Also available in an open-access, full-text edition at http://oaktrust.library.tamu.edu/handle/1969.1/86080 The black sun, an ages-old image of the darkness in individual lives and in life itself, has not been treated hospitably in the modern world. Modern psychology has seen darkness primarily as a negative force, something to move through and beyond, but it actually has an intrinsic importance to the human psyche. In this book, Jungian analyst Stanton Marlan reexamines the paradoxical image of the black sun and the meaning of darkness in Western culture. In the image of the black sun, Marlan finds the hint of a darkness that shines. He draws upon his clinical experiences—and on a wide range of literature and art, including Goethe’s Faust, Dante’s Inferno, the black art of Rothko and Reinhardt—to explore the influence of light and shadow on the fundamental structures of modern thought as well as the contemporary practice of analysis. He shows that the black sun accompanies not only the most negative of psychic experiences but also the most sublime, resonating with the mystical experience of negative theology, the Kabbalah, the Buddhist notions of the void, and the black light of the Sufi Mystics. An important contribution to the understanding of alchemical psychology, this book draws on a postmodern sensibility to develop an original understanding of the black sun. It offers insight into modernity, the act of imagination, and the work of analysis in understanding depression, trauma, and transformation of the soul. Marlan’s original reflections help us to explore the unknown darkness conventionally called the Self. The image of Kali appearing in the color insert following page 44 is © Maitreya Bowen, reproduced with her permission,[email protected].

When CBS cancelled Serling's series, The Twilight Zone, Serling sought a similar concept in Night Gallery in the early 1970s as a new forum for his brand of storytelling, a mosaic of classic horror and fantasy tales. In this work, the authors explore the genesis of the series and provide production detail and behind-the-scenes material. They offer critical commentary and off-screen anecdotes for every episode, complete cast and credit listings, and synopses of all 43 episodes. Also featured are interviews with television personalities including Roddy McDowall, John Astin, Richard Kiley and John Badham.

A powerful blend of psychological thriller, gothic horror, and romance, 'Crimson Peak' sees del Toro return to the genre he helped define. This book chronicles the creative journey behind the film, showing how del Toro's sublimely sinister story was dynamically rendered for the screen. It features a number of special removable items, interviews with the director and crew and a broad range of spectacular concept art.

Harvey Keitel has made his menacing presence felt in some of the greatest cult movies ever, from Martin Scorsese's Mean Streets and Taxi Driver to Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. with over sixty movies to his name Keitel is one of the most sought-after actors in the world. Yet, unlike so many of his peers he has remained loyal to the world of independent and groundbreaking films, repeatedly surprising us with risky performances such as those in Bad Lieutenant, The Last Temptation of Christ, The Piano and Smoke. Keitel's willingness to challenge himself and support small films has inspired a generation of young actors and directors, helping to reinvigorate independent film and giving us a gritty, refreshing screen icon--a throwback to greats such as Lee Marvin and Robert Mitchum.Keitel's rollercoaster life is also unique, a story unike any other in filmdom's annals. A kid on the street in Jewish Brooklyn, a stint in the Marines, a brief career as a court stenographer, an encounter with Scorsese and De Niro, firing from the lead in Apocalypse Now, self-imposed Hollywood exile in the eighties, a triumphant return to prominence in the great films of this decade, Keitel throughout has exemplified a painful and unflinching search for honesty and self knowledge which smolders and flares in his performances.

Just like Scheherazade, undercover agents talk to save their lives. If they put in a poor performance, they don't see the curtain rise again. ART OF DARKNESS pries open the virtuoso identity techniques practiced by undercover operatives, fugitives, disguise artists, pranksters, con artists, and federally protected witnesses. It draws on original interviews with undercover operators in order to show how identity artists on both sides of the law obtain fake ID, develop a disguise, build a cover story, maintain believability in street performances, and deal with threats to their identities-all without formal acting training. ART OF DARKNESS inhabits the grey areas of morality as it exposes identity roleplays at the borders of lawfulness. In it you'll find stories of: law-enforcement workers who adopt the techniques of criminals in order to catch them but somehow get caught up in their own trick identities; self-defined artists whose work also has a criminal dimension; criminal informants who masterfully play sides and roles against each other; and hoaxsters and impersonators who may perform trick identities primarily for gain but do so with tremendous inventiveness and a directorial consciousness. This book may explode any remaining notion you harbor that you are not at some level a member of the intelligence community, discerning who is "for real" and who is presenting a self for personal gain.

This ambitious study explores how important darkness--artificial darkness--was, as an actual technology, in producing not just photographs but visual novelties and experiments in cinema in the nineteenth century. The study plays out against a backdrop of urban history, where most scholars have focused on the growth of artificial light and the electrification of cities. Elcott’s study challenges that approach. In considering zones of darkness, it ranges from the sites of production (darkrooms, studios) to those of reception (theaters/cinemas/arcades) that shaped modern media and perceptions. He argues that, in the nineteenth century, the avant-garde was often less interested in the filmed image than in everything surrounding it: the screen, the projected light, the darkness, the experience of disembodiment. He argues that darkness has a history separate from night, evil, or the color black, and has a specifically modern manifestation as a media technology. We are all aware of the "velvet light trap” in photography, but at the heart of this book are technologies of darkness crucial to cinema that were commonly known as "the black screen,” but have, over time, faded from the storied discourse.