FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
Challenging Theories: Conceptual Learning in the Media
Studies Classroom
IJLM
Anthony Partington
Orton Longueville School
Peterborough (UK)
[email protected]
David Buckingham
Loughborough University
[email protected]
Keywords
media studies
conceptual learning
narrative
theory
Abstract
This article explores the nature and role of
conceptual learning in the teaching of media
studies. The article begins by reviewing previous
research in the field and revisiting earlier debates,
employing theories of concept formation drawn
from Vygotsky, Bruner, and Engeström; it then
presents an analysis of data drawn from a series of
lessons with an eighth-year class, focusing on the
concept of narrative and specifically on the issue
of point of view. The article considers how the
students use “spontaneous” and “scientific” concepts drawn from narrative theory to interpret
media texts and to produce their own, and it outlines brief case studies of four students who adopt
different stances in their use of academic theory
and metalanguage. The article provides evidence
of the productive ways in which theoretical concepts can be interrogated and problematized in
the classroom, both through a process of shifting
between abstractions and concrete examples and
by combining critical analysis and creative media
production.
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Volume 3, Number 4
Partington and Buckingham / Challenging Theories
7
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
Conceptualizing the Curriculum
In principle, a curriculum subject can be defined in
several broad ways. A subject might be defined in
terms of a body of knowledge—a collection of facts or
content to be learned. Alternatively, it might be defined in terms of a set of skills—a series of competencies to be performed and mastered. In recent years,
however, curriculum subjects have increasingly been
defined in terms of conceptual understandings (Erickson
2007). In principle, this approach has several clear advantages, which are particularly apparent at a time of
growing uncertainty about the status of knowledge.
A conceptual definition does not specify particular
objects of study (a “canon” of prescribed texts or a
body of facts, for example), and this should enable it
to remain responsive to change and to the diversity
of students’ experiences (Milligan and Wood 2010).
A conceptual approach can provide a strong basis for
sorting through large amounts of information in order to identify “what counts,” for integrating different types of knowledge, and for applying or transferring existing knowledge to new contexts or situations
(Erickson 2007). However, the conceptual approach
also raises some fundamental questions and challenges. Which concepts do we teach or prioritize,
and how do we define them? How do students develop conceptual understanding, and how does this
in turn relate to knowledge and skills? What counts
as evidence of conceptual learning, and what pedagogic approaches might teachers employ in seeking
to promote it? How do we avoid reifying concepts,
teaching them as if they were a fixed body of facts or
techniques?
In this article, we explore these questions, drawing
on our research into the teaching of media studies in
UK secondary schools. In the United Kingdom, specialist courses in this field have existed for well over 30
years, and teaching about media is also a significant
part of English courses. For much of its history, media studies has typically been defined in terms of a set
of “key concepts.” Various versions of these concepts
exist, and several are embodied in curriculum documents around the world (see, e.g., Bazalgette 1989;
Ministry of Education 1989; Buckingham 2003; Burn
and Durrant 2008). In practice, however, the different versions overlap to a considerable degree. Broadly
speaking, most media studies curricula are defined
in terms of four key concepts: media language, representation, institution, and audience. In principle, these
8
concepts provide a theoretical framework that can be
applied to all contemporary media, including new digital media such as computer games and the Internet,
as well as to “older” media such as books.
Previous research in this field has drawn particularly on Vygotskyan theory in seeking to explain the
development of conceptual understanding (Vygotsky
1962, 1978). Lev Vygotsky’s distinction between
“spontaneous” and “scientific” concepts offers a useful means of explaining the relationship between students’ existing knowledge about the media and the
new knowledge made available by teachers (Buckingham 1990). Spontaneous concepts are developed
through the child’s own mental efforts, whereas scientific concepts are decisively influenced by adults
and arise from the process of teaching. Scientific
concepts—which include social scientific concepts
(e.g., the kind used in media studies)—are distinct
from spontaneous concepts in two major respects.
First, they are characterized by a degree of distance
from immediate experience: they involve an ability
to generalize in systematic ways. Second, they involve
self-reflection or metacognition; that is, attention not
merely to the object to which the concept refers but
also to the thought process itself.
Thus, we might consider children’s existing understanding of media as a body of spontaneous concepts. Although these concepts will become more
systematic and generalized as they mature, media
education might be seen to provide a body of scientific concepts that will enable children to think and
to use language (including “media language”) in a
more conscious and deliberate way. The aim of media
education, then, is not merely to enable children to
“read”—or make sense of—media texts or to enable
them to “write” or produce their own texts; it must
also enable them to reflect systematically on the processes of reading and writing, to understand and to
analyze their own experience as readers and writers.
Through such reflection students will be able to make
their implicit “spontaneous” knowledge about the
media explicit and then, with the aid of teacher and
peers, reformulate it in terms of broader “scientific”
concepts. Vygotsky argues against the “direct teaching” of concepts. He suggests this will result in “nothing but empty verbalism, a parrotlike repetition of
words by the child” (Vygotsky 1978, p. 83). Nevertheless, he does assert that children need to be introduced
to the terminology of scientific concepts—in effect,
to the academic discourse of the subject—and that
International Journal of Learning and Media / Volume 3 / Number 4
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
children will only gradually come to use this terminology as their own.
Conceptual Problems
Despite the suggestive value of Vygotsky’s approach,
the conceptual model has some problems, both in
general and specifically with the ways in which it has
been employed in media education. Closer inspection reveals that the four “key concepts” are not of
the same kind or status. Representation, for example,
is a different kind of concept from institution. Studying representation involves exploring questions about
how media portray or depict the world, and this can
(and indeed should) lead into broader philosophical
or epistemological debates—for example, about what
we take to be “real” and how and why we do so. By
contrast, in studying media institutions, the questions are typically more concrete. Classroom work
in this area may be informed by relatively abstract
concerns—for example, about media power or about
ownership and control in the media industries—but
institutions are nevertheless things that exist in the
world, about which we can gather information (Buckingham 2003; McDougall 2006b).
A second problem is that the concepts are often
regarded as fixed and universally applicable—in effect, as “tablets of stone.” Vygotsky’s theory, as well
as the empirical studies of concept formation that he
conducted with Alexander Luria, assumes that social
scientific concepts represent inviolable truths—in
Vygotsky’s case, the truths of Marxist historical materialism. Yet a concept like “exploitation” (to choose
one of Vygotsky’s examples) is open to a variety of
interpretations, uses, and applications that vary significantly among different historical and cultural contexts. Like Vygotsky’s social scientific concepts, the
“key concepts” of media studies have emerged from
a particular academic tradition and are embedded
within a particular historically defined mode of academic discourse. Yet in a period of accelerating social,
cultural, and technological transformation, these concepts are liable to change and contestation. For example, several theorists argue that the notion of audience
may need to be fundamentally rethought in light of
the emergence of interactive media (e.g., Livingstone
2004). And in the age of so-called participatory media
(Jenkins 2006), the nature of institutions and of representation are significantly different. While we do not
support the facile proposals for “media studies 2.0”
that have emerged in recent years, the disputes that
such ideas have generated do suggest that the “key
concepts” of the media studies curriculum are by no
means uncontested (for a critique of these debates, see
Buckingham 2010). Concepts of this kind inevitably
frame and define the world in particular ways. They
are far from neutral, and they are bound to be subject
to change.
Further difficulties lie in how we identify conceptual understanding and how we might teach it.
These difficulties relate particularly to the issue of performance, not least in the context of assessment. Can
we (or should we) separate conceptual understanding
from the ability to demonstrate such understanding in
academically legitimate terms? When we explore how
a curriculum based on conceptual understandings is
actually implemented—for example, in syllabus specifications and assessment practices—the limitations
become self-evident (McDougall 2006a). One danger is in narrowing down conceptual understanding
to the ability to reproduce a prescriptive set of facts
or demonstrate mastery of a prescribed academic terminology. This can lead to a kind of cynical instrumentalism that is common among teachers and that
we have frequently witnessed in our research, at least
with examination classes: “just use these terms and
you’ll get a better grade on the exam.”
Milligan and Wood (2010) provide a parallel example of this in their account of social studies teaching. They suggest that the emphasis on conceptual
learning may be dramatically undermined by a testing regime that emphasizes uniform, outcome-based
assessment. The reification of concepts means that
a necessary sense of concepts as contestable, controversial, and subject to change over time may be lost.
In this case, the inadequate definition of the concepts themselves means they effectively become interchangeable with facts or prescriptions. And rather
than being challenged to rethink or extend their conceptual understandings, students become no more
than passive consumers, vessels to be filled with predetermined content. The alternative, Milligan and
Wood propose, entails regarding concepts as much
more provisional—as contestable, as subject to context, and as points of transition or “nodes” within a
network of ongoing enquiry rather than as fixed end
points. Teaching for conceptual understanding should
involve recognition of what Wood (2007) calls the
“slippery stuff,” the contentious and conflict-ridden
nature of knowledge. As these authors suggest, such
Partington and Buckingham / Challenging Theories
9
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
an approach would also represent a more apt response
to the changing nature of knowledge in the contemporary world—a world that is itself riven with conflict and controversy and is arguably “changing at too
fast a pace to focus on topics and facts” (Milligan and
Wood 2010, p. 490).
Looking for Progression
The wider research from which this article is drawn
focuses on the question of learning progression in media
education. Most previous research in the field concentrates on older (upper secondary school) students.
While the issue of media education has received some
recognition within existing curriculum frameworks
for younger children, the issue of progression has been
almost entirely ignored. For example, in specifying national standards for media education within English,
UK National Curriculum documents use the same
wording for 11–14-year-olds as for 14–16-year-olds.
Explorations of how even younger children might be
capable of learning about media raise fundamental
questions about how we might identify and teach for
conceptual understanding.
Despite the wider imperatives, we consciously
avoid a developmental “ages and stages” approach—
although such approaches have been adopted elsewhere, most notably in the British Film Institute’s
model of “cineliteracy” (see Buckingham 2003 for
a critique). Here again, our focus is broadly Vygotskyan: in exploring “progression” rather than “development,” we seek to understand how children
might move forward in their “zones of proximal development” from what they can do in collaboration
today to what they will be able to do independently
tomorrow.
Following Bruner (1960), our starting assumption
is that complex concepts can be taught in some intellectually respectable manner to children at all stages
of schooling. In terms of conceptual learning specifically, this leads us to address several key issues. We
need to explore the relationships between the concrete and the abstract as learners move from broader
generalizations to specific examples, applications, or
experiences, and then back again. This move may go
in both directions: teachers are frequently urged to
“start with the learner’s experience,” but on some
occasions an equal (or more) productive approach
might be to start with abstract generalizations that
are then developed and problematized through the
discussion and analysis of concrete examples
(Engeström 1999).
In media education, this may also be manifested
in the move between “theory” and “practice”—
between critical media analysis and creative production. For example, students may begin by analyzing
advertisements and then go on to produce their own,
at least in a simulated context. Here, too, we do not
see a linear process but a recursive one: practice is
not simply a testing ground for theory or an opportunity to apply it but a means whereby new theories
can potentially be generated. Although the debate on
these issues in media education has been long running, emphasis on the need to integrate the “critical”
and “creative” aspects of the field has been growing
(Buckingham 2003; Burn and Durran 2006, 2007).
Conceptualizing Narrative
The classroom work we discuss in this article is just
one of a much wider range of activities that covers all
the media education “key concepts” at different ages.
This unit of work—based around a sequence of eight
50-minute lessons—focuses on the concept of media
language, specifically on the topic of narrative.
The notion of media language involves an explicit
focus on the signifying systems that media use to create meaning. These may entail verbal and written language as well as the “languages” of moving images
and sound, all of which use particular codes and conventions in order to communicate. Media educators
have historically used methods drawn from semiotics
and structuralism as well as from more traditional
forms of literary and art-historical criticism. In some
instances, these are impressionistic and even haphazard, although in others (as was the case here) one
finds a strong emphasis on formal, quasi-grammatical
systems. Classroom activities in this area often involve the close analysis of images or film sequences
and systematic comparisons across media genres. This
approach involves “making the familiar strange” by
looking in detail at how texts are composed and put
together. For example, students might analyze television advertisements by looking at elements such as
framing and composition, the use of color, typefaces,
graphics, special effects, and so on, in order to explore
how a particular product image is created. Media language is also frequently taught by enabling children
to create their own media texts; for example, in the
form of photographs, posters, magazine layouts, or
10 International Journal of Learning and Media / Volume 3 / Number 4
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
short moving image sequences. Students might be
encouraged to reflect on the choices they have made
concerning, for example, the composition of the objects in a shot, framing and camera angles, lighting,
focus, and so on, as well as the ways in which these visual elements are combined with written text or with
sound.
Narrative can be seen (as it was in our research) as
one aspect of this broader field. Studying narrative in
this context entails a focus on how aspects of these
visual and verbal “languages” are combined in sequence in order to tell a story. All children experience
narrative from an early age—and often do so initially
through visual and moving image media rather than
print. Educational theorists such as Bruner (1986) argue that narrative is a fundamental means of relating
to the world or a mode of thought in its own right.
However, our emphasis as media educators is not so
much on the “reading” or “writing” of narrative as
on enabling children to develop theoretical or conceptual understandings of narrative. The students in
our research were expected not just to create or interpret narratives but to show an explicit understanding
of how narratives work, how they are organized and
structured, how they address and engage readers or
viewers, and so on.
This kind of aim is commonplace in undergraduate courses, perhaps especially in the field of film
studies. While it might be less overtly stated in school
curricula, an older tradition exists among teachers of
English and language arts of using forms of narrative
theory both in teaching creative writing and in literary analysis (e.g., Griffith 1987). This approach is
perhaps no longer widely used, although the British
government’s National Literacy Strategies does call
for an explicit focus on teaching about the structure
of “good” story writing—albeit in often-mechanistic
terms.
Meanwhile, in specialist media studies courses
in upper secondary schools, theories of narrative are
widely taught. As McDougall (2006b) notes and as
we have observed, teaching about narrative in this
context often derives from an outdated “canon” of
structuralist theorists—including Claude Levi-Strauss,
Tzvetan Todorov, and Vladimir Propp—who exerted
a significant influence in the 1970s. Thus, students
might be invited to compare particular examples of
a given genre in terms of Levi-Straussian binary oppositions, Todorov’s model of narrative equilibrium
and disequilibrium, or Propp’s analysis of character
functions first developed in relation to the Russian
folktale. (For a typical classroom text applying such
approaches, see Lacey 2000.)
The teaching discussed in this article, however,
explored a theory of narrative that is rather different from these more rigidly structuralist approaches;
namely, it explored the work of authors such as
Gerard Genette (1980) and Seymour Chatman (1978,
1980). While arguably still formalist in their approach,
these authors might be seen as moving toward a more
“reader-oriented” theory of narrative, if not yet a fully
poststructuralist one, and their concern is more with
narration than with narrative structure. The focus of
the class teacher (the first author of this article) was
the issue of point of view, and the theory to which the
students were introduced distinguished among three
approaches to point of view in film and moving image
narrative: perceptual (through the eyes of the character), interested (favoring one character), and neutral
(favoring no particular character). For the teacher, this
focus provides a fresh approach that avoids some of
the mechanical ways in which earlier structuralist theories have sometimes been used in classroom work
(McDougall 2006b) and also permits interesting comparisons across different media forms and genres.
This and other classroom activities conducted in
parallel with other age groups focused on what we
term “scary stories.” We chose this focus partly because we believed it would appeal across the age range.
We anticipated that for older children “scary stories”
would primarily refer to the horror genre but believed
the category was sufficiently broad to provide points
of entry for children who were much younger, thus
offering some basis for comparison among the age
groups. Teaching about scary stories would also allow
us to address points relating to other key concepts in
media—especially audience (in relation to issues such
as suspense and affective response) and, to some extent, representation. We also thought the scary story
theme could provide a useful focus for students’ creative production and critical analysis. While horror
might be seen as a risky choice, it is a familiar topic in
media studies teaching, at least with older students,
although previous research suggests that its potentially subversive aspects can be recuperated through
a more traditional focus on the “canon” of horror
films (Bragg 2002). The challenging dimensions of the
genre did prove controversial for some of the primary
school teachers with whom we worked; however, we
do not have space to explore these issues here. (More
Partington and Buckingham / Challenging Theories
11
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
detail on the wider project can be found in Buckingham et al. forthcoming.)
Teaching Narrative
The teaching took place in a secondary school (student ages 11–16) located in a relatively affluent small
city in the southeast of England. The school is generally considered to be highly successful and among
other things was the first specialist media arts school
in England. The majority of students are White
British, although over a quarter are from minority
ethnic groups, and most come from relatively privileged middle-class homes. The class was an eighthyear group comprising 18 girls and 13 boys ages
12–13. They had two 50-minute lessons per week
specifically dedicated to media and in their first year
at secondary school had studied media topics such as
“film grammar” and representation through work on
comic books and superheroes, webpages, and news in
print and online.
The first two weeks of the course focused on sharing students’ previous experiences of horror and scary
stories in a variety of media. An online discussion
board was established that students could access at
any time, alone or in groups. Although the teacher
did intervene at times, the aim at this point was to
promote a relatively open discussion. The students
were also invited to bring in their own artifacts relating to such narratives. They were also invited to draw
out and discuss the commonalities between affective
response and influence. Many of the students said
they found the subject of horror a little too scary—a
response that should caution us against easy generalizations about young people’s media preferences (see
Burn et al. 2010). Nevertheless, many acknowledged
that they sometimes watched such films with friends.
In light of this, the focus broadened to include the
kinds of scary texts and narratives with which they
were more comfortable and familiar.
Over the following three weeks, students were introduced to a range of scary stories from different media and genres. They were invited to engage in close
analysis focusing on the use of perspective or point
of view in the texts, which included an extract from
Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein and Danny Boyle’s
film 28 Days Later. In groups, students were invited to
answer questions about the differences between the
texts and the effects each text produced. After discussions in groups, students were asked to post on the
POINT OF VIEW
Neutral point of view
•
When the camera distances us from the characters so that we can see a wider picture
•
Objective
•
He/she
•
Third person
Perceptual point of view
•
When the camera looks through the character’s eyes
•
Subjective
•
You
•
Second person
Interest point of view
•
When the camera shows us something that allows us to share the character’s emotions,
thoughts, and situation and identify with him/her even though he/she is in the shot
•
Subjective
•
I
•
First person
Fig. 1 Point of view. Derived from Chatman (1978) and Genette
(1980).
discussion board their thoughts about why the author had chosen the medium in which he or she had
presented the story. Students were also asked about
which character they felt closest to and how the
author had achieved that effect. This led to a more
explicit focus on “point of view.” Students were introduced to provisional definitions of three narrative
points of view based on Genette’s theory of focalization and Chatman’s account of narrative discourse
(see fig. 1, which was the basis of a PowerPoint slide
presented to the class).
This analysis was further developed through a
comparison of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
(Rowling 1998) as a written text, film, and computer
game. The class looked specifically at the moment
when Harry and Ron are attacked by Aragog and how
this is presented in the three media (Burn 2006), using the point-of-view classification system based on
Genette’s and Chatman’s writings. The students’ findings were then posted on the discussion board.
In the final four weeks, the students were invited
to create their own scary texts, and they were explicitly encouraged to explore and exploit point of view as
a feature of the narrative. Initially, each group was to
12 International Journal of Learning and Media / Volume 3 / Number 4
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
produce a narrative in the medium (text, film, or computer game) that most suited the story, using the most
appropriate point of view, but as the weeks progressed
they were invited to move the narrative from one
medium to the other two, noting how and why the
point of view was altered. Ultimately, students were
asked to consider whether all points of view could be
reproduced in all media, as well as the suitability of
such an endeavor. While evaluating their own productions, they commented on the use of theories of point
of view in their own learning about narratives.
Although the first author was both teacher and
researcher throughout this process, data were also
gathered by other researchers working on the wider
project. Video and audio recordings were made of the
classroom activities, and some of the students were
subsequently interviewed by the researchers without
the teachers being present. Our analysis also makes
use of the students’ online postings and the work they
produced in three media—written narratives, film,
and computer games.
Although the teaching focused explicitly on theories of narrative, it did so in a spirit of investigative
dialogue. The aim of the analysis and subsequently
of the production work was not merely to illustrate
the different categories that emerged from the theory but also to interrogate the categorization process
and by extension the validity of the theory itself. This
process of interrogation was made more possible because the process entailed both critical analysis and
creative production and because it explicitly invited
the students to compare and work across three different media (which in turn allowed them to build
upon their own cultural preferences). This enabled us
to seek evidence of conceptual learning across a variety of different “modes”; that is, not merely in the
students’ explicit use of an analytical metalanguage
but in the texts they themselves created. The students’
ways of engaging with theory—and indeed with the
process of theorization or conceptualization—varied
significantly. This reflects some of our earlier questions about the relations between the concrete and
the abstract and between theory and practice in media
education.
Starting Reflections
The aim of the discussion board was to enable the
students to share their reflections on the phenomenon
of “scary stories.” The board was intended to be
student-led and to provide a forum for the class to
display and debate their existing tastes and cultural
identities. However, we also hoped that as the
project progressed we would observe the students
“scaffolding” their ideas by using the conceptual
frameworks we introduced—although whether they
chose to do that would provide a useful indication of
whether they found the concepts useful or relevant
in the first place. The following sample comes from
an early discussion on the thread “Horror and Me,”
where students were asked to answer the question,
“Do you enjoy horror or scary stories? Why?”
Sandra: I would much rather watch horror
films than the “lazy chick flicks.” I prefer the
mysteries in the book or film. I personally
think that the best time to watch one is on
a Saturday night, with a pizza, a big double
duvet and a midnight feast (: There is a film in
the cinema I really want to see which is “THE
LOVELY BONES”
Jasmine: I find movies scary because i always
feel that the characters always disturb me.
Nadia: I agree with Sandra:L
Izzy: The lovely bones is realli good!!!
Fred: I saw the lovely bones its not a Horror its
more a sad drama
Jasmine: I agree with Sandra.
Alfie: i love horror movies when watching
with my friends
Abe: i like horror movies cuz i like the thrill
and its fun watching them with friends:P
Sandra: yeah . . . you should. what age group
is the lovely bones
This exchange took place in a classroom, but
with students working at individual computers rather
than speaking. The discussion differs from the conventional pattern of teacher-dominated classroom
talk (Sinclair and Coulthard 1975). While the groupings and preferences may be partly motivated by
friendships—“I agree with Sandra”—the plurality of
views expressed in this short exchange is rare in classroom discussion, where one idea quickly dominates
and other students fall in behind it.
In Vygotskyan terms, the students’ discussion of
whether they enjoy horror movies is a fairly informal
Partington and Buckingham / Challenging Theories
13
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
instance of the use of spontaneous concepts within a
zone of proximal development. During the discussion,
the “more capable peers” extend the ideas of students
who express a simple preference, adding details about
“characters,” “drama,” and “age groups” that reflect
a broader conceptual understanding, not least in relation to narrative. Their brief exchange touches on
the contextualization of media use (e.g., the communal viewing of horror); the impact on the audience
(the “thrill” of horror); genre (Fred’s distinction between “horror” and “sad drama”); and, when Sandra
asks, “what age group is the lovely bones?,” notions of
regulation. These are examples of Engeström’s (1999)
“germ cell” abstractions that a media teacher might
want to develop into a more formal consideration
of textuality, audience behavior, and institutional
context. Online discussion thus provides a kind of
“third space” for the sharing of cultural resources
and the joint construction of new ideas (Burn et al.
2010).
Positioning, Pronouns, and Narrative Persons
As the unit progressed, the students were able to use
the online discussion to engage more formally with
the theoretical ideas being introduced in the classroom. One example of this arose in the discussion of
how readers are “positioned” by the use of pronouns
within written texts and the possible equivalents of
this in other media. Within Genette’s theory, this
process of signaling to the reader where they are in
relation to the characters and the action is called “focalization” (Genette 1980). In line with the schema
outlined in fig. 1, the students were presented with
various possibilities and asked to apply these to the
various versions of Harry Potter and the Chamber of
Secrets: I—first person singular; we—first person plural; him—third person singular object; us—first person plural object; Harry—third person singular; and
you—second person singular or plural object. Online
postings suggest that although students could identify point of view in this way in literary texts, doing so
was more problematic in other media. For example,
they recognized that in a literary text the pronoun we
might help to create both a sense of “companionship”
in a shared endeavor and a sense of immediacy. But
in a film, simply “showing people together” does not
convey quite the same form of identification between
viewer and characters. On the other hand, the use of
we in fiction does not necessarily have the same effect
as in nonfiction; for example, persuasive writing. The
first-person plural pronoun is not always inclusive of
the reader in quite the same way.
The complexity of these cross-media comparisons
generated considerable debate. For example, in one
group, Abe, a keen computer gamer, offered an alternative interpretation of first person. In a computer
game, the player typically either sees through the eyes
of the character he or she is playing, or the avatar, representing the character being played, is positioned just
in front of the player’s view. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets is such a game. Abe felt that the point of
view of the game was therefore first person and that
the equivalent in writing would be I. However, when
the group shared these ideas with the class, a girl from
another group, Sophie (whose own interests lay in
reading more than in games), argued that the game
uses the second person: it involves the player, but the
player does not “become” Harry Potter. She said the
actions of the player might be described as, “You run.
You turn to the left. You pick something up. You see.
You cast a spell.”
The concept of narrative person thus raised difficult questions for the students about how they positioned themselves within and in relation to the text,
especially when considering visual media. The students were unsure whether the text included them
or not. In the absence of the teacher providing them
with a definitive “answer,” they supported one another within the zone of proximal development,
attempting to work within the confines of the concept but struggling to describe what they saw as they
moved from one medium to another. Some students
accepted the legitimacy of the concept, while others
like Sophie kept questioning the application of terms
by other group members. At one point in a class discussion Sophie suggested that terms be combined,
that one could have “a first person, second person”
narrative. In this way she continued to push not only
her own conceptual development but that of others.
In effect, the students were actively engaging in a process of theory building. Far from simply applying a pregiven theory, they were challenging it and reworking
it as they moved back and forth between abstract generalizations and concrete examples.
Harry Potter and Point-of-View
After this stage, the teacher introduced the more “conceptual” terms for defining point of view drawn from
14 International Journal of Learning and Media / Volume 3 / Number 4
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
Chatman (1978): neutral, perceptual, and interest (see
fig. 1). These distinctions formed the basis both for
further analysis of the Harry Potter texts and for the
students’ productions. Students’ engagement with
this work varied, depending partly on their familiarity with the texts and media forms under discussion and partly on their ability to engage with the
written form of the discussion board. Nevertheless,
analysis of the online data reveals little deviation in
the use of these more “conceptual” terms among the
students.
For example, Sophie, writing as the “scribe” for
her group and accommodating the ideas of others as
well as her own, used the terms to describe the moment when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley meet the
giant spider Aragog in the written text (see Rowling
1998, p. 238) and game versions of Harry Potter and the
Chamber of Secrets:
On the novel:
the Main POV is neutral because it uses names
and not i or you. There is a little bit of interest POV because its like the book is following
harry around. Neutral is the main POV because it nearly always refers to the characters
by their names and it gives the feeling your
looking down on the characters together.
Perceptual is the POV that is used the least
because your not seeing it through the characters eyes you are looking down on them. The
effect is like you are there but they cant see
you almost like your just witnessing the scene.
For the audience we think we can trust the
car most because it seems like quite a strong
character who always helps when needed. For
the first bit you don’t know about the car because it only comes just at the last minute so
we trust harry the most because he’s the main
character and you expect him to resolve the
problem.
The students not only accommodate the terms but
suggest that more than one point of view may be possible within a text. They give evidence to support the
application of a particular term, and a system for identifying relevant textual features allows them to determine the narrative point of view. They are also able
to consider why certain decisions have been made
and the likely effects of those decisions on the reader
or player. The students seem to have adapted to the
apparently more “conceptual” terms more readily
than they did to the idea of narrative person, and they
show here a greater consistency in their application of
the terms.
The use of pronouns in the students’ postings
is interesting. Mostly the students refer to a universal you, perhaps suggesting that they expected the
text to address them and by extension the reader or
player. This usage occurred when they were certain
of their opinions and presented them as facts: “your
[sic] looking down”; “your [sic] seeing”; “your [sic]
witnessing.” When they were less certain—for example, when talking about which character the reader
trusts—they tended to use we. This might suggest that
Sophie wants to ensure that the reader of the post
(and perhaps especially the teacher) knows this was
a collective decision. However, this also says something about the precarious or provisional nature of
that trust. Compared with this hesitancy or uncertainty, her use of you appears to endow the Harry Potter novel with a greater degree of agency to position
the reader. Here, the students seem confident and familiar with this mode of storytelling and its potential
effects—suggesting that their own cultural experiences
are more easily aligned with the conceptual framework than was the case with their discussion of narrative persons.
Even so, the online discussion also provides evidence of a constructive tension between the students’
reflections and the conceptual framework they were
offered. Most students applied the terms in the same
way they were discussed in class, but others came close
to asserting that the three points of view were inadequate to describe what they saw and attempted to
adapt them to fit their understanding. In Engeström’s
terms, the students moved from simple abstract ideas
to more complex concrete examples, and the plurality
of examples cited during the class suggests the students might have been developing richer, more subtle,
and more distinctive concepts.
The shot-by-shot analysis Anna’s group produced
of the film version of the scene where Harry and Ron
meet Aragog points to further complexities in the
three points of view (see fig. 2).
Where are the three points of view in this text?
NEUTRAL THROUGH THE
FOREST AT BEGINNING
PERCEPTUAL WHEN LOOKING AT SPIDERS
PERCEPTUAL WHEN SPIDER TALKING
INTEREST WHEN THEY ARE IN THE CAR
Partington and Buckingham / Challenging Theories
15
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
theory offered them a set of tools, but those tools were
adapted and in some cases rejected as the students
sought to accomplish the task of explanation that
was at hand. Their approach thus went well beyond
merely applying a pre-given theory. They interrogated
the theory, opening it to change in light of concrete
examples and experiences.
Theory and Practice: Four Modes of Engagement
To what extent, and in what ways, were the students
able to transfer the conceptual understandings developed through these critical or analytical activities to
their own creative productions? And did the activity
of creative production raise further theoretical insights
or enable the students to question or challenge the
theories to which they had been introduced? Did students merely apply the theories or imitate the texts
they had analyzed, or were they able to innovate as
well? We consider these questions by exploring four
case studies of students who engaged with the work
in very different ways. Our analysis is primarily based
on individual interviews conducted either by the class
teacher or the project researchers after the production
work was complete.
Denial
Fig. 2 Screen shots from Harry Potter and the Chamber of
Secrets
They use the category of perceptual point of view to
describe two different shots in the sequence. Other
groups saw the second shot identified as perceptual
by Anna’s group as a “reaction shot” (of Harry and
Ron looking at the spider) and hence as reflecting the
“interest” point of view. Close reading of the original
text (Rowling 1998) supports either reading.
These differences among the groups suggest that
the students were moving beyond a single, rehearsed
reading of the text and that the flexible and provisional use of a conceptual framework might enable
them to articulate and reflect upon the broader significance of such differences. Yet as they moved beyond single, rehearsed readings, they also questioned
the terms of the theory they had been taught. The
Lynne: Well the fact that I don’t remember
it [the names given to the three points of
view]. . . . I think that it’s useful knowing
those perspectives because you already know
they exist . . . it’s just finding a name for
them. . . . You would know what to call the
views.
At first glance, this comment might appear disheartening. But things are not quite as clear as they seem.
The student, Lynne, suggests “knowing those perspectives” is “useful,” even though her reason for this is
“because you already know that they exist.” Her assertion would seem to be undermined, however, by
the fact that she cannot remember the “conceptual”
terminology. Her objection seems to be to the act
of naming the points of view rather than to the understanding that such points of view exist. Yet, this
very naming allowed her to consider point of view in
her own story: “I suppose it’s from her point of view
as a ghost. It starts as neutral and then it goes into
perceptual.”
16 International Journal of Learning and Media / Volume 3 / Number 4
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
In our experience, resistance to “conceptual” terminology or metalanguage is particularly apparent
in some students’ engagement with creative production. For some, knowing “technical” or “conceptual”
terms makes the work all the more exciting, but for
others it is tantamount to having the magician explain how the trick is done. Lynne’s discussion of her
short film suggests she is drawing on a rich cultural
experience:
Lynne: Have you ever heard the story about
the doll that kills the little girl? We took the
basis of that and added more depth [. . . .] Do
you know how in Jaws they don’t show the
shark until half-way through the film? I think
that’s a great tension builder. I think that
it would be great to not see the doll . . . see
Sally playing with her, but not the face . . . but
when she opens her closet door to find Sally
you would just see the face for the first time
and I think that would be great—interesting.
Lynne’s comments imply that she already had a
repertoire of techniques she could draw upon to involve her audience and that she was thinking selfconsciously about the effects of those techniques.
Her writing also shows that she was able to apply the
points of view discussed in class, moving from the
neutral to the perceptual view and from the third to
the first person. Although she was not able to realize
her ideas for a film version, her discussions show that
she saw how these views could be used in other media:
“in the game, I think you would be Sally.”
Lynne’s comments suggest a clear understanding
not only of the conventional use of points of view in
different media but of their potential effects. Her remarks about the film version show she understood
that the perceptual view is subjective and that the
viewer cannot see the whole picture—which then
allows for a dramatic revelation. Yet while she was
capable of using the concept of point of view, she
seemed to resist the academic terminology. She said
she knows the three types of point of view exist and
knows what she might call them were she to call them
anything, but she did not reveal her own terms, instead using those that were provided. As we argue
elsewhere (Buckingham et al. 1995), scholars and
educators need to take care not to confuse conceptual understanding with the ability to mobilize academic terminology for the purpose of assessment.
This example raises (again) the question of why such
academic terminology might be necessary or relevant
for learning.
Order and Orthodoxy
Giorgio is an academically able child and in class
discussions showed he could easily apply narrative
theory to the texts that were examined. In online
postings, his group applied terms clearly and without ambiguity and in this way differed from the other
groups. For Giorgio, “[before], it was confusing, now
there are three solid views.” His use of the word solid
suggests a clear division between the three points of
view, a position the other groups, which did not see
the distinctions so clearly or were inclined to challenge them, did not share. Giorgio was certain that
“This module [the unit of work] has taught me actually the proper points of view for each type of [camera]
shot.”
On one level, this suggests that Giorgio was able
(in Vygotskyan terms) to move from spontaneous to
scientific concepts: using “conceptual” terminology
to label the points of view and the attendant camera
shots in film and then extending this terminology to
other areas, such as novels or games, provided him
with a way of articulating and systematizing his existing knowledge (cf. Buckingham and Sefton-Green
1994). However, Giorgio’s position could be described
as orthodox because he shows no indication of wanting
to question the concepts.
The clarity of this group’s understanding is evident in their creative work, a computer game sequence produced using the game authoring software
MissionMaker (Immersive). Because they had studied
computer games, the students were aware of the need
for a “ludic” (or playable) dimension to their game, as
well as a strong narrative (cf. Carr et al. 2006). Giorgio was critical of the lack of ludic features in their
game (“you did not really have to do anything”), but
he was certain it used point of view like other games:
“In everyday life we always see things from a perceptual point of view . . . but in a game, such as ours,
you see through the character . . . like a first person
story.”
Yet while contrasting reality and his group’s
game, he seemed to move away from his orthodox
position on point of view. The group’s game is actually largely achieved through the perceptual point
of view. Giorgio’s comment thus suggests either that
in his opinion perceptual point of view is different
Partington and Buckingham / Challenging Theories
17
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
in games than in reality or that how the perceptual
point of view is used in a game differs from its use
in other texts such as novels or films. Games such as
the Harry Potter game that was explored in class have
an avatar between the player and the action, which
might be closer to interest point of view or, as Giorgio
says, “through the character.”
This ambiguity again highlights the difference between what students said they had learned and what
they were actually thinking in relation to specific instances. Giorgio accepted the three points of view to
the extent that he regarded them as “proper.” Yet
in his examination of texts and in the texts he created, he was able to see shades of the points of view
and to make subtle distinctions. For example, when
speaking about the written narrative that the students
produced, he returned exclusively to using narrative
person to describe point of view, though in terms that
make third person synonymous with the neutral view:
“The story was in third person, because we wanted to
use the three different points of view in the three different media. . . . It wouldn’t really have worked in the
first person, probably, because very often in the first
person, you can’t see everything . . . the third person
in stories knows everything.”
His analysis shows not just an acceptance of the
conceptual framework but a reasoning behind the
choices that were made. The students wanted to use
all of the points of view, but the medium dictated the
most appropriate. His statement that “the third person
in stories knows everything” might mean that Giorgio
realizes the written text must appeal to the senses in
a way that visual texts do not have to, because in visual texts information will be picked up by the player
or viewer through their observations. Despite his “orthodox” position, Giorgio’s application of the terms
and concepts in his production was not blindly adherent to the conceptual framework. He made genuine
decisions about the effect on the reader and the conventions of the medium in which he is working. Ultimately, the concept worked for him, and so he was
happy to support it.
Asking Questions
Although Giorgio was generally happy to accept the
concepts as “proper,” other students were more questioning or challenging. Unlike Lynne, though, they
were not seeking to resist theory per se but rather to
clarify it.
Sophie: I know I asked really long and confusing questions . . . not perceptual, because
that is a fine line between interest, but I still
don’t really understand neutral. Does it have
to be a couple? I don’t know how distant you
have to be? Neutral you can read people’s
thoughts and feelings and maybe even more
so because you can see their whole bodies and
read their body language. So I am not sure
how we would do neutral with one character,
maybe put the character further away . . . that
would give the audience privilege because
they may see a shadow behind the girl . . .
with neutral you would have to sacrifice some
of your tension.
Although Sophie accepted the terms to the extent she
used them—and she did so more consistently than
either Giorgio or Lynne—she also posed questions
and tried to draw greater distinctions. She was particularly concerned with the neutral point of view and
did not feel that it could be achieved in a shot with
just one person. The task of trying to include all the
points of view in all the media may have distorted her
focus. Or Sophie might be correct. Her question about
whether one can read people’s thoughts and feelings
suggests a reading that goes beyond what she was
taught. She drew on her own experiences to test out
her hypotheses and ultimately to challenge the theory
itself.
Sophie’s group said they were inspired by the film
Paranormal Activity (dir. Oren Peli, 2007), in which a
young couple buys a house and becomes disturbed by
a presence in the night. The film is shot as though the
man and woman are filming themselves in the house
in order to capture evidence of the disturbing activity.
Some of the shots use the perceptual point of view, as
if one of the characters in the film is behind the camera, and some shots use the neutral point of view, as
if the camera is recording what it sees in the night. Although Sophie’s group never made their narrative into
a film, she says they would have used the perceptual
point of view: “it is much easier to do perceptual with
visual [media].” She cites the influence of the film as
an effective use of point of view and explains why her
group was not able to replicate the effect with its own
written text:
Sophie: We were inspired by Paranormal Activity. We know that that kind of thing works
more . . . with tension and horror. . . . We had
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FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
a kind of goal of making you experience it
with the character . . . that’s why we chose
first person, because it’s really easy to do,
because it is so hard to do perceptual in text
and if we said “you” it would not get across
the kind of thing that we were aiming to get
across . . . it would be more like instruction.
Like other students in the class, Sophie proffered the
idea that different media offer different affordances
in presenting the narrative to the audience or reader.
These students were aware that in visual media the
text can directly address the reader, but they could
not conceive of a written text addressing the reader
in the same way—with the exception of instructional
writing, which Sophie knew was not the effect she
wanted to create.
Sophie demonstrated a clear, explicit understanding of the use of point of view. She knew, for example,
that “choices are affected by genre and impact on the
audience.” She further suggested that the horror genre
might have been the stumbling block preventing her
team from using the neutral point of view: “You can
use neutral [in other stories], but it was the genre. . . .
If he [the teacher] had given us a comedy or romance
to work on, then . . .” Sophie appeared to be trying
out the concepts against examples she knew. Rather
than simply accepting them, she wanted to test them
out and see how they might fit in other situations.
When asked directly about this, she said that introducing theory to students was a good idea but that
it should be presented tentatively and as an option:
“it is not just bang on the nail and this is it.” In Engeström’s terms, she began with “a new theoretical
idea or concept . . . in the form of an abstract[ion],”
and by asking questions and testing the idea against
what she knew, she ensured that this abstraction was
“step-by-step enriched and transformed into a concrete system of multiple, constantly developing manifestations” (Engeström 1999. p. 151). This also has
implications for Sophie’s identity as a learner: she
became an active participant in a process of theory
building. Like Stephen, a student analyzed by Buckingham and Sefton-Green (1994), Sophie used theory
as a way of asserting herself and validating her own
understandings as intellectually pertinent. On occasion, this required her to challenge theory. When she
did, the relation between the abstract and the concrete
developed more of the “richness and multiplicity”
Engeström envisages.
The Gameboy
Almost all of the groups wrote their story before attempting to make a film or a game. Sophie even made
a convincing case that all texts are, in the first place,
written. Aside from the occasional improvisatory
film, most fictional films and games are scripted and
storyboarded before they are actually produced. The
students in our study were not provided with much
technical support, and thus the choice of a written
story was the least risky. Nonetheless, one group did
start with a game.
Although Giorgio was in this group and did most
of the work in the actual construction of the game,
much of the inspiration came from Abe, a committed
and passionate gamer. For the other students, who
tended to come from more bookish backgrounds,
Abe’s cultural tastes presented something of a challenge. Yet because of this, Abe can be seen as an
example of one of Vygotsky’s “capable peers”: His
knowledge of games offered his group different
possibilities for applying the concepts in concrete
instances. The game-making software MissionMaker
gave this group the opportunity to experiment with
ideas about point of view that Abe was familiar with
from gaming. Other students—including those in
Sophie’s group—said they found the software limiting when compared with the creativity and originality
that was possible in writing. MissionMaker does not
provide the blank page that writing does: Users must
select predetermined characters, locations, and props,
and creative decisions have largely to do with choosing and combining these details (for a discussion of
work using this software, see Buckingham and Burn
2007). Yet the process is arguably not so different from
the generic and intertextual nature of story writing.
Abe justified his group’s choice of medium as follows:
Abe: I think it’s what you are into. I don’t
like reading much . . . which isn’t good, I
know. . . . I prefer games a lot, I play them
a lot, you can control them a lot . . . it’s almost easier that . . . well, they are like your
avatar . . . they are almost part of you, so you
can relate to it more. . . . Obviously, you have
more freedom with pen and paper, but it’s
almost like you have not much to show for
it. You write stuff down and a game is more
entertaining, because you play at being the
person.
Partington and Buckingham / Challenging Theories
19
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
Although Abe knew a lot about games and felt
comfortable when talking about them, he also felt like
he should not. His comment about not liking reading was presumably for the benefit of the interviewer
and the teacher, but it also reveals that he saw his culture as separate from the culture of school. However,
his observations about “control” and “being the person” have significant implications for thinking about
point of view. Abe’s experience and understanding
of games meant his group was the only one that was
able to produce a genuinely perceptual point of view
in any medium—although many of the other groups
discussed and tried to achieve it too.
Abe’s group was also the only group to converge
the media forms and therefore adapt the task it had
been given. Using backgrounds from the game, the
group attempted to “green-screen” live action into the
game world in order to create a computer-generated
film world. Although they encountered technical
problems with this, they did manage to preserve some
of the features of the narrative as they moved between
media. Technical limitations prevented other groups
from creating anything other than simple stories using familiar techniques. For example, for a film version of its story Lynne’s group wanted to create an
animated doll that would be seen from the perceptual point of view of the girl, but they could not create
the doll in reality and were forced to revert to using
(or rather talking about using) the doll’s perceptual
point of view, losing the effect of the viewer “seeing”
through the eyes of the girl. Abe’s gaming expertise
seems to have scaffolded the other students, enabling
them to move easily from game authoring to creating a film that was more fantastical and therefore did
not need to possess the realism that some of the other
groups sought.
Conclusion
All the students examined in this study engaged with
the concept of point of view in narrative, but the nature and extent of their learning varied in several key
respects. Lynne resisted not so much the process of
conceptualization itself as the use of an academic
metalanguage that would formalize this conceptualization. She acknowledged that such a language
existed, but she found it irrelevant to her purposes
because it did not add anything to her understanding
and creation of texts. Giorgio accepted the conceptual discourse and used it to explain his thoughts and
ideas even when it did not exactly match what he was
attempting to say. His approach was comparatively
orthodox: the concepts provided a strong position
from which he could articulate his understanding,
and he seemed to perceive little reason to question
them further. While neither embracing nor rejecting the conceptual framework, Sophie was able to use
the language it provided to frame her ideas. She was
the most inclined to challenge and extend the concepts, but without them she would have had nothing
to question or develop. Abe, meanwhile, was able to
draw on different cultural experiences that gave him
a “handle” on some of the more elusive and complex
aspects of the concepts, even if the terminology itself
was not particularly significant for him.
The concepts therefore had different kinds of validity and usefulness, depending on the students’ prior
cultural experiences and on their willingness to “play
the game” of academic theory. However, the point
of the teaching was not to produce the kind of orthodoxy Giorgio represents—although that in itself
can be seen as a perfectly valid outcome. Rather, the
classroom activities (both the critical analysis and the
creative production) offered opportunities for theory
building—for applying existing theories, assessing
their usefulness and their limitations, and generating new ones. In principle, both the teacher and the
students were able to engage in collaborative enquiry.
The teacher was relatively new to the theory and did
not necessarily believe the students’ questions had
a “right answer.” The students were encouraged to
draw on their cultural experience of novels, films, and
games—and thereby to move between the concrete
and the abstract—in ways that could not have been
predicted in advance. The students’ engagement with
this collaborative enquiry thus depended partly on
how they perceived its relevance to their own everyday experiences and cultural preferences—although
for some, like Sophie, the conceptual investigation appears to have had a dynamic and pleasure in its own
right.
No one single pattern in the development of conceptual understanding was observed across the group.
The process was not linear, and the students and
teacher returned to ideas again and again in order to
reexamine and reconsider aspects of the larger theory.
Concepts or theories can provide a scaffold to move
students on to the next stage, and the teacher’s role is
to provide this scaffold, because students might not
make the move by themselves. Even so, the process of
20 International Journal of Learning and Media / Volume 3 / Number 4
FORMULATIONS & FINDINGS
scaffolding should entail a genuinely open dialogue,
both between teachers and students and between different pedagogic approaches. As we have argued elsewhere, this dialogue entails a “shifting back and forth
between different forms of learning—between action
and reflection, between practice and theory and between passionate engagement and distanced analysis”
(Buckingham 2003, p. 154). As was the case with Abe,
students’ cultural preferences may give them access
to other ways of conceptualizing or may lead them
to challenge and extend theory in ways that teachers
might not be able to foresee. That students’ cultural
preferences should be shared and actively put to work
in the classroom is thus imperative.
The approach to conceptual learning we propose here is more flexible but also potentially more
challenging than the linear account that sometimes
emerges from neo-Vygotskyan theory. Rather than
seeking a steady progression from spontaneous to scientific concepts, we emphasize the value of a more
dynamic or dialectical relationship between them.
Scientific concepts should not be prescribed or reified
but should be seen as flexible tools that are historically and institutionally located and hence subject to
change. Such an approach does not imply a relativistic
approach to knowledge. Rather, it suggests that theory
should be regarded as always open for interrogation
and challenge—not least by learners themselves.
Acknowledgment
The research on which this article draws was funded by the
UK Economic and Social Research Council as part of the
project “Developing Media Literacy: Towards a Model of
Learning Progression” (RES 062 23 1292). We thank our
colleagues Andrew Burn, Becky Parry, and Mandy Powell
for their contributions to this work.
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