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The 1999 film, 10 Things I Hate About You, opens with a sweeping panorama of a Seattle setting, while on the soundtrack The Barenaked Ladies' song, 'One Week', is heard emanating seemingly from a non-diegetic source. This assumption is soon corrected as a car full of teenage girls pulls up to a stop sign; they are all bopping their heads in time to the tune, which is now identified as coming from the car's stereo. However, this sound is quickly drowned out and replaced by Joan Jett's rendition of 'Bad Reputation', which blasts from the car stereo of Kat Stratford (Julia Stiles), the film's main character, and the 'Shrew' in this filmic updating of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew. Significantly, within this opening shot the nature of these characters and their relationship has been established without a single word of dialogue.

Music is foregrounded as the primary marker of character in 10 Things I Hate About You, as it so often is in teen films. Kat's 'bad reputation' is contrasted with the conventional identities of the other girls, marked as they are by the mainstream pop of The Barenaked Ladies. This band's sensibility, and its audience, is identifiable from a comment by lead singer Steven Page, who is 'troubled by the current rap-metal trend, because it feeds and fuels alienated youth'.1 The film's use of The Barenaked Ladies' music, combined with the uniformity of the girls' response to that music, suggests a mainstream conformism against which Kat's behaviour and identity is cast. Issues of identity construction are often central to teen films, as producers attempt both to address the youth audience and to use popular culture to construct dominant ideals of behaviour. This chapter explores the function of music within those constructions. Key to this is the relationship between youth identities that can be constructed - and hence 'contained' - by the narrative and those musical moments, the unexpected explosions of musical performance in a non-musical film, in which youth identity becomes part of what may be described as cinematic excess. Given that 10 Things I Hate About You derives the issue of containment or 'taming' from its dramatic source, this is an important focus for examining the construction of youth identity within the film. Through a comparison with a classical Hollywood musical, Meet Me in St. Louis (1944), which is also concerned with love and social roles, it will be possible to see how 10 Things I Hate About You illustrates how shifts in popular music style, and the growing impact of music video, have altered the relationship between music and identity in the post-classical musical. Similar shifts will be considered in relation to Tank Girl (1995), where the incorporation of music video techniques is evident and where again identity and gender construction become bound up in the film's musical moments. Through their use of textual excess in the construction of these 'musical moments', 10 Things I Hate About You and Tank Girl may be positioned as progressive texts in terms of their construction of femininity. The links between music and identity position their main female characters in opposition to the conventional feminine role rather than providing the social integration so central to both the classical musical and to the contemporary teen film.

Barry Keith Grant has noted that rock music quickly became part of Hollywood's representation of youth, despite its apparent codification as oppositional. As Grant points out, rock's ideology of resistance and rebellion was part of Hollywood's efforts to attract a teenage audience: 'rock 'n' roll, which initially was antithetical to both the musical's themes and conventions, was rather quickly fitted to its generic strategies'.2 It is evident that this use of rock music has continued into contemporary youth films. This should not be surprising, for rock music, despite its apparently oppositional nature has been 'generally patriarchal, heterosexual, and romantic, thus reinforcing (at least until some New Wave music) traditionally sexist distinctions between masculine sexuality as aggressive and dominant, and feminine sexuality as passive and submissive'.3

In 10 Things I Hate About You Kat is presented as preferring music that is independent or 'alternative', a sub-genre in which female artists have sometimes flourished. Additionally, Kat expresses a desire to sing and play the guitar herself, aspirations that mark her desire to control her subjectivity. At one point in the film, following a search of Kat's bedroom by her sister, Bianca (Larisa Oleynik), and 'new boy' Cameron James (Joseph-Gordon Levitt), looking for clues as to her interests so that Patrick Verona (Heath Ledger) can seduce her, Kat is identified as having a preference for 'angry girl music of the indie rock persuasion'. This is echoed in the film's depiction of the 'riot grrl' venue, Club Skunk, in which shots of Verona's point of view as he enters the club allow us to see a predominantly female clientele, dressed in aggressive riot grrl style and defiantly returning the 'gaze' of the camera. The nature of the music and its relation to female identity is thus underlined. Verona uses his knowledge about the music as a means of attracting Kat's interest: referring to the band performing at the club, he notes that they are 'no Bikini Kill or The Raincoats'. Much of the film's soundtrack is performed by 'indie' artists, particularly the band Letters to Cleo, which, while never named, is identified as being Kat's favourite. The performances include covers of Nick Lowe's 'Cruel to Be Kind' and Cheap Trick's 'I Want You to Want Me', both songs in which an aggressive male identity had been foregrounded in the original versions.

It is in the displacement of this musical identity, through female performances of these traditionally 'masculine' songs, that the film's excess is located. Certainly, it is indicative of the impossibility of Kat's identity being fully contained by the romantic narrative. Just as the musical performances refuse to align with traditionally gendered generic boundaries, so Kat's identity is never fully consumed by the conventional representations of gender or sexuality. The film ends with Kat re-establishing her relationship with Verona, but also with her being presented with a guitar in order to pursue her musical ambitions just as she has arranged to pursue her academic ambitions. Grant describes the incorporation of rock 'n' roll into Randall Kleiser's film Grease (1978), where 'in the end the romance of pop wins out over the sexuality of rock'.4 At the end of 10 Things I Hate About You the opposite occurs, as Kat's rock credentials are reaffirmed in her possession of the phallic guitar, and then underlined by the rooftop performance of 'I Want You to Want Me' that closes the film.

Unlike the classical Hollywood musical, 10 Things I Hate About You does not provide the restoration of social stability. Musical numbers in the classical musical are often about controlling and channelling sexual energy. As Grant observes, 'narrative closure is attained when the couple's differences are somehow resolved, usually through the mediating power of musical performance'.5 This affirmation of social norms is also emphasised by Jane Feuer, who notes that 'successful performances are intimately bound up with success in love, with the integration of the individual into a community or group'.6 This use of music as a means of social integration in the contemporary teen film is evident in She's All That (1999), in which, at the high school prom, a group of teenagers comes together, apparently spontaneously, into one cohesive unit, dancing to Fat Boy Slim's 'Rockafeller Skank'. Unsurprisingly, She's All That is a film that validates social integration, as the seemingly unattractive outsider gains acceptance into the mainstream culture of the school. This conforms to the conventions of the teen high-school film in which the individual ultimately finds a way to become part of the community, as exemplified in John Hughes's The Breakfast Club (1985) and Pretty in Pink (1986).7In each of these films social outcasts find ways to fit in with mainstream sensibilities. While the social order may seem alienat ing and cruel at times, the message seems to be that the individual must find ways of 'making do', and it is often through music that this understanding evolves. The Breakfast Club's library dance scene, in which youths of very different identities bond through dance, and Pretty in Pink's use of the slow dance at the prom clearly demonstrate these tendencies. That each film's most memorable songs -Simple Minds' '(Don't You) Forget About Me' in The Breakfast Club and Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's 'If You Leave' in Pretty in Pink - sum up the film's messages of social integration should come as no surprise.

The way in which music is incorporated into 10 Things I Hate About You is decidedly different. Rather than functioning as a supplement to or commentary upon the narrative, music in this film is a main concern of the central character. As such, the potential to read these as musical moments is much greater. Ian Conrich has identified such moments as 'short passages of musical performance' that appear in 'non-musical classical Hollywood films'.8 Here, describing the films of The Marx Brothers, Conrich identifies 'musical performance as a moment of energy and escapism'9 and suggests that these disruptive moments, displaying a vaudeville aesthetic, are seemingly at odds with 'the established conventions of a classical Hollywood cinema concerned with narrative coherence and causality'.10 The musical moments in 10 Things I Hate About You work in a slightly different manner because despite Kat being the locus of the narrative's moments of disruption she is a defined character as opposed to a star performer like Groucho or Harpo Marx. Rather than structuring Kat into the seemingly coherent social realm of the narrative, these disruptive moments crucially help to locate her as individual and separate. The closest she comes to social integration is in a drunken tabletop dance at a party. But here the communal value of music is represented negatively, for while Kat's performance may make her the centre of attention at the party, it diminishes the control over her identity that she has exhibited throughout the film. Immediately after this dance she is 'rescued' by Verona and this leads to what looks like a conventional romantic scene. But Kat has lost control, and this is represented by her vomiting onto Verona's shoes. What is interesting here is that this stereotypical scene of romance, on a lawn swing under a starlit sky, does not become a classical moment of union in which differences between characters are resolved by the powers of music and musical performance. Instead, it demonstrates the perils of such moments when the control over identity exhibited by the female lead is lost. By the time Verona drives her home, Kat has recovered enough of her self-control to shun the norms of romance by rejecting him. The formation of the couple will not take place here in the classical manner of the musical or the teen film; instead, it is to take place under Kat's terms in the later scene in which she is presented with a guitar.

It is in Kat's relation to music and to the performances within the film that a correspondence to Conrich's ideas of musical moments is most evident. Kat expresses a desire for independence throughout the film: in her choice of college, in her relationships with her peers and in her musical taste. Her social critique focuses on mainstream culture's patriarchal character. This is shown in a scene in an English class, where she challenges being given an assignment on Hemingway as an indication of the patriarchal nature of the course of study. It is also evident in Kat's home life, in which her overbearing father insists on her attending a college close to home, because he fears losing his daughter. The father's efforts to control his daughters' dating habits are the impetus for the narrative and serve to heighten the significance of the film's examination of the problem of patriarchal control. Kat's identification with women's rock music and rock performance is therefore bound up in these concerns. The first time she is seen at home, and in a scene in which her troubled relationship with her father is introduced, Kat is reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar while the soundtrack (Spiderbait's 'Calypso') offers us another clue to her feelings.

Unlike the central figures of both the classical folk musical and the teen romance, Kat expresses no desire to belong to the community; such belonging implies a conformity that is seen here as restrictive, particularly to the establishment of social identity.11 In the scene in which Cameron is escorted around the school he has just joined, a variety of schoolyard cliques are pointed out to him, each of these represents an established teen stereotype, and the members of these groups are represented as conformist characters who are unable to break from their identities. Even the idiosyncrasies of teen romance are shown as absurd when, at the party, a chance meeting between two peripheral characters leads to a party-long amorous kiss. Teen romance is thus represented as comic, and as socially sanctioned but lacking any depth of feeling. It is the nonconformist main characters, Kat and Patrick, who experience personal growth in the film.

The classical folk musical conventionally shows a community unified or harmonised. In teen films, too, unity is expected, as teenagers are constructed in a manner that makes space for them in mainstream society. The musical number in the teen film is part of this process of writing youth into the dominant culture. This is apparent in a classical folk musical such as Meet Me in St. Louis in which the actions of Esther (Judy Garland) and Tootie (Margaret O'Brien) threaten the family structure and must eventually be dealt with by the narrative. A dual pairing of sisters - Rose (Lucille Bremer) and Esther, and Agnes (Joan Carroll) and Tootie - situates Esther and Tootie as the younger in their respective pairings, and their resistance to the norms of family and society are thus paralleled. Tootie's childish transgressions correspond with Esther's social ones. While Rose is willing to wait for a proposal from her absent boyfriend, Esther more actively pursues John Truett (Tom Drake). Similarly, in the younger pairing, Agnes is able to control her emotions and behaviour while Tootie acts on hers, including hitting John, an act that overlaps with Esther's own romantic aggression. Meet Me in St. Louis is thus an example of a film that makes music crucial to its unifying structures.

For example, the performance of 'The Trolley Song' leads to the restoration of the relationship between Esther and John, the boy next door. While none of their differences or the reasons for his absence at the outset of the trolley ride are dealt with in the narrative, the restorative powers of musical performance are enough to resolve this crisis. As Esther and the other riders spontaneously perform the song, John leaps onto the trolley and joins Esther, both physically, by sitting beside her, and in performance. Similarly, towards the end of the film, John is unable to attend a dance because he lacks an appropriate suit. Esther's grandfather steps in with the promise of a solution that the narrative implies will mean he will let John borrow one of his suits. Instead, the grandfather accompanies Esther to the dance. As they move about the floor in the midst of a dance number, their steps take them behind a Christmas tree and, when Esther re-emerges, she is accompanied by John. (How he managed to get the suit, and how he has managed to appear so magically are concerns the narrative does not deal with, nor should it.) It is the power of musical performance that allows for the coupling to occur effortlessly and wordlessly. As Grant argues, through both dancing and musical performance, 'courting and mating seem considerably less problematic than they often are in reality'.12

Meet Me in St. Louis deals with the issues of coming of age, romance and community acceptance. Furthermore, the film uses its setting in the St. Louis of 1903/4 - on the eve of the World's Fair - as a form of ideal small-town community, which is threatened by the big city values of New York (where the family may be moving), and by the youthful female independence displayed by Esther and Tootie. Meet Me in St. Louis' reification of the ideals of community is echoed in the film's reliance on the classical structure of the musical, which, Grant stresses, '[has] been concerned with articulating a sense of community and defining the parameters of sexual desire'.13

The musical moments described by Conrich are periods in which convention and the cohesion of the text are overtly broken down. Conrich identifies the work of The Marx Brothers as representative of anarchistic comedy, a form 'distinguished by a joining of vaudeville's disruption, fragmentation and impul-siveness'.14 Given the level of 'energy and escapism' that Conrich describes in such moments, it is their function as spectacle or as set pieces, not as narrative, that is significant for the film. Indeed, these musical moments seem more likely to disrupt the narrative and resist containment within the film's overall system of meaning. This is precisely the way in which 10 Things I Hate About You employs its elements of musical performance. The most notable of these is Verona's rendition of 'Can't Take My Eyes Off of You'. Here, he manages to co-ordinate a stadium filled with student athletes and an impromptu musical accompaniment by the school's marching band. Commandeering a microphone and gaining access to the stadium's public announcement system, while successfully eluding security guards, Verona performs his song as a means of expressing desire for Kat. This suggests a nod towards the function of such performances in the classical Hollywood musical, but its unexpectedness, elaborateness, and the absurdity and excessiveness of the performance combined with the choice of musical style negate any possibility for the moment to become fully contained by the narrative, despite its role as an element of that structure. The song and the performance, while appropriate to a romantic musical, are 'out of place' in the film, and out of character for Verona, who up to this point has been depicted as an anti-social 'tough'. Rather than fitting seamlessly into the film, then, the performance draws attention to the text's distance from the norms of musical integration within the genre.

This kind of musical moment might best be seen in relation to the growing presence in post-classical cinema of a disruptive aesthetic associated with the music video, which seemingly allows for a sudden musical performance presented within a form that breaks continuity and is anti-narrative, or linked to the notion of cinematic excess. Of course, it is possible to argue that Hollywood's formulaic system is one in which excess is encouraged. Narratives have a tendency to be obvious in their construction, particularly in genre films. Richard Maltby and Ian Craven cite Rick Altman's assertion that 'the similarity of Hollywood happy endings "reasons backward". A movie's beginning must be "retrofitted" so that it appears to lead logically to the predetermined happy ending'.15 Audiences can be expected to know what will happen via generic convention, making the actual narrative less important than the manner of its presentation. It is these pleasures of presentation that make such moving pictures cinematic. Kristin Thompson suggests that other excessive pleasures are normally contained within the framework of the film's system of meaning, but given the ontological nature of film this may not always be possible. In this regard, she cites Stephen Heath's notion that 'the excess arises from the conflict between the materiality of a film and the unifying structures within it'.16 The battle between the film's narrative meaning and its system of representation often leads to the incorporation of images of excess. As Thompson points out, for classical Hollywood, the reliance on an established value system and repeated aspects of narrative causality (the sort of 'happy ending' structure identified by Maltby and Craven), obscures moments of excess by keeping the viewer 'on track': 'strong realistic or compositional motivation will tend to make excessive elements less noticeable'.17 This is evident in Meet Me in St. Louis, in which, despite the unanswered questions, the desire for romance foregrounded by the genre and the importance of family and of community articulated by the film, allow us to overlook the moments that counter this ideal.

Thompson argues that while classical Hollywood films attempt to minimise excess through narrative and thematic motivation, 'other films outside this tradition do not always try to provide an apparent motivation for everything in the film, and thus they leave their potentially excessive elements more notice able'.18 Excess provides potential for 'meaning' to escape the bounds of the filmic system, and the less rigidly coded or structured a text is, the more potential there is for this escape. Youth films, with their use of popular music with both a textual function and extra-textual resonance, are as likely place as any for these moments of excess. As John Hill has noted, 'the "meaning", then, of a film is not something to be discovered purely in the text itself (into which the spectator may or may not be bound) but is constituted in the interaction between the text and its users'.19 This is precisely where the role of music and musical performance can come into play in youth films. The meanings drawn from the music and the identities constructed through music are based on relations that exist outside the filmic text (unlike the fully diegetic use of music and performance in so many classical Hollywood musicals).

In her work on the role of the soundtrack and the impact of the 'MTV aesthetic' on teen films in the 1980s and 1990s, Kay Dickinson has identified the importance of the role played by music video conventions as part of the construction of youth identity. Dickinson underlines the important role that music plays as part of the construction of youth identity: 'while pop songs may seem transitory, base or mindless to certain filmgoers, to a teenage audience they often play a vital role in both self-definition and micro-cultural satisfaction'.20 The key connection between this formation of identity through music and the incorporation of styles borrowed from music video is the speed and impact of the editing process. Despite its relation to the commercial side of youth culture, the visual style associated with music video provides a space that is accessible and familiar primarily to a youth audience. Dickinson notes how 'as each generation must demarcate its space, the lure of speed is a perennial favourite'.21 Speed of editing in post-classical cinema is aligned with the energy of youth. The link between this style and the actions of the teenage characters within a film may then be seen as aligning those characters with a refusal of conventional expectations. Culturally, their world is set apart from the adult world. While specific music genres may have lyrical and stylistic significance, such as that of indie rock in relation to Kat, the wider effect of these musical moments functions to create resistance - as opposed to the integration of the classical musicals. If there is any integration in the post-classical teen film, it is in the youth culture shared between text and audience. This is aided by the inter-tex-tuality produced by the cross promotion of soundtrack albums, the use of clips from films within music videos, familiarity with the performances on the soundtrack and the connotations created by their respective genres. It is interesting to consider how the more integrative youth films (Pretty in Pink and She's All That) make the prom and the slow dance an integral moment in their representation of female social acceptance. Such moments cross generational boundaries and counteract the significance of speed by referring to established cultural traditions. That 10 Things I Hate About You does not end on such a traditional note is a marker of its more complex representations of feminine identities.

Anther text in which music and a music video aesthetic functions as a means of marking resistance is Rachel Talalay's Tank Girl. The film explicitly addresses issues of gender representation, using music as a means of coding the heroine's opposition to the patriarchal control of the mega-corporation, Water and Power. Just as Tank Girl (Lori Petty) refuses to surrender her independence despite constant threats and attacks from Water and Power's military forces, so the film's soundtrack refuses to unify with the narrative. It is often very loud and songs, or musical moments, regularly break narrative development through the employment of styles drawn from music video and animation - particularly montage -involving the insertion of comic book images in place of moments of live action. This is evident in the scene where Tank Girl remodels the military tank she has stolen from Water and Power. Here the soundtrack, together with a montage of comic strip images, establishes her appropriation and transformation/feminisation of the vehicle. While this is a moment linked to the development of the narrative, the means of its presentation, like so many other musical moments in the film, offers a point of detachment from recognised conventions. The spectacle is emphasised for the duration of the song; representation becomes excess, and this underlines the film's efforts to break from the conventional structures of female representation, a concern that itself drives the film.

The character of Tank Girl, sometimes also called Rebecca, provides an example of what Kathleen Rowe has identified as 'the unruly woman'. In her excess, both in image and action, Rebecca offers a contrast to the ordered military world of Water and Power. By drawing attention to her sexuality and her sexual desires, Tank Girl provides a variation on the 'grotesque body'. Rowe argues that such a body 'exaggerates its processes, bulges and orifices' rather than concealing and conforming to the dominant model of acceptable femi-ninity.22 As an example, Rowe cites Judith Williamson's arguments about the Jim Henson Muppet, Miss Piggy, in that 'Miss Piggy's unabashed hedonism subverts the ideologies of both capitalism and patriarchy'.23 Through her own 'unabashed hedonism', Tank Girl offers an attack on the capitalist and patriarchal systems that threaten to contain her, both figuratively and literally throughout the film.

The narrative of Tank Girl is organised around the control of representation. Rebecca discovers that her body has been bugged by Kesslee (Malcolm McDowell) so that her apparently subversive actions have actually worked to his advantage. The control she has exhibited throughout much of the film is undermined by this revelation, and her battle with Kesslee provides a means for Rebecca to regain control over her self and her own body. However, while the film provides a strong female character, Tank Girl was originally created - and thus controlled - by two male comic book writers and artists, Jamie Hewlett and

Alan Martin. Imelda Whelehan and Esther Sonnett point out that 'Tank Girl clearly does not offer a narrative portrayal of female experience, but rather remains bound up with the masochistic pleasures of male fantasies of powerful female figures',24 but they also acknowledge that the comic's self-conscious approach allows for examples in which 'the character also offers moments of contradiction and resistance to the culturally dominant mode of representa-tion'.25 By making similar struggles for control part of the narrative, the film seems to find a means of addressing these concerns. An earlier battle has led to Kesslee having his head amputated and replaced by a holographic projection. Through her ability to destroy his projection, Rebecca demonstrates her ultimate control of the means of representation. This had been evident in an earlier 'musical moment', where Tank Girl and Jet Girl (Naomi Watts) initiate a Busby Berkeleyesque musical number as part of their rescue of a young girl who has been forced to work in a sex club. In typical Berkeley style, the performance eschews any ties to diegetic verisimilitude and provides a moment of visual excess directed at the cinematic viewer. The performers for this number are made up of workers in, as well as patrons of, the sex club. By placing both as objects of cinematic spectacle, the film is able to alter the normative power structures of the classical gaze. Tank Girl is seen to be controlling this representation. She cannot be contained by the text, just as she cannot be contained by Water and Power. In the 'classical' structural context of the musical, where men are positioned as voyeurs, and women are the objects of their looks, Tank Girl works to undermine the process. Her own representation becomes aligned with sub-cultural

Figure 12 In Tank Girl a Busby Berkeleyesque musical number presents the female performer as an object of cinematic spectacle.

music and style. Rebecca is also represented through an 'MTV aesthetic', especially in relation to her own actions and behaviour. Not fully contained by the diegesis or the gaze, Tank Girl remains narratively and structurally 'excessive'.

The prominent use of excessive elements is clearly purposeful. As unity in form implies an adherence to the structural norms of cinema, and to its classical conventions, to draw attention to the possibilities of excess, so Tank Girl in its overt reference to the Busby Berkeley number, permits a challenge to the standard modes of representation. This is also what makes 10 Things I Hate About You such an interesting film. For while it has the appearance of a standard teen film in its high-school setting, contemporary soundtrack and vibrant young stars, its excess remains evident. The film uses the structures of music and musical performance to ensure that its main characters do not fully conform to the dominant representations of gender. The final rooftop performance of 'I Want You to Want Me' is, therefore, emblematic of this tendency. The use of a female singer to perform a masculine rock song repositions subjectivity. In 1976 Simon Frith and Angela McRobbie claimed that 'music is a means of sexual expression and as such is important as a mode of sexual control', an argument about rock music that is strikingly similar to those about the classical musical.26 In countering these models 10 Things I Hate About You shows that, as much as Kat has been pursued as a result of Cameron's initial manipulations, the formation of herself and Patrick as a couple is the result of mutual desire, an echo of the changed subjectivity found in the musical performance. As noted earlier, the gift of the guitar, and Kat's musical aspirations, place this resolution on her terms.

Further to this, the final musical performance cannot be logically contained or explained by the film's narrative. The appearance of the band on the school roof is unexplained, despite being located within the diegetic space of the film. The awareness that 10 Things I Hate About You shows of its theatrical origins as a Shakespeare play becomes part of this construction. During the film's final credit sequence a number of out-takes from the production are shown. This offers a reminder that the film itself has been a construction, much as the band's location on the roof reminds us that the setting of the school has been an element of the film that does not need to be wholly contained by the conventional expectations. The system for taming the 'shrew' has broken down in the face of Kat's resistance, a resistance centred around music and the musical moment.

Note

1. Nicholas Jennings, 'Ladies on top', MacLeans 113: 39 (25 September 2000): 66-70.

2. Barry K. Grant, 'The classic Hollywood musical and the problem of rock 'n' roll', Journal of Popular Film and Television 13: 4 (Winter 1986): 196.

6. Jane Feuer, 'The self-reflexive musical and the myth of entertainment', in Barry Keith Grant (ed.), Film Genre Reader (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1986): 335.

7. For a discussion of the teen high-school film see Timothy Shary, Generation Multiplex: The Image of Youth in Contemporary American Cinema (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002): 26-79. For a discussion of the teen film see also Thomas Doherty, Teenagers and Teenpics: The Juvenilisation of American Movies in the 1950s (London: Unwin Hyman, 1988).

8. Ian Conrich, 'Merry melodies: The Marx Brothers' musical moments', in Bill Marshall and Robyn Stilwell (eds), Musicals - Hollywood and Beyond (Exeter: Intellect, 2000): 47.

11. For a discussion of the folk musical see Rick Altman, The American Film Musical (London: British Film Institute, 1987): 272-327.

15. Richard Maltby and Ian Craven, Hollywood Cinema (Oxford: Blackwell, 1995): 8.

16. Kristin Thompson, 'The concept of cinematic excess', in Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen (eds), Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings 5th edn (New York; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999): 488.

17. Thompson: 491.

19. John Hill, 'Ideology, economy and the British cinema', in Robert Stam and Toby Miller (eds), Film and Theory: An Anthology (Oxford: Blackwell, 2000): 573.

20. Kay Dickinson, 'Pop, speed and the "MTV aesthetic" in recent teen films', Scope: An On-Line Journal of Film Studies. Posted June 1, 2001. <www.nottingham.ac.uk/ film/journal/articles/pop-speed-and-mtv.htm>.

22. Kathleen Rowe, The Unruly Woman: Gender and the Genres of Laughter (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1995): 33.

24. Imelda Whelehan and Esther Sonnet, 'Regendered reading: Tank Girl and postmodernist intertextuality', in Deborah Cartmell, I.Q. Hunter, Heidi Kaye and Imelda Whelehan (eds), Trash Aesthetics: Popular Culture and Its Audience (London: Pluto Press, 1997): 36.

26. Simon Frith and Angela McRobbie, 'Rock and sexuality', in Simon Frith and Andrew Goodwin (eds), On Record: Rock, Pop and the Written Word (New York: Pantheon Books, 1990): 374.

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