Abstract
The first thought that strikes my mind when I get David Buckingham’s latest publication in my hands is ‘Another one?’, that is, ‘Do we really need another book on youth film?’ But already after a couple of pages of the introduction, I come to the conclusion ‘yes, we do’. Because Youth on Screen. Representing Young People in Film and Television tries, and to a great extent succeeds to, really get to the heart of the problem of representing young people on screen. This means that it puts into question the very concepts of the youth and representation. The youth, Buckingham soon establishes, is constructed and defined by adults and reinforced by cultural media like films and television (TV), which implies that youth film as a genre not only is created for a young audience, it also actually creates the young audience as a specific age category with certain attributes, prerequisites and needs. Moreover, representing this certain age category on screen is not just a delicate matter, but possibly an unfeasible one for professional film and TV producers. Despite this, obviously, there is a constant inflow of new seasons of TV series about and aimed at young people on Netflix and other streaming sites, such as Young Royals, Sex Education and Stranger Things—to name just a few.
Indisputably, London-based Professor Emeritus David Buckingham is one of, or perhaps, the most competent scholars and writers on young people and media today. In addition to an extensive list of books, articles, externally funded research projects and visiting professorships around the world, his curriculum vitae (CV) also includes running an ambitious blog where he comments on the current media-related topics on a regular basis as well as being the funder of the Centre of the Study of Children, Youth and Media at London University. Quite possibly, Youth on Screen might be the spin-out from Buckingham’s ongoing research project ‘Growing Up Modern: Childhood, Youth and Popular Culture Since 1945’.
In any case, the book covers a period from 1948, when the film Good Time Girl (directed by David MacDonald) premiered, through 2019, when Blue Story (directed by Andrew Unwubulo) was released—two UK films characterized as ‘cautionary tales’ about young people in trouble. During the 70 years in between them, countless films and TV series on this theme have been produced and screened, nationally and/or internationally, and have subsequently become objects of much debate, appraise and mockery (not seldom, all at once). Among these, Buckingham has picked some 20 titles produced in the UK and the USA; classified them into loose categories such as pop films, retrospective films and mysterious girlhood films; and has discussed them thoroughly and fruitfully from different perspectives, ranging from juvenile delinquency, class and gender to nostalgia, genre specificity and new media forms. The tone is discursive, the address is inviting and the readings are perceptive and convincing: in other words; Buckingham is a highly sympathetic writer, who skilfully conveys his far-reaching knowledge in a way that suits fellow researchers and students, as well as a broader audience with an interest for the role of film and television in the Western society.
Being a children’s film scholar, I find myself most engaged in the immersive discussions on ‘youth film’ as a notion: In what political, medial and cultural context did youth film as genre emerge—and what was the purpose of this novelty? Just what do we mean by youth film: a film about young people, or for young people—or something else? What assumptions about the youth are inherent in the film’s representation and address? What are the timeless values, themes and forms of youth films—and which one are rather specific for a certain era? What is the use of a youth film from an adult and a youth perspective, respectively? Is youth television really an impossible matter?
In these discussions, Buckingham repeatedly pinpoints the wide-ranging complex of problems that media representation for and about one category of people (youth) by another category of people (adults) implies. One very tangible illustration of this is the issue of the well-established coming-of-age story. The very concept of ‘coming of age’ implies that children are becomings rather than beings, that is, not yet complete human beings, which is a markedly dated way of perceiving the shifting relations between age categories in the year of 2021. But still today, the concept of coming of age is alive and kicking, as if children belonged to a whole different, ageless, universe than those of us who have ‘come of age’ and accordingly entered into the real world. Furthermore, this delicate entry is a risky business, which, if unsuccessful, poses a threat to society. Buckingham successfully demonstrates how the youth film is intended to portray and facilitate this very transition.
To sum up, Youth on Screen is a rich, fertile and important read for anyone interested in children and youth, film and television, culture and society—as well as the relations and motions in between. As the author himself notes, it is a comprehensive, but far from all-encompassing, study, and there are numerous more themes, nations and film and television titles worthy of attention. Personally, I would love to read more about cinema’s many young girls refusing to become women like their mothers; young girls exploring alternate ways of growing up, or sideways, or not at all. When, if ever, will our society be ready for these subversive female figures? When, if ever, will the debate be about the demands and constraints upon young girls instead of the young girls do’s and don’ts that these demands and constraints give rise to? Buckingham touches briefly upon these sensitive, but urgent, matters, but I would gladly devour a whole book on the topic.