return (Tourism Ireland 2020)to
oer grounded travellers inspirational material for future journeys or, as
the hashtag accompanying both this and the former video summarized,
an opportunity to #DreamNowTravelLater.
ese initiatives eectively demonstrate a generalized marketing
approach to the crisis that sought to ensure brand visibility by oering
stories that appealed to users’ need to make sense of the COVID-19 crisis
as a unifying experience equally aecting everyone (Sobande 2020).
Arguably, storytelling provides a compelling way to organize and, possi-
bly, understand experience, to generate connection among people, and to
aect consumer behaviour via seductive, appealing narratives (Moin etal.
2020). ose stories, including travel ones, tapped into and built on what
some call a digitally mediatized ow of aect (Döveling etal. 2018). e
ow of emotions circulating through social media during lockdown artic-
ulated people’s need to overcome loneliness and their subjective fears by
nding human connection, a sense of community, and to share their
hope for a quick return to an old, improved normality (Sobande 2020).
Within such a context, the present chapter will investigate the lm I
Will Return through a multidisciplinary approach grounded in digital
marketing, destination branding, and social semiotic multimodality. e
aim is to discuss how destination marketing ocers (DMOs) used tour-
ism audiovisual content to market Brand Ireland during the early
COVID-19 pandemic by crafting a story that appeals to an imagined
community of grounded tourists and their wanderlust. In addition to
examining the lm’s formal and thematic features, the analysis will
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time…
90
investigate the meanings and discourses it generates and disseminates
about the destination, and will question whether it envisions any changes
in tourism in the post-lockdown world. In eect, the COVID-19 pan-
demic has been challenging the dominant economic model and culture-
ideology of hyper-consumerism, upon which tourism as an economic
activity is premised, exacerbating the inequalities, the vulnerabilities, and
the environmental unsustainability it produces (Harvey 2020; Higgins-
Desbiolles 2020). Recovery from this crisis will therefore entail, among
other things, reviewing tourism cultural paradigms, practices, and behav-
iours—not only to accommodate biosecurity requirements in the shorter
run, but also, as tourism and hospitality scholars have been advocating,
to render tourism more equitable and sustainable for local communities
and the environment in the long term. To this aim, new stories and nar-
ratives are also required to imagine and communicate change in the way
destinations construct and promote themselves (Gössling et al. 2021,
Richards 2020, Stefanie etal. 2020, Sigala 2020).
However, this tourism lm and the institutions that produced it do not
envisage new travel stories and emotional congurations for a post-
pandemic world. Indeed, the lm does not reveal a preoccupation with the
transformative impacts of the crisis on the industry. Rather, it appears to
advocate a return to pre-COVID tourism models, and rearms consoli-
dated discursive constructions of the destination, its people, and culture.
Tourism Ireland’s Online Film I Will Return:
Context andTheoretical Approach
On May 1, 2020, Tourism Ireland released a short online lm entitled I
Will Return, featuring a specially written poem on its major social plat-
forms (Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube) (Tourism Ireland 2020a). e
lm, aimed at maintaining brand awareness through online visibility,
showcases the “unspoilt beauty” of the country, and invites prospective
visitors and fans to continue dreaming of travelling to Ireland during
lockdown and to plan a visit to the country when travel is permitted
again (Tourism Ireland 2020a). is initiative is part of the destination
marketing campaign called “Fill your Heart with Ireland,” launched at
A. De Marco
91
the end of 2018 to promote the country overseas through a mix of ocial
brand and user-generated online content. According to the Board, as of
September 2020, the campaign had achieved 143 million impressions,
25 million video views, and over 3 million engagements on Facebook and
Instagram (Tourism Ireland 2020b).
Destination brands, such as Ireland, make extensive use of digital con-
tent marketing that features online promotional audiovisual material in
order to construct, develop, and consolidate their Unique Destination
Proposition (UDP) and to promote aliation towards the destination
(Morgan et al. 2004). Enticing, meaningful content is paramount to
engage and attract tourists with the destination’s promise of value—be it
social, emotional, or experiential (Kotler and Gertner 2004). Indeed, vid-
eos are especially suitable for communicating both the physical and the
emotional attributes attached to a destination brand and to shape visitors’
perceptions of a destination by oering aective images of a place. As
John Urry (2000) posits, videos make the intangible destination tangible,
concrete, and visible. us, they deliver the promise of a meaningful
experience that will arise from visiting. For this reason, more than other
media texts, tourism audiovisuals are able to produce a strong emotional
connection and a profound relationship between viewers and the destina-
tion (Hudson and Brent Ritchie 2009). DMOs use various types of
audiovisual material across several channels to create a unique, coherent,
and powerful destination brand image that sends authoritative messages
about its values, attributes, and equity. Furthermore, audiovisuals most
successfully realize the Attraction-Interest-Desire-Action (AIDA) model,
which in tourism marketing ultimately serves to trigger prospective or
returning visitors’ interest in, and desire towards, the destination, to initi-
ate their customer journey and nally to urge them to take action (i.e. to
travel to the destination) (Morgan etal. 2004). Ocial tourism websites
and social media accounts (primarily Instagram, Facebook, and YouTube)
multiply the opportunities for encounter and interaction between tour-
ists and destinations (Minazzi 2015; Jiménez-Barreto etal. 2019), foster
brand aliation through users’ participation, user-generated content
(UGC), and eWOM—electronic word of mouth—via content sharing.
UGC, in particular, has proven an especially prolic form of brand pro-
motion and of “cultural co-creation,” whereby “co-created meanings
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time…
92
(among both producers and consumers) fold back into the culture”
(Tuten and Solomon 2015, 171).
From an academic perspective, a useful contribution to the investiga-
tion of tourism audiovisual promotion (Leotta 2020) as a distinct form
of media texts can come from social semiotic multimodal analysis. Social
semiotic multimodality provides a multidisciplinary approach to com-
munication, and seeks to understand the social and ideological commu-
nicative role of a plurality of texts (from videos to toys), each using
multiple semiotic resources with dierent aordances or representational
possibilities (Kress and Van Leeuwen 2006; Van Leeuwen 2005; Kress
2010). is eld of enquiry, pioneered by Hodge and Kress (1988), is
based on M.A.K.Halliday’s Systemic Functional Linguistics (developed
in 1960), which studies language as a semiotic process, arising within a
specic context, and fullling a social function. Just like language, other
semiotic resources realize social functions, namely ideational, interper-
sonal, and textual (Eggins 2004). A text’s communicative aim is to con-
struct our experience of the world, create logical connections into it, and
establish social relations, while at the same time organizing the message
(Kress 2010). Social semiotics seeks to understand how sign-makers com-
municate their interests within a specic social, historical, and cultural
context and, in turn, how communication creates an alignment between
their views and those of an ideal (or as in the case of destination market-
ing, proled) audience (Kress 2010). To this aim, it can make use of
Critical Discourse Analysis (CDA) to unravel the ideological content of
apparently multimodal neutral communicative texts (Machin and Mayr
2012). CDA, for example, has been applied to investigate the tourism
audiovisual promotion of South Korea (Pan et al. 2016) and of New
Zealand (De Marco 2017).
Several scholars have attempted to develop a social semiotic multi-
modal theoretical and methodological approach to videos and lms using
transcription and microanalysis (Iedema 2001; Baldry and ibault
2006; Bateman and Schmidt 2012). eir eorts aimed at devising a sort
of grammar of the moving image (Burn 2013) in order to capture the
interplay of dierent modes from the smallest level of unit (the shot) to
the largest (the video as a whole). Burn, for example, uses what he calls
the kinekoic to analyse videos along two axes, the diachronic and the syn-
tagmatic, at the level of shot and including speech, music, action,
A. De Marco
93
lming, and editing. Francesconi (2017) and De Marco (2017) have
used this type of microanalysis for the analysis of tourism videos.
is approach compounds theoretical and methodological attempts in
other disciplines to understand and describe the characteristic features of
tourism audiovisuals. ese include, among others, Pan’s (2011) analysis
of the structural components of a TVC and their role in the construction
of a destination image; Pan etal.’s (2011) investigation of the mise-en-
scène, its primary elements of signication, and their use in the construc-
tion of selected frames (salient aspects of a destination) to represent a
destination’s image and its attributes. Campelo etal. (2011) used content
analysis to explore the visual rhetoric through which a destination con-
veys its sense of place. A useful combination of both the social semiotic
multimodal microanalysis and the kind of content and macro-analyses
mentioned above informs De Marco’s (2017) study of the 100% Pure
New Zealand TV commercials. e author critically examined how such
TVCs signify destination brand New Zealand through highly mediatized
images and narratives, carrying their specic discursive (ideological,
political, cultural) dimensions relayed via their structuring modes and
attendant aordances.
In what follows, a multidisciplinary macro-analysis and discussion of
the online lm I Will Return—inspired by the social semiotic multimodal
approach—will be carried out in order to explore the peculiar combina-
tion of various modes and their aordances in this lm, and how they
realize Tourism Ireland’s brand marketing interests in the current histori-
cal moment.
I Will Return: Analysis andDiscussion
e online lm I Will Return was created by the London agency Publicis-
Poke, who brought together existing aerial footage of famous Irish loca-
tions (including Tara, Glendalough, Kylemore Abbey, and Powercourt
estate in Co Wicklow) and footage from the Ocial Tourism Ireland
campaign video series, “Fill Your Heart with Ireland.” In this latter series,
released between 2018 and 2019 for TV, cinema, and online distribu-
tion, an actual Swedish couple of tourists, selected by the Board, travels
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time…
94
around the country lming their journey via head-mounted cameras. e
couple, equipped with wearable technology, recorded their physical
responses and emotional reactions to various sites and sights. e tourism
commercials eventually included footage of the locations that produced
the highest heart rate responses in the couple (Tourism Ireland 2018).
e video’s originality emerges primarily from its use of tourists’ biomet-
ric data, and more signicantly, from the fact that it constitutes a hybrid
between user-generated and branded content, which is meant to resonate
more closely with prospective visitors and viewers. Indeed, the couple
embody the ideal travellers to Ireland, personifying the primary target
audience for the destination; at the same time, however, because they are
real tourists visiting the country for the rst time, viewers can identify
with the video protagonists, who thus lend authenticity to the brand and
to the online experience of the destination. Authenticity is constructed
through a combination of actual and perceived attributes of the country
and its people. According to Publicis’ ECD, these include history and
glorious landscapes that can generate the kind of dreamy mood required
to escape the bleak reality of lockdown, a penchant for verse, and resil-
ience in the face of adversity (Shots 2020).
For the purpose of the present analysis, I will use the term “online lm”
in keeping with that coined by Tourism Ireland. I see this type of lm as
a mini-video, that is tourism audiovisual promotion meant primarily to
entertain online users during lockdown, while at the same time function-
ing as a form of advertising for the country. is type of “advertainment”
has become increasingly common in the marketing of branded content,
including that of destinations (Gong and Tung 2016). Based on Pan and
Hanusch (2011) and Pan etal. (2011), the online lm’s main elements
are video and soundtrack in the form of verse narration and musical
score, and its duration is 50 seconds. Analysis focuses on the shot as the
most basic unit (Iedema 2001). Manual transcription recorded 22 shots,
lasting between 2 and 2.30 seconds, alternating aerial views of spectacu-
lar natural locations (10 shots) with those of the Swedish couple, their
actions, and their emotional responses to the sites and views (12 shots).
Transitions between location-only shots and those featuring the couple
signal specic moments in the poem, thus contributing to expanding and
enhancing the voice-over narration through the distinctive aordances of
A. De Marco
95
the moving image. As regards the mise-en-scène, several meaning-making
elements of signication emerge that contribute to the country’s repre-
sentation. According to Pan etal. (2011), these include dominant ele-
ments, shot and camera proxemics, angle, colour values, density,
composition, framing, character placement, and position.
At a social semiotic multimodal level, the video produces meaning
through three main functions: ideational, interpersonal, and textual. e
rst function pertains to the construction of experiential meaning, that is
an experience of the destination through its represented participants and
the actions they perform (Jewitt and Oyama 2001). ese include places
or landscapes, people, and things. In particular, this lm uses natural
landscapes as Carriers of the destination’s actual and symbolic attributes
and values, as the Goal of the protagonists’ actions, and as the Phenomenon
to observe and feel. e two human represented participants, the Swedish
couple, act as both reactors in front of the landscape and actors perform-
ing a number of tourist activities. e video is conceptual in nature, inso-
far as it oers a depiction of a country and of its actual and symbolic
attributes. However, it is also narrative, as it provides a story of a past or
imagined journey appropriate for a time of crisis. Interpersonal meaning,
instead, explains the way participants interact either with each other or
with the represented world of the analysed text, and the attitudes and
opinions they develop towards the destination. It also claries the way
they interrelate with viewers, and suggests the standpoint that the ideal
viewers (primary, but also secondary, target audience) should adopt
towards what is being represented (Kress and Van Leeuwen 2006). Finally,
the combination of dierent modes across a diachronic and syntagmatic
pattern (intersemiosis) creates textual or compositional meaning; conse-
quently, video, sound, and voice-over mutually relay and multiply mean-
ings through their co-occurrence and unfolding in time (Jewitt and
Oyama 2001).
In this lm, camera angle, movement, and size of frames create ide-
ational and interpersonal meanings. e angle varies depending on the
subject of the shot. Long to very long shots, through aerial cameras, are
crucial for landscape and historical sites in order to capture the dramatic,
awe-inspiring beauty and variety of the natural resources the country
oers. ese shots alternate with some eye-level angle shots using a
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time…
96
panning camera, as in the case of a team of wild horses running. e
Swedish couple are lmed through head-mounted cameras, which use
eye-level (or slightly above the eye-level) angle with long to medium shots
to either focus on the people immersed within the landscape or to cap-
ture their emotional responses through bodily language. e participants
appear mostly frontally, centre-staged, using frontality to generate maxi-
mum involvement with viewers, or obliquely, to shift the attention away
from them and onto the landscape (Jewitt and Oyama 2001). e man
and the woman are either moving or performing a number of fun activi-
ties, such as cycling, hiking, camping, or rowing. According to Kress and
Van Leeuwen (2006), when looking at the camera, represented partici-
pants demand the ideal viewers’ attention in order to invite the latter to
travel with them and share their actions and emotions, expressed through
the couple’s gestures and facial mimicry. By contrast, when they turn
their back to the camera they present an oer to the ideal viewer by focus-
ing on what the destination oers at an experiential or emotional level.
Bird’s- eye view, instead, liberates the viewers’ imagination, allowing them
to experience a virtual ight over the country, a virtual escape from their
homes, and a form of symbolic power over the constraints imposed by
lockdowns.
Cuts mark shot transitions. Light and colours vary, capturing the land-
scape at dierent times of the day and in dierent weather conditions.
Only one night shot is present, with the wife pointing her camera from
inside her tent towards her husband sitting outside by a re. Overexposure
occurs in an aerial shot of sunrise over the hills of Tara (00:11-00:12), in
one shot showing the man on the top of a hill facing the sun (00:16-00:18),
in the sunrise over Glendalough monastery (00:22-00:24), and in the
closing shot with the slogan “Fill your Heart with Ireland” alongside a
shamrock logo. Overexposure, as Pan etal. (2011) indicate, can contrib-
ute to a fantasy atmosphere, entirely in keeping with the dreamlike ambi-
ence of the lm. On the contrary, the green of the gardens, of the hills,
and of the meadows, the blue of the cloudless skies, the grey of the clouds,
the high variability of the Irish weather, the white of the stone construc-
tions and of the sheep eece, provide a realistic representation of the
country. e skilful deployment of the destination’s iconographic assets,
such as the colour green as the national colour, and sheep and wild horses
A. De Marco
97
as endemic fauna of the country, helps to construct the authenticity of
the experiential representation.
Most shots have a stark density, that is, images do not present too
many details. is tends to enhance the eetingness of memories and
dreams, although some shots may contain more elements, such as the
view of the gardens with its owers and garden landscaping (00:08-00:10),
or that of Glendalough with its ruins. Shots with the couple mostly have
moderate density and the frames reveal their ability to move freely, with-
out impediment. ey appear immersed in the landscape or interacting
with it. is element conveys an extreme sense of liberty in harmony with
nature, and presents the Irish landscape as an ideal destination to escape
crowds, live a romantic adventure, or indulge in the silence of nature.
Soundscape is fundamental to the construction of ideational meaning
through storytelling. It anchors and relays the meanings emerging from
the visual mode, increasing their power of signication, identication,
and engagement. Voice-over constitutes the most prominent aural ele-
ment, working as a “gure,” while the piano score continues to play in
the background as the “eld” (Van Leeuwen 1999). e actor’s gentle,
rolling Irish lilt lends local colour to the lm; coupled with the soothing,
relaxing tempo of the piano/string score, voice-over, and music work
together to create a favourable atmosphere for dream and recollection,
predisposing viewers to the lm’s message, and making the destination
more memorable (Pan etal. 2011).
e verses recite as follows:
I will return into her arms/Gently into the fold/To see her waters and her
hills/And all the beauty she beholds/To feel the earth beneath my feet/e
warmth against my face/And be welcomed in at every turn/Into her kind
embrace/But alas for now I’ll have to wait/To see my true love’s form/But
we all know that these green lands/Have weathered tougher storms/e
wandering lanes and rugged clis/Her elds laced with streams/Will still
be there after I awake/But for now they’re in my dreams.
e poem deploys several verbal techniques proper of the poetic genre to
hook the viewers. Its use of rst person “I” seeks to oer a personal
account that speaks of an aective and cognitive condition with which
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time…
98
viewers can identify, while the “we” in line 11 instead refers to Irish peo-
ple. Verses use rhyme, parallelism, and alliteration to create a lulling
atmosphere, one in which you can close your eyes and visualize the coun-
try with all its distinctive traits (the wandering lanes, the rugged land-
scape). e story is of a dream, of memory and recollection, of a land,
Ireland, personied as a woman, a now distant lover. e poem revolves
around the structuring opposition presence/absence. Memory makes the
loved one present through sensory recollection of physical presence, the
latter supported by images. ese include the embrace of the hills and
ruins at Glendalough, the man standing with his feet rmly planted onto
the ground (00:14-00:16) or raising his open arms towards the sun on
the top of a hill (00:16-00:18), the welcoming of a ock of sheep sur-
rounding the man in their embrace while cycling along a country road
(00:19-00:20). You can even perhaps hear the water gurgling in the
streams. Yet, this is nothing but a fantasy, a dream since the narrator can-
not physically travel to his beloved and enjoy her in her true form.
e multimodal analysis of the lm allows us to see how DMOs use
the lm’s various modes and aordances to create experiential, interper-
sonal, and textual meanings to advertise the destination while telling a
story. Yet, when considering the lm in its entirety, it also helps to reveal
its ideological function. Indeed, while leveraging the COVID-19 crisis to
promote the destination, the lm reinforces and circulates an institution-
alized knowledge (Van Leeuwen 2005) of Ireland and conceptions of
tourism pre- and post-COVID-19, which reect established cultural
tourism models and practices that the crisis challenges.
e video uses a recurring visual cultural repertoire to depict the desti-
nation based on a consolidated brand identity and image. ese are the
product of the politics of destination branding, whereby NTOs choose
selected aspects of the nation, its history, and people to mobilize imagi-
naries of the destination with a strong emotional resonance (Van Ham
2001). As Clancy (2011) argues, Brand Ireland has been constructing its
unique image as a rural, timeless, ethnically pure country, celebrating
empty breathtaking landscapes and the friendliness of its people. is has
now become a sanctioned and legitimate construction of the destination
rmly grounded in visitors’ minds. However, this depiction clashes with
A. De Marco
99
the actuality of a post-industrial, urban, secular, immigrant society suer-
ing from population and consumption growth, overtourism, pollution,
and environmental issues (Clancy 2011). In its branded form, the coun-
try becomes a sum of emotional and aective values that at the same time
promise and realize tourists’ quests for pleasurable and self-fullling expe-
riences (Lynch and De Chernatony 2004). As such, Ireland caters to
tourists’ need for adventure, nature, escapism, and romance. e lm
frames the destination as a place where you can escape from the hustle
and bustle of daily life, a land devoid of people and rich in wildlife. e
tourist gaze (Urry 2000) is clearly at work in the depiction of an emptied-
out landscape, as is a gendered, feminized version (Pritchard and Morgan
2000) of Ireland as a supple, sensuous lover yielding her secrets and her
beauty to the male represented participant. Indeed, the husband appears
in 10 of the 12 shots featuring the couple. When pitted against the
ghostly landscape produced by the lockdown, such constructions gain
further currency as the empty landscape and the sense of isolation it gen-
erates regain positive connotations.
Furthermore, to make the brand more appealing, DMOs piggyback
and capitalize on the ow of aect produced by the disruption of travel
and of sociality to confection a story that voices feelings of desire, power-
lessness, deep yearning, and discomfort. e lm exploits the theme of
separation from loved ones resulting from lockdown, and the emotional
responses that such a separation may produce, to confection a story about
separated lovers, that is the destination and its visitors. us, the lm
builds on emotions such as separation, loss, and the desire to be reunited
with our loved ones, to target individual tourists while fostering the
notion of an imagined, global community of travellers all equally sharing
the desire to resume travelling as in pre-COVID times. In doing so it
mobilizes what Sobande (2020) calls commodied notions of connectiv-
ity and community, and legitimates a way of feeling about the pandemic
as a temporary threat to the realization of the individual through travel-
ling and sociality.
e hashtags accompanying the video on social media, particularly
#DreamNowTravelLater and #WhenWeTravelAgain, further dene this
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time…
100
specic ideational, experiential, and textual narrative of the destination
during lockdown. Indeed, in addition to being metadata used to group
related content, facilitate topic searches, or draw attention, hashtags also
constitute a technical aordance of the digital media, which fulls all
three metafunctions (Zappavigna 2015). In this case, DMOs use these
hashtags to tag-mark the lm because they represent a digital mode
through which viewers articulate and share their views and emotions with
other users, constructing an aective community. In so doing, the video
participates in the proliferation of mediatized stories about the inability
to travel at the time of COVID-19, while also substantiating specic
constructions of the destination and projecting them onto the post-
COVID- 19 future.
e lm speaks of an experience that has joined millions of people
around the world; for this reason, it displays a heightened power to absorb
and transport viewers who are prone to fantasize (Chen 2015). DMOs
make the destination present in its absence by oering a form of enter-
tainment that allows cognitive escape from lockdown. is brief story
seems able to bestow order on uncertainty and, in keeping with the tra-
ditional story structure, envisions a “happy ending” (Moin etal. 2020)
mutually reecting and reinforcing then common expectations: a quick
defeat of the virus, a return to embracing our loved ones, and a return to
tourism as we knew it before the pandemic. In eect, the lm does not
envisage a change in established ways of tourism, and expresses nostalgia
for a world unaected by the impact that COVID-19 has had on local
communities, biosecurity, tourism facilities, industry employment, and
on travellers’ nancial situation. Rather, by directly addressing the indi-
vidual viewer as a potential tourist, and by carrying the promise of a
return to normality, the video appeals to the atomized consumer indi-
vidualism that has been fuelling the tourism industry (Higgins-Desbiolles
2020). Consequently, this tourism lm does not dier from pre-
COVID- 19 commercials, but rather uses COVID-19 as an element of
storytelling that seeks to create an emotional alignment between users
and brand values. As such, it continues to circulate virtual aective (re)
presentations of destination Ireland as a branded place that fulls con-
sumers’ aspirations for identity-construction through emotional and
status- achieving tourism experiences (Morgan etal. 2004).
A. De Marco
101
Conclusion
Tourism audiovisuals constitute a powerful tool in the hands of destina-
tion brands seeking to promote their values, arm their online presence,
and create engagement and aliation among prospective and repeat
tourists (Moin etal. 2020). e aim of the present chapter was to focus
on the role and signicance of tourism lms as a digital content market-
ing tool to maintain destinations’ online visibility and brand awareness
during the early stage of the COVID-19 pandemic, when many coun-
tries were inlockdown. Within this purview, the online lm I Will Return,
released by Tourism Ireland during spring 2020, was selected and exam-
ined. A social semiotic multimodal analysis of the lm was performed to
investigate the structural features of the lm, and to understand how it
signies and fulls specic communicative goals about Brand Ireland
through the co-occurrence of dierent meaning-making modes and their
aordances at a precise historical moment. e analysis evidenced that
the lm promotes a narrative of separation and longing for travelling that
caters to home-conned tourists’ need for positive and heart-warming
travel stories. is virtual journey through Ireland provides a technologi-
cally mediated experience that, by oering counter-narrative to the travel
restrictions imposed by the virus containment eorts, also productively
advertises the destination and its unique values. DMOs use the aect
generated by the pandemic as a hook to connect viewers to the destina-
tion via a story that addresses and speaks to an imagined global commu-
nity of travellers. However, by advocating a return to pre- COVID- 19
normality, the lm does not oer a meditation on the challenges and the
disruptions that tourism as a socio-economic activity faces because of the
combined eects of the pandemic and of the industry’s structural aws.
e lm thus fails to produce new and alternative narratives of the post-
COVID phase that might eventually lead to innovative ways to envision
and practice tourism and to promote destinations.
While focusing on one video at an early stage of the pandemic consti-
tutes a limitation of this study, nonetheless, it aims to oer some reec-
tions and to initiate further research, on the unique institutional, and
communicative, actual and potential role of tourism lms as ocial des-
tination marketing tools in the current time, and for the post-COVID-19
tourist world.
5 Digital Content Creation and Storytelling at the Time…
102
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D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_6
6
Virtual Tourism intheAge ofCOVID-19:
ACase Study oftheFaroe Islands’
‘Remote Tourism’ Campaign
AlfioLeotta
Since the 1990s there has been a growing attention, both within the
industry and academia, to tourism applications of immersive digital tech-
nologies, such as Augmented Reality (AR) and Virtual Reality (VR).
While AR overlays computer-generated perceptual information on real-
world environments, VR creates virtual environments by the provision of
either computer-generated or 360-degree real-life captured content (Beck
etal. 2019, 586). Recently, a number of scholars have pointed out how
technological advances in the eld of VR can provide tourists with both a
‘taste’ of the tourism experience and a set of rich and trustworthy informa-
tion (Rainoldi etal. 2018; Beck etal. 2019; Sarkady etal. 2021; Schiopu
etal. 2021). From this point of view, VR has demonstrated signicant
potential in terms of the marketing and promotion of tourism destina-
tions and experiences. e impact of the COVID-19 pandemic on the
global tourism industry throughout 2020 generated even further interest
in tourism applications of VR.While in the rst half of 2020 international
A. Leotta (*)
Victoria University of Wellington, Wellington, New Zealand
e-mail: alo.leotta@vuw.ac.nz
108
air travel shrank by 90% (Debusmann Jr 2020), Google searches for vir-
tual tourism increased sevenfold (Begley Bloom 2020). Some VR produc-
ers have attempted to create experiences capable of replacing traditional
tourism activities. For example, Japan-based First Air, which bills itself as
the rst ‘virtual aviation facility,’ oers virtual ights, complete with
boarding passes and in-ight meals from Tokyo to international destina-
tions such as New York, Rome, and Hawaii (Debusmann Jr 2020).
Although companies such as First Air are becoming increasingly popular,
some scholars and practitioners remain sceptical about the ability of VR
and other immersive technologies to fully replace physical tourist experi-
ences (Itani and Hollebeek 2021). Mura etal. for example, suggest that
although VR engages vision and hearing, tourists often seek multisensorial
bodily experiences that also stimulate smell, taste, and touch (2017, 115).
Similarly, Dewailly points out that VR is better suited to promote tradi-
tional tourism rather than replace it (1999, 41).
During the COVID-19 pandemic many Destination Management
Organisations (DMOs) deployed VR as a marketing tool in eorts to
plan for the gradual recovery of their tourism industries. Petra Hoderfer,
the Chief Executive of the German National Tourism Board, which in
2020 launched a series of 360° videos of popular tourist destinations for
Oculus Rift, claimed that: “VR and AR applications are essential ele-
ments in keeping interest in Destination Germany alive during travel
restrictions, […] providing inspiration for real-world travel” (Debusmann
Jr 2020). During the same period a number of other tourism boards,
museums, and theme parks utilised VR, conceived for either web-based
applications or head-mounted devices, for marketing and promotional
purposes. However, most of these initiatives failed to get the striking
international media visibility achieved by the Faroe Islands with their
‘Remote Tourism’ campaign.
Shortly after the beginning of the global pandemic crisis in April 2020,
the Faroe Islands Tourism Board launched a new virtual travel tool called
Remote Tourism. Remote Tourism consisted of a micro-website which
allowed prospective visitors to control a local guide via a live video stream.
More specically, virtual tourists were invited to use a digital remote con-
trol to request the Faroese guide, who wore a hard hat with a GoPro
camera mounted on it, to walk, turn, and jump within local attractions.
A. Leotta
109
e Remote Tourism campaign made the headlines of news providers
around the globe and was considered a major success as 700,000 online
visitors, ve times the number of people who visited Faroe in 2019, par-
ticipated in a live stream tour of the islands between April and June 2020
(Visit Faroe Islands 2020).
is chapter will discuss the aesthetic, cultural, and technological fac-
tors responsible for the global success of the Remote Tourism campaign.
e examination of the Remote Tourism virtual tours illustrates the ways
in which immersive digital technologies can be eectively deployed to
market certain destinations. is chapter will also discuss how the spe-
cic characteristics of the Faroe Remote Tourism campaign problematise
existing denitions and understandings of virtual tourism.
Virtual Tourism
ere is not yet a universally accepted denition of virtual tourism, as
scholarly attempts to engage with this notion are often discordant (Mura
etal. 2017). According to Bittarello (2008), virtual travel, understood
broadly as the ability to move through place and space without the body,
has been part of human history since prehistoric times. Mura etal. sug-
gest that reading a book or watching a theatrical representation can be
considered forms of virtual tourism as they allow readers/viewers to
escape their mundane reality and enter alternative worlds (2017, 157).
Similarly, building upon the work of Urry (2002), Larsen deploys the
concept of ‘imaginative mobility’ to describe “armchair travel through
books, images and television” (2006, 242). As Mura etal. suggest, virtual
tourism has always had a presence in traditional tourism literature as
theories on tourist motivation implicitly assume that corporeal travels are
often anticipated by ‘unbodied’ journeys (2017, 147). Technology, how-
ever, has played a crucial role in enhancing access and opportunities for
virtual tourism. Traditionally, research on this topic has connected the
concept of ‘virtuality’ to technological hardware and software and, more
specically, online and digital tools. Robinson, for example, argues that
the development of Street View on Google Earth allowed users to explore
a virtual world and arguably dwell within it (2016, 163).
6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study…
110
More recent discussions about virtual tourism, however, have been
associated with the notion of VR.In the academic literature on tourism
the term VR has been used inconsistently to refer to both specic techno-
logical devices and the experience itself (Beck etal. 2019, 589). In one of
the rst studies on the application of VR to tourism, Hobson and
Williams provided the following denition: “VR is the computer-
generated medium that gives people the feeling that they are being trans-
ported from a physical world to a world of imagination” (1995, 128).
Beck et al. point out that historically VR has been associated with
computer- generated virtual worlds (2019); however, more recently, real-
world panoramic 360° images, also known as 360° VR, have become
increasingly popular (Slater and Sanchez-Vives 2016). Slater and Sanchez-
Vives (2016) claim that what distinguishes VR from other media are the
concepts of immersion and presence. While immersion is a measurable
aspect of display technology related to its ability to surround users and
exclude physical reality, presence is not bound to any specic technology
and describes the feeling of ‘being there’ (Riva etal. 2003). Some studies
have found that higher levels of VR technological sophistication correlate
to a higher degree of immersion (Diemer etal. 2015). Recently, several
studies have engaged with the application of VR to tourism (Beck etal.
2019). Building upon their review of this area of study, Beck etal. formu-
lated the most comprehensive denition of VR in tourism to date:
Virtual Reality (VR), in a tourism context, creates a virtual environment
(VE) by the provision of synthetic or 360-degree real life captured content
with a capable non-, semi-, or fully-immersive VR system, enabling virtual
touristic experiences that stimulate the visual sense and potentially addi-
tional other senses of the user for the purpose of planning, management,
marketing, information exchange, entertainment, education, accessibility
or heritage preservation, either prior to, during or after travel. (2019, 591)
Hobson and Williams (1995) and Sussmann and Vanhegan (2000)
have pointed out how VR can allow tourists to visit protected or danger-
ous sites that cannot normally be accessed. However, signicant ques-
tions have been raised about the authenticity of virtual travel and, more
specically, about its ability to replace traditional tourism experiences
(Beck etal. 2019). Although VR has so far failed to become a widespread
A. Leotta
111
substitute to corporeal tourism, it is said to be especially benecial for
tourism marketing and promotion (Rainoldi et al. 2018). As a useful
resource to preview distant destinations and experiences, VR can have a
signicant inuence on tourists’ decision-making process (Robinson
2016, 164). Rainoldi etal. found that VR is a more eective promotional
tool than traditional visual media (such as tourism brochures) as it creates
more realistic expectations about the destination (2018, 63). Similarly,
building upon Cheong (1995), Rainoldi et al. also concluded that by
providing a clearer perception of place, VR can increase the desire to visit
the locations it depicts (Rainoldi etal. 2018, 63).
A number of scholars have conducted research on the best ways to
construct VR worlds to attract tourists. Huang etal., for example, sug-
gested that the eectiveness of VR experiences as promotional tools is
determined by both their ease of use and their perceived usefulness, par-
ticularly in terms of gathering information about a given destination
(2016). By contrast, Rainoldi etal. claim that the most eective VR expe-
riences in a tourism marketing context should engage multiple senses and
stimulate an emotional response while conveying information in a fast
and clear way (2018, 64). Finally, Mura etal. argue that the perceived
authenticity of the location is an important factor in the success of virtual
marketing tools, and emphasise the importance of interactive digital
tourist spaces in which destinations are promoted by virtual guides (2017,
157–158). e following sections of this chapter will examine Faroe
Islands’ unique application of VR to tourism promotion. Particular atten-
tion will be devoted to the specic cultural, technological, and aesthetic
features of the Remote Tourism campaign.
Tourism Marketing andPromotion
intheFaroe Islands
e Faroe Islands are a small archipelago located in the North Atlantic
between Norway and Iceland with a population of just over 53,000 peo-
ple. As a self-governing region of the Kingdom of Denmark, the Faroe
Islands have an autonomous trade policy and an independent destination
marketing organisation, Visit Faroe Islands. Since the late 1990s, the
6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study…
112
Arctic region has been attracting growing numbers of visitors due to
media attention to climate change (Kaltenborn 1998; Maher 2017),
however, until the mid-2010s visitor numbers to the Faroe Islands
remained among the lowest in Europe (Maher etal. 2014). Recently, the
islands have attempted to diversify the local economy, which is heavily
reliant on shing, by transforming tourism into one of the country’s key
economic sectors (Visit Faroe Islands 2019). In 2013 the Faroese authori-
ties introduced a new destination brand, ‘Unspoiled, Unexplored and
Unbelievable’ with the goal of turning the country into a more visible
tourism destination. e rebranding of the Faroe was complemented by
an eort to improve local tourism facilities and increase accessibility to
the islands, but most importantly, by the development of a series of inno-
vative tourism marketing campaigns.
As Glen Croy points out, DMOs with limited nancial resources need
to capitalise on non-conventional-publicity tools (2004). e marketing
department of Visit Faroe Islands comprises only ve people and has a
budget of US $2.2 million (ten times less than the estimated destination
marketing budget available to their Icelandic counterparts) to cover both
sta costs and advertising (Deighton 2020). According to Bárður Eklund,
the digital marketing manager at Visit Faroe Islands:
We see some other countries … making lms with the story of ‘this is a
great destination—come and visit us once you can’, we cannot make those
movies and push through those channels—we don't have those budgets. …
We can never compete with them. We have to think dierently. (Eklund
cited in Deighton 2020)
Most of the tourism marketing campaigns launched by Visit Faroe Islands
since 2016 relied on both an unusual and innovative use of digital media
and the strong involvement of the local community. According to
Scheyvens and Momsen (2008), due to the small size of their countries,
the DMOs of small island states can better incorporate local values into
their policy and therefore facilitate the involvement of wider sectors of
society in tourism development.
e rst major campaign developed since the creation of the ‘Unspoiled,
Unexplored and Unbelievable’ brand was ‘Google Sheep View’. In April
2016 Visit Faroe Islands started campaigning for the country to be
A. Leotta
113
mapped by Google Street View (Hadderingh 2020). According to Durita
Andreassen, the creator of the campaign: “When we started this project,
we wanted Google Street View available in the Faroe Islands so we could
share our beautiful country with the world” (cited in Hadderingh 2020).
As part of this project the marketers decided to attach a 360° camera to
the back of a sheep to capture images of the islands in Google Street View
fashion. As well as being an important part of Faroese culture and econ-
omy, sheep are the main symbol of the country, as Faroe translates as
‘Sheep Island’. In June 2016 Visit Faroe Islands posted the rst sheep-
made 360° video on their website and uploaded ve 360° photos to Street
View to Google Api. e marketers also circulated a press release together
with Faroe Islands-branded Google cardboard glasses to some of the
major news outlets around the world. e campaign went viral in just a
few days, generating more than 7000 news stories, 42,000 web mentions,
and estimated 2,000,000,000 media impressions (Visit Faroe Islands
2016). Google responded positively to the viral campaign by sending
technicians and equipment to map the islands in street view. Both local
people and tourists were also enlisted to capture footage by car, on foot,
and other means of transportation (Visit Faroe Islands 2016). Google
Sheep View won over 30 marketing awards, generated an estimated PR
value of around 40 million euros, and led to an immediate surge in tour-
ism to the islands (Hadderingh 2020).
Google Sheep View was followed in October 2017 by ‘Faroe Islands
Translate’, another project which took as its premise the lack of Google’s
involvement in the country. e campaign took as its starting point the
fact that Google Translate does not oer translations into Faroese, a lan-
guage spoken by only approximately 80,000 people around the world.
Due to the growing tourism market, the Faroese tourism board felt that
there was an increasing need for this service, which would allow visitors
to immerse themselves further inlocal culture. Visit Faroe Islands then
partnered with Atlantic Airways, the national air carrier, to create Faroe
Islands Translate. As part of this project, the words or sentences typed in
by users in the Faroe Islands Translate website were translated by local
Faroese volunteers for free. e volunteers recorded their translations as
videos with their smartphones and uploaded them onto the website, thus
creating a video translation database. Each time dierent users requested
the translation of the same word, the same video would be shown (Visit
6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study…
114
Faroe Islands 2017). Once again, the campaign circulated virally across
the web generating further awareness of Faroese unique language and
culture. Despite the success of the campaign, however, Google did not
include Faroese into its translation services.
e success of the marketing campaigns created by Visit Faroe Islands
led to a rapid and signicant increase in the number of tourism arrivals
to the country, which went from 68,000in 2013 to over 110,000 in
2018 (Dickinson 2019). Similarly, international awareness of the Faroe
Islands as a tourism destination increased drastically:
Within the last few years, the Faroe Islands has developed from being small
dots in the North Atlantic with little global awareness to a destination on
the bucket list of travellers from all over the world. (Visit Faroe
Islands 2019, 9)
In order to manage the potential negative eects of over-tourism, which
in the late 2010s had been particularly apparent in similar destinations
such as Iceland, in 2019 Visit Faroe Islands launched the ‘Closed for
Maintenance, Open for Voluntourism’ campaign. In early 2019 the
Faroese tourism board announced the country would close to the public
a number of its most popular tourist sites for three days in order to pro-
tect their fragile ecosystems. At the same time, the country asked for
applications from 100 volunteers, who in return for food and accommo-
dation would take part in maintenance projects to help preserve the
islands. e campaign was very successful as the tourism board received
over 3500 applications for 2019. ‘Closed for Maintenance, Open for
Voluntourism’ provided an opportunity for in-depth cultural exchanges
between locals and visiting volunteers, but it also doubled up as a market-
ing campaign to encourage future visitors to respect the islands’ delicate
ecosystem (Dickinson 2019). Due to its success, Visit Faroe Islands
decided to turn ‘Closed for Maintenance’ into an annual event, and the
following year the tourism board received nearly 6000 applications. e
2020 edition of the event, however, had to be postponed due to the
COVID-19 pandemic, as in March of that year the Danish authorities
decided to close the national borders, a decision which also aected the
Faroe Islands as a territory of the kingdom of Denmark (Hadderingh 2020).
A. Leotta
115
Remote Tourism
In late 2019 Atlantic Airways announced the beginning of non-stop
ights from New York to the small Vágar aireld, and 2020 tourism
arrivals to the Faroe Islands were expected to reach record-breaking num-
bers (Leigh 2019). e country prepared accordingly by opening two
new hotels earlier in the year, thus doubling the existing bed capacity. As
already mentioned, however, the emergence of the COVID-19 pandemic
in early 2020 forced the closure of the borders and caused a sudden halt
to tourism in the Nordic archipelago. In order to maintain the strong
global awareness of the country generated by previous marketing cam-
paigns, Visit Faroe Islands launched the ‘Remote Tourism’ project. e
Remote Tourism website allowed users from around the world to virtu-
ally visit the islands by controlling a local guide equipped with a live-
action video camera. e virtual tours were scheduled at set times on the
Remote Tourism website (www.remote- tourism.com) between April and
June 2020 and lasted around an hour each. Users were presented with
both a point-of-view video stream from the perspective of the local guide
and a digital joypad which allowed them to control his/her movements in
a 360° range. e joypad also featured a ‘run’ and a ‘jump’ button which
let virtual tourists request the corresponding movements. Users took
turns controlling the guide for a minute each and their movement
requests were transformed into audio inputs communicated live to the
guide through earphones. All the virtual tours were also recorded and
uploaded onto both Vimeo and the Visit Faroe Islands Facebook page.
e Remote Tourism website thus described the virtual tour experience:
Just like a real-life computer game, you—the main player—will control the
moves of the Faroese islander, who will not only explore locations on foot,
but also take to the skies by helicopter, giving virtual visitors a bird’s eye
perspective on our beautiful island nation’s steep grassy slopes, our 80,000
sheep and our unspoilt, wild and natural countryside. (Visit Faroe
Islands 2020)
e campaign proved to be a major success, attracting 700,000 virtual
tourists in 6 weeks and circulating virally on social media and
6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study…
116
international media providers. e Remote Tourism website was particu-
larly popular among key markets such as the USA (54,983 visits), Russia
(38,830 visits), and Italy (19,360 visits) (Southan 2020). e campaign
won several awards and the Faroe Islands were given a place in the
Community Connection category of the prestigious Lonely Planet Travel
list for 2021 (Barlow 2020).
e success of the Remote Tourism campaign may be explained by its
ability to simultaneously deploy an innovative use of immersive digital
technology and satisfy psychological needs such as autonomy, related-
ness, and the yearning for authentic experiences. e tourists’ quest for
authenticity has been the main focus of a large number of studies in tour-
ism scholarship. In his seminal work on this topic, Dean MacCannell
claims that tourists constantly seek authentic experiences; however, in
most cases they encounter staged representations of events and cultures
created by the tourism industry to meet their desires and expectations
(1976). Building upon MacCannell, Wang (1999) suggests that tourists’
perceptions of authenticity are the result of negotiated experiences
between the tourist selves and the toured objects. According to Shaw and
Williams, one of the major characteristics of the contemporary shift from
mass tourism to post-Fordist modes of tourism consumption is the
increased emphasis on the accumulation of social and cultural capital
from the holiday experience (2004, 132). Contemporary travellers are
demanding increasingly higher levels of authentic, experientially oriented
opportunities involving more meaningful interactions with locals
(Grayson and Martinec 2004). Paulauskaite etal. (2017) claim that the
sharing economy, exemplied by companies such as Airbnb, emerged
partly as a response to these new consumer trends which value interaction
with and immersion in the local culture. Shaw and Williams (2004) also
suggest that one of the dening features of the ‘new’ or ‘post’ tourist is a
willingness to integrate technology in the consumption processes.
Technology, however, does not necessarily hinder perceptions of authen-
ticity, as post-tourists construct their own tourist experience by combin-
ing overlapping and disjunctive elements: the imagined (dreams, screen
cultures), the real (actual travels, guides), and the virtual (myths, inter-
net) (Campbell 2005, 203).
A. Leotta
117
It could be argued that one of the unique elements of the Remote
Tourism campaign which contributed to its success was the foreground-
ing of a technologically mediated, yet profoundly authentic, tourist expe-
rience. e VR experience oered by Remote Tourism is very unusual as
it is not made possible by the 360° capability of the video camera, but
rather by the users’ ability to fully control and immerse themselves into
the body and gaze of a local islander equipped with a traditional action
camera. In other words, the uniqueness of the Remote Tourism experi-
ence is determined by the overlap and merging of the tourist gaze and the
local gaze. e conation between tourist and local gaze is enhanced by
the gamication of the virtual experience. Deterding etal. (2011) dene
gamication as the process of contextualising game design outside its
original domain. Similarly, Zichermann and Cunningham (2011) sug-
gest gamication engages users and inuences their behaviour by using
game mechanics in areas other than a traditional gaming context. Visit
Faroe Islands explicitly presented Remote Tourism as a gamied experi-
ence, the main appeal of which consisted of the possibility to control a
local guide (“Just like a real-life computer game, you—the main player—
will control the moves of the Faroese islander”).
In their examination of the gamication of tourism, Xu etal. suggest
that “in a carefully designed gamied system, tourists […] have the free-
dom to play someone else, to enhance their fantasy experiences in a fun,
and more stimulating way, leading to a higher level of satisfaction” (2017,
249). Similarly, Poncin and Garnier (2012) argue that the presence of an
avatar is crucial to the gaming experience as the player imagines the ava-
tar as a substitute for himself or herself. While serving as surrogate of the
player, the avatar is also the mechanism through which s/he can experi-
ment with multiple identities and allow for the expression of an authentic
self (Xu etal. 2017). e gamication of the Remote Tourism virtual
experience is further emphasised by both the foregrounding of a digital
joypad, which simulates the appearance of a traditional game console
controller, and the use of the rst-person point of view (POV). e sub-
jective POV camera shot is a common visual storytelling technique used
in lm and TV.e reliance on an avatar’s rst-person POV is also a key
element of contemporary video games design and experiences. e adop-
tion of an avatar’s POV provides gamers with the opportunity to
6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study…
118
represent themselves in the video game environment. In turn, scholars
have suggested such representations are crucial to both improve game
immersion and increase users’ involvement in the overall experience
(Ferchaud and Sanders 2018). At the visual level, the rst-person POV is
realised through the use of an action video camera mounted on the local
volunteer’s hard hat. e most common image used to promote the
Remote Tourism campaign was a photo of a local young woman wearing
a traditional Faroese woollen jumper and yellow hard hat with a GoPro
mounted on it. e GoPro and, implicitly, the view of the land oered by
it, became a crucial visual signier of the campaign, thus contributing to
the conation of the tourist and local gaze. According to Chalfen (2014),
the GoPro camera allows users to capture ‘exciting’ and unexpected scenes
of actions and locations seldom seen, and oers fresh, original, and mem-
orable perspectives. While the tourist gaze tends to domesticate tourist-
scapes by making them seem easily reachable and familiar, the GoPro
Gaze strives to maintain the ‘wildness’ of a site by actively selecting seem-
ingly untamed places (Vannini and Stewart 2017, 153). From this point
of view, the GoPro Gaze enhances the notion of presence and being,
thereby ‘allowing a viewer to believe he/she is/was there’ (Chalfen 2014)
together with or even in lieu of the producers of the footage (Vannini and
Stewart 2017).
e combined deployment of local volunteer guides, an interactive
and gamied virtual experience, and the aesthetics of the GoPro Gaze
contributed to enhance the authenticity of Remote Tourism. But as well
as catering to virtual visitors’ yearning for authenticity, Remote Tourism
was also capable of fullling other important psychological needs. In
their study about the application of Self-Determination eory (SDT) to
the understanding of VR technology in tourism marketing, Huang etal.
suggest that the satisfaction of certain psychological needs leads to sus-
tained engagement in virtual contexts (2016). SDT posits that the full-
ment of psychological needs such as competence, autonomy, and
relatedness determines the underlying motivational mechanism that
energises individuals to pursue an activity, therefore directing their behav-
iour (Huang etal. 2016). Wang etal. dene autonomy as the need to feel
ownership of one’s behaviour, competence as the need to experience mas-
tery of a given situation, and relatedness as the need to connect with oth-
ers (2019).
A. Leotta
119
Remote Tourism permitted users to feel ownership of their behaviour
as it allowed them to move relatively freely within the Faroese landscape.
Although the freedom of exploring local space was limited by the need to
preserve the physical safety of the guide, users were able to actively sub-
vert established or suggested itineraries and go ‘o the beaten tracks’.
While in their verbal description of the local landscape the guide often
implicitly or explicitly suggested certain directions, the design and ano-
nymity of the user interface allowed users to counter the local’s preferred
path. Users often opted to pause hikes or retrace their steps to have
another look at certain attractions. In other instances, by contrast, virtual
tourists wanted to explore objects or areas located at the periphery of the
frame. e ease of use of Remote Tourism, which capitalised on users’
familiarity with video games’ interfaces, reinforced the virtual tourists’
sense of technological competence. In turn, through the mediation of the
gamied experience and the framing of the land as a playground, Remote
Tourism also provided users the opportunity to cognitively and symboli-
cally master a wild and unfamiliar environment. Finally, the mechanics of
the virtual tourist experience fostered relatedness, as users were asked to
interact with the local guides and, implicitly, with other virtual tourists
too. As already mentioned, users took turns controlling the local avatar,
and new users were routinely acknowledged and welcomed by the guides
when they took control of their movements. e guides talked about the
signicance of the physical environment in their immediate eld of view
and often provided users with suggestions about potential itineraries (i.e.
“if we go right we would be able to see”). At times users complied with
the guide’s suggestions while in other instances they overtly subverted
them, but the interface always fostered either implicit or explicit exchange
between guides and tourists. Similarly, while waiting for their turn to
control the local avatar, users often witnessed the interaction between the
guide and other users. Such observations would also oer opportunities
for indirect and mediated interactions between virtual tourists. For exam-
ple, by requesting the guide to retrace their steps and spend more time
contemplating a certain view, users had the opportunity to undo or resist
the choices of other virtual tourists.
e videos of the completed virtual tours were uploaded onto the Visit
Faroe Islands Vimeo channel and Facebook page, where they could be
6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study…
120
freely accessed by other users after the end of the campaign. As such, the
videos gained a hybrid status situated in between amateur tourist videos
and ocial promotional material. e Faroe Islands reopened their bor-
ders to neighbouring countries such as Denmark, Norway, Iceland, and
Germany without the need to quarantine on 15 June 2020, a few days
before the end of Remote Tourism, and although at the time of writing
the country is only expected to receive 20–30% of the annual visitors
forecasted at the beginning of the year, the director of the Tourism Board
Gudrid Hoejgaard remained optimistic about the future (Murray 2020).
e viral success of the Remote Tourism campaign played a crucial role
in reinforcing the country’s destination image in a moment of crisis, and
it is very likely that in the near future it will provide the Faroe Islands
with a competitive edge over other locations in the sub-arctic region.
Conclusions
Remote Tourism launched by Visit Faroe Islands in the wake of the global
crisis caused by the COVID-19 pandemic has been one of the most inno-
vative VR marketing campaigns in the industry’s recent history. e
innovative nature of Remote Tourism is a direct consequence of the
nancial ‘poverty’ of the local tourism board that needs to rely heavily on
both non-conventional publicity tools and the involvement of the local
community. Since the mid-2010s the Faroe Islands have created for
themselves a strong reputation in innovative tourism marketing which
capitalises on both new digital media and the islands’ own political, geo-
graphical, and cultural marginality within the global market. e devel-
opment of Google Sheep View and Faroe Islands Translate is strictly
connected to the process of (symbolically and literally) putting the coun-
try on the map. In turn, the success of these campaigns (as well as ‘Closed
for Maintenance, Open for Voluntourism’) was made possible by the fact
that they provided a strong sense of interaction between tourists and the
local community. Similarly, Remote Tourism builds upon the country’s
reputation as a distant and geographically small destination that can oer
truly authentic travelling experiences.
A. Leotta
121
Remote Tourism is innovative in technological and aesthetic terms. At
the technological level, the Remote Tourism tool is able to oer an
immersive virtual tourism experience without relying on the technologi-
cal apparatuses (360° cameras, 3D computer-generated imagery, etc.) tra-
ditionally associated with the notion of VR.At the aesthetic level, Remote
Tourism problematises established notions of the tourist gaze by conat-
ing video game mechanics, GoPro aesthetics, and interaction with the
landscape. In Remote Tourism immersive digital technology is deployed
to foster the perception of an authentic encounter with the land and its
inhabitants. In turn, the promise of such virtual encounters contributed
to and generated further international awareness about the Faroe Islands
as a destination and reinforced its ‘Unspoiled, Unexplored and
Unbelievable’ brand. From this point of view, the examination of the
Remote Tourism campaign sheds new light on the way in which virtual
tourism experiences can be used as eective marketing tools by
small DMOs.
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6 Virtual Tourism in the Age of COVID-19: A Case Study…
Part II
Recent Developments
in Screen- Induced Tourism
129
© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_7
7
Fabulous Locations: Tourism
andFantasy Films inItaly
GiuliaLavarone
Introduction
Fiction films and TV series are used extensively for the purposes of tour-
ism promotion, and their potential to induce tourist flows is widely rec-
ognized (Tooke and Baker 1996; Riley et al. 1998; Beeton 2005).
Compared to non-fiction works, their handling of place is generally less
concerned with the needs of verisimilitude. is brings challenges for
their exploitation in terms of tourism promotion, as well as the develop-
ment of tourist products and the sustainable management of heritage
sites used for filming. e fantasy genre, free to reach the highest degree
of fictionality, represents an interesting starting point to discuss some
relevant questions related to the research on tourism induced by films,
such as the search for authenticity in the tourist experience and the rela-
tionship of film tourists with the identity and heritage of the place. Since
Beeton’s (2005) seminal work on film-induced tourism, fantasy films and
G. Lavarone (*)
Università di Padova, Padova, Italy
e-mail: giulia.lavarone@unipd.it
130
TV series have been widely discussed by the academic literature in this
field, with a specific focus on film series such as e Lord of the Rings
(Jackson 2001–2003) (hereon LotR) in New Zealand, Harry Potter
(Columbus; Cuarón; Newell; Yates 2001–2011) in Great Britain, and
Star Wars (Lucas; Kershner; Marquand 1977–1983) in Tunisia, or the
HBO television series Game of rones (2011–2019) (hereon GoT),
filmed across several European countries.
In the first part, this chapter will briefly introduce film tourism, defined
as tourist phenomena linked to film and TV programmes, often stimu-
lated by deliberate actions of audiovisual tourism promotion. It will then
discuss some pivotal issues emerging within this interdisciplinary research
field (Connell 2012), with a specific focus on the fantasy genre. Film
tourism will be mainly discussed from a cultural perspective, as this chap-
ter situates itself in the disciplinary framework of film studies, yet insights
into tourist marketing and management will also be provided. e aim is
to critically review selected academic literature in order to point out how
specific genre features might impact the use of these films for tourism
promotion, as well as their impact on product development, heritage
management, and tourists’ experiences.
e second part will provide an exploration of the relationship between
tourism and fantasy films in the contemporary Italian context. After
introducing the cases of two American fantasy movies used to promote
local heritage in Italy, attention will be focused on Italian productions
(and co-productions). Italian cinema has often been associated with a
realist canon (O’ Leary and O’ Rawe 2011; Scaglioni 2020) and national
fantasy attempts belong to a minority course, suffering from an endemic
scarcity of resources and culturally perceived as a sort of foreign body in
national cinema (Crespi 2014; Venturini 2014). In recent years, however,
the global popularity of the fantasy genre has led some directors—count-
ing on unusually high budgets—to try to find a balance between interna-
tional models and the search for an ‘Italian way.’ e simultaneous
increase of national interest in the film and tourism nexus, together with
the exposure of fantasy-related international tourist phenomena, has gen-
erated high expectations for these films’ potential within tourism promo-
tion. is only occasionally led to the actual development of tourist
products which, in some cases, brilliantly take advantage of the specific
features of the genre for devising original tourist experiences.
G. Lavarone
131
Challenging Authenticity, Place Identity,
andHeritage? Film Tourism
andtheFantasy Genre
e term film-induced tourism (Beeton 2005) defines several possible
connections between the world of cinema and television and that of tour-
ism. It may refer to tourist visits to filming locations, or to settings
declared in the narrative when they differ from the places used for shoot-
ing (mistaken identities) (Beeton 2005). It also includes visits to produc-
tion studios, film-related theme parks, celebrity homes, Walks of Fame,
film museums or exhibitions, and even tourist movements to participate
in events like film festivals, film premières, and fan conventions (Beeton
2005; Beeton 2015). Broader terms such as screen tourism or media
tourism aim at including other audiovisual products, such as videogames
or web content (Månsson and Eskilsson 2013).
Film tourism can refer to participation in organized tours or to indi-
vidual visits, either spontaneous or resulting from complex strategies of
tourism promotion developed by institutional and commercial subjects
operating at the destination (Beeton 2005; Connell 2012). Film tourists
can show a high degree of fandom and purposely organize their trip, but
they can also be tourists less interested in the movie and who just partici-
pate in film-related activities while at a destination (Macionis 2004).
ese tourists often include visits to film locations as part of broader
itineraries, showing an interest in toured places that signal beyond their
connection with media products (Roesch 2009). Film tourism is often
integrated with other forms of tourism, such as adventure tourism (e.g.,
Leotta 2011; Çelik Rappas and Baschiera 2020) or heritage tourism, of
which film tourism has sometimes been described as a possible form
(among others: Schofield 1996; Martin-Jones 2014). Agarwal and Shaw
(2018, 34) have identified a nexus between heritage, screen, and literary
tourism, as they all entail “the consumption and production of a tourism
landscape that is associated with people (real or fictional, living or dead),
events (past or present, fact or fantasy) and/or place (real of fictional),”
deeply involving the tourist in the co-creation of the experience. Film and
TV production itself has been understood in relation to British period
dramas of the 1980s as part of a broader “heritage industry,” aimed at
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
132
exploiting economic and symbolic profit associated with national heri-
tage (Higson 2003). If historical accuracy is a distinguishing trait of the
so-called heritage films (Higson 2003), the nonchalant treatment of his-
tory typical of adventure movies—particularly those featuring fantastical
elements—generates sharper tensions between film tourism and heritage
promotion, which might manifest in different ways. In the Cambodian
archaeological site of Angkor Wat, the enhancement of “high quality,
cultural tourism” pursued by transnational heritage bodies has clashed
with the use of the site for filming Lara Croft: Tomb Raider (West 2001),
favoured by a national government longing for increases of (any type of)
tourism. e film has been accused of conveying an undesired image of
the site, rendered as an Orientalist pastiche and virtually destroyed within
a narrative centred on grave robbing (Winter 2002).
Fantasy is a genre potentially more inclined to move away from the
‘reality’ of a place, even if this varies from one film to another, since in
some cases the most accurate portrayal of the ‘ordinary’ is creating a con-
trast with fantastical elements. e move away from reality is apparent at
both the narrative level—even more so if the setting is an imaginary
world—and the visual level. e introduction of the extraordinary, in
fact, often requires an extensive reliance on special and digital effects,
sometimes deeply affecting the representation of places. During the tour-
ist experience on-site, spatial discrepancies between actual locations and
filmic spaces (due to multiple reasons, e.g., framing choices, use of cer-
tain lenses, and non-existing topographies created through editing), are
usually recognized by film tourists (Couldry 2000; Roesch 2009;
Reijnders 2011). is may either produce disappointment or additional
pleasure, as it generates a “restless movement” between actual and virtual
worlds which finally “provide the [film and] TV tourist with his/her des-
tination” (Torchin 2002, 250). ese discrepancies become even more
apparent in the fantasy genre. According to Carl et al. (2007, 58) disap-
pointment in the LotR tours is due to unmet expectations often concern-
ing the feeling that “landscapes did not match the grandeur of those
featured in the films” precisely because of digital “enhancements.” Roesch
(2009) reports diverse reactions generated by different kinds of altera-
tions: disappointment, provoked by the on-site absence of spectacular
statues digitally added to movie images; indifference, for the presence of
G. Lavarone
133
‘disturbing’ buildings which had been removed digitally; or excitement,
for the discovery of digital flippings of some shots (i.e., when a film image
is reversed 180° across its axis).
Digital alterations obviously concern fantasy narratives set both in the
real world and in imaginary universes. In respect to the latter, the choice
of location filming often derives from the desire to physically anchor the
fictional world in the ‘real’ world in order to make it more believable or,
using Wright’s (2000, 53) words about LotR, “enable an ‘authentication’
of the illusion by the very real presence of the spectacular New Zealand
landscape.” Landscape itself is so inextricably linked to the imaginary
world, that it becomes per se more appreciated by film tourists than any
remaining pieces of the actual film set, especially if the latter is not well
preserved (Carl et al. 2007; Roesch 2009).
e explicit ‘falseness’ of fantasy universes appears particularly apt to
exemplify film tourism’s questioning of the notion of authenticity in the
contemporary tourist experience. ese fantasy worlds evidently chal-
lenge a simplistic idea of authenticity of the toured objects, measured
through objective criteria, but an understanding only in terms of existen-
tial authenticity, that is, the existential value assumed by the tourist expe-
rience (Wang 1999), does not appear satisfying either. According to
Buchmann et al. (2010), who have studied the LotR tourist experiences,
authenticity results from a complex relationship between these two
understandings of the concept because the place itself must be recognized
as the ‘authentic’ one where the shooting was made. Moreover, it must
provide an ‘authentic’ encounter, both physically and socially, as a result
of apparently sincere relationships with other tourists or with the guide.
Somehow paradoxically, the ‘authentication’ of the tourist experience and
its successful bridging to imaginary worlds passes through the physical
encounter with the actual place, enhanced by discomfort, as for the bad
weather conditions in LotR tours, the extreme heat in a Star Wars canyon
in Tunisia (Roesch 2009), or the staging of an exhibition in the Italian
Caserta Palace visited by Star Wars pilgrims (Boni 2010). At times, by
contrast, this same physical encounter might inhibit the immersion into
the desired atmosphere. As an example, tourists sleeping above the
Tasmanian bakery connected to Hayao Miyazaki’s Kiki’s Delivery Service
(1989) sometimes complain about the noises of the actual baking
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
134
activity, making the place different from the “idealized version of a bak-
ery” provided by the film (Norris 2013).
Interestingly, the “restless movement” between actual and virtual
worlds at the core of the film tourist experience has been described using
metaphors borrowed precisely from science fiction and fantasy. Brooker
(2007), in his analysis of X-Files (1993–2002), Smallville (2001–2011),
and Battlestar Galactica (2004–2009) fan pilgrimages in Vancouver, uses
the metaphor of parallel universes. He understands fan tourism as a
potentially carnivalesque use of spaces, like office buildings meant for
everyday work subversively employed by media pilgrims as “gateways
into alternative worlds” (442). is also happens when fantasy movies are
set, and not only shot, in those same places, which are given an extraor-
dinary value through the embedding of fantastical narratives. A famous
example is that of King’s Cross Station in London, chosen by J.K. Rowling
as the site of Harry Potter’s 9 ¾ platform: in this case an ordinary place
therefore ends up hosting the ultimate gateway into a magical world
(Lee 2012).
ese creative practices, nevertheless, are not always welcome by resi-
dents (Beeton 2005; Tzanelli 2007; Provenzano 2007). Many disadvan-
tages of film-induced tourism, including relevant issues of over-tourism,
will not be discussed in this chapter, while other concerns on cultural and
social sustainability will be raised. Post-colonial readings of Hollywood
films often point out local communities’ potential distress in the face of
perceived stereotyping of landscape and culture by global simplified nar-
ratives, whose outreach is amplified when extensive tourism marketing or
substantial film tourism phenomena appear (Tzanelli 2007; Buchmann
and Frost 2011). Within the fantasy genre, the LotR case comes again to
the fore for its complexity. Tensions concern, on the one hand, the
Hollywood origin of the project and its New Zealand appropriation, and
on the other hand, the image of the country conveyed through the fan-
tasy transfiguration of actual places into mythical worlds. Despite being
a Hollywood project based on English books and set in an imaginary
Middle Earth, a sort of “national authenticity” has been fabricated in
New Zealand through a complex cultural process, analysed by Jones and
Smith (2005) through a survey of the movies’ media coverage, along with
texts produced by the government and by the local tourism industry.
G. Lavarone
135
Film tourism had a pivotal role, because “national identity as established
in the LotR project lend[ed] authenticity to tourism rhetoric, and [wa]s
itself reinforced by tourism rhetoric” (927). Recurring arguments include
Peter Jackson’s New Zealand nationality and his presumed “Kiwi charac-
ter,” as the man who brought to New Zealand a Hollywood production
to work with the local creative industries. e latter have realized ‘authen-
tic’ artefacts and some sets were physically built despite the possibility of
creating them through digital effects (935). All this, together with the
same high-tech digital technologies, has marked the project with distinc-
tive New Zealand creativity. is image of a high-tech New Zealand
paradoxically contrasts with the pre-historical one conveyed by the typi-
cal fantasy narrative and by the use of natural landscape in the film itself
(Jones and Smith 2005; see also Leotta 2011), a simplistic, exotic, mythi-
cal image “different to those which communities and governments would
wish to disseminate” (Buchmann and Frost 2011, 52). More specifically,
LotR, while contributing to New Zealand’s international reputation as
the ‘Home of Middle Earth,’ erases any traces of the indigenous Māori
population from the cultural geography of the country (Leotta 2011).
Momentarily putting aside issues of cultural sustainability, when it
comes to tourism marketing, the main challenge of imaginary settings is
the same as other cases of so-called mistaken identities, namely to connect
the film to its actual shooting locations. Sue Beeton defines mistaken
identities as instances of film tourism in which the movie is filmed in
places different from the explicit setting (2005, 10). However, marketing
strategies appear more effective when they aim at establishing a connec-
tion with imaginary worlds instead of places which physically exist else-
where, as New Zealand has experienced with the different outcomes of
the tourism marketing campaigns associated with e Last Samurai
(Zwick 2003), set in Japan, and the LotR, set in the fantasy world of
Middle Earth. While the latter’s effects on boosting tourism are widely
recognized, e Last Samurai failed to induce tourism to New Zealand in
the long term, mainly because of an ‘authentic’ Japan existing elsewhere.
New Zealand landscapes in e Last Samurai lack any “sense of distinc-
tiveness” that LotR, despite digital alterations and the imaginary setting,
still safeguards (Leotta 2011, 157). In a similar way, an imaginary setting
might allow an easier integration of local heritage in film-related tourist
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
136
products, especially if the fantasy film or series itself includes reworked
references to history or traditions, like Game of rones (Waysdorf and
Reijnders 2017). In Northern Ireland, the creation of GoT-inspired arte-
facts with local materials, like the tapestry exposed at Ulster Museum in
Belfast weaved with linen coming from an ancient mill, or the pub doors
carved with wood of the Dark Hedges trees felt down, represent fascinat-
ing attempts to integrate screen tourism with the promotion of natural
and cultural heritage. is approach has the potential to produce a dou-
ble advantage: on one hand, fostering a deeper connection between film
tourism and the local context, aimed at prolonging its effects in time; on
the other hand, injecting a new life to heritage, enhancing its attractive-
ness for larger groups of tourists (Çelik Rappas and Baschiera 2020).
e fear of film tourists wiping out the actual identity of the place
whilst pursuing only its fantasy counterpart, for example visiting the
Croatian historical city of Dubrovnik merely as GoT King’s Landing, is
often expressed by scholars (e.g., Violante 2016). Nevertheless, research
conducted on screen tourists’ experiences both in Northern Ireland and
in Dubrovnik highlights the coexistence of several readings of the place
involving different types of imagination, either connected to the fictional
world, to the series’ actual production process, or to historical narratives
of the site (Waysdorf and Reijnders 2017). is awareness influences the
design of commercial tours and the speeches proposed by guides who
intentionally provide historical information about the place (Waysdorf
and Reijnders 2017). Managers of heritage attractions used for filming
must face challenges in meeting different expectations, those of tourists
more (or only) interested in the actual history of the ‘real’ location and
those more (or only) interested in the film, and take delicate decisions
concerning the “heritage interpretation” provided (Bakiewicz et al. 2017).
During guided tours to Alnwyck Castle, used for the shooting of Harry
Potter, historical and fictional accounts are assembled (Bakiewicz et al.
2017). e negotiation between the two sometimes expresses local com-
munities’ concerns about the protection of national narratives, like in the
case of Dracula tourism in Romania (Reijnders 2011). In Lee’s (2012,
58) words, “the imaginary geography,” drawn by multiple, diverse literary
and screen narratives, “adds further layers to the existing landscape,”
which is not merely “writ[ten] over (replacing one image with another)”
G. Lavarone
137
(61). is process, by the way, resonates with the specific functioning of
fantasy (literary and filmic) texts such as Harry Potter, based on the coex-
istence of ordinary and extraordinary elements (Lee 2012).
When Harry Potter tour guides in the UK combine fictional stories
with official history, legends, and folklore—providing an “enchanted”
image of the country—they somehow “level” them “as narrative” (Lee
2012, 60). ere is no need to recall that history itself is made of narra-
tives which are often conflicting, as demonstrated in the aforementioned
case of Dubrovnik. Its official tourist narrative based on the Old City
heritage, in fact, underplays not only the Game of rones connection,
but also the references to wars in former Yugoslavia and to the 1991 siege
of the city—the historical fact of foremost relevance in the lives of resi-
dents (Joyce 2019). Essentialist approaches to place identity, counterpos-
ing a monolithic ‘authenticity’ to presumedly ‘inauthentic’ fictional
narratives, should be avoided, partly because “the ‘established’ real place
is often already a site of contested interpretations as different interest
groups struggle for control of the place’s meaning” (1389). In any case,
what differentiates film tourists from other tourists is obviously the stron-
ger influence played by the specific text on their “historical imagination,”
as clearly stated by Waysdorf and Reinders (2017, 185):
historical imagination is never neutral. It takes a particular form depending
on the text being de-mediated. is separates film tourists from ‘regular’
tourists, insofar that even if they are interested in aspects of the location
that are not strictly part of filming process, the contours of their imagina-
tive experience are shaped by a notion of history provided by popular cul-
ture. Just as Lord of the Rings fans see New Zealand as timelessly pastoral
and spectacular, so Game of rones fans frame Dubrovnik and Northern
Ireland as part of a mythic-medieval world.
e common features of fantasy films and TV series, heightening the
narrative and visual discrepancies between actual locations and their
filmic counterparts, may magnify some of the difficulties normally faced
in tourism promotion through fiction films in the development of film-
related tourist products and in the management of heritage sites used for
shooting. Nevertheless, their specific features might also inspire creative
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
138
initiatives, giving new life to local heritage, without necessarily implying
the demise of the multiple pre-existing identities and narratives of the
place. In the next section, this opportunity will be explored within the
Italian context, where recent attempts have been made to exploit the
tourist potential of Italian fantasy films, dealing with a genre that is rela-
tively unpopular within national cinema.
An Unfamiliar Taste: Tourism andFantasy
Films inItaly
Interest in the complex relationship between film and tourism has
recently increased in Italy, both at a regional and national level. e 2016
national law on the audiovisual sector finally institutionalized film com-
missions, namely the public (or public-private) bodies in charge of
attracting and supporting audiovisual projects, facilitating the relation-
ships between audiovisual companies and host territories, and favouring
audiovisual tourism promotion. In 2017, within the framework of the
national Strategic Plan for Tourism, the website Italy for Movies was
released. e latter represents a welcome attempt to create a national film
location database, to collect information about regional funds and ser-
vices, and to suggest tourist itineraries across film locations.
is interest in audiovisual tourism promotion originated from the
exposure of several international and national cases of increased tourist
flows in film and TV locations (for Italy, see Provenzano 2007). Before
discussing Italian fantasy productions, I would like to focus on two rele-
vant examples of tourism promotion and practices connected to American
fantasy films shot in Italy, belonging to the two popular sagas Star Wars
and Twilight. ese cases provide interesting, additional examples of ini-
tiatives aimed at promoting local heritage through fantasy narratives.
Italian locations like the Caserta Palace and the Balbianello Villa on
Como Lake were used to stand in for the enchanted land of Naboo in
two episodes of the second Star Wars trilogy (e Phantom Menace 1999
and Attack of the Clones 2002, both directed by George Lucas). Tourist
flows induced by the movies have been observed in both locations (Boni
G. Lavarone
139
2010), and, together with other connections between Como Lake and
the movie world (like the purchase of a villa on the lake by the popular
American actor George Clooney), induced the local chamber of com-
merce to finance, in 2012, the creation of e Stars of Lake Como—both
a guidebook and an app aimed at film tourists. However, the main focus
here will be on the other Italian location used for the Star Wars second
trilogy, the Caserta Palace. In 2018, in the wake of the subsequent (third)
Star Wars trilogy release, the MANN Archaeological Museum in Naples—
which in the last years has frequently resorted to media such as films,
music videos, and videogames for its promotion—set up an exhibition
titled MANN@hero assembling archaeological objects and Star Wars
memorabilia from private fan collections, and focusing on the iconology
of the hero across time. is capitalized on the connection to the nearby
Caserta Palace, where it was possible to watch content related to Star Wars
filming through VR headsets as part of the exhibition. As was the case for
the Game of rones’ related tapestry and doors, the aim of the organizers
was to both refresh heritage and make it attractive for new groups of tour-
ists. is has been more systematically pursued by the Tuscan city of
Volterra, the setting of the most emotional scene in Twilight saga’s book
and movie New Moon (Weitz 2009)—even if the filming took place in
the near city of Montepulciano. Both Volterra and Montepulciano,
already established cultural tourist destinations, have reported a signifi-
cant increase of tourists after the release of the film. In 2010, between
15% and 20% of Volterra tourists were induced by Twilight (Larson et al.
2013). Compared to the American city of Forks, where most of the nar-
rative is set and where the Twilight connection has been totally embraced
in order to boost tourism, Volterra and Montepulciano have adopted a
strategy of “guarding place authenticity.” ey have, in fact, encouraged
a socio-cultural sustainable tourism, introducing—albeit downplaying—
the Twilight theme and finding creative ways to connect it with their
heritage (Larson et al. 2013). At the time of writing, the tourist consor-
tium Volterra Valdicecina, which manages the Volterra Tourist Board, is
still organizing Twilight walking tours. Famous heritage sites, such as the
Etruscan gate, or intangible heritage like the working of alabaster, are
framed through their relation to the Twilight characters of Volturi and
the leitmotif of mystery, assembling fictional and historical elements,
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
140
regardless of the lack of actual shooting locations (yet taking advantage of
references coming from the book). Heritage is thus given new life and
revealed to Twilight tourists, whose “historical imagination” of the
Etruscan past will be mediated by the Twilight text.
In more recent years, the growing awareness of the tourism potential
of films and TV series has led to an even prompter tourist exploitation of
other American fantasy movies. Two of the most recent Marvel and DC
superhero movies shot in Italy, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Whedon 2015)
and Wonder Woman (Jenkins 2017), have both been used for the creation
of tourist itineraries, respectively in the regions of Valle d’Aosta and
Basilicata (for Basilicata, see Colangelo 2018). However, the remaining
part of this section will focus on the exploitation of fantasy Italian pro-
ductions (or co-productions) for tourism purposes, where interest lies in
their partial novelty and unfamiliarity in the Italian contemporary film
landscape.
Fantasy as a screen genre has not flourished in Italian cinema, despite
the abundance of fantasy elements in the Italian literature masterpieces
since the Middle Ages (Crespi 2014). Although there are some excep-
tions, such as film adaptations of Collodi’s Pinocchio and Dante’s Divine
Comedy (the latter limited to the silent era) (Crespi 2014) or Alessandro
Blasetti’s e Iron Crown (1941), most of the fantasy movies produced in
Italian film history date from the specific context of popular B-movies
shot in the 1950s and 1960s. In that period, mythological films (the so-
called pepla) often included fantasy elements (Brunetta 1991), and, more
specifically, an actual Italian fantasy-horror genre was born thanks to the
creativity of Mario Bava and a few other directors. Despite their interna-
tional circulation and commercial success, these films have suffered from
endemic low budgets and an enduring limited critical appreciation in
Italy, while being perceived as a sort of foreign body in Italian national
cinema (Crespi 2014, Venturini 2014, Nazzaro 2019). e latter has
been largely identified with a realist canon, encouraged by the valuable
outcomes of Neorealism (O’ Leary and O’ Rawe 2011; Scaglioni 2020).
In recent years, due to the increasing global popularity of fantasy
amongst the Italian audience (on the Italian reception of LotR, see Trobia
2008), significant attempts dealing with the fantasy genre have been
made by Italian directors, whilst borrowing elements from international
G. Lavarone
141
models. Among them, two films particularly stand out both for their
production values and for being directed by two of the most renowned
Italian authors: Gabriele Salvatores and Matteo Garrone. Salvatores tried
to launch the first Italian superhero movie saga with e Invisible Boy (Il
ragazzo invisibile, 2014) and its sequel e Invisible Boy: Second Generation
(Il ragazzo invisibile—Seconda generazione, 2018); while Garrone set up
an international co-production to adapt, with his Tale of Tales (Il racconto
dei racconti—Tale of Tales, 2015), the Italian seventeenth-century collec-
tion of tales Lo cunto de li cunti by Giambattista Basile, before realizing a
second fantasy literary adaptation with his Pinocchio (2020). All of these
movies counted on extremely large budgets, particularly compared to the
Italian standard (from e Invisible Boy’s 8 million euros to Pinocchio’s
almost 15 million).
Despite the unfamiliar taste of national fantasy and the ultimately
poor box office results, both e Invisible Boy and Tale of Tales, in differ-
ent ways, have been explicitly intended as possible means of tourist pro-
motion. is can be understood in relation to the recent enthusiasm for
the tourism potential of films in Italy, as well as to the media exposure of
the film-induced tourism phenomena connected to international fantasy
works like LotR, Harry Potter, or GoT. e press discourses on the vast
potential of audiovisual tourism promotion have involved, surprisingly,
even an Italian auteur project like Tale of Tales, aiming at larger audiences
than Garrone’s previous films, yet unlikely to reach those of a blockbuster.
e Invisible Boy and Tale of Tales stand out as relevant case studies
both because of their relevance and press exposure in Italy, and because
they are exemplary of two different types of fantasy movies and of differ-
ent types of related tourism promotion strategies. In one case the shoot-
ing location is given a fantasy aura by introducing extraordinary elements
in a real setting (e Invisible Boy), while in the other case actual places
are transfigured into imaginary worlds (Tale of Tales). Moreover, the two
examples display different strategies and targets in terms of tourism pro-
motion: e Invisible Boy has been used to develop tourist products aimed
at promoting local heritage to national tourists and residents, while Tale
of Tales aims at national as well as international audiences, to promote
Italian heritage and national image at a broader level.
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
142
Tale of Tales is a fantasy movie set in entirely imaginary worlds devised
by the writer Giambattista Basile. It was shot in around 20 spectacular
natural and cultural heritage sites throughout Italy, carefully selected and
eventually enhanced through visual and narrative strategies. e main
aim is that of inducing awe in the eyes of the spectator, in order to visu-
ally achieve the effect of wonder pursued with literary means by Basile’s
stories. Tale of Tales has received financing from two of the regions
involved in the production, Puglia and Lazio, whose funds aim at the
economic benefits deriving from both hosting film productions and
potential tourism spin-offs. e director Matteo Garrone, who often
mentioned Game of rones as a source of inspiration, specifies neverthe-
less that his film should be described as fiabesco (fairy-tale) instead of
fantasy, because it originates from actual shooting locations and does not
create imaginary landscapes through studio shooting or digital effects,
like many international fantasy films and series do (Garrone 2016). Both
the press and the director himself continuously stressed this use of real
(Italian) locations and never mentioned the digital effects employed to
enhance the fantastic atmosphere, inspired by typically unrealistic
Flemish landscape painting (Spaventa 2015). e other element high-
lighted by the press is the use of physical effects, created by Italian artists
to realize the fantastic creatures, such as the dragon or the giant flea,
instead of only relying on digital effects (for further details on the media
coverage of the film, see Lavarone 2017). is has been described as a sort
of ‘Italian way’ of doing fantasy, returning to the cliché of artisanal ability
typically associated with the Made in Italy brand, but also highlighting
the names of two Italian geniuses who worked on fantasy films. e first
is Mario Bava, director of fantasy-horror B-movies known for their home-
made special effects, while the second is Carlo Rambaldi, father of the
alien creatures featured in Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) and Spielberg’s
E.T.-e Extraterrestrial (1982). is continuity with a presumed Italian
tradition is often highlighted by the press, even if among the models
acknowledged by the authors of the special effects there is also a reference
from the other side of the world: that of Jackson’s Weta and its work on
LotR (Cosulich 2015).
Despite being an international co-production, shot in English and
almost entirely casting foreign actors such as Salma Hayek or Vincent
G. Lavarone
143
Cassel, Tale of Tales has been described by the press as a totally Italian
film, born of the courage of an Italian auteur, who has devised an Italian
way for the unfamiliar genre of fantasy—and at the same time, has co-
produced the film with his own money and managed to set up, and bring
to Italy, a big international project. ese arguments for the movie’s
Italian-ness have totally overtaken, for example, references to its literary
origin. e press discourse thus testifies to a process of fabrication of a
“creative authenticity” and a “national authenticity” strictly intercon-
nected, partly reminiscent of the LotR case.
e project, targeted at international as well as national audiences,
traces an enchanted image of Italy while celebrating Italian handcraft and
creativity. e national and international press have explicitly read this
movie through a tourist perspective, endlessly proposing lists of its
numerous locations, and sometimes placing it in the ‘travel,’ instead of
‘culture,’ column (Lavarone 2017). It has often been compared to films
which have induced dramatic tourist increases, in Italy and elsewhere,
thus showing an enthusiasm that has, nevertheless, not been followed by
an actual development of tourist products. e film is mentioned in the
Tuscany and Puglia region tourist websites, and in itineraries proposed by
the national portal Italy for Movies, but generally speaking, it has been
poorly adopted for tourist promotion by public and private stakeholders
operating at a local level. is limited exploitation of Tale of Tales’ tourist
potential, which also lies in its notable media exposure (see Roesch 2009)
and has been confirmed by reported tourist increases in single locations
(Lavarone 2017), may be due to several factors: on the one hand, the
discouragement brought by its unsatisfying box office figures, and on the
other hand, the general delay in commercial improvement of film tour-
ism in Italy (di Cesare 2016), although the situation might be gradually
evolving. Either way, the case of Tale of Tales and its media coverage
reveals both the high expectations of the potential tourist use of fantasy
films and an implicit awareness of the challenges that the genre might
entail. e media discourse, in fact, has dealt with these challenges both
on the narrative side—through the listings of locations aimed at connect-
ing them with the movie’s imaginary settings—and on the visual side,
through downplaying the role of digital effects and stressing the high
recognition values of the same locations. At the same time, it has
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
144
constructed the national authenticity of the film, read as a paradigm of
Italian creativity and a display of Italian tangible and intangible heritage,
with the aim of marketing the country for international audiences.
e Invisible Boy project also originates from the will of ‘domesticating’
international models through the creation of the first Italian superhero: a
13-year-old boy who suddenly discovers his invisibility power. In order to
further enable the identification of young Italian audiences—to which
the film is targeted—with the main character, and to highlight the
appearance of the extraordinary in everyday life, the film is purposely set
and shot in an existing Italian city, Trieste. In the first scene, Trieste is
described as the extremely ‘ordinary’ place where the magical baby, born
in Russia, has randomly ended up. Even if the movie frequently relies on
visual effects (supervised by Victor Perez, who had previously worked on
digital compositing for the Harry Potter and Star Wars sagas), the loca-
tions generally remain recognizable. Among them, there is Porto Vecchio,
a large area built in the nineteenth century to stock the goods arriving by
sea to the port of Trieste. Fallen into disuse, its access is now forbidden to
the general public and, in the later years, it has been the object of several
discussions on possible redevelopment projects, as mentioned in the offi-
cial website (portovecchio.comune.trieste.it). Because of its large empty
spaces, it is often proposed as a film location by the Friuli Venezia Giulia
regional film commission, having already been used in the past to film
e English Patient (Minghella 1996)—where it stood for the Lybian city
of Tobruk. Despite being used for Invisible Boy scenes set in Russia, Porto
Vecchio also appears as itself in one scene within the second, and most
exciting, part of the movie. is part includes thrilling rescue and fight
sequences taking place inside a ship, and among the locations used there
is also the floating crane Ursus (whose name is also clearly framed in a
shot of the film)—a symbol of the city built in 1913, belonging to its
maritime industrial heritage. Rather than proposing images of the city
centre, the narrative and visual choices of the film highlight the impor-
tance of Trieste as a port and its industrial heritage, particularly apt to the
fantasy turn of the film, thanks to Porto Vecchio’s dark shadows and
colour of rust (Grando 2014).
is has led the Friuli Venezia Giulia Film Commission, in collabora-
tion with the institution Casa del Cinema (including all the associations
G. Lavarone
145
dealing with film culture at a regional scope), to propose tours inspired
by e Invisible Boy as one of the highlights in their limited yet interesting
offer of movie tours, mostly targeted at residents and at national tourists.
e itinerary also includes the rare opportunity to visit Porto Vecchio,
often unknown even to the inhabitants of the city, during which the tour
guide provides historical information about the site. ese tours repre-
sent the only example in Italy of movie tours (by walking or by bus) real-
ized with the additional support of VR headsets. Well beyond aiming at
a mere novelty effect of surprise, VR technology is used in a highly func-
tioning way with two objectives. e first one is to grant virtual access to
places which cannot be open to the public, such as the interiors of the
Ursus, which have thus been filmed purposely to insert the images into
the VR headsets. e second one is to provide additional content con-
cerning the technical details of film production, especially the perceived
main feature of the film (namely special effects), but also the use of light
in particular places—explained by interviews with the director in those
same spaces. In all of the movie tours offered by the Casa del Cinema,
particular attention is paid to the production process, through the direct
participation of film professionals to the tours, or through providing
additional filmed content such as interviews or images showing the work
on the set. In the specific case of e Invisible Boy, typical fantasy ele-
ments such as the use of special effects thus become the core narrative of
the tour, along with the discovery of places belonging to the industrial
heritage of the city which are granted additional value by both the film
itself and the tour. ese both introduce extraordinary elements in ordi-
nary spaces, like Harry Potter’s 9 ¾ platform in King’s Cross, stimulating
the audiences’ and tourists’ imagination thanks to the specific mix typical
of the genre, devising a highly sustainable film tourism initiative. e lat-
ter, in fact, managed by local cultural institutions, allows the rediscovery
of a neglected heritage—far from being an overcrowded tourist spot—in
the eyes of both residents and tourists, providing historical information
about the place whilst reading it through the lens of a fantastic narrative
and visual effects, which provide it with new, extraordinary values.
In this case, the challenges posed by the fantasy genre to tourist pro-
motion were mostly unproblematic at the narrative level, as the film is
predominantly set in Trieste’s actual shooting locations (except for the
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
146
scenes set in Russia). By contrast, the challenges associated with the visual
side, digital alterations which possibly affect the recognition of actual
locations, have become one of the main components in the tour’s narra-
tive. An element of potential disappointment has thus been turned into a
source of astonishment and pleasure, as per the aforementioned interna-
tional examples.
Conclusions
Providing some of the most famous and discussed examples of film tour-
ism, the fantasy genre represents an interesting case study to analyse this
phenomenon. On the one hand, its very narrative premise, based on the
creation of parallel universes (Brooker 2007) or the juxtaposition of ordi-
nary and extraordinary elements (Lee 2012), strongly resonates with the
“restless movement” between actual and virtual worlds (Torchin 2002)
that underlies any film tourist experience. On the other hand, its typical
features at both the narrative and visual level often magnify the discrep-
ancies between movie images and shooting locations, whose perception is
a pivotal element in this same experience. e evident detachment from
the ‘reality’ of the place may also exacerbate the difficulties commonly
faced in terms of heritage management and promotion when dealing
with films shot on-site. e latter are often accused of conveying inac-
curate images and of attracting undesired tourists, assumed to be careless
of the historical value of the place. Actually, fantasy film tourists have
often proved to be interested in the history of the destination, even if
their “historical imagination” is strongly mediated by the film text itself
(Waysdorf and Reijnders 2017), rather than other (historical) narratives,
which would still not allow the definition of a monolithic, ‘authentic’
place identity. Fantasy films and TV series can thus inspire creative
attempts at integrating local heritage in initiatives and products aimed at
film tourists, as in Northern Ireland for GoT, as well as in the Italian
examples of the MANN exhibition in Naples, or, in a longer-term per-
spective, Twilight tours in Volterra. e latter’s strategy of “guarding place
authenticity” has been described, in this sense, as an example of socio-
cultural sustainability in film tourism (Larson et al. 2013). However, the
G. Lavarone
147
potential communities’ distress when facing stereotypical images con-
veyed by movies, enhanced by their extensive use in tourist promotion
and tourist products, is also a potential issue. While not being a property
of fantasy films, it must be acknowledged that the latter’s typical trans-
figuration of living places into enchanted, pre-historical lands often raises
problematic issues, as for New Zealand and LotR (Buchmann and
Frost 2011).
e interest of exploring the Italian context lies in its traditional unfa-
miliarity with the genre, and in the desire to deal with it in the wake of
its global popularity. e high-budget fantasy films by two of the most
important Italian directors have arrived at the same time as the first strong
signals of interest in film tourism by the national government. Despite
their unsatisfying box office results, the awareness of the tourist potential
for fantasy films and TV series—raised by the exposure of international
cases such as LotR or GoT—has led to the use of both these films for the
purposes of tourism promotion. Even an auteur project like Tale of Tales
has raised high expectations for its tourist potential.
In both cases, the peculiar features of the fantasy genre, that is, its
explicit move from the ‘reality’ of the place both at the narrative and
visual level, are explicitly addressed in order to manage their ‘otherness’ in
the Italian context, as well as their possible shortcomings in terms of
tourism promotion. Two different communicative strategies are
employed. e first one (Tale of Tales) consists of downplaying the pres-
ence of digital effects, stressing the high recognition values of the ‘real’
locations used. e second one (e Invisible Boy) consists, on the con-
trary, of emphasizing the choice of using digital effects and in placing
them at the heart of the tours’ narrative, thanks to a brilliant employment
of AR and VR technologies to provide technical explanations. Both of
these cases reiterate the potential of fantasy’s typical creativity (in terms of
narratives and visual effects) to confer extraordinariness to the shooting
locations and to inspire original attempts of promoting heritage, without
necessarily neglecting the multiple pre-existing identities of the place,
which is particularly evident in the second case.
Tangible and intangible Italian heritage are on display in Tale of Tales,
promoting an enchanted image of the entire country thanks to the visual
and narrative strategies employed by Garrone to convey the sense of
7 Fabulous Locations: Tourism and Fantasy Films in Italy
148
wonder generated by Basile’s original stories. Analyses of the film’s media
coverage reveal that the peculiar creative values of the genre are also used
to achieve a combined cultural construction of “creative authenticity”
and “national authenticity,” such as in the LotR case (Jones and Smith
2005), turning creativity into a national asset which contributes to nation
branding and tourist promotion at an international level. Nevertheless, in
a context still mainly unprepared for the commercial exploitation of film
tourism (di Cesare 2016), enthusiasm does not always result in the actual
development of tourist products.
An original tourism product was instead developed through the
Invisible Boy tours in Trieste, which focus their narrative on the creative
values of the fantasy genre, digital effects included. Favoured by the film
being mostly set in the city, the embedding of extraordinary elements
into an ordinary world typical of the fantasy genre is replicated in the
tour thanks to virtual and augmented reality, which allows both tourists
and local residents to look with new eyes at the industrial heritage of
Trieste. Narrative and visual elements perceived as ‘foreign’ in Italian cul-
ture are thus integrated into local neglected heritage, in order to give it
new life. VR and AR technologies are used to virtually visit inaccessible
parts of the sites, on which historical information is provided. Far from
inducing undesired forms of tourism, the Invisible Boy tours, developed
by local cultural institutions, have turned some specific features of the
fantasy genre into a source of inspiration for a highly sustainable form of
tourism promotion through films.
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8
How Do Video Games Induce Us
toTravel?: Exploring theDrivers,
Mechanisms, andLimits ofVideo
Game- Induced Tourism
Jiahui(Yolanda)Dong, Louis-EtienneDubois,
MarionJoppe, andLianneFoti
Despite the rapid growth of the video gaming industry in the last few
decades—as well as mounting evidence of its impact, both positive and
negative—on destinations (Dubois and Gibbs 2018; Dubois etal. 2020)
and applications in tourism (Bahtiar and Segara 2020), research has yet
to explain how video games actually induce individuals’ emotions or
actions towards a given destination at the pre-travel stage.
As such, this chapter attempts a rst conceptualization of the key driv-
ers and mechanisms of video game-induced tourism by investigating how
known predictors of visit intention manifest in this particular context.
J. (Yolanda) Dong (*) • M. Joppe • L. Foti
University of Guelph, Guelph, ON, Canada
e-mail: jdong13@uoguelph.ca; mjoppe@uoguelph.ca; foti@uoguelph.ca
L.-E. Dubois
Ryerson University, Toronto, ON, Canada
e-mail: le.dubois@ryerson.ca
154
More specically, drawing from the stimulus-organism-response (SOR)
theory (Mehrabian and Russell 1974), it considers the medium’s particu-
lar inuence of presence on the players’ emotional reactions and in turn,
on their behaviours towards or intention to visit game-related
destinations.
Indeed, creating a strong sense of presence has become a key design
consideration for video game developers for its capability to generate a
positive attitude (Ho etal. 2017). Presence is dened as a psychological
state of consciousness, describing to what extent users believe the virtual
environment to be real (Lee 2004). While it may aect users’ perceived
reality in many ways, research has shown that when interacting with a
virtual medium, the increase of users’ presence may elicit or enhance their
real-time emotional and behavioural responses (e.g. Tussyadiah et al.
2018). Further, given that popular destination-based game franchises
such as Yakuza, Watch Dogs, and Assassin’s Creed (Table8.1) are set in
distinctive historical periods, this chapter also considers the interplay
between presence and nostalgia, and how it relates to game-induced
tourism.
Last, despite a growing number of successful cases and promising
applications, video games are also proving to be a less than perfect “selling
machine” or promotional vehicle for destinations (Dubois etal. 2020).
As such, this chapter concludes with a critical management discussion
that outlines drawbacks, implications, and considerations for both game
developers and destination marketers contemplating investing in
destination- based video games or simply using them to prop up
their brand.
The Rise ofVideo Game-Induced Tourism
Tourism scholars have long sought to determine what induces visitors to
choose and travel to a destination (Um and Crompton 1990; Sirakaya
and Woodside 2005; Beritelli etal. 2019). As a result, we know that such
decisions often stem from a special meaning that tourists give to a desti-
nation (Ghosh and Sarkar 2016; Akgün etal. 2020), and that media
J. (Yolanda) Dong etal.
155
Table 8.1 Game descriptions
Games/
franchises
Developer/
publisher Genre Link to tourism
Assassin’s
Creed
Ubisoft Role-playing/
open-world
adventure games
Exploration of ancient
cities
Battlefield 1 DICE/electronic
arts
First-person
shooter
Setting in various locations
during WWI
Bioshock 2K games First-person
shooter (sets in a
fictional city of
rapture)
Bloodborne FromSoftware/
SIE
Action role-
playing game
(depicts a
fictional world of
Yharnam
Call of
Duty:
WWII
Sledgehammer
games/
Activision
First-person
shooter
Setting in real-life locations
during WWII
Death
Stranding
Kojima
productions/
SIE
Open-world action
game
Setting in ruined cities that
were the battlefields of
WWII
Fallout Bethesda
Softworks
Role-playing
games
Exploration of a post-
apocalyptic America.
Far Cry 3 Ubisoft First-person
shooter
Exploration of island
Fun Nanjing Runhe software Monopoly game Initiated by the Nanjing
municipal government
for promoting attractions
of Nanjing City.
Grand Theft
Auto
Rockstar games Open-world action
games
Exploration of fictional
cities which are based on
real-life locations (Los
Angeles, Las Vegas,
NewYork City)
Horizon
Zero
Dawn
Guerrilla games/
SIE
Open-world &
role-playing
game
Pokémon
GO
Niantic Location-based AR
game
Used for the gamification
in tourism
Shenmue SEGA Action-adventure
games
Exploration of the city of
Yokosuka
(continued)
8 How Do Video Games Induce Us to Travel?: Exploring…
156
plays a central role in crafting that emotional connection (Kim 2010;
Kim etal. 2019).
e concept of “media-induced tourism” is built on this understand-
ing and describes visits that result from a destination being depicted in a
lm, series, or videos (Busby etal. 2013; Cardoso etal. 2017). Films can
both attract tourists before their travel and increase willingness to revisit
the destination or recommend it to friends at the post-travel stage (Báez-
Montenegro and Devesa-Fernández 2017). When perceiving strong
authenticity during media consumption, lm tourists are also more likely
to show a higher level of destination loyalty (Teng and Chen 2020).
Interestingly, this phenomenon is not limited to a specic lm genre, as
portrayals in horror, action, or romance lms equally appear to increase
the popularity of a given destination, as well as broader consumer aware-
ness about it (Busby etal. 2013).
For instance, New Zealand attracted many visitors after being featured
in lms such as e Piano, Whale Rider, and e Lord of the Rings (Zoladek
2017), much like Croatia’s tourism and economy signicantly beneted
Table 8.1 (continued)
Games/
franchises
Developer/
publisher Genre Link to tourism
Smile Land
Game
TAT Challenge game
that explores the
main attractions
of the kingdom
of Thailand
Specifically designed by
tourism authority
Thailand (TAT) as part of
its digital marketing
strategy, based on the
tourism attractions of
Thailand
Uncharted Naughty dog/SIE Action-adventure
games
Exploration of
international locations
and ancient ruins
(Istanbul, London, Tibet,
etc.)
Watch Dogs Ubisoft Open-world game Exploration of the cities of
Chicago, San Francisco, or
London
Yakuza Ryu Ga Gotoku
studio/SEGA
Action-adventure
game
Exploration of the cities of
Tokyo and Osaka
SIE Sony Interactive Entertainment Inc.
J. (Yolanda) Dong etal.
157
from HBO’s Game of rones series (Tkalec etal. 2017). However, there
remains some debate as to how media consumption triggers audiences’
motivation to travel. While factors are likely multi-fold, antecedents such
as authenticity (Buchmann etal. 2010), celebrity attachment (Teng and
Chen 2020), and destination image (Chen 2018) are seen as having some
inuence on destination image and visitation in this context.
Similarly, many video game players have been shown to extend or rep-
licate emotions previously experienced while consuming destination-
based content by visiting said destination (Dubois and Gibbs 2018;
Geraghty etal. 2019). Indeed, video games are proving to be powerful
tools when it comes to promoting tourism destinations or to engaging
with visitors on-site (Shen etal. 2020; Xu etal. 2016). Dubois and Gibbs
(2018) analysed such testimonials left by destination-based “gamers” on
popular travel websites and suggest that the medium’s fast-rising cultural
and economic relevance, as well as its broad demographic reach, are rea-
sons for marketers to work alongside video game studios in shaping an
enticing image. Specically, by providing ways to explore sophisticated
3D renditions of existing built environments, the hope is that prospective
tourists will grow more knowledgeable and attached to the local attrac-
tions and ultimately travel to said destination (Huang etal. 2016).
For example, the Yakuza franchise developers worked to digitalize real
hotels (e.g. APA Hotel), eateries (e.g. Sushi Zanmai), and attractions (e.g.
Shinjuku Toho Building), in turn helping to promote local brands. e
Nanjing municipal government in China and Runhe Software jointly
developed Fun Nanjing, a monopoly-like game in which players can
travel between famous local attractions and “buy” virtual properties (Tao
etal. 2016). Similarly, the Tourism Authority of ailand (TAT) created
the Smile Land Game featuring some of the country’s iconic attractions,
restaurants, and shops, as part of its digital marketing eorts to attract
younger visitors (Xu etal. 2017). Meanwhile, the West Virginia Tourism
Board formally teamed up with Bethesda to be featured in the studio’s
popular Fallout franchise’s latest instalment. Despite this potential, it
should be noted that the majority of destinations lucky enough to still
nd themselves in a popular video game often do so in a fortuitous man-
ner, thereby missing out on a potential opportunity to intentionally aect
the content and to better market to prospective visitors.
8 How Do Video Games Induce Us to Travel?: Exploring…
158
Perhaps more widespread are on-site applications of video games and
of their core principles in tourism. Indeed, the concept of gamication
has gained substantial interest in this sector in the last decade (Xu etal.
2017; Shen etal. 2020). Although there is still no agreement on the
denition, it refers to an approach that uses game mechanics and game
dynamics with a specic desired outcome in areas outside of traditional
gaming (Reiners and Wood 2014). While it can be applied towards gen-
erating greater interest in a destination as Ontario Tourism did with its
“Where Am I” campaign (Shen etal. 2020), it remains most frequently
used to shape tourists’ on-site behaviours through their mobile devices,
engage them with the environment, and encourage them to embark on
scavenger hunts (Xu et al. 2017). In this particular instance, game
mechanics such as rules, feedbacks, and achievements help destinations
develop immersive gamied experiences and to provide visitors with tar-
geted, timely information (Shen et al. 2020). Gamication can even
encourage cooperation or competition among tourists, increasing their
engagement during the trip (Xu etal. 2017). More sophisticated location-
based augmented reality (AR) games allow for interactions with the envi-
ronment on their mobile devices and to complete simple tasks, helping
tourists build a stronger connection with destinations.
Last, the rise of educational applications of destination-based video
games may also indirectly benet the tourism sector. For instance, Ubisoft
introduced a non-violent “Discovery Tour” mode in its Assassin’s Creed:
Odyssey game to showcase their digital reconstruction of ancient Greece—
as well as to allow players, generally elementary or high-school students,
to experience the built environment, local culture, and rich history with-
out having to actually engage with the game’s central quests.
Investigating theDrivers andMechanisms
ofVideo Game-Induced Tourism
Unlike other forms of media-induced tourism, video games’ interactive
and immersive nature allows players to make independent choices and
includes them as a part of the mediated world (Klimmt et al. 2009).
J. (Yolanda) Dong etal.
159
us, while playing in an “open-world” game (e.g. Assassin’s Creed, Grand
eft Auto, Uncharted), players can freely explore the city, walk through a
local bazaar, try local food, or even hold up their virtual mobile phone to
take seles. Gonzalez (2020) suggests that “video games of real-life places
are like hearing a story from a friend” and wanting to visit the places
afterwards because travelling makes others’ stories become their own. In
the case of Shenmue, an action-adventure game that depicts 1980’s
Yokosuka (Japan), players ended up building a robust online community,
which in turn helped the town receive extensive media attention and
additional visitors (Ramírez-Moreno 2019).
e Stimulus-Organism-Response (SOR) model (Mehrabian and
Russell 1974) provides an interesting lens to understand tourists’ decision-
making process in this particular context. It posits that upon being stim-
ulated by the external environment (S), individuals will experience an
emotion (O), which in turn will lead them to take specic actions (R).
e SOR model has been used before to predict consumer behaviour by
examining their cognition and perceived service quality (Jacoby 2002).
Hew etal. (2018) applied it in the context of mobile tourism shopping
to explain how social presence as the environmental stimulus increases
users’ perceived enjoyment, and in turn, behavioural intention. SOR also
predicts user behaviour when using other information and communica-
tion technologies. For instance, Kim etal. (2020) found that VR created
more authentic experiences (S), leading to enhanced emotional involve-
ment (O), and to a subsequent inclination to visit destinations (R).
Applied to destination-based video games, we posit that the environ-
mental stimulus lies in the players’ sense of presence. Indeed, the medi-
um’s complex renderings, combined with strong agency, impact the
players’ perceptions and blur the lines between the virtual and the real
world (Blum etal. 2012; Tamborini and Skalski 2006). Gone are the days
when destinations were only a distant skyline, the home of sports fran-
chises or just the name of a mission, racetrack, or map in a given video
game. According to Rardin (2020), some of today’s video games “master
iconic landmarks and capture the feel of their respective cities. It’s espe-
cially fun to visit one of these cities in real life and have the feeling of
being there before”. Of interest is the fact that such a strong sense of
8 How Do Video Games Induce Us to Travel?: Exploring…
160
presence has been shown to impact the players’ emotional state and, in
turn, their behavioural intention (Ravaja etal. 2006).
Presence andNostalgia asDrivers
andMechanisms ofVideo
Game-Induced Tourism
Enhancing the players’ sense of presence has long been a priority for
video game developers because of its impact on players’ experience satis-
faction (Tamborini and Skalski 2006). Likewise, several scholars have
also sought to explain how humans interact with virtual environments
using the construct of presence (e.g. Skalski etal. 2011; Yu and Wang
2019). Here, the term “presence” is derived from “telepresence” (Minsky
1980) and describes a phenomenon whereby media users are not able to
dierentiate between reality and the mediated or, as Sadowski and
Stanney put it, “a sense of belief that one has left the real world and is
now ‘present’ in the virtual environment” (2002, 791). us, presence
can be understood in terms of “spatial presence”, referring to feeling lost
or immersed during media use, and to how individuals feel physically
present in said environment (Schubert etal. 2001).
A growing body of evidence suggests that video games elicit a more
intense feeling of ‘being there’ compared to other media such as lm and
television (e.g. Lombard and Ditton 1997; Dubois etal. 2020). is
higher level of presence during virtual experiences generates greater
enjoyment, which in turn forms a positive virtual destination image in
the post-experience phase (Sylaiou et al. 2010; Weibel et al. 2008).
Having a higher level of presence also reects positively on dimensions
such as local friendliness or infrastructure, and behavioural intentions
such as booking travel products or purchasing travel itinerary packages
(Hyun and O’Keefe 2012).
In addition to presence, destination-based video games have increas-
ingly resorted to nostalgia in some of their popular franchises, especially
in large “AAA” productions (Wulf et al. 2018). For instance, Yakuza 0
depicts the real street scenery of Tokyo and Osaka in 1988, allowing play-
ers to experience that period’s Japanese lifestyle by visiting karaoke bars,
J. (Yolanda) Dong etal.
161
clubs, or arcades. is game also allows players to explore what the
Japanese bubble-era economy looked like by completing side-stories such
as investing in a local telephone club or writing letters to the radio sta-
tion. In terms of mechanism, Kim etal. (2019) explain that such content
evokes nostalgic feelings and generates an emotional connection with the
featured destinations. is particular form of the stimulus also creates
familiarity with destinations and elevates them to symbolic places with
memories (Bandyopadhyay 2008), thereby inuencing the decision-
making process at the pre-travel stage (Caton and Santos 2007).
It should be noted that this nostalgia trend is also observed in other
media, as exemplied by the recent successes of 1980s inspired lm and
television series (e.g. Ready Player One, Stranger ings). Such content has
gained widespread popularity among Gen-Xers and Millennials who
were either too young or not yet born to experience this era (Mccarthy
2019). Pickering and Keightley (2006) assert that nostalgia exists because
people naturally long for things from the past. However, compared to
traditional media, interactive media such as video games allow users to
further focus on the content by enabling them to control their actions
and visual angle, deriving a stronger emotional experience (Nelson etal.
2004; Poels etal. 2012).
Specically, research indicates that “it is the ways in which video games
are dierent that make them particularly suited as objects of nostalgia”
(Fenty 2008, 24–25). For one, the intense sensory stimulation needed to
yield a truly immersive experience generates stronger emotions than other
leisure activities (Poels etal. 2012). e medium also benets from the
possibility to oer a range of nostalgic elements, be it using graphics,
soundtracks, or narration, providing a more complete and meaningful
experience than TV or lm (Esposito 2005; Suominen 2008).
In summary, SOR theory suggests a mechanism by which tourists
make travel decisions after experiencing video games: the medium and its
content enhance users’ sense of presence (stimulus) which contributes to
their aective response (organism) and subsequently encourages them to
travel (response). In other words, the more individuals are immersed in
the virtual environment, the more intense emotions they will have for the
past, which positively impacts travel-related behaviours. However, it is
equally important to discuss the many ethical concerns and issues when
8 How Do Video Games Induce Us to Travel?: Exploring…
162
using presence and nostalgia for tourism purposes. Attempting to elicit
positive emotions or behaviours towards destinations through video
games is one thing, but how players actually interpret and choose to react
to the content in real life is another one.
The Risks andLimitations ofVideo
Game-Induced Tourism
On the surface, exploiting history seems both very protable for video
game studios and enjoyable for players, while also generating positive
externalities such as innovative educational material, awareness of a given
historical event or character, as well as tourism revenues for featured des-
tinations. Digitizing heritage sites and historical objects has also been
shown to keep players engaged in the game longer and to help with
restorative or preservation eorts. For instance, visual assets from Assassin’s
Creed Unity, set in eighteenth-century Paris, are proving to be crucial to
the reconstruction of the Notre-Dame Cathedral (Hanussek 2019; de
Ávila etal. 2020).
On the other hand, these same video games often face criticisms of
cultural appropriation, of historical inaccuracy, or of insensitive represen-
tations (Balela and Mundy 2015). Case in point, Assassin’s Creed Unity
drew negative reviews for featuring anachronistic symbols such as the
French ag and national anthem years before their actual inception.
Likewise, Svensson (2017) noted that Far Cry 3 was stereotyping Māori
and Samoan cultures, while Horizon Zero Dawn borrowed symbolic ele-
ments from minority cultures and depicted Native Americans as “tribal”
or “savage”. Much like in the lm industry, video game developers can
always claim the right to creative freedom and artistic liberties. However,
in the end, when pitting authenticity against enjoyability, developers
appear to favour the latter and to use history to build a more entertaining
game experience.
Using WWII elements is another example of how game developers
inaccurately use historical events as a mere intellectual property bank.
Instead of simply designing a random battleeld, some AAA franchises
such as Call of Duty, Battleeld, and Death Stranding have decided to
J. (Yolanda) Dong etal.
163
recreate (in)famous war zones or historical battles, often with troubling
realism, while omitting the social-economic and human cost of war and
delivering misleading messages. It is also important to at least recognize
that history is usually told from the perspective of the ‘winner’, that rep-
resentations of what happened are culturally biased, and that develop-
ers—even if well-intended—would only have partial knowledge as to
events either because there were no recordings or the information was
sealed for decades. Again, given the high level of immersion, players may
not always be able to distinguish fact from ction, not to mention the
questionable ethics of using de facto cemeteries as virtual playgrounds.
In all fairness, video game developers owe very little to tourism boards
and destinations that happened to be selected to host the next instalment
of a given franchise. After all, few of the current cases of game-induced
tourism, save for the recent West Virginia-Bethesda endeavour, are pur-
poseful collaborations with clear visitation objectives. Destinations could
not do much to ght it either. History is not mutually exclusive, and
destinations would not have much of a case, even when negatively
impacted by being chosen as the background to violent stories (Dubois
etal. 2020). However, building realistic environments and time periods
to emotionally bond with players—and yes, generate more initial or in-
game purchases—comes with the responsibility of delivering authentic
information about cultural heritage and actions to avoid widening the
gap between minority and majority cultures. Without such principles
and limitations in mind, developers are missing out on an opportunity to
meaningfully encourage and engage their player base on what to actually
seek out when visiting the games’ various locations, instead merely aord-
ing them to “assassinate (their) way through history” (Politopoulos etal.
2019, 317). In the end, there is nothing wrong in using a ctional city,
such as Yharnam (Bloodborne) or Rapture (Bioshock), when history and
location come a far second to the narrative.
Even worse is when such insensitive behaviours in the virtual world,
triggered by presence and nostalgia, negatively impact the modern-day
featured destinations and communities. For instance, players reportedly
feel the urge to push others when visiting places portrayed in the game (as
they do when playing Assassin’s Creed [de Gortari etal. 2011]), want to
throw something to animals in the streets that allow them to be captured
8 How Do Video Games Induce Us to Travel?: Exploring…
164
as in Pokémon Go (de Gortari 2018), or engage in a range of undesirable
behaviours that mimic in-game action (Dubois and Gibbs 2018). Such
observations are consistent with research that shows that gaming experi-
ences impact almost all players’ daily life, including their way of thinking
and their actions (de Gortari et al. 2011). us, it is only natural to
expect video game developers to consider that rather inappropriate con-
tent, or plots that include intense violence, is likely to increase subse-
quent players’ on-site uncivil or deviant behaviours, and as such, to revisit
the imperative to use a real destination as the backdrop for their story.
Other types of media-induced tourism have faced similar criticisms
and can also at times negatively aect destination image, tourist satisfac-
tion, and sustainability (Sharma 2017). Portrayals often encourage
romanticized or stereotyped perceptions (Liu etal. 2020), thereby dis-
torting the authentic identities of these places (O’Connor 2011). While
a higher level of expectation often leads to a higher level of tourist satis-
faction (Liu etal. 2017), discrepancies introduced by media between the
expected image and the actual experience can decrease tourist satisfaction
(Heitmann 2010). Further, the lack of collaboration with local residents
and travel operators to properly plan for a sharp increase in tourist
demand can also lead to shocks and sustainability issues (elen
etal. 2020).
It is also worth considering the downsides of using a medium that is
known to foster hostile actions (Gentile etal. 2004), increase future alco-
hol use (Wang etal. 2013), and engender aggressive responses (Lin 2013).
However, video games have been shown to contribute to players’ psycho-
logical well-being, vitality, and optimism (Wulf et al. 2018), and to
increase feelings of connectedness during social isolation (Tamplin-
Wilson etal. 2019). us, destinations contemplating video games as a
potential promotion tool ought to carefully weigh the pros and cons of a
medium whose mechanisms rely on creating an intense feeling of pres-
ence, in a way that at times feels closer to addiction-like behaviours than
just casual leisure. One way to potentially overcome these inherent limi-
tations is to use video games to generate emotions other than just elation
and actions other than shooting (Handrahan 2020).
J. (Yolanda) Dong etal.
165
Conclusion
is chapter adds to an emerging body of literature on the linkage between
video games and tourism by providing the rst conceptualization of gam-
ing’s specic psychological drivers that induce behaviours and feelings
towards a given destination. Understanding video games dier from other
forms of media-induced tourism, and how it elicits travel allows destina-
tion marketers to ne-tune their promotional strategies. It also exposes
the medium’s inherent risks and calls for a prudent application to avoid
undesirable behaviours, inaccuracies, or cultural appropriation.
Nevertheless, it remains that video games have become a mainstream
xture in households and popular culture and, as such, an unavoidable
channel to reach potential visitors for destination marketers. While the
tourism industry stands to further benet from this medium, the hope is
that destinations and developers come together to elicit more sophisti-
cated and positive, yet equally powerful, emotional responses from play-
ers such as sadness, contemplation, and critical thoughts.
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9
Screen Tourism ontheSmartphone:
ATypology andCritical Evaluation
oftheFirst Decade ofSmart Screen
Tourism
CathrinBengesser andAnneMaritWaade
The Convergence ofPlaces
inSmartphone- Based Screen Tourism
Screen tourism apps appeared on the market around 2009 (Leotta 2016),
at about the same time museums and other destinations began to experi-
ment with on-site uses of smartphone technology (Carson and Pennings
2020, 416). Over their rst decade, many screen tourism apps disappeared
from app stores and websites, highlighting their ephemeral nature. As a
convergent media technology, the smartphone combines distinct services
and practices all in one place, such as telecommunication, internet brows-
ing, as well as the ability to play, produce, and share audiovisual material.
For tourists, this multitude of ‘applications’ turns the smartphone into a
one-stop-shop for previously distinct services used in the various phases of
C. Bengesser (*) • A. M. Waade
Aarhus University, Aarhus, Denmark
e-mail: cbengesser@cc.au.dk; amwaade@cc.au.dk
174
tourism (Carson and Pennings 2020, 414). Because of its convenience and
potential for gathering behavioural data, ‘Smart Tourism’ has become a
buzzword in the tourism industry, ranging from the use of big data for city
management to the development of mobile applications for tourists. As
Gretzel etal. argue (2015, 180), there is a danger that ‘suddenly everything
is smart’. is warrants closer academic attention, and an eort to dene
and develop theories about the use of mobile technology in tourism experi-
ences and their promotion. To analyse ‘smart tourism’ experiences, models
are needed that are mindful of their specic contexts and uses, but still
allow broader insights into the development of this trend.
is chapter assesses the use of ‘smart’ experiences in screen tourism to
oer a typology that considers their mediation, their content, and the
dierent ways of engaging with space they oer to screen tourists.
Previous classications of (screen) tourism apps have focused on either
content or technology. Leotta’s (2016) survey of movie apps grouped
them according to the content they oer and their target audiences:
guided tours and maps for tourists, quizzes for lm bus, and practical
location information for lm professionals. is overview is valuable for
dierentiating content oered to users and emphasises that there are far
more lm-related apps than the primarily tourism-oriented applications
on which this chapter focuses. Still, grouping apps according to their
content does not reveal much about the way they use smartphone tech-
nology to promote and develop tourism experiences.
From a technological point of view, screen tourism apps exist at the
lower end of the ‘smart’ spectrum. Although they are not necessarily part
of data-driven, smart city initiatives, smartphone-based screentourism
experiences use data from a location’s infrastructure and the user’s behav-
iour to create and/or enhance on-site experiences and facilitate forms of
co-creation through user-generated content or sharing—all relevant to
Gretzel et al.’s (2015, 181) denition of ‘smart tourism’.1 In 2014,
Neuhofer, Buhalis, and Ladkin proposed a typology of the use of
technology in tourism that groups the various applications according to
1 Gretzel etal. (2015, 181) dene smart tourism as ‘tourism supported by integrated eorts at a
destination to collect and aggregate/harness data derived from physical infrastructure, social con-
nections, government/organisational sources and human bodies/minds in combination with the
use of advanced technologies to transform that data into on-site experiences and business value-
propositions with a clear focus on eciency, sustainability and experience enrichment’.
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
175
two dimensions: the intensity of technology use and the level of the
guest’s involvement in the co-creation of the experience, in contrast to
fully staged activities. ese two dimensions may also be applied to
smartphone- based screen tourism, since there are variants in the tech-
nologies’ sophistication, and levels of customisation and interactivity. Yet,
technology-focused models of the use of internet or mobile technology in
tourism do not address the specicity of screen tourism as a practice.
Sue Beeton (2005, 11) dened screen tourism as ‘the visitation to sites
where movies and TV programmes have been lmed as well as to tours to
production studios, including lm related theme parks’. Stefan Roesch
(2009, 7–8) rened this denition, indicating the necessity of distin-
guishing between the ‘lm location tourist’ and tourists who have merely
been inspired to visit a place because of a lm or TV series. Whereas the
former ‘actively visits a precise on-location that has been used for shoot-
ing a scene or scenes that were portrayed on the cinema or television
screen’ (Roesch 2009, 8), the latter does not actively seek out location
visits, studio tours, or on-site re-enactments. Also, there are visitors who
only discover sites and activities related to lm and TV once they arrive.
Finally, Marion Schulze (2017) describes virtual ‘screen screen tourism’,
in which tourists explore lm locations online, either in preparation for,
or in lieu of, travelling.
Given the considerable variation in how screen tourism may be dened,
it is also impossible to pinpoint the impact of screen tourism on visitor
numbers. A few blockbuster productions stand out. New Zealand
reported a 23 per cent increase in foreign visitors over a three-year period
following the release of Lord of the Rings (2001) (Leotta 2011, 163). e
Harry Potter studio tour outside London has been attracting fans since
2010, but lm-tourists also travel far beyond the metropolis, contribut-
ing to tourism in England’s rural areas (Lee 2012). For example, half of
the visitors to Alnwick Castle claim that its use as Hogwarts in the Harry
Potter lms was a contributing factor in their decision to visit (Olsberg
SPI 2015, 60). More recently, Game of rones (2011–2019) inspired
new ways in which Northern Ireland could promote its landscape and
cultural heritage by using the GoT brand (Çelik Rappas and Baschiera
2020). Smartphone apps exist for all these big screentourism properties,
which range from location maps and trip-planning advice for Lord of the
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
176
Rings fans (‘Middle Earth Explorer’) to on-site augmented reality games
in the Harry Potter Studio (‘Wizarding World App’) and 360° images
allowing for virtual visits to the Northern Irish locations of Game of
rones (‘GoT Northern Ireland’).
For the screen tourist, the smartphone can collapse the boundaries
between their viewing of lms or television series on their screens, their
experience of the screentourism destinations through which the phone
navigates them, and their sharing of individual experience of places on
social media, which in turn contributes to other (potential) visitors’
imaginings of the place. Lavarone (2021, 37) refers to the cinematic pil-
grimage (another term for screen tourism) when she explains:
‘[…] we could say that tourist space is mediatized in the sense that it is
virtually explored through media (in Lefebvre’s terms, conceived space), or
that it is physically invaded by media devices (perceived space). Finally, that
in many cases, media have assigned it a tourist use and led to the establish-
ment of new rituals, such as those accomplished by cinematic pilgrims
(lived space)’. (Lavarone 2021, 37)
is complex relation between place and media is described in André
Jansson’s work (2013) on spatial mediatisation, in which the tourist’s use
of an actual physical place is related to the way in which the space is rep-
resented in mass media and how smart locative technology inuence the
way we understand and navigate specic places. If we apply this distinc-
tion to screen tourism apps, we see three aspects of spatial mediatisation:
(a) the places are presented and seen in a lm, TV series, or tourism
promotion (spatial representation); (b) the ctional worlds and their
diegeses become conated with the actual places and add layers of mean-
ing as conceived space (spatial imagination); and, nally, (c) location-
based smart tourism technology concretely directs and choreographs the
tourist’s on-site movements in the physical, lived space, including the
re-enactment of stories and social interaction within the place (media-
tised use of place).
e development of smartphone-based screen tourism may be under-
stood as a progressive renement of the convergence of imagined, physi-
cal, and mediated space. e following case studies of screen tourism
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
177
apps and responsive websites trace the uses of smartphones in facilitating
the convergence of various facets of a space. e case studies are then
used to develop a typology of screen tourism apps, according to both the
form of technology used for mediation (personal, locative, or virtual) and
the way they mediatise and assign uses to a space: tourist destination,
media-production site, or ctional space. e ndings of the individual
case studies and their synthesis into a typology inform a discussion of
factors that drive and hinder ‘smart’ screen tourism.
Case Studies ofSmartphone-Based Nordic
Noir Tourism
Selection ofObjects andMethods
Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Game of rones have attracted much
of the attention paid to the exploration of the economic impact of screen
tourism (e.g. Olsberg SPI 2015; Li etal. 2017), its promotional use by
and at the destinations in question (Çelik Rappas and Baschiera 2020;
Leotta 2011; Šegota 2018), and lm-tourists’ practices (e.g. Lee 2012;
Roesch 2009). However, the following overview of the development of
smartphone-based screen tourism looks beyond those blockbusters, and
takes Nordic Noir crime lms and series as its central case study. ere
are several reasons why the ‘Nordic Noir’ phenomenon makes for an
interesting study in the context of promoting tourism in general, and, in
particular, the use of smartphone-based technology to do so. On the one
hand, the term ‘Nordic Noir’ describes specic features of crime ction
from Scandinavia, including slow storytelling, dark colour palettes, ‘bro-
ken’ protagonists, and social criticism (Creeber 2015); on the other hand,
Nordic Noir is a promotional label, successfully exploited, for example,
by Arrow Film (Hills 2017) to sell not only DVD box sets, but also the
products and experience of Scandinavia, to auent viewers of crime drama.
A detective tour can be found in many European cities (Reijnders
2011, 33–34). e crime genre, with its emphasis on the locations where
crime scenes, bodies, and eventually, perpetrators, need to be detected,
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
178
prepares the ground for activities that let crime fans walk in the footsteps
of their favourite characters (Reijnders 2010; van Es and Reijnders 2018).
ough the crime TV programmes these tours build on cannot boast the
same global fan base as the fantasy blockbusters mentioned earlier, they
are a regular feature on European broadcast and video-on-demand ser-
vices. Crime series also travel well within the European TV market
(Bondebjerg etal. 2017, 227–39). e Nordic Noir series’ international
circulation has stimulated screen tourism both in the capitals and on the
periphery of the Nordic region. is phenomenon has been studied
inlocations such as e Bridge’s Malmö (Askanius 2017) and Wallander’s
Ystad (Waade 2013; Waade 2016). Among frequent viewers of European
crime programmes surveyed in nine European countries,2 one in four
respondents said they would be interested in visiting locations where a
crime series they watched had been shot, and eight per cent of partici-
pants claimed to have already visited places because they had previously
seen them on-screen (Pagello and Schleich 2020, 55).
Nordic Noir crime narratives have been instrumental in branding
wider Scandinavia as a tourism region, and for branding specic, often
rural, locations in it (Hansen and Waade 2017). For example, the televi-
sion adaptations of Henning Mankell’s Wallander novels played a promi-
nent role in rebranding the southern-Swedish city of Ystad as a tourist
destination, following an oil spill in 2003 (Waade 2013, 75). Building on
the trend set by Wallander, public institutions and tourism organisations
in Scandinavia have invested in producing crime series to attract tourism
and/or rebrand their image.3 At the same time, the crime genre also
exemplies conicts between the imagined spaces of crime-ridden cities
and the actual places that seek to promote themselves as enjoyable, and of
course safe, tourist destinations (Migozzi 2020).
Nordic Noir’s international popularity around 2010 coincided with
screen tourism’s leap from printed maps and guided tours to mobile
mediation. us, a range of smartphone-based screentourism activities
2 e data collection for the online survey was carried out between March and July 2020 in
Denmark, Sweden France, Hungary, Germany, Greece, Italy, Romania, and the United Kingdom
(n1321).
3 A recent example of this is the Danish crime series, Hvide Sande (2021), developed with the idea
of reimagining the Danish West Coast through a TV series (Waade 2021). Other examples include
the Danish series, Norskov (2015), and the Icelandic series, Trapped (2015–) (Hansen 2020).
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
179
has been developed and implemented around Nordic Noir screen tour-
ism, tapping into their place-branding potential. While the Nordic crime
series are much smaller productions in terms of budget and global audi-
ence, they are more frequent than once-in-a-decade successes like Game
of rones. is is why the various instances of Nordic Noir screen tour-
ism in Scandinavia, and its promotion through smartphone apps, are
easier to compare than the singular and often exceptional impact of
blockbuster productions on specic destinations. erefore, when study-
ing and promoting screen tourism, insights into the way ‘smart’ screen
tourism has been implemented in Scandinavia and evaluations of its pro-
motional potential in the region may also be more easily applied to des-
tinations elsewhere.
e following case studies of screen tourism apps and responsive web-
sites draw on a mixed-methods approach to combine four dierent per-
spectives on smart screen tourism: the screen tourists’ point of view;
experiences of audiences who do not (yet) consider themselves screen
tourists; the users of smartphone technologies for screen tourism; and the
creators of screentourism experiences. Participant observation and pro-
duction studies of Scandinavian screen tourism experiences form the
background for this research (Waade 2013; Hansen and Waade 2017).
We contextualise the experiences of active screen tourists in the locations
we studied through ve qualitative interviews with German viewers of
European crime series, who were asked about their opinions regarding
screen tourism related to their favourite series. e screen tourism apps
were studied through ‘walkthrough’ analysis (Light etal. 2018) of selected
examples.4 e core of this research is a practice-based approach, which
informed the production of a pilot version of the locative screen tourism
web app, DETECtAarhus.5 is pilot version was trialled with Danish
and international students, who were observed and interviewed6 about
their user experiences.
4 e walkthrough method proposed by Light etal. (2018) allows for a critical analysis of an app
by examining its implicit and explicit aordances through their use and context.
5 is web app was conceived by the authors as part of the Horizon2020 research project, Detecting
Transcultural Identity in European Popular Crime Narratives (DETECt) (Waade and
Bengesser 2020).
6 Eighteen individual and group interviews were conducted in November 2019 by undergraduate
students, who recruited Danish and international test-users.
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
180
In Wallander’s Footsteps
Printed Wallander guides have been oered to visitors of Ystad since
2004, proting from the stories’ rising popularity (Sjöholm 2011,
49–51). After the Swedish-German television adaptations of Henning
Mankell’s Wallander (2005–2013) had already circulated successfully,
bringing domestic and German tourists to Ystad, the BBC’s English-
language adaptation (2008–2016) brought international recognition to
detective Kurt Wallander and his hometown (McCabe 2015).7 In 2010,
Ystad presented a mobile app to set tourists ‘In Wallander’s Footsteps’
(Sjöholm 2011, 67). e app is based on Google Maps and guides tour-
ists around the city in Swedish, English, and German, presenting infor-
mation about the locations, and images and quotations in the books. e
original app is now defunct, but a responsive web version of the map,
which may also be used with a smartphone browser, still exists on the web.
e Wallander app directs the user to places of signicance in the
Wallander novels, and the Swedish and British TV adaptations, which
might otherwise remain unmarked on tourism maps and unnoticed by
visitors. Anne Marit Waade’s (2016) analysis of this app argues that the
quotations and stills from the Swedish TV version featured in the app
bring an additional ‘ctional layer’ to the physical space, while scripting
the tourist’s experience of it. e map guides them along a specic path
through Ystad, leading them to iconic staples and embodied experiences
from the traditional guided Wallander tours, such as stepping into Kurt
Wallander’s Oce in the Ystad Film Studios, and visiting Fridolf
Konditori to sample the blue cake named after Wallander. At the same
time, the app moves away from the ctional universe by using profes-
sional photographs of places and landscapes. Although not ctional,
these are also mediated imaginings of place, which present the destina-
tion at its most attractive, perhaps even more attractive than what tourists
may see for themselves. e aerial shots of landscapes of blue skies and
blooming yellow rape elds not only evoke the Swedish ag, but also the
7 In September 2020 the spin-o, Young Wallander, premiered on Netix. It is not set in Ystad but
urban Malmö.
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
181
aesthetic of the BBC version (which employed this colour scheme)
(Waade 2011, 17). Given Wallander’s prominent role in rebranding Ystad
for domestic and international tourists, including such appealing photo-
graphs in the app can be read as part of the city’s larger eort to present
itself as part of an appealing and homogenous tourism package. To
accomplish this, the city’s tourism stakeholders have relegated the dark,
sinister, and critical sides of the crime series to the realm of ction
(Migozzi 2020), and present tourists with a pleasant version of an equally
imaginary ‘Wallanderland’ instead (Waade 2013).
Rather than replicating its ctional representation in Wallander, the
picturesque depiction of Ystad’s sights in the app assigns ‘tourist use’ to
the space, and addresses the need to appeal to those tourists for whom
Kurt Wallander is not the primary reason to visit Ystad, such as the friends
and family of avid Wallander viewers (Waade 2013, 78–80). e role of
travel partners when choosing to become a screen tourist should not be
underestimated. e belief that her husband would not be interested in
Wallander-themed activities kept one of our German interviewees (F57)
from becoming a Wallander tourist, and played a part in their decision to
not visit Ystad (interview 15.11.2019). Her decision emphasises that
smaller screentourism destinations in particular need to be careful to not
be conated with the ctional worlds they have brought forth, by indi-
cating that there is more to do than walk in the footsteps of famous c-
tional characters.8 Here, tourism tools, such as the online Wallander map,
could help to transform screen-induced interest into visits to destinations
by those who do not want to engage in dedicated lm location tourism.
e map does not present the space as the site of a ctional world, but as
a place for a variety of tourist experiences. It feeds an imagined view of
southern Sweden as a place of beautiful landscapes, cosy towns, and
opportunities for cultural experiences—of which screen tourism is
only one.
8 Careful management of the various facets of tourism prevents clashes of expectations such as those
documented for Alnwick Castle, the location of Harry Potter’s Hogwarts. In their interviews with
visitors, the British Olsberg consultancy found dedicated location tourists who actually expected
more Harry-Potter-related information and activities, whereas other visitors criticised the ‘theme-
park style’ atmosphere this caused, and called for a better balance between the castle as a heritage
site and a lm location (Olsberg SPI 2015, 39).
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
182
e online Wallander map is already accessible in the pre-travel phase,
and identies it as Kurt Wallander’s home, but also as a place worth visit-
ing for other reasons. With 65 points of interest inside and outside the
city, the map oers far more places to visit than could actually be seen
during a single visit. ough the map is called ‘In Wallander’s Footsteps’,
the user encounters the locations mainly as places that exist outside
Wallander’s ctional world. ey are presented through professional pho-
tos and with their actual names. Only when one clicks on an image is the
location’s role in the Wallander stories revealed. is way, the map and
image gallery are also useful for the non-screen tourist who is looking for
restaurants or landmarks to visit. erefore, the Wallander app oers two
distinct versions of Ystad, as it lets tourists switch between being a screen
or literary tourist who recognises the mediatised Ystad of Wallander and
a non-screen tourist who experiences Ystad as a destination in its own
right, and is in search of the imagined Ystad marketed by the city
promoters.
The Girl withtheDragon Tattoo (2009) andMovieloci
Together with Mankell’s Wallander, Stieg Larsson’s Millennium Trilogy
became a founding work of Nordic Noir that achieved international
prominence when e Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was adapted for the
screen by Scandinavian producers in 2009—and by Hollywood in 2011.
In contrast to the smaller and more remote Ystad, Stockholm was not as
interested in developing tourism based on the popularity of Nordic Noir
and the Millennium series set there (Migozzi 2020). As a capital city, it is
less dependent on screen tourism, and coordinating screentourism activ-
ities would involve more stakeholders. Guided Millennium tours are
oered by private tour guides (van Es and Reijnders 2018, 509) and a
printed map of Stockholm facilitates self-guided tours (Migozzi 2020),
but with no ocial smartphone-based version. Instead, locations from
e Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2009) are currently featured on the
Movieloci app (launched in 2012). Based on Google Maps, it provides
location-specic lm stills and user-generated photos. For some lms,
these are arranged as sliders, facilitating an easy comparison between the
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
183
physical and the mediated space on screen. Movieloci may be used for a
locative experience as it guides users from one lm location to another,
but all the information is also accessible virtually. In contrast to ‘In
Wallander’s Footsteps’, Movieloci is not dedicated to a specic audiovi-
sual production or destination. Instead, its English-language version has
entries for 5000 locations from about 900 lms and series set all over the
world, which have been contributed by a community of users.9
For the locative user, the ‘pins’ in the Movieloci map interface indicate
that the locations they are passing have been used as sites of audiovisual
production and mediated on the lm or TV screen. In contrast to the
dedicated Wallander tour, the Movieloci app does not oer a staged and
centrally produced tourism experience, but has a database from which
users may build their own experience. is makes the app less useful for
people who are looking for locations from one specic production; a user
who wanted to see the locations from e Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
would have to assemble their tour from several locations. At the same
time, the location-based functions and the interface’s focus on the
mapped space (location, geography, distance) make the app interesting
for more casual location tourists who can gain a dierent perspective on
the physical space in which they nd themselves by using their smart-
phones, but who do not want to commit to specic, pre-booked location
tourism activities. However, the density of pins outside Europe’s capitals
is low. In fact, e Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is the only lm represented
in Sweden.
Whereas the Movieloci app struggles to appeal to the screen tourist on
the move, the connected website oers a dierent pleasure. From the
perspective of the website, Movieloci presents itself as a community proj-
ect of online/real-life investigations for spotting and mapping locations
of popular lms. It has gamication aspects, rewarding frequent con-
tributors to the database with a score and greater online visibility. e
app and website’s identity as a community project and competition move
it closer to the ‘digital mobility’ of the ‘screen screen tourists’ described by
Schulze (2017). In our interview study, we found that digital mobility
may also appeal to European crime-programme audiences. M64
9 e app is also available in Czech (52000 locations) and French (200 locations).
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
184
regularly uses Google Maps to trace lm locations from home and to
check whether the TV representation matches the actual geography
shown in series set in his hometown of Hamburg and in faraway places,
for example, in the Spanish crime series, El Hierro (2019–) set on a
Canary island. For him, the appeal of digital mobility lies in determining
whether the use of locations is plausible and authentic, and in rediscover-
ing places with which he is familiar with and/or may want to revisit in the
future (interview 26.11.2019). is viewer nds pleasure in virtually
comparing the locations seen on the TV screen and the physical locations
as represented on the virtual maps, in a way that is reminiscent of the
practices of the so-called screen screen tourists. Movieloci contributors
who post pictures that let users compare lm stills with location photos
also facilitate such virtual visits for other users.10
Dicte Film Walks inAarhus
Dicte (2013–2016) is a crime series set in Denmark’s second largest city,
Aarhus. It revolves around a female crime journalist who solves crimes,
often in competition with the police. e series has been a landmark
production for the city. Its third season was estimated to have brought
137million Danish Kroner of turnover inlocation services—plus inter-
national exposure and brand/PR value for the city (Edmund Consulting
2016, 3). Building on the series’ popularity in Scandinavia, Dicte tourism
initiatives were launched. One of them was the ‘Dicte Filmwalks’ app
(launched in 2013, now defunct). It was a locative app, which focused on
the ctional Aarhus in which Dicte Svendsen carries out her investiga-
tions. Crossing the threshold between the physical and the mediated
space presented on TV was facilitated by scenes from the series that the
user could watch on location.
Showing scenes from lms and series is often part of screentourism
tours. For example, in the Bridge tour in Malmö, time on the bus is used
10 An example that enables such digital mobility is the Tourism Northern Ireland’s Game of rones
app, which not only guides on-site users to Game of rones locations, but also lets them explore
them via 360° images, enabling a virtual experience of the locations.
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
185
for screenings (Hansen and Waade 2017, 279). Such focus on the c-
tional world appeals to dedicated location tourists who visit a place
because they want to walk in the footsteps of their favourite characters.
With a smartphone, the scenes from lms and series become portable,
but streaming clips on the go became feasible only with the expansion of
mobile internet and the reduction of data costs in the latter half of the
2010s. However, producing locative screen tourism apps that include
clips from lms and series hinges on having the rights to re-purpose the
copyrighted material. In the case of the Dicte app, this was possible
because of a close collaboration between Filmby (‘lm city’) Aarhus and
one of the series’ producers, who facilitated rights clearing (interview
with Ellen Riis 16.07.2019). is diculty may explain why movie stills
are more common than clips in screen tourism apps.
e tourism-related turnover expected to be generated by Dicte’s last
season is estimated at 95million Danish Kroner, 70 per cent of which
comes from Denmark, the remainder from Sweden and Norway (Edmund
Consulting 2016, 37–40). is underscores that the series has less appeal
for tourists from outside Scandinavia, who may not even know of the
programme, since Dicte has had only limited exposure outside
Scandinavia. But even in Denmark, an app about the Aarhus-based series
is not automatically an attractive proposition. When interviewed about
their interest in screen tourism apps, two Danish students who recently
moved to Aarhus explicitly said that a Dicte-themed app sounded unap-
pealing to them.11 e case of Dicte shows the potential promotional
impact of screen productions on smaller destinations, but also exempli-
es their short half-life as tools for promoting tourism. e interviewees’
sceptical reaction is a reminder that various tourist demographics—
domestic versus foreign, young versus old—are attracted to dierent
screen productions, a situation exacerbated by the abundant and frag-
mented video-on-demand market.
11 Two Danish test-users of a pilot version of the DETECtAarhus web-app claimed that as soon as
they heard that ‘it was about Dicte’, they judged it to be less interesting (Bengesser and Waade
2021, 642).
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
186
DETECtAarhus
e Wallander and Dicte apps inspired the concept of the DETECtAarhus
web-app in terms of functionalities, but instead of focusing on a specic
ctional world and its fans, the app addresses users predominantly as
people who do not yet know that they can be screen tourists in the city.
Instead of immersing users in Dicte’s Aarhus as imagined on the TV
screen, the app presents Aarhus as a media-production site, showing
them where and how crime literature, TV, and lm have been produced
in the city today and during the silent lm era. e focus on media pro-
duction is due to the limited international exposure of Aarhus-produced
lm and TV, but it also extends the app’s appeal beyond fans of specic
productions. Our interviews with international users of the
DETECtAarhus pilot version indicated that the availability of general
information about the place—irrespective of its role in ctional produc-
tions—provides added value for foreign visitors (Bengesser and Waade
2021, 642). Many of the international test-users actually named a café or
restaurant recommendation as their favourite piece of content in the app.
As was the case with the production of the Dicte app, locating and
obtaining rights to lm material has proven dicult in the production of
the DETECtAarhus web-app (Waade and Bengesser 2020, 17), because
retrospective rights clearing to reuse scenes is time-consuming or even
impossible. At the same time, our group discussion with international
users of the DETECtAarhus pilot version suggested that they expect a
screen tourism app to show them the mediatised space through scenes
lmed on location (Waade and Bengesser 2020, 18). e use of promo-
tional lm trailers (e.g. e Exception 2020, On the Edge 2014), which we
were able to secure rights for, did not meet the users’ expectations, because
their connection to the locations in which they were shown on the app
was not always suciently clear. As one trial participant stated: ‘I could
have watched it at home. I could have googled movies made in Aarhus
and then I could have watched the trailer’ (Bengesser and Waade 2021,
644). is illustrates how users of locative screentourism experiences
look for a match between the location they see on the smartphone screen
and what they perceive in the physical space.
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
187
Facilitating a convergence between the physical and ctional space
through locative screen tourism apps is complicated by questions of rights
ownership and the varying appeal of specic productions for the target
groups of app-based screen tourism. is may be challenging for destina-
tions such as Aarhus, which are not the homes of well-known lms or
series, because the ctional worlds—the imagined spaces—of their loca-
tions do not constitute sucient attractions for tourists. At the same
time, there is a promotional potential that works the other way around—
promoting not the place, but the lm or TV series. After taking the tour,
several test-users of DETECtAarhus expressed an interest in watching
some of the lms produced in Aarhus, to deepen their knowledge of
Danish culture. Signicantly, the tour focused on silent lm in the city
sparked their interest in exploring Denmark’s lmic heritage. is shows
how a screentourism activity has the potential to introduce tourists to
various representations of the space they are visiting, and induce media
consumption, thereby promoting the lms and series produced there.
A Typology ofScreen Tourism Apps
Based on the case studies presented above, we propose a typology of
smartphone use in screen tourism that takes into account their form of
mediation and their presentation of space as the site of ctional worlds,
lm locations, or non-screen-related tourism. e case studies have illus-
trated that the various uses, such as virtual and locative use, and various
dimensions of space as physical, imagined, and mediated space, converge
in the smartphone. erefore, the grid below allows us to position indi-
vidual apps at various intersections of mediation and dimensions of
space, dierentiating among places identied as tourist destinations,
media-production locations, or ctional worlds. e dark grey boxes
indicate where the above-mentioned Nordic Noir case studies may be
positioned, whereas the white boxes include apps and oers outside the
realms of screen tourism and/or technology use in screen tourism, to
show how the screen tourism apps relate to other forms of tourism. e
light grey boxes present further instances of smart screen tourism, to
show how the grid can be used to categorise other cases (Fig.9.1).
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
188
ere is an increasing dependency on technological mediation along
the vertical axis. Personally mediated, on-site experiences may be walks
through a city with a tour guide, which may or may not employ media
technologies as part of the tour. On the other hand, experiences such as
o-site virtual reality (VR) travel documentaries depend fully on online
mediation. Situated between these two are tourist experiences facilitated
by locative media, which adapt experiences to the users’ geolocation
(Wilken and Goggin 2015). ey depend on mediation through mobile
technology, GPS, and mobile data, but the tourists also interact with the
locations in which they nd themselves, without mediation. e hori-
zontal dimension dierentiates the screen tourism apps according to the
ways in which various aspects of space are negotiated by screen tourism.
Personal guided tours, locative apps, and virtual experiences may present
a space primarily as a tourist destination, which only happens to have
been used in lm and TV.ey may present it as a site in which media
are produced, for example, guiding users to lm studios or giving them
glimpses behind the scenes. Finally, screen tourism apps and technology
may focus on spaces as the sites of ctional worlds that are represented in
lm and TV.By presenting these mediatised imaginings, they seek to
Fig. 9.1 Typology of smartphone and technology use in screen tourism.
(Developed from Waade and Bengesser 2020)
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
189
immerse users in the story-worlds of lms and series while they are visit-
ing the physical locations in which they are set. Technology use that pres-
ents a location as the site of lm production or a ctional world is a
screentourism activity in a narrow sense. e apps located in the centre
of the grid address users mostly as location tourists familiar with, or at
least interested in, the ctional worlds, whereas the examples at the
periphery present the locations outside their representation in lm and
TV, and therefore simply assign tourist use to the space.
In contrast to the model for technology use in tourism proposed by
Neuhofer etal. (2014), our model imposes no hierarchy on the various
experiences. Although Neuhofer etal. (2014) claim that ICT use in tour-
ism experiences that employ the highest levels of technology and co-
creation oer ‘the most distinct and valuable experience[s]’, studies of
tourists who participate in screentourism activities suggest high levels of
involvement even during personally guided tours that employ no digital
technology (e.g. Reijnders 2010). In fact, high levels of technologically
facilitated co-creation and commitment go against the exibility aorded
by tourism apps (Waade and Bengesser 2020, 14). Because of screen
tourists’ diverse proles, ranging from dedicated location tourists to visi-
tors whose destination choice was motivated by what they saw on a
screen, all the experiences in the grid may be valuable to both key target
groups and destinations seeking to promote tourism.
e typology presented above may be used from dierent perspectives.
Our case studies looked at the various ways a subgenre of crime TV is
exploited by (smart) screen tourism in a specic region. e grid may also
be used to map various screentourism activities provided at a specic
destination, to determine how various screen tourist target groups are
addressed. Equally, it may be used to map screentourism activities related
to a specic lm at multiple locations, to see how various destinations
exploit the same intellectual property, and possibly dierentiate them-
selves from one another through the types of (smart) screen tourism they
oer. Another possibility is mapping how various tourism-industry stake-
holders exploit a specic lm or series to promote tourism, for example,
dierentiating between the activities oered by private enterprises and
public institutions.
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
190
Conclusion: Drivers of, andObstacles to, Smart
Screen Tourism
Screen tourism has been a signicant driver of visits to the locations of
globally popular lms and TV series such as Harry Potter and Game of
rones. It has also inspired dedicated, site-specic tourist activities at
these locations. e case studies we presented, of Nordic Noir tourism
initiatives in Ystad, Stockholm, and Aarhus, exemplify how screen pro-
ductions far smaller than Hollywood blockbusters can attract tourists to
specic sites. Still, there are many factors at work in people’s decisions to
become screen tourists, which should be considered in the academic eval-
uation of smart screen tourism, and in its actual design. As our interviews
with European crime-programme viewers and test-users of the
DETECtAarhus web-app have demonstrated, it is useful to not only
address users as screen tourists but also oer general information about
their destinations, including food and leisure tips. In virtual use during
the pre-tourism phases, this makes screen tourism apps useful for show-
ing visitors that there are plenty of interesting sites and activities for those
who accompany a dedicated location tourist.
Because screen tourism apps have a low participation threshold, they
may appeal to tourists who know that something has been lmed at their
holiday destination, but do not want to commit to pre-booked location
tours. When users take a smartphone-guided tour, the experience is more
exible. Instead of walking through Scandinavian cities in the stereotypi-
cal rain (van Es and Reijnders 2018, 509), app users can adapt their tours
to environmental circumstances. Still, locative, smartphone-based screen
tourism enables the embodied experiences that are crucial to screen tour-
ism (Leotta 2011, 168), such as stopping for a Wallander cake in Ystad.
Furthermore, the smartphone makes audiovisual material from lms and
series portable, making it easier to cross the threshold between the experi-
ence of physical spaces and their ctional imaginings and mediations.
e COVID-19 pandemic may contribute to a rise in smartphone-
and digital-technology-use in screen tourism. Physical distancing and
uncertainties surrounding pre-booked activities make alternatives to
guided group tours more appealing. Digital mobility that builds on-
screen images of destinations helps when planning or replacing physical
C. Bengesser and A. M. Waade
191
travel. Such ‘screen screen tourism’ may be co-created by active fan com-
munities or take the form of staged virtual experiences through 360° or
VR videos for audiences who lack the motivation and resources to
co-create.
e exibility of locative and virtual screentourism experiences creates
a less committed user, who may more quickly give up on a screen tourism
app because of navigation problems or a lack of interest in the content.
Negotiating the interests of regular visitors and dedicated screen tourists
who want to immerse themselves in the imagined space of ction pro-
ductions is a challenge. It is particularly challenging for destinations out-
side global capitals: although their use in lms and series may put them
on the map, overemphasising their role as a production site and setting of
ctional worlds may suggest they have nothing to oer to the regular
tourist. e use of ‘smart’ technology in screen tourism may exacerbate
this problem, since locative mobile apps increase the expectation that
experiences will be personalised and customised (Gretzel et al. 2015,
181). Expectations of personalisation are fed by the many services that
recommend experiences based on user location, previous activities, and
one’s social media circle (e.g. Facebook and Foursquare), and also by the
personalised recommendations of lm and TV on video-on-demand
platforms such as Netix. To be able to oer seamless adaptation to user
interests, vast amounts of personal user data are required. is condition
of personalised locative apps does not align well with the relatively niche
status of dedicated screen tourism.
Reaching a critical mass of screen tourists is further complicated by the
growing fragmentation of media audiences that has come with the rise of
video-on-demand and personalised viewing suggestions. Given these fac-
tors, only a few blockbuster franchises or long-running series are likely
candidates for successful, sustained screen tourism (Olsberg SPI 2015,
46–47) and rise to a level of prominence that warrants investing in dedi-
cated smart screen tourism that goes beyond digital versions of printed
maps. Yet, the high-prole franchises’ intellectual property is tightly
managed, making it harder for tourist destinations to access material that
may be featured in an app.12 So, even though the ubiquity of mobile data
12 Northern Ireland’s Game of rones app does not include footage from the series, although the
Irish tourism and screen agencies and HBO have enjoyed a supportive relationship throughout
their eorts to develop screen tourism in the region.
9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
192
use has made it possible to stream audiovisual material on-site, aiding the
convergence of ctional and physical spaces, this opportunity cannot
necessarily be realised. is is particularly true if the app development
rests only on stakeholders in the tourism industry. It is dicult to assem-
ble an engaging experience for screen tourists without involving lm or
TV production companies that have the rights to nished material from
lms and TV series, access to behind-the-scenes spaces, and promotional
power (Olsberg SPI 2015, 39–40). Smaller or peripheral destinations
may be at a disadvantage here, because ‘smart tourism’ necessitates invest-
ment not only in an app but also in a broader digital infrastructure
(Gretzel etal. 2015, 184).
e smartphone has facilitated an ever-smoother convergence of vari-
ous phases of tourism and tourist roles, and the various aspects of place.
Smartphone-based screen tourism may now occur in both physical and
virtual settings at every stage of tourism. Yet, with the growing possibili-
ties and the ubiquity of smartphone use inlocative and virtual settings,
expectations rise, and these are dicult to meet, particularly inlocation
tourism outside the global capitals or homes to blockbuster productions.
erefore, the smartphone is best seen as yet another tool, but not as an
inherently transformative technology for promoting lm and screen
tourism.
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9 Screen Tourism on the Smartphone: A Typology and Critical…
Part III
Tourist Gaze, Identity, and Race
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© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_10
10
Wonderland oftheSouth Pacific:
Romantic andRealist Tendencies
inAmateur Tourist Films
RosinaHickman
A Maori woman in a korowai (tasselled cloak) and piupiu (flax skirt)
extends a raised arm in a welcoming gesture. Behind her in the distance,
a well-dressed tourist couple marvel at the impressive water jet and steam
clouds of a geyser. Below the image are printed the words ‘NEW
ZEALAND: South Pacific Wonderland’. Proudly displayed on a Tourist
Department poster of the 1950s designed by Marcus King, the image
encapsulates what was by the mid-twentieth century an archetypal repre-
sentation of New Zealand: a picturesque playground inhabited by a tra-
ditional Indigenous population and leisured white tourists. is basic
iconographic division—Maori as traditional or historical and Pakeha
(New Zealanders of European descent) as sophisticated, modern travel-
lers enjoying the country’s scenic offerings—was reiterated across a pleth-
ora of tourist media including cinema (Fig. 10.1).
e geothermal region of the central North Island was frequently
depicted in promotional images of New Zealand such as the one above.
R. Hickman (*)
Victoria University of Wellington, Wellington, New Zealand
e-mail: rosina.hickman@vuw.ac.nz
200
Originally settled by the iwi (tribe) Te Arawa, the area became a popular
destination with European tourists, both local and international, espe-
cially following the establishment of the Auckland-Rotorua railway line
in 1894. Rotorua was promoted as a European-style spa town, with the
nearby Maori village of Whakarewarewa adding the appeal of unique
local heritage.1 From a marketing perspective, it was an almost perfect
1 For those interested in the development of Rotorua as a tourist destination, Margaret McClure
offers a detailed history (2004, 29–63).
Fig. 10.1 Publicity poster designed by Marcus King, c.1955. Reproduced courtesy
of Tourism New Zealand
R. Hickman
201
mix. Spectacular topography (such as Pohutu Geyser seen in King’s
poster), Indigenous culture, and modern recreational facilities coalesced,
conjuring the impression of a country simultaneously exotic and civilised,
a picturesque wonderland perfect for the adventurous traveller. e ubiq-
uity of such imagery in travel guides, postcards, advertising posters, and
publicity films ensured visitors were likely to arrive at Rotorua ‘well
informed’ about what they could expect to find there and how to go
about documenting it. By the mid-twentieth century, many sightseers
came armed with movie cameras to record their encounter with Rotorua’s
landscape and people. Did the films taken home by these enthusiastic
amateurs differ greatly from those made by their professional counter-
parts? Not restricted by the ideological and economic imperatives of
commercial tourist media, amateurs were, in theory, free to record what-
ever they liked. Nonetheless, as Pakeha or European visitors, they were
the intended audience for tourist images. Moreover, they were the benefi-
ciaries of colonial rule that had marginalised Indigenous peoples, an inte-
gral step in the commodification of cultural other as tourist attraction.
Did this influence the kinds of images tourist-filmmakers recorded? is
chapter examines three amateur travel films—two by local Pakeha film-
makers and one by an American visitor to our shores—that feature
Rotorua. It considers the extent to which private individuals replicated
public media representations, or whether they created a more personal
view of the popular tourist location.
Romantic Maoriland
Before exploring some amateur recordings, it is worth looking at the
depiction of Rotorua and its environs in professionally made tourist pub-
licity films in a little more detail. e area was strikingly cinematic. A
landscape of geysers, bubbling mud, boiling hot pools, and steam rising
from cracks in the earth’s surface, along with the colourful display of
Maoritanga (cultural traditions and way of life), offered plenty of scope
for visual drama. Tourist films often featured images of amenities such as
Rotorua’s public baths, landscaped gardens, sports grounds, and tea
rooms as well, just to reassure potential visitors that their stay would be
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
202
comfortable, awe-inspiring nature and congenial modernity finding an
agreeable onscreen coexistence.
With its combination of natural and cultural attributes, Rotorua, or
more specifically Whakarewarewa, became the most filmed location in
New Zealand (Blythe 1994, 51). e government’s tourist and publicity
departments were the main producers of early scenics or travelogues,
although a number of independent production companies were also
operating within the country. Despite some reorganisation of govern-
ment production in the years prior to World War II, the general ethos of
filmmaking remained much the same, focused on tourist promotion and
the consolidation of a distinctive national identity. While the local land-
scape conveniently supplied what a 1925 feature, Glorious New Zealand,
described as a ‘never ending panorama of scenic gems’, the nation’s colo-
nial history complicated the representation of its inhabitants. European
settlement in the nineteenth century had left the Maori population mar-
ginalised and impoverished. e uniqueness of Maori culture was one of
the biggest drawcards the country had to offer tourists, however. Faced
with the need to present a positive image of the nation, the government’s
publicity section and other promoters of tourism sought to capitalise on
the country’s ‘exotic’ Maori heritage whilst downplaying anything likely
to be deemed unfavourable in the eyes of tourists. e solution proved to
be a parallel vision of essentially timeless, ancient Maoridom nestled
alongside the modern Pakeha world, effectively eliding contemporary
inequities between the populations. Rotorua, with its picturesque quali-
ties, took centre stage in this tourist narrative.2
An independent film dating from 1905, Sights in New Zealand, dis-
plays a selection of images that would become standard visualisations of
the location, repeated with alacrity in subsequent productions. In the
surviving scenes of the film,3 steam is seen rising from nearby Lake
2 e history of government tourist promotion through cinema, photography, and other media,
including the respective representations of Maori and Pakeha, has been widely discussed elsewhere.
For a more in-depth analysis than space permits here, see McClure (2004), Blythe (1994), Leotta
(2011), and Taylor (1998). Alsop et al. (2012) offer both a number of short essays and an extensive
collection of illustrations.
3 All films discussed in this chapter may be viewed online via the websites of their respective custo-
dial institutions. Sights in New Zealand, shot by T.J. West and his cameramen, originally included
16 scenes recorded around the country (Nga Taonga Sound and Vision catalogue notes, 2009).
R. Hickman
203
Rotomahana. Maori women demonstrate the local method of cooking,
lowering kete (flax baskets) into a steam vent, and washing clothes in hot
pools. A large group of women perform an action dance. An assembly of
men on a beach initiates a haka-style performance waving taiaha (spears).
e ‘Maoriland’4 iconography is yet to be fully established on film, how-
ever. e separation of the Maori world from Pakeha modernity is not
complete. Maori are seen sporting a mixture of traditional and contem-
porary European garments, even in the dance sequence. Furthermore,
the haka quickly digresses into leaping about and gesticulating wildly in
front of the camera, the participants undermining the presumably serious
intent on the part of the filmmakers to record an authentic cultural per-
formance rather than a parody thereof or exaggerated display of ‘acting
primitive’ for European spectators.
Such idiosyncrasies in the cinematic representation of Maoriland had
been ironed out by the 1930s. e feature-length publicity film, Romantic
New Zealand: e Land of the Long White Cloud (1934), opens with a
haka dramatically performed amidst a backdrop of rising steam. Maori
are seen in traditional clothing engaged in activities such as kapa haka
(performing arts), carving, weaving, paddling waka (canoe), washing in
hot pools, steam cooking, and even feeding trout at nearby Fairy Springs.
Many scenes noticeably transpire at the model pa (fortified village) at
Whakarewarewa, which was built specifically for touristic purposes.5 e
opening narration locates Maori existence within a mythical terrain of
noble savages referred to in the past tense. Switching focus to the present
day, the narrator declares that the country’s ‘wonderful transformation
from savagery to civilisation’ occurred within a century of the arrival of
European settlers. Rooted in colonialist ways of seeing space and time,
the tourist narrative drew upon romantic conventions about the repre-
sentation of landscape and exotic cultures, along with Eurocentric notions
4 According to Martin Blythe, ‘Maoriland’ was used from the late nineteenth century mainly as ‘an
exotic and utopian synonym for New Zealand’, appearing in the titles of numerous literary publica-
tions and periodicals, and even the cable address of the Department of Tourist and Health Resorts.
Subsequently, Maoriland came to refer more exclusively to a fictionalised world of noble savages
and (semi-)historical Maori figures (1994, 16–7). Rotorua was the location most commonly identi-
fied with the Maoriland image onscreen.
5 Built in the first decade of the twentieth century, the model pa was criticised by Maori for its
inauthentic representation of pre-colonial life (Weckbecker 2015, 150).
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
204
of progress and modernity. e epitome of this contrived mythology is
perhaps the inclusion of a still image of what appears to be a diorama
with a painted backdrop featuring a Maori hunter beside the extinct
moa, frozen as it were together in history. Trapped in a primordial time-
space, Maori inhabit a discrete sphere seemingly detached from contem-
porary New Zealand, a scenic people relegated to a scenic past. By
comparison, Pakeha—when they appear at all in the film—are, for the
most part, pleasure-seeking tourists blessed with modern mobility
(Fig. 10.2).6
6 Government filmmaking of the interwar years largely adhered to a policy of excluding people
from images with the object of preventing films from being ‘dated by changes in fashion’ (Dennis
1994, 118). Vehicles or other forms of technology do not appear to have been subject to the same
consideration, nor the style or technology of filmmaking itself. Leotta discusses the ideological
implications of this iconography in more detail (2011, 21).
Fig. 10.2 Romantic New Zealand: The Land of the Long White Cloud (1934).
Public Domain
R. Hickman
205
is separation is largely maintained in Magic Playgrounds in New
Zealand’s Geyserland (1935). Pakeha are seen playing tennis and golf,
swimming, water-skiing, fishing, sightseeing on Lake Rotomahana, and
visiting hot pools, while Maori are associated with the ‘old-time’ arts of
carving, kapa haka, and weaving (although the influence of cultural con-
tact is acknowledged in this instance). In Railways of the Pacific Wonderland
(1939), a film in which Pakeha travellers are again associated with mod-
ern transport and recreational pursuits, Rotorua’s attractions are con-
densed into less than a minute. Tennis and swimming, kapa haka, and a
Maori guide showing tourists steaming mud pools form a convenient
shorthand for Pakeha leisure, Maori tradition, and untamed nature.
e representation of Maori culture as essentially static and pictur-
esque, belonging to pre-European days of yore, had an economic and
political rationale. Film and tourism developed alongside colonial expan-
sion in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Technology made
faraway places more accessible, both physically through modern trans-
port and virtually through photographic images. Tourists could comfort-
ably journey to distant locations, while armchair travellers whet their
appetite for the exotic through an array of visual representations of sup-
posedly primitive cultures. Postcards, tourist posters, stereoscope cards,
and scenic films all created ‘knowledge’ of distant places and societies.
Photography extended the legacy of earlier means of visualising faraway
lands, historical events, or other cultures, which included landscape
painting, magic lantern slides, the panorama, and diorama. Regardless of
medium, the identity of non-European peoples was typically circum-
scribed within the confines of primitivist imagery. Photography therefore
helped to distinguish European civilisation from those subjugated
through colonial rule, ‘the leisured tourist from the commodified Other,
the spectator from the object of the sight-seeing gaze’. As Ellen Strain
suggests, tourism ‘brought spectators not necessarily closer to the experi-
ence of the Other but more aligned with the conquering spirit of
European explorers and soldiers’ (1996, 95–96).
e colonialist overtones and voyeuristic dimensions of tourist encoun-
ters were not intended to induce any sense of guilt in European visitors.
Far from it. Situating Maori culture within a time-space distinct from a
contemporary Pakeha milieu had a particular expediency in this respect.
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
206
e trope of the ‘dying native’ (soon to be) extinct in the modern world
conveniently relegated Maori (or other Indigenous people elsewhere) to a
bygone era, thereby justifying European possession of (assumed to be
vacant) tribal lands.7 Yet one significant role was reserved for Indigenous
populations within this specious rationalisation. Preserved in a suppos-
edly authentic historical state, isolated pockets of Maoriland (and its
overseas equivalents) catered to the curious gaze of tourists and their cam-
eras. Cultural performances, demonstrations of traditional crafts, or even
everyday activities that appeared unusual to outsiders (such as washing in
hot pools) were safely contained and commodified within recognised
tourist spots for the benefit of European sightseers. Prior to arrival, tour-
ist media primed the expectations of visitors through codified representa-
tions that transformed social, cultural, and geographical differences into
a picturesque exotic, as seen in the marketing of New Zealand as the
‘South Pacific Wonderland’.
For local Pakeha visitors, Maori were of course not exotic in the sense
of originating from a distant or less developed part of the world. is
presented no great impediment, however. As in the films above, proxim-
ity was easily overcome by promoting Maori culture through a guise of
romantic primitivism that rendered a satisfyingly stark contrast with
modern Pakeha lifestyles. Looking at such imagery today, it might be
wondered why the Maoriland iconography was considered sufficiently
plausible or authentic to be propagated so persistently. In the realm of
tourism however, apparent signifiers of an exotic culture’s origins in a
frequently ill-defined, distant past conveniently predating written records
are often perceived authentic. Derived from a murky historicity, the pre-
sumed authenticity of sites, objects, people, or practices may be difficult
to refute (Taylor 1998, 33–34). In the absence of alternative representa-
tions, simplistic or derogatory stereotypes had ample opportunity to
flourish. Moreover, most Maori and Pakeha resided in largely separate
7 Far from being a dying race, the Maori population was in fact recovering by the early twentieth
century from the initial impact of European settlement the previous century, which included sig-
nificant loss of land and the arrival of infectious diseases such as measles and influenza (Pool and
Kukutai 2018). e trope of the ‘dying native’ (or more specifically, the ‘vanishing Indian’) was also
a feature of early American travelogues. See Jennifer Peterson (2006, 92–96) for further discussion
of this aspect of tourist films.
R. Hickman
207
communities prior to World War II, often having relatively little contact
with each other (King 1983, 3; 21). Given this, there was plenty of scope
for ignorance amongst Pakeha who were exposed to neither accurate rep-
resentations, nor first-hand experiences of actual Maori ways of life. For
many, the artificiality of the tourist encounter was likely to be the extent
of intercultural exchange.
A kind of ‘corrective’ to the mythical Maoriland image appeared in the
early post-war years. Following a highly critical appraisal by renowned
documentary-maker John Grierson, government filmmaking was reor-
ganised with the establishment of the National Film Unit in 1941.
Although not enacted in detail, Grierson’s report emphasised the impor-
tance of documenting ‘the real things’ people do. Unimpressed by New
Zealand’s ‘very pleasant scenic pictures’, the British filmmaker noted,
with the exception of Maori ‘who staged shows for rich tourists’, he was
left with little idea of what people actually did in the country (1981,
21–22). Films made primarily for local audiences now addressed social
issues such as housing, education, and health. Maori at last gained an
onscreen foothold in the contemporary world. Yet Maori-focused con-
tent was largely prescriptive; that is to say, films had a tendency to
expound how Maori should live (according to Pakeha filmmakers repre-
senting the government) rather than depict how they actually lived. Nor
were Maori perspectives on Maori issues considered important to docu-
ment (Weckbecker 2015, 154). Tourist films, especially those for overseas
markets, largely ignored social issues altogether, continuing to promote
cultural difference in much the same vein since the advent of tourism in
the late nineteenth century (ibid., 149). According to Lars Weckbecker,
in films of the post-war years ‘Maori were to live an idealized presence
that is constantly torn between an authentic past and a better, more desir-
able, future’ (ibid., 144).
Rotorua remained the prime tourist destination, combining exotic
landscape and commercialised Maoritanga. A subtle romanticism enters
into Maori Village (1945), an early National Film Unit production fea-
turing scenes of a concert party rehearsing at Whakarewarewa. e film
opens with shots of steam rising from the landscape, bubbling geysers,
and the silhouetted figures of tourists being guided around hot pools. e
concert party appears in artfully arranged ensemble echoing tableaux
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
208
vivants and countless postcard images of reclining Maori maidens in tra-
ditional dress.8 Rangitīaria Dennan (better known as Guide Rangi) tem-
pers this picture, however, by providing a brief introduction to the history
and meaning of the songs, dances, and games. e shift is subtle but
distinct. By framing the practice of kapa haka as a way of keeping heri-
tage alive, such activities become a link between past and present, neither
the sum of Maori existence at the time nor simply markers of otherness
unfolding in an essentially lost ancient world. Children go to European-
style schools, for example, even if they are depicted playing traditional
games at lunchtime.
Some of this footage reappears in Meet New Zealand: e People (1949),
a film that opens with an assurance that any impression tourists take
home that the Maori population is ‘just a picturesque remnant living in
the midst of thermal wonders’ is far from the truth. Yet in its attempt to
dispel such notions, the film paints an overly rosy image of Maori and
Pakeha equality. Children are seen attending school together and are
alleged to have the same opportunities upon leaving, although the more
observant viewer will notice that the New Zealanders inhabiting modern
dwellings or attending chamber concerts, for example—that is to say,
enjoying the fruits of a sophisticated modernity—all appear to be of
European extraction. Despite the greater acknowledgement of contem-
porary life, the portrayal of Maori onscreen continued to be highly stra-
tegic, offering slender insight into anything beyond the orchestrated
cultural displays of Whakarewarewa (Weckbecker 2015, 154). e docu-
menting of a Maori world on film would remain problematic until cam-
eras were grasped by Maori hands (Fig. 10.3).
Tourist images made the unfamiliar accessible and enticing. ey did
not encourage viewers to question the veracity of what they saw, nor the
limitations of the tourist experience. Bearing this in mind, what did
tourist- filmmakers see when they stepped onto the geyserlands of
Rotorua? Did they replicate professional images to the best of their abil-
ity, or record an intrinsically personal view? e answer to this question
8 Postcards were a popular form of commercial photography in the early twentieth century. For an
overview of the representation of Maori women in postcards and the ‘pseudo-knowledge’ such
images constructed, see Jacqui Beets (1997).
R. Hickman
209
perhaps lies somewhere between professional expediency and personal
idiosyncrasy, public presentation and private intimacy.
Personal Film Souvenirs
It is particularly noticeable looking at personal travel films that the com-
mon term denoting an amateur recording, ‘home movie’, is something of
a misnomer. While home movies were usually watched at home, they
were frequently recorded elsewhere, most often in outdoor spaces, which
were likely to be at least semi-public, in order to make use of natural
light. Holidays, travel, and outings were popular subjects, instances when
filmmakers and families had leisure time to pursue their hobby and some-
thing that was not quite an ordinary, everyday occurrence to record.
ere is nothing unusual in fact about a home movie collection featuring
only special events in the life of the family. e familiar routines of daily
tasks, housework, or dirty chores were seldom recorded by amateurs.
A vacation recording by Charles R. Faulkner is a fairly typical example
of an amateur travel film dating from the middle years of the twentieth
century. Filmed in 1941 when possession of a camera and film stock were
a luxury few could afford, the black-and-white 8 mm home movie high-
lights the mobility of affluent Pakeha with a series of travelling shots
filmed through the windscreen of a moving vehicle. e opening shot of
Fig. 10.3 Maori Village: A Concert Rehearsal Near Rotorua (1945) and Meet New
Zealand: The People (1949). Collection of Archives New Zealand (CC BY 3.0)
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
210
the reel, which shows a map of Lake Rotorua and the surrounding dis-
trict, sets the scene of the road trip. e selection of images that follow
would, by and large, not be out of place in a professional tourist film, the
occasional shot of a family group—presumably the filmmaker’s own—
replacing those of generic tourists. e family are seen at Fairy Springs,
for example, looking at trout before the film cuts to Whakarewarewa,
where local Maori are glimpsed sitting in hot pools. e greater part of
the Rotorua footage is, however, devoted to the drama of the landscape
itself. A series of wide shots and close-ups show steam rising from the
geothermal terrain, spluttering geysers, trickling springs, and different
permutations of bubbling mud. ree women walk towards the camera
through a carved gateway. Maori children are seen diving for pennies,
which they then display for the camera. e Rotorua sequence is book-
ended with further travelling shots recorded from the car, which happens
to encounter yet another iconic New Zealand scene on the road: a flock
of sheep. Although the images are generally well focused with good expo-
sure, the recording nonetheless demonstrates stylistic ‘flaws’ such as
excessively fast panning to and fro across the landscape that does not fol-
low any particular movement within it. A relatively common quirk of
amateur filmmaking, the technique of scanning across the field of vision
seems to approximate a human beholder’s way of looking at physical
space, particularly that of the sightseer who has simply come to gaze at
whatever is in view.
Silent like most home movies, Faulkner’s recording contains no spe-
cific narrative beyond the documenting of a road journey, making it more
difficult to interpret in many ways than a professional scenic or travel-
ogue. While some home movies do feature intertitles, Faulkner opted
instead for the common amateur practice of including signage, either to
record place names—in this instance, a sign points to Fairy Springs—or
some other point of interest. At Whakarewarewa the camera captures
signs indicating the area is ‘dangerous’ and that visitors should ‘keep off
terrace formation’. Close-up shots of these warnings inject a sense of
adventurousness into the vacation, which finds a parallel in publicity
films that draw attention to the untamed nature of the landscape and the
supposedly primal people who inhabit it. Although Faulkner did not
record any displays of kapa haka, the presence of traditional Maori
R. Hickman
211
culture is evident in the carved gateway. More notably, the Maori popula-
tion of Whakarewarewa are living very much in the present day, wearing
European clothes and diving for coins presumably thrown by tourists.
Children are also seen diving at Rotorua in another amateur travel film
recorded around the same time by Dr W.R. Lawrence. Here the Pakeha
family are much more prominent than in the scenes of Rotorua Faulkner
chose to record. Initially seen posing beside a sign indicating the way to
Rotorua and consuming a snack on the roadside, the family (consisting
of a woman, two girls, and a boy) then appear mingling with local Maori
children on a bridge from which the latter jump into the river below. is
is followed by an image of Maori children crowded into a small outdoor
bath. e scene shifts to the geothermal area, alternating between shots
of the family with a Maori guide and the geysers and mud pools they are
viewing. ere is a brief shot of carvings taken at the model pa. Lastly, the
family are seen enjoying the geothermal waters of Rotorua’s Blue Baths.
Part of 16 minutes of black-and-white vacation footage shot during a
tour of the North Island by car, the Rotorua sequence is again fairly typi-
cal in its mixture of family documentation and familiar tourist sights.
e camera is at times unnecessarily mobile or unsteady, and there is no
attempt to develop narrative continuity between sequences filmed at dif-
ferent locations.
As with Faulkner’s recording, while aspects of the mise-en-scène are
unmistakably amateur, the aesthetic of Dr Lawrence’s movie also reveals
the influence of professional filmmaking and other tourist media. What
Heather Norris Nicholson describes as the ‘borrowed visual vocabulary’
of amateur filmmaking was nevertheless adapted to suit the individual
filmmaker’s own purposes (1997, 208). e shared shot of tourist and
tourist attraction, for example, enabled travellers to insert themselves into
images that replicated postcards and other tourist media depicting
renowned sights and locations.9 Roadside stops aside, Dr Lawrence was
seemingly content to capture his family largely on the fly rather than
deliberately posing them beside a specific feature as if for a snapshot. e
camera repeatedly cuts back and forth between the geothermal activity at
9 Alexandra Schneider describes the ‘shared shot’ of tourist and tourist attraction as the ‘dominant
composition’ of amateur travel films (2006, 162).
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
212
Whakarewarewa and the people looking at it, registering the family’s
presence within the unusual landscape. ey are also seen ascending the
steps of the Blue Baths, the children pausing hesitantly for a moment as
if to ascertain that the camera is indeed rolling to document the occasion.
Similarly, the filmmaker may have instructed the family to walk towards
the camera in one shot across a bridge. Tom Gunning suggests the com-
bination of cinema, travel, and fantasy has the ability to ‘render every
distant thing somehow available to us’ via a virtual voyage (2006, 28). By
contrast, the amateur lens bears witness to the traveller’s actual experience
in a specific place. Of course when filmmakers and families returned
home, travel films enabled physical journeys to be re-lived in virtual
form. As personalised holiday souvenirs, vacation recordings seemed to
hold out the promise that distant things would remain available, not
simply fade into distant memory.10
Although Lawrence likely edited his films in-camera only, as did most
amateurs, he appears nonetheless to demonstrate some knowledge of pro-
fessional filmmaking. is is most evident when the footage cuts between
wide shots of the family’s guide pointing to features of the landscape and
close-ups of bubbling mud pools. Whether or not these close-ups repre-
sent the actual features in question can only be surmised. However, the
editing creates the impression this is certainly so.11 ese shots are also
interesting in terms of what they might suggest about Maori-Pakeha rela-
tions at Rotorua. While there is little to indicate how the travellers felt
about what they saw or the people they met there (beyond the significance
one might attach to the act of recording in itself), the attentive demean-
our of the family whilst listening to their guide implies a courteous inter-
action. Guides acted as knowledgeable intermediaries between Maori
and Pakeha worlds and were generally well respected amongst both com-
munities. Given the tendency of professional cinema to separate Maori
10 Vivian Sobchack uses the term ‘film-souvenir’ to describe a home movie, arguing both souvenirs
and personal recordings fulfil a similar mnemonic function (1999, 248). Home movies are not
necessarily successful in this sense, however. Nico de Klerk observes that decades later ‘original
participants tend to become spectators’ like any other, unable to recollect events associated with
specific images in their own films (2008, 148–9).
11 A similar effect is seen in Faulkner’s sequence at Fairy Springs, which cuts between shots of trout
and those viewing them.
R. Hickman
213
and Pakeha into disparate time-spaces, amateur filmmakers were seem-
ingly better placed to capture more informal moments of intercultural
encounters such as those glimpsed in Dr Lawrence’s film.
A more colourful vision of Rotorua is observed in a holiday recording
made 15 years later by American visitor, Bernadine Bailey. Unlike the
wartime home movies, Bailey’s film was recorded in lush Kodachrome
and features a generous 27-minutes of footage shot around New Zealand.
e Rotorua segment opens with some rather dark images of trout swim-
ming at Fairy Springs, which contrast with the vivid scenes of
Whakarewarewa that follow. Two Maori women in traditional dress
appear with several children. A tableau shot captures women demonstrat-
ing the use of poi (ball on a string) in front of a meeting house, while
another woman accompanies the performance on a ukulele. e sequence
shifts to geothermal activity, the camera panning restlessly from one bub-
bling mud pool to another. e filmmaker’s interest appears to lie more
in the realm of human habitation, however. A guide is seen speaking at
the model pa, an area glimpsed only briefly in Faulkner’s and Lawrence’s
films. Here, however, the camera scans most of the buildings on display.
More informal activity at Whakarewarewa is also documented. Wide
shots of the European-style houses of local residents nestled amongst the
irregular terrain with its crevices and clouds of rising steam, along with
women going about their daily business of childminding and washing,
capture the coexistence of the mundane and the unusual (unusual, that
is, for the outsider in this landscape).
It would be rather easy to assume those features of Whakarewarewa
most readily identifiable with the wonderland image presented the greater
point of appeal to the eye of the American tourist desiring the exotic.
Certainly, more footage is devoted to traditional Maori culture in Bailey’s
films than in the two previous recordings made by local tourists. e
staged performances depicted in rich colours accord with those seen in
the images of tourist media. Yet this was clearly not the limit of Bailey’s
interest. e vibrant spectacle of kapa haka is juxtaposed against images
of the ordinary daily activities of women and their surroundings. Again,
it is tempting to reach a potentially simplistic conclusion that Bailey’s
choice of subjects merely reflects her position as a female filmmaker and
tourist who would likely be more attentive to the trappings of domestic
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
214
routines than a male visitor. Bailey, who was a journalist and travel writer
for children, used her camera as a means of documenting the places she
visited for later reference in her work (Wolf-Astrauskas 2015). Moreover,
the reduced cost of filmstock in the post-war years permitted amateurs to
be more expansive in their recording habits. Consequently, while Bailey’s
footage appears in turns more romantic and realist in its aesthetic and
subject matter than Faulkner’s and Lawrence’s home movies, her inten-
tions were also presumably somewhat different to the majority of tourist-
filmmakers simply concerned with creating a souvenir of their travels.
Ordinary Within theExtraordinary
Our understanding of amateur travel films is, like their moment of cre-
ation, necessarily referential. Original meanings and memories that
images once evoked for makers and participants are lost when films are
transferred from family home to public archive. Yet this does not render
such films meaningless. Home movies made by tourists exist within a
wider field of media production, social norms, and cultural values, which
governed ways of looking at people and places. Tourists blended elements
of quasi-professional and distinctly amateur technique within their films.
ey situated themselves, their families, or travel companions within a
pre-existing iconography of tourist attractions, both replicating and per-
sonalising the visual regime of promotional media. ere is considerable
overlap in the selection of subjects seen in professional and amateur films
of Rotorua, the latter distinguished most readily by their less polished
aesthetic and the absence of narration. What often appears haphazard in
form was nonetheless the result of deliberate selection on the part of film-
makers desirous of a more personalised account of their vacation than the
mere purchase of a commercial postcard, for example, could satisfy.
Looking at the recordings above, we can only speculate what prompted
each filmmaker’s individual choices with regard to subject and framing.
e correspondences with widely circulated publicity images are con-
spicuous, however. Whether or not filmmakers consciously imitated
other media, the wonderland image seemingly infiltrated the tourist gaze.
is is most apparent in recordings such as Bailey’s that feature the
R. Hickman
215
official performances of kapa haka, which catered specifically to tourists’
desire to look upon the spectacle of cultural difference. A fascination with
unusual topography is also prevalent in both amateur and professional
tourist films, panoramic shots of the steaming landscape transforming
physical space into a framed view of exotic dimensions. e modern
romance of the road is another seemingly universal dimension of the
tourist experience. Whether the train journeys of Railways of the Pacific
Wonderland or Faulkner’s footage taken from a moving vehicle, the
mobility of European travellers was foregrounded in tourist films.
It would be reductive, however, to think of the cinematic efforts of
tourists as merely clumsy reproductions of professionally made films.
While amateur and professional tourist films share a comparably cheerful
vision of time away from everyday concerns (or at least one’s own), they
diverge ideologically in significant respects. As John Urry notes, the tour-
istic gaze is premised upon a binary division between the ordinary and
the extraordinary (1990, 12–23), yet this divide lies simply in the eye of
the beholder. is is perhaps most evident in the images of women cook-
ing in steam vents or washing clothes in hot pools that feature in both
professional and amateur recordings of Whakarewarewa. By dint of geo-
logical anomaly filtered through an outsider’s gaze, the women’s everyday
is transfigured into the visitor’s exotic (Fig. 10.4).
In Bernadine Bailey’s film this division is not so straightforward, how-
ever. One shot depicts a woman sitting down to wash some garments in
Fig. 10.4 Women at Whakarewarewa recorded by Bernadine Bailey, 1956.
Reproduced courtesy of Indiana University Libraries Moving Image Archive
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
216
a pool. She glances over her shoulder towards the camera, presumably
aware she is being filmed, or at least has an audience. As the woman is
wearing traditional attire rather than European clothes, this scene may be
a demonstration for an assembly of tourists. In any event, the shot is
similar to those of publicity films. When Bailey’s camera strays beyond
what appear to be official displays of Maoritanga, the effect is very differ-
ent. Rather than seeing what was intended to be seen by outsiders, we are
thrust into the everyday lives of the inhabitants of Whakarewarewa. e
roving camera takes in not just the houses dotted amongst the hills but,
somewhat disconcertingly, a backyard view of laundry drying on washing
lines, untidy piles of ruins from demolished or decayed buildings, and
children playing in the street. is rather voyeuristic view of the village is
quite unlike the carefully arranged images of promotional media. It is
also a distinctly powerful one, the apparent realism of which creates an
impression that the camera simply found whatever happened to be there.
e filmmaker nevertheless chose to record these divergent visions of
Whakarewarewa: the public performances and the (not exactly) private
daily goings on. e contrast is stark. Even in the midst of the extraordi-
nary steaming landscape, there is nothing very exotic or romantic about
the appearance of everyday life.
Although tourists are largely absent onscreen in Bailey’s film, visible
only in the background at the model pa, the social divide between the
filmmaker and her Maori subjects may nonetheless be inferred. As in
other tourist films—amateur or professional—to be white, mobile, and
affluent is the norm against which difference is measured. Whereas eco-
nomic and class divisions are largely side-stepped in publicity films
through Maori occupying a historical rather than a contemporary time-
space, amateur recordings inadvertently or otherwise draw attention to
social realities not seen in professional cinema of the time. e residents
of Whakarewarewa are visibly impoverished in comparison with their
visitors who could afford cameras, travel, and leisure time. Nothing high-
lights this distinction better perhaps than the image of a group of Maori
children crammed into a tiny pool in Dr Lawrence’s film followed
moments later by that of Pakeha tourists enjoying the spacious waters of
Rotorua’s Blue Baths, their swimsuits and bathing caps setting them apart
as people who can afford specialised leisurewear (as well as presumably an
R. Hickman
217
entry fee). Rather than just taking a dip in whatever one happens to be
wearing (or nothing at all), Pakeha travellers dress purposefully for the
occasion. Moreover, amateur tourist films, like their professional equiva-
lents, underline the unequal relations of power that existed between
image-makers and those filmed. Pakeha or overseas visitors to Rotorua
determined how local Maori were represented onscreen. Maori had the
opportunity to record neither their own lives nor how they viewed their
visitors.
Due to the additional expense and limited audio fidelity, few amateurs
recorded either synchronised sound or voiceover narrations to accom-
pany their films, preferring instead to rely upon the spontaneous live
discussion typical of family screenings. While a small minority added
intertitles or recut their films subsequently, most home movies preserve
the ad hoc sequence of images created at the moment of filming.
Consequently, amateur tourist films are characterised by the ambiguities
inherent in their fortuitous configuration and silent form. As such, they
are not easy archival documents to read, but may nonetheless be under-
stood within a broader historical trajectory, including tourism and tourist
promotion. While travel recordings made by sightseers do not contain
explicit master narratives of nation-building or progress from savagery to
civilisation, courtesy of European modernity, these could be interpreted
as implicit in ways of looking at Indigenous people as tourist attractions.
e perceptions or attitudes of tourist-filmmakers always remain some-
what elusive, however.
When accounting for why home movies look the way they do, there is
a certain amount of guesswork involved. It is impossible to know whether
tourists who recorded their own films had watched those made by the
New Zealand Government or other local production houses. eir appar-
ent familiarity with the picturesque-exotic tourist iconography could
have derived as much, if not more, from other sources. Print media, such
as the publicity poster described in the opening passage, may have reached
a much wider audience than locally made scenic films. It is also notewor-
thy that home movies recorded by tourists elsewhere in the world, par-
ticularly in former European settler societies, bear a great deal of aesthetic
similarity to those filmed at Rotorua. In this sense, we might speak of an
‘international style’, local specificity being more a feature of the home
10 Wonderland of the South Pacific: Romantic and Realist…
218
movie subject than the way it was filmed. e aesthetic was also remark-
ably resilient, the basic form of home movies changing little over time,
seemingly unhindered by developments in professional cinema. Such
considerations paint a complex picture when attempting to trace the ori-
gins of the tourist gaze witnessed in home movies. What is evident, how-
ever, looking at home movies and professional tourist media side by side
is a shared ideological terrain broadly concerned with the spectacular and
the exotic from a Eurocentric point of view. Yet the amateur camera could
also afford to meander according to the whim of the individual, taking in
whatever the tourist-filmmaker saw fit to record at a given moment. In
this way, home movies can offer a behind-the-scenes glimpse of tourist
locations that did not feature in glossy promotional images. In so doing,
they document economic disparities and allude to imbalances of power
that existed between tourists and Indigenous communities, realities the
promoters of tourism usually seek to obscure.
Popular tourist locations such as Rotorua commodified the alterity of
Indigenous peoples and unusual landscapes for the gaze of European visi-
tors and their cameras. Preserved in the images of the countless thou-
sands of amateur travel films that remain in public and private collections
worldwide, the tourist gaze of the twentieth century has itself become an
object of scrutiny as we examine the legacy of colonialism and past inter-
cultural encounters. As material documents of tourist activity, amateur
films form a significant record of how private individuals reconstituted
popular visions of the exotic for their own ends, as well as how they
looked upon more mundane aspects of social and cultural difference.
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© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6_11
11
A ‘White’ Country for‘White’ People:
Poland inTourism Promotional Videos
ofRegions andMetropolitan Cities
PiotrDzik andAnnaAdamus-Matuszyńska
Introduction
Poland participates in global tourism as a large reception market, but as a
state, it has not yet conducted systematic, international promotional
campaigns. Between 2007 and 2016, a number of promotions commis-
sioned by regional (voivodesip) and large cities’ authorities were carried
out. Promotional videos addressed to the international markets were pre-
pared as part of regional and city advertising campaigns. erefore, the
present chapter asks the following research question: how are Poland and
Polish society presented in regional and cities’ promotional campaigns?
P. Dzik (*)
Academy of Fine Arts in Katowice, Katowice, Poland
e-mail: piotr.dzik@asp.katowice.pl
A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
University of Economics in Katowice, Katowice, Poland
e-mail: adamus@ue.katowice.pl
222
e authors decided to examine the period from 2007 to 2016 because
during that time, countries, regions, and cities were able to take advan-
tage of the European Union (EU) funds dedicated to tourism promotion.
e promotion was nanced by the so-called Regional Operational
Programmes run by regional self-government units. Since 2016, the EU
has no longer nanced tourism promotion. e subjects of this study
were promotional activities organized by voivodeship and metropolis self-
governments. Overall, 16 regions (voivodesips) and 12 large cities (mem-
bers of the Union of Polish Metropolises) were selected for the study. To
answer the research questions, the authors used content analysis as a
qualitative method (Echtner 1999) and examined every ocial tourism
and universal (i.e., addressed to a large unspecied audience) promo-
tional lm (tourism commercials and tourism promotional videos) of
regions and large cities in Poland available online during the period in
question (2007–2016).
e authors initially found that the analysed videos focus on ‘white’
hosts and ‘white’ guests in their stereotypical social roles. Poland is por-
trayed in these videos as a ‘white’ country awaiting ‘white’ guests, and
such a portrait of the country is rmly established in its history. Norman
Davies, an authority on Polish history, writes that Polish national con-
sciousness was built on four fundamental sources of inspiration: the
Catholic Church, language, history, and race (Davies 2005, 14). He also
stresses that in the twentieth century, the “noble culture” became the
culture of the whole nation (Davies 1997, 586). Beginning in the six-
teenth century, Sarmatianism as an ethno-cultural concept—which used
to be an ideology of nobility in Poland—has been a typical feature of
Polish culture. It became an ideology, perhaps not fully developed in
every aspect, which emphasizes the national values among the nobility
(Ulewicz 2006). One of the features of Sarmatianism is ethno-separatism
(Niewiara 2009, 75–78). Historically, people of colour in Poland have
been statistically imperceptible and/or traditionally absent from public
spaces. is cultural invisibility is also visually noticeable in Polish strate-
gic documents on tourism (Walas 2011), despite the fact that many con-
temporary visitors represent various religions and world views (Zamoyski
1998; Szacki 1995, 45–50).
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
223
Poland is a large reception market,1 readily visited by foreign tourists
and, at the same time, is nationally and ethnically homogeneous. us,
the next question that arises is: what aspects of itself should Poland pro-
mote to develop tourism and how can Poland promote itself as an attrac-
tive destination for a wide range of foreign tourists in the time of
globalization?
In terms of tourist attractions, a document by the Polish Tourist
Organization (POT), entitled “Marketing Strategy of Poland in the
Tourism Sector for 2012–2020” (Walas 2011), explains what attractions
Poland oers and how they should be presented to foreign tourists.
According to the document, Poland’s key visual features are urban and
cultural tourism, represented in the report as the 5As: attractions, ameni-
ties, accommodation, access, and atmosphere. Supplementary products
are urban tourism (city break), active and specialized tourism, tourism in
rural areas, and business tourism (i.e., meetings, incentives, conventions,
and exhibitions—the so-called MICE [Walas 2011, 54–55]). Considering
the recommendations of the POT and other strategic documents regard-
ing the country’s marketing communication, the following questions
should be asked:
1. Who should be a referential character (Bal 2017, 109–110) in promo-
tional videos?
2. How should government bodies present the specicity of Polish tour-
ist attractions in the media?
Within the context of this chapter’s objective, two research questions are
important: (1) what was the formal content of the promotional messages
(i.e., what content was used, what was the style and form of texts) and (2)
what media were used to disseminate them?
1 In the Polish literature on brand destination, ‘reception market’ means a product, place, or event
that attracts tourists. e ‘emission market’ is the country (region) that tourists come from (Kruczek
and Walas 2010, 133). ese terms correspond to the destination and target market in English
literature (Pike 2008). Detailed and up-to-date information and reports on as well as analyses of
tourist trac can be found on the websites of the Polish Tourist Organization (POT) (pot.gov.pl),
Regional Tourist Organizations (ROT), Local Tourist Organizations (LOT), and in the statistics of
the Central Statistical Oce. According to these sources, around 20million tourists from abroad
visited Poland in 2019.
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
224
As a starting point for the analysis, all promotional videos of 16 regions
(voivodesips) and 12 metropolises produced between 2007 and 2016
(broadcast and available on the Internet) were examined. In total, the
authors watched over 13,000 videos prepared for the above-mentioned
territorial units. To analyse the content of the promotional messages
included in those videos, it was necessary to identify them, adopt the
criteria for their selection, and indicate why the selected material was
relevant for more detailed study.
For our research, we made the following assumptions:
1. e subjects of the study were promotional lms funded by the
European Union Structural Funds between 2007 and 2013 (some activi-
ties nanced by this fund continued until 2016, that is why the period
examined is longer than the tourism promotion nancing period). is
decision was justied by the following premises: (a) at that time, a num-
ber of analytical and planning documents concerning the tourism pro-
motion of Poland were being developed; (b) during that period Poland as
a country did not carry out any promotional campaigns in foreign mar-
kets (Zaborowski 2018); and (c) tourism promotional oers were carried
out mainly by local government units, including regions (voivodesips) and
by the Regional Operational Programmes (Panasiuk 2016, 279–281). In
the current EU Multinational Financial Framework (nancial perspec-
tive) for 2014–2020, there are no separate funds for the development and
promotion of the tourism sector in Poland (Portal Funduszy Europejskich
2014). In recent years, many videos promoting cities and regions have
been produced, but the size of the production depended on the strategic
plans and budget of the individual territorial units. ere is therefore a
large variety of stylistic approaches that make it dicult to compare cities
and regions in this respect.
2. According to the literature on the subject, the National Tourism
Organization should be responsible for the tourism promotion of the
country (Pike 2008). In Poland, this role is played by the Polish Tourist
Organization. However, the promotional activities of the Polish Tourist
Organization were, in the researched period, very limited and did not
involve video promotion (Zaborowski 2018). is means that in Poland,
organizations such as the Regional Tourist Organizations (ROT) were
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
225
responsible for the overall promotion of Poland’s identity and heritage.
As Rojek writes:
A country’s brand, sometimes dened as a country’s market identity, is not
a specic product or service that can be identied by means of national
marketing measures in content and form, but it is the image of the country
and its nation in the opinion of recipients, who can be both citizens of the
country as well as other communities. (Rojek 2007, 62)
Poland’s national brand was built from the ground up, as the overall
image of the country was created through ROT promotional activities.
erefore, it is possible to reconstruct the “projected image” (Moingeon
and Soenen 2002, 17) of the country by researching and analysing the
marketing communication of the regions. e image of a brand is
described as “perceptions about the place as reected by the associations
held in tourist memory” (Cai 2002, 723). us, in accordance with the
availability heuristic (Kahneman 2012), the visitor may build an image of
the country based on the images available in his/her consciousness that
he/she can easily recall.
3. In the twenty-rst century, arguments about the fundamental
importance of the Internet—including ocial websites—for the pro-
motion of destinations and for the activities of Destination Marketing
Organizations (DMOs’) had already been demonstrated (Swarbrooke
and Horner 2007, 169; Pike 2008, 271–275; Morrison 2013, 369–372;
Camilleri 2018, 25, 78, 87; Fernández-Cavia and Castro 2015; Kruczek
and Walas 2010, 118–130; Kaczmarek etal. 2010, 263–264). However,
while the virtualization of tourism promotion gained importance in
the late 1990s and the beginning of the New Millennium (Morrison
2013, 369–374)—and guidebooks on promotion in digital media
began to appear around the year 2000 (Carter and Bédard 2001,
14–33)—the history of research on social media is much shorter, due
to the relative novelty of this phenomenon and the methodological dif-
culties. It can be argued that there is a consensus among researchers
that social media sites are important in tourism marketing and should
at least be linked with ocial websites (Kiráľová and Pavlíček 2015;
Mukherjee and Nagabhushanam 2016; Molinillo etal. 2017). It can be
also noted that these media facilitate promotion when serious budget
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
226
constraints exist (Hays etal. 2013). A similar position is presented in
Polish (Pawlicz 2015; Hereźniak 2016) and East European literature
(Labanauskaite etal. 2020).
4. While both television promotion and the impact of spot advertising
are well recognized and described (Sutherland and Sylwester 2003, 165),
the role of time-based visual data2 in the promotion of destinations is a
new research problem—especially when it concerns embedding videos
on websites and using videos on social media (e.g., videos on Facebook,
specialized video channels on YouTube). e following claims seem to be
conrmed in the literature: (1) video inuences the decisions of potential
tourists, especially in the context of social media (Kiráľová and Pavlíček
2015; Lange-Faria and Elliot 2012; Leung etal. 2013; Gretzel 2017), but
(2) there are dierences in the impact on audiences between user-
generated material/content (UGC) (cf. Stankov etal. 2010) and marketer-
produced videos—the so-called Marketer Generated Video (MGV) (Lim
etal. 2012; Kavoura etal. 2019).
Summarizing the above considerations, it can be argued that between
2007 and 2016 the promotion of Poland’s image was carried out in a
bottom-up fashion, mainly by regions and large cities, while public
institutions were responsible for the promotion and development of
voivodesips and metropolises. During that time, a number of initiatives
were implemented that presented Poland as an attractive and tourist-
friendly country. Yet there was no lm-based advertising campaign used
as a promotional tool that would show Poland and its inhabitants as a
dened and coherent social whole.
Research Problem
e literature on destination branding highlights both how tourism pro-
motion has a political signicance (Buhalis 2000; Pike 2008; Salazar
2012) and how it reects the dominant ideology within a given socio-
cultural context (Ateljevic and Doorne 2002). One of the forms of
2 On the Internet, the visual data can be divided into “space-based”, such as photos, maps, tables,
and so on, and “time-based”, that is, video, animated GIFs, interactive infographics, and so on.
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
227
destination branding is nation branding, the process through which
countries tell their stories or present themselves and inuence how poten-
tial visitors may think about a particular country (Sevin and White 2011;
Yalkin 2018). is is why a destination’s promotional content and form
in time- based media are grounded in a specic socio-cultural and politi-
cal context (Crilly etal. 2008, 430). erefore, the main research prob-
lem may be formulated as four questions:
1. How do the images and verbal messages contained in videos promot-
ing tourism present the projected image of Poland and its inhabitants?
2. What characters represent Poland, who are they, and how do they act?
3. Who are the ‘default’ tourists imagined by the creators and principals
of promotional videos?
4. What interactions are there between visitors and hosts?
According to Scollon and Scollon (2003, 91), visual images convey
cultural values and stereotypes. Furthermore, colours used in marketing
communication—which are one of the basic determinants of brand iden-
tity and image (Mollerup 2013, 246–276)—may have political, social, or
even commercial implications. Colours are nonverbal signs that carry sig-
nicant meaning and can support existing stereotypes and prejudices
(Kress and van Leeuwen 2006, 229). at is why the presented research
focused on heroes and heroines of promotional videos who might sym-
bolize various cultures and ethnic groups in a stereotypical fashion. e
connotations expressed by producers of the examined videos have social
implications impacting the perception of the promoted destination. In
general, advertisements reproduce stereotypes (Owsianowska 2014, 106).
However, it should also be noted that in particular commercials, the text
does not convey stereotypes while the visual content encodes stereotypes
(Kress and van Leeuwen 2006, 20). Many destinations still suer from
negative stereotypes, prejudices, and perceptions of being “underdevel-
oped”, “unsafe”, “boring”, or “backward” (Avraham and Ketter 2016, 2).
Every destination has its own identity, its own spirit, genius loci, but
place branding is not capable of telling the whole story about the given
place. Rather, it presents one version of the reality, and therefore estab-
lishes the place in a stereotypical manner (Liu 2017, 329).
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
228
Research Method andData Analysis
We used a qualitative approach because, in the case of tourism promo-
tion, structured (quantitative) approaches are not benecial for the analy-
sis of unique and holistic components of the image (Govers and Go
2003, 26; Echtner and Ritchie 2003, 41–43). e examination of these
unique and holistic features of Poland’s projected images in promotional
videos is the aim of the research presented here. Dening unambiguously
the tourism commercial is a complex task (Leotta 2020). erefore, the
authors decided to adopt the denition of ‘visual data’ (Grady 2008),
assuming that these data have two dimensions: a physical one and a time-
based one. According to standard denitions, a video/lm is a time-based,
visually perceptible artefact that records human actions of one kind or
another.
e research problem outlined required searching for videos in the fol-
lowing platforms:
• on the websites of the marshal and municipal oces, as well as ocial
websites promoting tourism (such as ‘slaskie.travel’, www.poznan.
travel/en/),
• on ocial channels on YouTube (ocial, ROT, and LOT),
• on fan pages on Facebook (section ‘lms’) of relevant oces and DMOs.
e following keywords were used to search for videos: (1) ‘promo-
tional lm’ + ‘voivodesip/name/city/name’; (2) ‘promotional spot’ +
‘voivodeship/name/city/name’; (3) ‘TV/television advertisement’ +
‘voivodeship/name/city/name’; (4) ‘video advertisement’ + ‘voivodeship/
name/city/name’.
is procedure was necessary because of the withdrawal of promo-
tional videos from ocial websites after the end of a campaign—or the
so-called durability period (e.g., only videos made after 2018 appear on
the ocial website of the city of Łódź). e authors also used their own
sources obtained during the consulting practice (e.g., promotional videos
of the Małopolskie Voivodeship were obtained while the authors were
working for the Marshal’s Oce of the Małopolska Voivodeship).
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
229
After reviewing the sources, ocial videos, and promotional spots, the
Marketer Generated Video criteria were selected. Taking into account the
research problem and the formulated analytical assumptions, the follow-
ing videos were eliminated from further analysis:
• TV and internet reports (e.g., documentation of events, speeches,
openings, etc.),
• TV programmes containing product placement (e.g., culinary pro-
grammes featuring local cuisine), for the above-mentioned reasons,
• Reporting “Snapshots”,
• Documentation of events such as lms commemorating the city’s fes-
tivals, anniversaries, or opening cultural facilities, sports events,
and so on,
• Private videos posted on ocial websites. (Lim etal. 2012)
e authors were guided by two criteria in the nal selection of videos
for analysis. First, the videos had to meet the requirements of a ‘tourism
lm’—understood as a media form that features one or more geographi-
cal locations and whose main purpose is tourism promotion (Bonelli
2018, 49). Second, they had to match the denition of the advertising
spot, which in marketing practice is dened as a short commercial movie
with a clear promotional purpose3 (Belch etal. 2004; Landa 2016).
One might notice that a large number of videos have been produced,
but few of them met the research criteria. e data shown in Tables 11.1
and 11.2 require additional explanations.
1. e term “around” in column 2 is justied as the videos often use the
same shots in dierent congurations, with dierences in duration
(e.g., a 30-second spot or its shorter, 15-second version) and ‘local’
variants. e ‘local’ variant should be understood as one in which an
identical construction of the lm is used to show dierent places
or products in a given geographical location. is was the case, for
3 It is dicult to nd a scientic denition of an advertising spot in the literature on the subject. If
one can nd any, it is usually a description not embedded in science (theory), but rather in market-
ing and consulting practice, and—importantly—in law. For example, in the Polish legal regulation
there is a limit of 12minutes of advertising per clock hour in television programmes (Act on Radio
and Television, Journal of Laws 1993, No. 7, item 34).
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
230
Table 11.1 Number of promotional videos analysed—voivodesips
voivodesip (region)
Number of videos
found
Videos chosen for further
examination
1. Dolnośląskie Around 80 4
2. Kujawsko-Pomorskie Around 200 3
3. Lubelskie Around 30 3
4. Lubuskie Around 500 9
5. Łódzkie Around 500 3 (one of the videos has 12
versions)
6. Małopolskie Around 380 29
7. Mazowieckie Around 400 1
8. Opolskie Around 550 13
9. Podkarpackie Around 1200 7
10. Podlaskie Around 200 7
11. Pomorskie Around 400 4
12. Śląskie Around 200 5
13. Świętokrzyskie Around 200 5
14.
Warmińsko-Mazurskie
Around 1200 4
15. Wielkopolskie Around 50 2
16. Zachodniopomorskie Around 200 4
Total Around 6290 100 (112)
Table 11.2 Number of promotional videos analysed—cities, capitals of the regions
City Number of videos found
Videos chosen for further
examination
Białystok Around 200 1
Bydgoszcz Around 50 1
Gdańsk 112 3
Katowice Around 30 1
Kraków Around 4300 3
Lublin Around 385 4
Łódź Around 40 1
Poznań34 1
Rzeszów Around 30 1
Szczecin Around 100 1
Warszawa Around 1000 0
Wrocław Around 800 1
Total Around 7000 19
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
231
example, in the Łódzkie voivodesip (“Dumni z Łódzkiego” series), and
therefore two gures were provided in this case. ere are also instances
where videos with minor modications (e.g., diering in length by a
few seconds) are repeated and can be found on the ocial website,
Facebook (FB) and YouTube (YT). ere are also dierent language
versions of the same video (e.g., the video itself is the same, but the
promotional slogans are dierent, depending on the language used).
ere are also situations in which it can be presumed that ready-made
shots available in photo banks were used.
2. In the Podkarpackie voivodeship, the vast majority of materials are
reports of TV Podkarpackie. ere were around 20 videos identied
as related to tourist promotion, out of which 7 were selected for
this research.
3. In the Warmian-Masurian voivodeship, more than 1000 videos docu-
ment the region’s participation in the “Seven Wonders of Nature”
competition in 2011. Internet users voted for the region by making a
short lm and sending it to the organizer. ese videos could therefore
be dened as User-Generated Content (UGC).
4. In Bydgoszcz, in the 2009 lm “Guests from other cities and coun-
tries” ‘non-white’ people appear, but these are only professional ath-
letes employed by the clubs operating in the city.
5. In Kraków, a large number of videos are so-called event videos (pro-
motion of festivals, events, etc.—over 700 such videos were broad-
cast), while over 200 videos in Wrocław documented the eorts to
become the European Capital of Culture in 2016.
6. Poznań is a signicant exception. At least a few spots promoting mul-
ticulturalism and tolerance were created there, but because they were
created after 2016, they were not included in the examination.
7. Warsaw has never featured in any videos promoting the city as the
capital of Poland. All the videos promoting this city are related to
events (e.g., European Football Championship, Euro 2012) or institu-
tions such as museums.
In the second phase of the investigation, videos belonging to the fol-
lowing formal categories were selected:
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
232
• spots or longer promotional videos,
• ocial videos (identied through the region’s logo, the city’s logo or
coat of arms, the so-called packshot, i.e., the nal shot showing, for
instance, nancing from European funds, as well as by description or
metadata),
• videos conceived between 2007 and 2014 (2016),4
• videos conceived for tourism promotion.
In the next phase, it was necessary to decide how to classify the so-
called universal videos, which presented the region or city as attractive for
both tourists and investors, as well as an attractive place to live. Such
videos were identied, for example, in the Lubelskie voivodesip (cam-
paign “For a moment or longer” from 2014). It was decided that if the
function of tourism promotion was clearly articulated in the video, then
such videos were subject to further analysis.
e last stage of the research involved the analysis of the content of the
selected videos in relation to the main research questions. Taking into
account assumptions about the stereotypical personal features of the
characters presented in promotional videos, the focus was on representa-
tions of ethnic or national culture (Ewa Nowicka-Rusek 2003, 198).
erefore, the following cultural symbols were searched for in the pro-
motional videos’ content:
• ethnic/racial identication of the characters appearing in a video
expressed through visual signs such as clothing,
• interaction between lm characters (physical and visual contact, inter-
action between characters in physical and social space),
• verbal communication (is there dialogue between the characters, are
there subtitles, etc.)
• elements of nonverbal communication (symbols, gestures, clothes,
age, or physical condition).
4 e time limits are set in accordance with the N+2 rule. It means that projects in the EU’s long-
term nancial perspective may be continued up to two years after its completion.
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
233
It was also possible to formulate more detailed assumptions that
allowed the authors to research promotional messages in terms of their
‘racial’ nature. In the literature on urban space, for example, the concept
of ‘racialisation of space’ refers to the fact that the physical space itself
(shapes and forms of objects, grati, signs, shop displays, merchandis-
ing) communicates to viewers which racial groups will belong or will feel
alien in that particular environment (Sibley 1998; Lacy Michael and Ono
2011). is concept allows for the initial formulation of the indicators of
virtual space racialization developed in its promotional aspect (Dyer-
Witheford and de Peuter 2009, 157). We referred to research on measur-
ing sexism in promotional photos (Morgan and Pritchard 1998; Goman
1976) and, inspired by those analytical schemes, we proposed one that
would allow us to measure the levels of racialization in promotional
messages:
Level 0—undened situation. Videos without human participation.
Only objects and/or nature are shown, digital or analogue anima-
tion is used;
Level 1—there are characters in the lm, but none that could be identi-
ed as a racial ‘other’;5
Level 2—a racial ‘other’ is a visitor. He/she does not interact with the
people presented as hosts, only watches cultural or natural objects. At
this level, the visitor is a person, shown as a tourist taking pictures,
consuming, sightseeing, watching stage performances, and so on;
Level 3—a racial ‘other’ is a guest, and there is a commercial relationship
with local people (who act as guides, waiters, receptionists, etc.). e
video shows an interaction: one person does something, and his/her
action activates a (visual and/or verbal) reaction from the others;
Level 4—a racial ‘other’ is a guest who interacts personally with the land-
lord (having fun together, participating in a non-commercial event;
there is a suggestion of personal contact in the image and/or dialogue).
5 e authors have adopted the following denition of ‘race’ for analytical purposes (Delgado and
Stefancic 2001, 153): “Race: Notion of a distinct biological type of human being, usually based on
skin colour or other physical characteristics”.
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
234
e levels of racialization in promotional messages listed above were
used for further analysis, as shown in Table11.3.
Findings
Over 13,000 videos were collected for the present research, 119 of which
met the criteria described in the methodology. Non-white characters
were identied in four videos, but only in one video a person presented
by name and surnameappears. is character talks about his origins, the
circumstances of his arrival to Poland, and his activities in the country.
Non-white tourists do not appear in any other tourism promo-
tional videos.
In all the videos analysed, the hosts are racially white, and they appear
in service roles. If there is a ‘host-guest’ interaction, it is not shown as a
social interaction. Tourists experience local attractions only through pro-
fessional interactions such as waiter—guest, masseur—customer, ticket
seller—paying customer, stall owner—guest. e guests are also typically
‘white’. Only in one case (Opolskie Voivodeship) is it clear that the pro-
tagonist of the story is a genuine foreigner. However, that foreigner is
assimilated, resides permanently in Poland, owns his own business, and
speaks Polish.
e research conrmed that there is a commonly shared image of the
nation in promotional videos of Poland’s cities and regions. When analys-
ing their content (images and spoken or written words), one can notice
the existence of a touristic standard: tourism in Poland is associated with
kayaks, horses, bicycles, greenery, hang gliders, manors, and traditional
Polish cuisine. When a city is shown, one can see monuments or their
remains, and, sometimes, watch particular events happening in the city.
People in this landscape appear as ‘pictures’ or as elements of the pictures,
not as protagonists of the story lmed. ey are presented as colourful
moving points that animate static planes. One gets the impression of the
ubiquitous loneliness of people. Interactions between visitors or visitors
and locals are very rare. e standard scenario seems to feature the follow-
ing elements: a historic palace or manor house, horses running in the
meadow, someone in a canoe or on a bicycle, muzak-type background
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
235
Table 11.3 ‘Others’ in Polish promotional videos
Screenshot documenting the
conclusions Remarks
1. Lubuskie, a video made in 2012 promoting tourism, business, and life in the
region. The characters do not speak; there is music and voice-over narration.
Level 4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KzvUGVYA4g&t=0s&list=PLS8e3ZpN5xxlomOx4kyPqWHDqY2y5EUxq&index=25
2.
Kujawsko-Pomorskie. The video was produced in 2015. There is no dialogue;
characters are shown visiting Bydgoszcz, the capital of the region. In the
background one can hear music. The guests have no interaction with local
people.
Level 2
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00z54xYLk9Y
3.
Śląskie, 2016.
The characters do not talk. There are hints of a commercial interaction. In the
background, music and titles identify attractions.
Level 3
(continued)
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
236
Table 11.3 (continued)
Screenshot documenting the
conclusions Remarks
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_- HYkon4Rg
4.
Opolskie.
A series of videos presenting the attractions of the voivodeship. The Marshal
of the region acts as the guide (on the left, in a suit). In each film of the
series, the Marshal talks with a person associated with the attraction
presented. Here, Mr Piyush Mittal is presented as the owner of a building,
talking to the Marshal in Polish.
Level 4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=- c2YYfxtcGo&list=PLeeYc66chO- p- fgWGN9BXTbD_NX14fKc_&index=5
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
237
music, no dialogue. If we see people in a full shot or an American shot, it
is usually a heteronormative, ‘white’ family with one or two children.
is pattern seems permanently present in Polish tourism videos of the
destinations in question. It is also important to notice that no characters
with visible intellectual and/or physical disabilities (e.g., a person in a
wheelchair) appear in any of the videos analysed.
Additionally, three conclusions could be made after the examination of
the promotional videos: (1) there is an evident heteronormativity of both
hosts and guests (not a single video aimed at the so-called pink market
has been identied, nor have LGBTQ+ people been shown in any situa-
tion), (2) there are videos in which actors appear to approach the retire-
ment age, which means that their age group is not excluded, and (3) there
is a visible gender balance (see Morgan and Pritchard 1998, 194–195).
Referring to the content of the analysed videos, it can be stated that the
projected destination image of Poland is:
1. ‘White’
2. for White people
3. for heteronormative people
4. for healthy people (although there are some spa oers)
5. for those who are not interested in modern cities or post-industrial
heritage (an important exception is the Śląskie Voivodeship and its
“Industrial Monuments Route”)
6. for people of various ages
ese results contradict the stereotype of Poland as an open and hos-
pitable country. e recipient of the commercials promoting a particular
Polish tourist attraction is clearly shown, as is who is welcome in Poland
and who is not.
Discussion
Here, it is worth starting a discussion about the extent to which the
absence of people of colour is evidence of Polish society’s aversion to cul-
tural diversity. e prevalence of images of nature over people and their
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
238
activities requires further sociological and anthropological research. Based
on the content of the commercials, it can also be hypothesized that
Poland is not a country free from racism, because the mere avoidance of
images of people from dierent cultures and dierent cultural behaviours
(both as guests and hosts) may be regarded as a ‘reexive’ belief in the
natural superiority of the white race (Pędziwiatr 2015; Pielużek 2017;
Bobako 2018, 278). Right-wing Polish social media suggest that Poland’s
success in the tourism market is due to the fact that there are no ‘coloured’
or non-heteronormative people here (Pielużek 2017; Wężyk 2020).
e authors are aware that the research sample is not exhaustive (this
is due to the diculties of internet searches) and the conclusions may be
revised after an analysis of additional (and more diverse) sources.
Furthermore, a study of the content of promotional videos could also
have included:
• videos intended for screening events, such as tourism fairs or
exhibitions;
• commercials of events (e.g., as part of Wrocław’s eorts to organize the
EXPO 2012 exhibition, promotional videos were created that empha-
size multiculturalism [Dudziak 2008]);
• promotional videos of other cities and communes (e.g., in the promo-
tional lm of the Krośnice commune, there are African (‘black’) chil-
dren dancing and playing the drums).
Such a large sample could allow for broader quantitative and qualita-
tive analyses, as could comparative research involving other countries.
Since we assumed that Poland is ethnically a relatively homogeneous
country, the ‘host-guest’ relationship was examined only in terms of the
ethnic diversity of guests. In more ethnically diverse countries, such anal-
ysis would need to be more detailed and the research model would likely
need to be matrix-based (e.g., ‘white’ host in-service function and ‘black’
guest, and vice versa).
It should also be mentioned that the media texts signal the signicance
of Ukrainian workers in the Polish tourism sector. It is even argued that
P. Dzik and A. Adamus-Matuszyńska
239
hotels and restaurants constitute an industry based on the employment
of Ukrainian citizens. However, none of the researched commercials
showed their presence in service roles (there are no speakers with an
Eastern accent and no references to the origin of the employees in the
dialogues).
Poland is no longer a ‘white country’, but in promotional videos it is
presented as such. It seems that the presented research could conrm the
Borgerson and Schroeder thesis about a link between visual representa-
tion and ontological attribution. Poland in the twenty-rst century is no
longer a ‘white country’, however, it is exposed in promotional videos as
such. So, one can conclude that the analysis done in this chapter can be
an example of tacit representational convention and its role in sustaining
social stereotypes (Borgerson and Schroeder 2005, 270–271).
Final Remarks
While writing this text, we realized that we were walking through a mine-
eld. We tried to capture the issue of sine ira et studio, but we were also
aware of the inevitable emotions associated with the topic. Our research
ndings partially conrmed the thesis of Anne Cronin regarding tourism
promotion (Cronin 2000, 3–4). In her opinion, advertisements of desti-
nations are aimed mainly at “white men from the West” who are hetero-
sexual and able-bodied. In the case of Poland, the only exceptions are
messages addressed to people who are ill or feel the need to improve their
health. e country has developed a spa sector and medical tourism is
therefore a signicant element of tourist promotions (Walas 2011).
Historically, Poland has always been an ethnically and racially homoge-
neous country, which has an impact on the content that is communi-
cated by authorities and through promotional messages. Since 1989,
right-wing ideas have permeated discourse in the Polish public space
(Pielużek 2017). Such an intellectual atmosphere also inuences tourism
11 A ‘White’ Country for ‘White’ People: Poland in Tourism…
240
promotion. Between 2007 and 2016, various political forces were in
power in Poland, making it possible to formulate a conclusion that the
presentation of Polish cities and regions was not politically motivated,
but strongly anchored in national history and culture. is may sound
very controversial, but the promotional message of the videos is based on
the exclusion of people coming from dierent cultures and ethnic groups.
Tradition, culture, and the ideology of Sarmatism have become so
strongly embedded in Polish culture that they render invisible global
changes and acknowledgements that today’s Poland is inhabited by peo-
ple from many regions of the world.6
Concrete institutions, in our case local government units, are respon-
sible for inuencing the local socio-cultural and political context, includ-
ing tourism promotion. erefore, to conclude, it is worth quoting Sara
Ahmed, professor of race and cultural studies: “After all, institutions pro-
vide collective or public spaces. When we describe an institution as
‘being’ white, we are pointing to how institutional spaces are shaped by
the proximity of some bodies and not others: white bodies gather and
cohere to form the edges of such spaces” (Ahmed 2006, 132).
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12
Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language:
Representing White Australia
inthe‘Where theBloody Hell are you?’
Australian Tourism Campaign
PanizzaAllmark
One of the most provocative and memorable Australian tourist cam-
paigns was marketed as the country’s invitation to the world. In 2006, the
$180 million television advertisement presented key features of the
nation. It showcased iconic sites of Australia in which individuals intro-
duced each scene with their eorts of hospitality, stating ‘We’ve poured
you a beer; we’ve saved you a spot on the beach; we’ve got the sharks out
of the pool; your taxi is waiting; and dinner is about to be served ….’ In
the campaign, the vast Australian landscape is presented with extraordi-
nary views by ‘ordinary’ people. It is presented in a colloquial style. e
presenters are not experienced, professional actors, but everyday
Australians. is aims to provide an impression of authenticity to the
campaign (Campaign Brief 2006). Each scene presents a picturesque
landscape that further welcomes and entices the tourist gaze. e ‘tourist
gaze,’ it should be remembered, represents an idealized view that is not
P. Allmark (*)
Edith Cowan University, Mount Lawley, WA, Australia
e-mail: p.allmark@ecu.edu.au
248
part of the everyday experience (Urry and Larsen 2011, 15). In around a
minute, a montage of spectacular Australian iconography such as the
Outback, kangaroos, the Great Barrier Reef, Indigenous dancers, Uluru,
and the Sydney Harbour Bridge is revealed. e nal scene is of a white
sand beach with a white, young, petite, blonde, bikini-clad woman
addressing the camera. She asks “Where the bloody hell are you?.” Her
query is unlike the welcoming remarks made earlier. It is a phrase that is
a cheeky part of Australian vernacular. However, what was considered
ordinary to Australians was understood as an extraordinary and provoca-
tive remark internationally. As such, the use of the phrase was bold and
distinctive in the global tourism market, and the ‘Australian Invitation’
campaign became commonly referred to as the ‘Where the Bloody Hell
are you?’ ad.
e Australian catchphrase did not translate as an invitation, as
intended, but rather as an oensive term. Seen as impolite or vulgar, it
was censored in various target markets such as the UK, Canada, Singapore,
Korea, ailand, and Japan. e advertising campaign had garnered
widespread media attention, including commentary from national lead-
ers. It was deemed as successful in gaining international attention, but
unsuccessful in attracting international tourists to Australia. is chapter
will examine the discourse and semiotics surrounding the controversy,
the cultural impact of the original campaign, and the satirical parodies of
the ‘Where the Bloody Hell Are You’ advertisement. In particular, it
focuses on how the audio and the visual aspects of Australian national
identity in the advertisement convey white settler, colonial sentiments in
relation to the landscape, gender relations, and Indigenous people.
e Australian invitation advertisement, developed by the Sydney
branch of M&C Saatchi, aimed to reect a young, radiant nation and
include a memorable tagline. e advertisement presents as a celebration
(even with reworks over the Sydney Harbour Bridge). It includes colour-
ful scenery, but even more colourful language, the meaning of which is
somewhat lost in translation. According to Christopher, “the advertise-
ment was enormously popular in Australia where it was considered very
funny. Australians on the whole are very polite to strangers but rude to
their friends as a form of shared humour” (2018, 457). However, the
welcome strategy was misinterpreted elsewhere. Its recycling of an old
P. A l lmar k
249
formula of ockerism (e.g., its irreverent masculinity and use of Australian
slang) proved unsuccessful in increasing tourism; following the launch of
the campaign, tourism numbers dramatically reduced from the three
countries that had the most exposure from the campaign: Japan, Germany,
and Britain (e Daily Telegraph 2008). e controversy surrounding
the advertisement and the important point that it did not result in a
major increase in tourists to Australia suggest that the communication
across cultures was fraught. e advertisement was memorable but not in
a positive way.
e phrase ‘Where the bloody hell are you’ was seen as provocative. It
received a lot of publicity because of the use of the words ‘bloody’ and
‘hell.’ e then-Australian Prime Minister John Howard defended it: “I
think the style of the advertisement is anything but oensive. It is in the
[right] context and I think it’s a very eective ad” (AAP 2006). Some of
the media comments suggested that the ‘bloody hell’ phrase “indicated a
backward step and a return to an unsophisticated ‘Ocker’ image which
reected poorly on contemporary Australians” (Winter and Gallon 2008,
310). e ad was censored in a number of international markets. It did
not translate well in Japan where swear words are not acceptable in every-
day conversation. In Japan, “Where the bloody hell are you?” would be
used in anger, never for fun (Cameron 2006). So the ad was changed to
“So, why don’t you come?.” Notably, the number of Japanese tourists to
Australia dropped by 12% following the campaign, which suggests the
lack-lustre appeal of the ad (Rebranding Australia 2008). e ban of the
word ‘bloody’ from the television campaign in Britain, by the Broadcast
Advertising Clearance Centre, provoked a delegation from Australian
Tourism (including the featured young model in the ad, Lara Bingle) to
go to Britain to lobby the censors and demand that the ad be re-released
in full. After the argument was presented—the argument that the word
bloody was not regarded as oensive and had previously been used in UK
advertisements—the ban was lifted (AAP 2006).
Although the phrase was one of the most controversial elements, the
content of the ad was also considered problematic. It reinforces what
John Urry (1990) refers to as a tourist ‘romantic gaze,’ which invites the
onlooker to ‘take in the view’ of spectacular sites. However, the romantic
gaze presented is an old romance with an outdated version of Australia.
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
250
e ‘Australian Invitation’ campaign was intended to reach “a more
sophisticated global traveller who not only has high levels of income and
education, but is open-minded and well-travelled” (Winter and Gallon
2008, 302). But, it is not a cosmopolitan image or sophisticated invite
that prevails in the ad. Instead, what is oered is a formulaic parade of
iconic images of the Australian landscape (beach, bush, and desert—and
occasionally Aboriginals) and Australian masculinity (and ockerism)
which have proved successful for previous Australian tourism campaigns.
An example of this approach was the highly successful “Come and Say
G’day” campaign (1984) featuring Paul Hogan, who has been praised for
presenting to the world an image of Australians as laid back and irrever-
ent. But “the twist of this old formula did not work. … Its image of
Australia was pilloried at home and abroad, and it was unceremoniously
dumped in 2008” (Crawford 2010, 43).
The ‘Real’ Australia
At the time of the ad’s release, creative director Tom McFarlane stated
that the ad presents “the real Australia and who we really are—an easygo-
ing, welcoming nation. And people like us for that” (cited in Stanley
2006). But in the invitation campaign, the ‘real’ Australia depicted is of
white Australia. Jon Stratton claims whiteness is still “a key category in
the construction of the nation” and is used in political practice (1999,
180). He argues “the ideology that underlies the White Australia policy
[which was built on e Immigration Restriction Act of 1901] still
haunts us” (1999, 183). In the 2006 Australian tourism campaign, there
is no reference to Australia’s cultural diversity or multiculturalism. e
individual men and women providing the ‘invitations’ were marketed as
real, everyday Australians (Campaign Brief 2006). However, the Anglo-
Australian look did not reect the actual ethnic make-up of real contem-
porary Australia. At the time of the campaign, the majority of Australians
born overseas were from Asia (and still are). Moreover, around 30% of
Australians have parents born overseas and their ancestry is from over
forty countries (ABS 2006). e chairman of Aegis Media responded to
the campaign, stating that “Sometimes I wonder if our media and
P. A l lmar k
251
marketing people understand this rapidly diversifying country” (cited in
Burrowes 2013). It seems that tourism marketing looks backwards to the
past rather than the present.
e campaign reects the national myth of white Australia. Writing in
the Australian Quarterly, Australia’s longest-running political journal, in
1953, Carlotta Kellaway refers to the myth of White Australia as “one of
those grand-scale national fairy-tales that weave together and fuse a peo-
ple, drawing a magic cloak across disunity and disaection” (1953, 17).
In 2004, two years prior to the ‘Invitation’ ad being released, similar
commentary was being made highlighting that
the myth of White Australia [has] denied Aborigines citizenship and
national inclusion. It is linked to the dominant power structure of
Australian society and has the economic resources, media inuence, and
institutional power to perpetuate the idea that Australia has a national
identity and does not require a new one. (Allegritti 2004)
Gordon Waitt in his analysis of early 1990s Australian tourist campaigns
asserts that the Australian Tourism Commission are “marketing particu-
lar regimes of fantasy and desire that contribute to the maintenance of a
national mythology which denes Australianness as Anglo-Celtic, mas-
culine, and rural” (2008, 48). Notably, the rural may include references
to Indigenous Australia as part of the scenery of the natural landscape.
is is an aspect of the colonial, romantic view of the land. Waitt further
states that the “government’s understanding of national identity not only
relies upon unsophisticated conceptualisations but also employs a
national-type reminiscent of the 1950s” (Waitt 2008, 50). He adds that
it does not acknowledge the shift in demographics and culture, in par-
ticular the multiculturalism agenda of political leaders such as Whitlam,
Fraser, and Hawke (2008, 50). Notably, over a decade after Waitt’s analy-
sis, the 2006 Australian tourism campaign was still relying on the formu-
laic strategy of past tourist campaigns, which presented a colonial
perspective of Australia.
Despite the increasing racial diversity of the Australian population, the
only people of colour presented in the tourism campaign are Indigenous
Australians performing traditional dance in the outback landscape. As
Pomering suggests:
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
252
While the ad’s copy acknowledged Indigenous Australians’ lengthy pres-
ence in the country, the suggestion that their ancient culture had been
practice for the arrival of international tourists in the 21st century might
be seen to have trivialised their cultural heritage as mere commercial enter-
tainment for touristic consumption. (Pomering 2010, 7)
e soundtrack of the ad resonates with the Indigenous sounds of a dijer-
idoo and clapsticks, before transforming into an up-tempo electronic
rhythm with non-lexible vocals of da, da, da, da, found in Western musi-
cal styles such as doo wop and in a capella. e latter dilutes the reso-
nance of cross-cultural ‘otherness.’ is usage is similar to early
twentieth-century recordings of indigenous music and hybrid composi-
tions in the 1980s and 1990s labelled as ‘world music,’ which were cre-
ated by the commercial music industry. e soundtrack presents a sonic
bridge between cultures. It attempts a harmony between the ancient and
modern. In this way the references to traditional Indigenous music and
dance are presented as cultural artefacts for the tourist.
e tourist gaze is directed to pre-European/pre-colonial contact
aspects of Aboriginal culture. e scene in the tourism campaign that
presents the Indigenous dancers is set in a desert terrain, with large rock
formations in the background, to suggest an isolated, ancient culture.
is is reinforced with a female Indigenous dancer stating, “we have been
rehearsing for over 40,000years.” Whilst it may acknowledge that white
Australia has a long black history, the use of the word ‘rehearsing’ as part
of the national narrative suggests that the Indigenous Australians are sim-
ply there for aesthetic consumption. e use of a smiling young female
addressing the camera also contributes to the notion of a welcoming
feminine invite. e gendered approach presents a non-threatening femi-
nized, exotic Other. According to Gregory, “e exotic is a spectacle that
generates curiosity” (2017, 89). e woman is surrounded by around ten
Indigenous dancers presenting a traditional-style performance. eir
faces are obscured with face paint and their shadowy semi-naked bodies
are oered as a spiritual link with the desert landscape. is view is rein-
forced by the wide-angle landscape perspective and the extreme aerial
gaze, known as the ‘God’s eye view.’ With the camera placed directly
P. A l lmar k
253
above the subjects, it provides an omniscient and commanding perspec-
tive: “roughout its history the top-down angle has played a key role in
conducting panoptic surveillance, exercising air supremacy, defending
territory, trapping subjects in sight, and in some cases, facilitating ‘the
more ecient annihilation of humans’” (Mangold and Goehring 2019,
25). A darker, sinister reading of this scene may relate to the history of
genocide and governmental surveillance of Australia’s Indigenous people.
e statement “We’ve been rehearsing for over 40,000years,” as Stratton
aptly states, “rewrites Aboriginal genocide in the benign terms of a
present- day cultural welcome for the consumption of visitors” (2011, 129).
e Indigenous content is aestheticized for the tourist gaze. is situ-
ates the onlooker in a powerful viewing position with mastery over the
landscape and the Indigenous people. Notably, the visual encounter with
Indigenous Australians in the advertisement only takes place in the
remote outback landscape, not in any urban settings. e Indigenous
people are presented as the exotic ‘Other’ and are literally situated away
from ‘civilization’ in a romanticized view of Aboriginality. While acknowl-
edging that tourism advertising can only provide snapshots of a nation to
convey it as an enticing holiday destination, this romanticized view nev-
ertheless presents, and indeed repeats, colonial power relations. e scene
of dancers is presented as oppositional to the myriad of ways white
Australians are presented in the tourist campaign. Moreover, in the other
ten scenes in the advertisement, the white Australians are engaged in lei-
sure spaces, such as the pub, the golf greens, the pool, and the beach.
Unlike the remote desert landscape, these are spaces of leisure, pleasure,
and settler occupation of the land. e Indigenous people are relegated to
the fringes of society and portrayed in terms of entertainment. As Waitt
aptly asserts:
Aboriginality is socially constructed to serve a particular political context
and a deliberate economic strategy, that of selling Australia as an escape
from civilization to a primordial, timeless world, and/or a return to Nature
where Aborigines as the original conversations live in perfect harmony with
the environment. (2008, 50)
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
254
e Indigenous identity presented in the tourism ad and in similar
Australian tourism ads to follow, such as ‘Come Walkabout’ (2008),
demonstrates that Indigenous elements are an integral component of
Australian tourism and helps showcase Australia as unique. It provides an
opportunity to celebrate Indigenous cultural traditions. It is important to
highlight that the identity of Indigenous Australians in tourism advertis-
ing does not reect the reality of everyday life for the colonized (Pomering
2010; Craik 2001). It is a museumized version that is presented in the
tourism campaign. It is museumized in the “way art and artefacts from
non-Indo-European cultures have traditionally been represented as eth-
nological or anthropological curiosities” (Brazier 2018, 72). Jennifer
Craik notes, “it is important that Indigenous communities, governments,
the tourism industry, and the Australian public tackle the place of
Indigenous culture in Australian life and redress problems and contradic-
tions” (2001, 109). e Indigenous performance in the tourism adver-
tisement is very much a “staged authenticity” (MacCannell 1979). e
performance may contain aspects of the original tradition, but it is staged
to create an appealing promotion of an ‘authentic’ cultural product for
tourists. Craik aptly adds that Australia faces a problem with “packaging
and managing simultaneously the unique qualities, exotic elements and
everyday life for the tourist gaze, a challenge that is more dicult in a
culture that is the object of colonial and postcolonial exploitation” (Craik
2001, 109). As previously highlighted, in the colonial perspective
Indigenous people have been seen as a picturesque part of the landscape,
rather than inhabitants of the land. For example, this is reinforced in the
myth that Indigenous Australians were classied as ora and fauna until
the 1967 referendum (in which “Australians voted overwhelmingly to
amend the Constitution to allow the Commonwealth to make laws for
Aboriginal people and include them in the census” [omas 2017]). e
persistence of the myth is related to the colonial history of Australia being
termed as ‘terra nullius’—no one’s land.
Australia’s settler-colonial history is evident in the very form of the
nation-state. Its national day is celebrated on the anniversary of European
invasion. Anthony Moran has highlighted how Australia nationalism has
shaped government policies, with a past quest for a ‘white Australia’ that
rst emerged in the nineteenth century (Moran 2005). is discourse is
P. A l lmar k
255
also evident in the promotion of a White Australia in the ‘Where the
bloody hell are you ad’?, which presents an Arcadian Australia. e open-
ing sequence conveys a remote country pub, and then later, an isolated
colonial homestead, both signs of British colonization within the stark
Australian landscape. e advertisement delivers the frontiers of ‘civiliza-
tion,’ a nostalgic reminder of the survival and triumph of the white set-
tlers over the rugged environment and the Indigenous people. ey are
also sites of inclusion and exclusion; as highlighted earlier, the visual
absence of Indigenous people from most of the scenes of Australia in the
ad has historical underpinnings in which “white rural settlers, in the
main, wanted Aborigines out of sight: not in their schools, their neigh-
borhoods, their public spaces, not even in their towns, except where they
could be used as a cheap and, in some cases, essential labour supply”
(Moran 2005, 173). e pub and the homestead, like the beach, are
deemed iconic Australian spaces, but they are also zones of exclusion, and
very much constructed around White identity and nationalism (Fiske
etal. 1987, Stratton 2011). Otherness is diluted, and the depictions of
Aboriginal culture are presented as exotic and safe, far away from symbols
of white communities.
In the ad the depictions of a large-scale country homestead and of the
pub, which presents the comfort of a home away from home, represent
an establishment of family and community signalling the ambitions of
settler-colonial Australia. is desire includes the controlling and taming
of the natural environment, which includes the presentation of Aboriginal
culture in a way that it merges with the natural landscape. e advertise-
ment has white Australians making statements such as “we’ve had the
camels shampooed,” “we’ve got the sharks out of the pool,” and “we got
the roos o the green.” e latter statement, the clearing of kangaroos, as
Stratton highlights could “work as substitution for the genocide of
Aborigines” (Stratton 2011, 128). e possible dangers of the natural
environment are cleared to present Australia as a safe and welcom-
ing place.
e choice of the iconic Australian pub as the opening image also sets
the scene in regards to gendered relations. In the pub, the only female
visible is a young, blonde, white woman behind the bar serving the drinks
with a smile. Clare Wright (2014) has presented a feminist history of
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
256
colonial pubs which documents the high prevalence of female publicans
in Australia. It was a place where women lived, “worked and took their
pleasure.” At the same time the country pub is still considered an arche-
typal male social institution (2014, 9). Certainly in the tourism advertise-
ment the all-male clientele in the pub does not present it as a welcoming
place for a woman. Rather, it alludes to how the “male-dominated culture
of the pub has worked to isolate, segregate and intimidate women”
(Wright 2003, 8). It is a space that represents unequal gender relations,
and the scene seems scripted for a male audience. It is important to note
that unequal gendered messages are also expressed throughout the entire
ad, which has only three female voices in comparison to six male voices.
e dominant voice in Australia is male and this inequality of voices
conveys a masculine and patriarchal positioning of Australia. is harks
back to tourism ads of the 1980s and 1990s that privileged the masculine
position, “in which women and indigenous people exist, but only at a
lower status” (Waitt 2008, 58). It seems this inequity was still occurring
in the 2000s. roughout the ad the male voices exert masculine author-
ity, such as the “we got the roos o the green” and “we’ve got the sharks
out of the pool.” By contrast, the young women are there to be looked at,
smiling behind the bar, in the Outback, in the city, or at the beach. e
male statements suggest activity and mastery over nature, whereas the
female statements and behaviour suggest a nurturing and accommodat-
ing demeanour. is is demonstrated in the lines, “We’ve saved you a
spot on the beach” and “We’ve turned the lights on.” e opening scene
in the pub sets the tone for the unequal power relationships. e rst
voice we hear is male and his voice is speaking for the woman who is
pictured. e scene reveals a young blonde woman behind the bar at the
pub, and then an extreme close up of her hand pouring a beer. en the
related statement “We’ve poured you a beer” is announced by the male
sitting and holding a lled beer glass. e camera then pans to a close up
of the young woman’s smile and her look at him. is presents a super-
cial and romanticized view of male-female relations in Australian culture.
However, this may also be read as a surprise outrage that he spoke on her
behalf. He used the term ‘we,’ when it was clearly her eort to pour the
beer. Her look, perhaps, reects, it was ‘me’ not ‘we’ that poured the
drink. It is evident that patriarchal power relations are reinforced in the ad.
P. A l lmar k
257
e ‘Where the Bloody Hell are you?’ ad is no dierent to “various
campaigns since the early 1980s. Australia’s tourism agencies have mar-
keted an image of Australians as mostly white, blonde, and either on a
beach or in a pub” (Khamis 2012, 60). is image of Australia is clearly
reinforced in the 2006 ad. As mentioned earlier, the pub is featured in the
opening scene, which also has a white, blonde woman. e nal scene
also features another white blonde woman on the beach. is is the
eighteen- year-old Lara Bingle who became the face of the tourist cam-
paign, and subsequently became a media celebrity by delivering the pay-
o nal line in the ad ‘So where the bloody hell are you?.’ With the media
focus on the teenager, the ad has also been referred to as the Bingle cam-
paign (Khamis 2012). Bingle can be considered as the ad’s main selling
point. She is presented as the tourist spectacle and she is there to privilege
the male, heterosexual gaze. is is conrmed in that nal scene in which
Bingle is situated on an idyllic, secluded beach. e purity of the white
sand and the lone young woman pictured in the landscape is a tourism
postcard cliché and is the “most commonly occurring representation in
the pages of Western travelogues and brochures” (Morgan and Pritchard
2000, 896). e woman is there to be encountered. She is available, and
she is awaiting the arrival of the male. Marketed in the tourism land-
scape, she is presented as a sexualized subject, as the camera lingers over
her and the beach “as an exoticized commodity which is there to be expe-
rienced” (Pritchard and Morgan 2000, 891). In the nal scene, after
Bingle delivers her infamous line, the camera then pans out to present a
wide-angle view of Bingle on the beach. She represents the quintessential
Australian beach girl, cheeky and appealing to the cliché of the four S’s of
mass tourism: sun, sea, sand, and sex. Presented on a deserted beach, the
barely-of-legal-age Lara Bingle is there to lure the tourists.
In Tourism Australia’s advertisements, the beach is the site where the
exotic is eroticized. Unlike the pub or the bush, the Australian beach is
often represented as a place for young, athletic, white people. It is far
from the Australian myth of an egalitarian space, with the concept that
the Australian beach is open to all to enjoy (Fiske etal. 1987; Dutton
1985; Ellison 2013). For example, tourism images typically represented
the beach as deserted except for a few aable gures that match this ste-
reotype. e isolation hints at salacious activities permitted (or at least
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
258
possible) in this space but, crucially, this sexualized Australia is sold as
belonging only to white bodies (Gregory 2017, 92). I discussed earlier
the Indigenous bodies presented as exotic. Tim Gregory asserts “the exotic
exists as a rehearsal, as an incomplete space until it is contrasted by white
heteronormativity—the body of colonizer, the tourist, the porn star”
(2017, 92). Notably, Gregory is referring to porn narratives, but in the
tourism ad this pattern is replicated. Even the word ‘rehearsal’ is used by
the Indigenous women, which marks the way for the white Australian
girl to play the leading role in the ad. As we see in the ad, the body of Lara
Bingle is celebrated with the longest screen time, in which she is the
object of the gaze. e sexualization of Bingle became further evident in
the subsequent media attention she received after her role in the cam-
paign, in which Bingle’s unclothed body became the subject of tabloid
scrutiny and as paparazzi target.1 Her bikini-clad body in the national
campaign became a prelude to her naked exposure across Australian
mainstream national media, in magazine reportage and television current
aairs coverage.
Bingle’s nal statement in the tourist campaign sparked media interest
that, indeed, further increased her visibility as a sexualized and exoticized
white body. She used the term ‘bloody hell,’ which as Winter and Gallon
argue, “had been used extensively in prior advertising campaigns within
Australia. [But] its use by a young female actor was subject to extensive
criticism, and we can only speculate whether this would have occurred
had the actor been a male” (Winter and Gallon 2008, 312). e use of
the words “bloody hell” references her association with an ocker image,
which has a history in the working-class, brash, somewhat crude
Australian masculine gure. e ocker image has been cultivated and
celebrated in Australian media since the 1970s and is particularly domi-
nant in advertising (Crawford 2010, 48). Ockerism is distinctly
Australian. As highlighted earlier, since the 1980s the ‘ocker’ image,
1 An example of tabloid scrutiny is the publication of an image of Bingle in the shower, taken by
Australian footballer, Brendon Fevola. Presented as personal porn, and without her consent, the
sexually explicit photograph was published in a national magazine, Woman’s Day. Two years later,
her privacy was again violated when the television program A Current Aair broadcast heavily
pixelated photographs of a naked Lara Bingle taken from her bedroom window.
P. A l lmar k
259
represented by Paul Hogan as the face of the “Come and Say G’day” cam-
paign (1984–1987)—better known as “throw another shrimp on the bar-
bie” ad—focused on ‘friendly residents,’ and Hogan’s earnest and amicable
ocker image proved highly successful: “His persona sold such a seemingly
authentic image of Australia as laid-back, warm, and welcoming, that
tourism chiefs have yet to supplant this image with an equally successful
alternative” (Khamis 2012, 53). e advertising company Saatchi “had
assumed that Hogan’s success could be replicated by updating the old
formula” in the ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ ad (Crawford 2010, 44).
However, even with the lure of a young woman as the key spokesperson,
it failed in its objective of increasing international tourist numbers to
Australia.
Signicantly, Australian tourism advertisements have not previously
featured women. Bingle delivering the punchline ‘Where the bloody hell
are you?’ with a cheeky, girlish smile may have softened the ocker image,
but it also classed her as unsophisticated and made her the target for
media scrutiny. Stratton argues that “one way of understanding the rise
to prominence of ockerism is as an Anglo-Australian backlash against the
breakdown of the drive of assimilation of the Mediterranean migrants
and the putting into place of the policy of multiculturalism” (2011, 114).
As such, the use of ockerism as the nal message in the ad reects a yearn-
ing for the myth of white Australia. ere has been media interest in
Bingle’s home background. She has been labelled with terms such as ‘Lara
from Cronulla’ and the ‘Shire girl as the face of the nation’ (e Daily
Telegraph 2015, n.p). Bingle originates from the Shire (Sutherland Shire,
Sydney), which has a status as a “white sanctuary,” a space of racial exclu-
sion (Perera 2007, 4). It was also the scene of the Cronulla Race Riots of
2005, in which over 5000 white men at Cronulla beach attacked people
of ‘Middle-Eastern’ appearance. It is poignant to note that the “Shire is
also the originary scene of Aboriginal dispossession” (Perera, 2007, 4).
Furthermore, “the media’s construction of place has ascribed stereotypes
of privilege, whiteness and racism to the Sutherland Shire and its resi-
dents” (Norquay and Drozdzewski 2017, 104). e media highlighting
Bingle’s association with this area links her to the discourse of white
Australian nationalism.
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
260
Final Remarks, Getting intheLast Word
As highlighted earlier, there has been much commentary about what was
considered a controversial nal statement in the 2006 Australian tourism
ad. e ad also presented a myopic view of the nation. e veracity of the
ad was questioned by Australians “through satire, parody and ridicule”
(Khamis 2012, 58). e approximately sixty-second ad has had a long-
lasting impact on popular culture. ere have been numerous parodies of
the ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ ad. For example, the Nine Network
produced an ad to promote the television coverage of cricket’s 2006–2007
Ashes series. e cricketing theme presented the preparations for the
events, with statements such as ‘We’ve rolled the ground,’ ‘we’ve put in
the stumps.’ ere is then a reference to the English predilection for
warm beer. e nal phrase is the benign ‘And we’ve been waiting all
year,’ instead of the notorious tagline of the original ad. is presents it
without controversy and ockerism, a much more polite welcome invita-
tion. In other parodies the notorious line is used for dramatic or comedic
eect. For example, in 2015, media celebrity Sophie Monk, who was also
a presenter for the TV travel show Get Away promoted the video game
e Elder Scrolls Online: Tamriel Unlimited’s PS4 and Xbox One release.
e images shown are of the mythical land presented in the games and
Monk delivers the punchline of ‘Where the bloody hell are you?.’ In
2019 Lara (nee Bingle) Worthington also resurrected her nal line,
directed it at then current Prime Minister Scott Morrison (who not so
ironically was the Director of Tourism Australia who supported the origi-
nal ad) to ask about his absence at the time of the national bushre crisis.
On Twitter, Worthington posted “‘Scott Morrison: Where the bloody
hell are you???’ … to her 106.6 thousand followers, including the
‘AustraliaBurns’ and ‘AustraliaFires’ hashtags in her pointed attack”
(Rogers, 2019). e infamous question used for political purpose posi-
tions Lara as more than just a bikini model. She is no longer a passive
object of the gaze, but as a political subject with agency.
In 2016, almost ten years after the original tourist campaign aired, Lee
Lee Chin, a SBS TV veteran (of almost forty years), featured in a parody
of the tourism ad in a Facebook promotional video for a special edition
P. A l lmar k
261
of SBS TV series e Feed on Sydney’s “lock out” laws. e laws were
introduced in February 2014 to ban patrons from entering a venue for
the rst time after 1.30 a.m., and to stop pubs and clubs serving alcohol
to patrons after 3 a.m. in the entertainment precinct of Kings Cross. In
the parody, Lee Lee Chin stands alone in a dark, empty, iconic Kings
Cross Street. She delivers the nal line that made Lara Bingle famous “So
where the bloody hell are you?.” Of a mature age, Lee Lee Chin, born in
Indonesia to Chinese parents, delivering the infamous line presents a
stark contrast to the young white Lara Bingle. Lee Lee Chin’s physical
presence distances the line from its ocker past of white Australia and the
beach, instead oering a vision of contemporary urban Australia, far
removed from the Australian national tourist images.
Dean MacCannell refers to a second tourist gaze: “that in every seeing
there is an unseen; a backside, a dark side” (MacCannell 2001, 23). Dan
Ilic, from Downwind Media, produced a video that went viral. It pre-
sented a political satire of the ‘Where the bloody hell are you’ tourism
campaign with an alternative visual montage of Australia, a second gaze
that is much closer to reality for Australian people of colour. It shows the
darker side, the horric human rights issues that pervade contemporary
Australia. It was a strong critique of the facets of Australia that were not
represented in the original tourism ad. It critiqued the marketing of
Australia as described earlier, as mostly white, blonde and either at a
beach or pub while utilizing the same structure of the original Tourism
Australia ad:
It referred to the death of Azaria Chamberlain, the mandatory detention of
refugees, Aboriginal deaths in custody and the race-based Cronulla riot of
2005. As a young man of Middle Eastern appearance says in a “Leb-speak”
accent, seconds before he is beaten up on a beach: “where the fucken hell
are yous.” (Khamis 2012, 58)
As highlighted earlier, the beach plays a fantastical role within Australian
mythology as a white space. is parody is acerbic from the opening line
(“We’ve got the Ethnics o the Beach”) to the nal line, including the
scene of a young brown man being attacked on the beach, referencing the
race riots in Cronulla. Ilic’s biting commentary on contemporary cultural
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
262
issues was moving because it highlighted police brutality towards
Indigenous Australians and racial intolerance. e parody went viral but
Ilic was forced to take the video down because it breached copyright laws.
is ruling was instigated by Tourism Australian lawyers on the grounds
that the music was infringing copyright. Tourism Australia further
described the parody as “mean spirited and humourless” (Braithwaite
2006); however “Parody is often given greater leeway in copyright law
than other forms of copying. e reasoning for this privileged position
rests upon the acknowledgement that critical and expressive speech is
necessary and desirable in a healthy society” (Suzor 2008, 220).
Nevertheless, Ilic had to alter the tune and tempo before he could re-
release the video to avoid prosecution. Ilic’s parody video oers what the
tourist gaze does not see. It does not present the idyllic images that
Tourism Australia wants to present to the rest of the world. Rather, it
shows the extraordinary sights of exclusionary violence and xenophobia
which underlie present-day Australia.
e ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ campaign fulls the fantasy of a
white Australia. It gives a nostalgic colonial, patriarchal perspective in
which women are there to host and indigenous people are safely part of
the landscape to be viewed from a distance. Signicantly, both are there
to service the Western male gaze. In 2006, when the campaign launched,
it already seemed outdated as it relied on an old formula from twenty
years earlier: an amicable, laid-back ocker image of white Australia. As
Khamis has argued, the ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ campaign “was
not too far removed from the Hogan series, with blondes on a beach,
outback pubs and Aborigines at Uluru” (2012, 54). Khamis highlights
that subsequent campaigns have attempted to present a politically pro-
gressive and cosmopolitan view of Australia. However, the success of this
is somewhat questionable. Come Wallkabout (2009), by celebrated cine-
matic director Baz Lurmann, the rst tourist campaign since the contro-
versial campaign discussed in this chapter, was also problematic. Whilst
it did not convey the Australian landscape as one of colonial-settler soci-
ety (e.g., country pubs and homesteads), the advertisements resurrect the
myth of the noble savage, and the focus of indigeneity that is linked to a
mythical past untouched by Western civilization.
P. A l lmar k
263
e advertisements feature twelve-year-old Brandon Walter, playing
the character of Nullah, a young mixed-race Aboriginal boy from Baz
Lurmann’s epic lm Australia (2008) (it was an attempt at cross- promotion
from the lm). e advertisements suggested going to Australia as a
transformative experience, and was heavily reliant on Aboriginal spiritu-
ality and the land. Young Nullah, barefoot and scantily clothed, is
depicted bewitching people who are unhappy with their hectic, stressful
urban lives. Presented as an Indigenous Peter Pan character, he magically
transports them from cities, such as NewYork and Shanghai, to a dream
holiday where they can experience the natural wonders of Australia. e
destination is not Pan’s Neverland, but the equally mythical Never Never,
a remote uninhabited Australian region and “an indigenizing space that
can be entered imaginatively” through cultural texts and cultural prac-
tices including touristic experiences (Stadler and Mitchell 2010, 173).
e tourism advertisements emphasize the positive links between
Indigenous people and harmony with the natural world. e advertise-
ments were at odds with much of the lived experience of Indigenous
people at the time of its release and of the present. Alan Pomering and
Leane White remark that “at the same time that Black Deaths in custody
were making headlines in Australia and around the world, the new TA
advertising campaign reached into the archives to take a page from the
report, Australia’s Travel and Tourism Industry 1965 (Harris, Kerr, Forster
and Company 1966), to appropriate Indigenous Australians’ spiritual
link with the land” (2011, 171). Whereas the ‘Where the bloody hell are
you?’ campaign looked back twenty years for its inspiration, the Walkabout
tourist advertisements went even further back and resurrected notions of
Indigeneity from at least forty years past. e next tourist campaign, the
‘ere’s nothing like Australia’ in 2010, presented another opportunity to
readdress the problems of Australian tourism campaigns and provide a
more contemporary perspective of the nation:
With the strap-line ‘ere’s nothing like Australia’, Tourism Australia
invited up to 15,000 Australians to submit personal snapshots and twenty-
ve- word descriptions of their favourite Australian experience. e “best”
of these (as judged by Tourism Australia) formed an interactive online
map, and were linked to a television campaign. (Khamis 2012, 56)
12 Colourful Scenery, Colourful Language: Representing White…
264
It had the potential to provide a cosmopolitan representation of Australia,
and to represent Indigenous Australians in non-stereotypical ways.
However, the television campaign presented conventional iconic repre-
sentations of Australia and white Australians dominated the screen spaces,
in a similar fashion to the previous tourism advertisements.
It is evident that there is a limited range of images used to present the
national narrative. Tourism destination images create and sell fantasies of
idyllic sites. At the same time they are responsible for promoting gen-
dered and raced perceptions of a place. Urry argues that “tourism has the
capacity to illuminate what would otherwise remain opaque” (1990, 1).
e tourism ad ‘Where the bloody hell are you?’ exposes outdated patri-
archal and parochial versions of Australia. It did not reect contemporary
Australia and the invitation to the world was generally declined. It was
not worth seeing. When Lara Bingle asked Where the bloody hell are
you? “the world did not answer” and stayed where they were (Razer
2018). e world was waiting for a better oer.
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© e Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2021
D. Bonelli, A. Leotta (eds.), Audiovisual Tourism Promotion,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-16-6410-6
A
Air New Zealand, 39,
40, 50–59
Amateur filmmaking, 210, 211
Australia, 13–30, 247–264
C
Commonwealth Film Unit
(CFU), 14, 15, 18, 20, 23,
24, 26, 29
COVID-19, 87–101, 107–121
D
Digital marketing, 89
F
Faroe Islands, 107–121
G
Gender, 248, 256
Grierson, 14, 15
I
In-flight safety videos, 37–40,
50–52, 58
e Invisible Boy, 141, 144, 145,
147, 148
Ireland, 87–101
Italy, 129–148
I Will Return, 87–101
Index1
1 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.
270 Index
M
Maoriland, 201–209, 203n4
Media-induced tourism, 156, 158,
164, 165
N
New Zealand, 199, 200, 202, 204,
206, 207, 210, 213
Nordic Noir, 177–187, 190
Nostalgia, 154, 160–163
P
Poland, 221–240
Portugal, 65, 70, 73, 80, 81
Presence, 154, 159–164
Promotional videos, 221–240
R
Race, 222, 238, 240, 261
Radio programming, 64, 72–75, 78, 80
S
Scandinavian tourism, 107–121
Screen tourism, 131, 136,
173–192
Smartphone, 173–192
South Pacific Wonderland,
199, 206
T
Tale of Tales, 141–143, 147
Tourism film, 13–30
Tourism marketing, 50, 51,
54, 57
V
Video games, 153–165
Virtual tourism, 107–121
W
Where the Bloody Hell are
you?, 247–264
