I am happy with my mark for assignment 2, and hope to translate the comments and criticism into Assignment 3. Assignment 3 is constructed into three parts; blog post, presentation, blog post.

This will be one of my first times ‘pitching’ an idea to an audience of people. Thus, I have decided to have as much visual material as possible in order to make sure my project is executed smoothly and knowable. Due to the ‘pitch’ nature of the presentation, I have decided to stay clear of palm cards and reading devices. As this is a way to replicate the ‘real life’ experience of screen play writing and marketing.

This script was super interesting to read due to its format. Throughout the semester I’ve wrestled with the ideas of what makes a good scripts, as what some aspects of a script make them ‘not the best’, the same qualities of another script become advocated. Claudia Sternberg in ‘Written for Screen’ really elaborates on the at times hypocritical nature of screen writing, as she states that ‘the use of screenplay modes is functionally determined’ and ‘works within the syntagmatic requirements of the text type’. This however, I find problematic.

The point of this studio is to re-interpret the ways in which we view screen plays in general. Re-imaging them as an introduction to a movie as oppose to just its singular nature of a ‘script’. Thus, in the same way we look at literature in general, we should look at scripts. Not being concerned with the ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ of script writing, but instead its communication and visualisation of story. Thus, Wentworth: The VR Experience was a great script to read due to its compartmentalisation of fictional facts in its beginning. Reading through the ambitions of VR, Synopsis and Interaction initially allowed for my mind to be coloured with the opportunities of the coming pages. If you think about it, every film has a synopsis, whether it be a trailer, article or even general knowledge about the time period or world in which its based in e.g. World War II, countries, etc. Thus, the same notion should be granted for screen plays.

‘The Wheeler Centre is Melbourne’s home for smart, passionate, and entertaining public talks on every topic’. Or, so the website says. In 2008, Melbourne was designated a UNESCO City of Literature, instigating the establishment of the Centre for Books, Writing and Ideas. Sponsored by Maureen and Tony Wheeler of Lonely Planet, the Centre gained international recognition as well as a contemporary name change to The Wheeler Centre. Since 2010, the Centre has had more than 2200 speakers participate in more than 1616 public conversations. Located in a dedicated wing of the State Library of Victoria, its architecture sits on the edge of Old and New. Lining Little Lonsdale St, it divides the buzz of a contemporary city with the tranquility of a State library’s grandness and manicured lawn. This conjunction of culture manifests itself inside, as well, as discussions raised focus on issues prevalent not only to our modern day, but humanity’s habits and ways, past and present.

This month, The Wheeler Centre held The Festival of Questions. An annual one-day event, which over the course of four discussions, debate contemporary society’s philosophical truths. Deborah Francis White’s UK comedy show The Guilty Feminist concluded this year’s session, selling out weeks prior to her performance. The podcast has gained international recognition since starting in 2015, winning the 2016 Writer’s Guild Award for Best Radio Comedy at BBC Radio 4. Demonstrating through its success, a turn in culture as the podcast ‘discusses the atrocities and insecurities that underline us as 21^st century women’.

The topic for the show titled What The Hell? was Hulu’s 2017 adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s 1985 novel The Handmaid’s Tale. It featured Lauren Duca (a US freelance journalist), Krissy Kneen (author of Swallow the Sound), Celeste Liddle (current National Indigenous Organizer for the National Treasury of Education Union), Jamilia Rizvi (online columnist and commentator), and Quinn Eades (lecturer in Interdisciplinary Studies at La Trobe University). Evidently, White’s panel was thoughtfully diverse. The show packed out Melbourne’s Town Hall, and included a diverse audience no doubt attracted by its provoking panel. Sitting among peoples of all ages and identities, it was hard to ignore the shared energy one gets when hoping a moment of better. Sitting together, rubbing shoulders, I felt snug in the security blanket one feels when about to share a laugh and insights with strangers. However, as giddy this experience was, examples of the world around us kept seeping in, with audience members attempting to go to the bathroom mid-session, ushered through noisy locked doors, waited on by security guards – delegated to either keep us safe from the world outside or keep us locked in from a disabling escape.

Hulu’s adaptation of Atwood’s novel was generally successful due to its loyalty to the book. However, issues surrounding ‘color-blind casting’ (when a show disregards race in casting despite a text’s original truths) were debated as creator Bruce Miller decided to cast Samira Wiley for the character of Moira despite Atwood’s original separating of race. Sending those of color to the Children of Ham, Miller’s objective, as discussed by the panel, was to make a show that was ‘more about race, then it was racist’. Eager to fulfill Atwood’s initial modernity with current contextual issues, Liddle’s response was interesting, stating that dismissing Atwood’s previous truth didn’t liberate women of color from their confines, but instead white washed their problems into submission. Liddle spoke honestly about this injustice, raising points about how the show seemed like a ‘prophecy’ for future America, was actually the reality and history for women of color.

This is undeniably true, and in this instance, exemplifying white feminists’ fight against injustice felt by many but not recognized or heard before. Accompanied by a panel of Caucasians, Liddle’s point was heard and discussed, taking appropriate time to investigate her point without making it seems tokenistic or redundant. However, as I sat and listened to the conversation continue, inevitably ending with Duca’s discussion about Trump and his atrocities to come, I couldn’t help feel that once again the discussion had travelled to mainstream topics. Characteristically falling short of my expectations, and for so many of the people that surrounded me. Moments like these in public speaking, is when you feel that blanket previously so snug, tighten around you in a suffocating manner.

As Liddle sat mostly silent for the rest of the session, listening to theories of a Trump future, her elimination from the conversation was not malicious or intended, but circumstantial. Not having another person of color on the panel, seemed to disable her voice as race issues became less central than the ones on topic with three or four panel members. Exposing the harsh truth of so many circumstances when it comes to the being marginalized, as attempted solutions fall through the cracks of a still rickety floor. What the Handmaid’s Tale taught us was the importance of allies. Offred’s relationship with Serena Joy Waterford, most commonly referred to as ‘The Commander’s Wife’, demonstrated the desperation one feels when in the orbit of someone that can help, but doesn’t. Similarly, as we sit in a national climate that has purposefully disrupted any illusion of acceptance of difference by an ill-fated plebiscite, it’s hard to continue to ignore the prevailing injustices that previously went unnoticed or unacknowledged. Calling to attention our perhaps unintentional submission, as ‘ordinary… is what you are used to. This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will. It will become ordinary’.

Word count: 915

https://www.wheelercentre.com/

https://www.wheelercentre.com/events/series/the-festival-of-questions

http://guiltyfeminist.com/

http://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-38517384

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt5834204/episodes

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2088803/?ref_=tt_cl_t2

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/White_feminism

We’ve been through gender transitions, divorce, intersectionality debates, religious beliefs, s&m, and at times, the crippling politics of family dynamics, but I am not talking about The Kardashains. Instead, for once, I am talking about something else – Transparent. The Stan produced show created by Jill Soloway in 2014, explores humanity’s timeless themes through the contemporary complex of an LA family. Following the life of the Morty Pferfferman, a 60 something year old husband and father of three, as she transitions into Maura after coming out to family and friends. Exploring the language and nature of identity to an unprecedented scale, the show has received a BAFTA award for Best International, eight Emmy’s and one Golden Globe award. Soloway’s previous work on Six Feet Under and Afternoon Delight has also received recognition at Sundance, as their attention to minute details enrich scenes of typically mundane moments. Characteristic of its nostalgic tone that questions the longevity of life, which only recently by Maura has been lived, Transparent explores the difficulties surrounding the affirmation of self.

Entering into the world of the Pfefferman family this season has been more cluttered than anything we’ve seen before. Finishing last season on the iconic statement ‘I am not your adventure’, delivered by Maura’s transgender friend, actress Trace Lysette, the family goes on exactly that, to Israel, to find both their spiritual and biological roots.

Themes that were once portrayed through sensual relationships and nuanced idiosyncrasies have been substituted with loud scenes and an exploration of the world. Consequently disabling the ability for the Pfefferman’s to properly grow in this season, as their interactions are limited to their relationship with their newfound external environment. The opening scene of episode 1 shows the Pfefferman clan at a chaotic lunch filled with alcohol, and dismissed and ignored comments, encapsulates this season’s change from its previously less is more attitude. Creating instead the paradox with this season where more is less. The script is dependent on telling as opposed to showing, causing the Pfefferman’s to lose their sense of authenticity. Audiences aren’t given a chance to understand but instead are told; contradicting contemporary cinematic ambitions that aim to destabilize misrepresentation by humanizing characters through their relate-ability, as opposed to structure-ability.

As inclusion grows and becomes more prominent on our screens, it’s strange to see a show so previously filled with authenticity become trivialized by itself. Living in a world post Oscar winning Moonlight, which gained acclaim due its realistic portrayal of personal struggle and lack of Hollywood dramatics, Transparent has shifted from intimate to tokenistic. Relying on a new setting, family member, sexual partner and transitioning character, to give the life of what was previously given through passive scenes and reflective characters. What would have taken seasons of progression has been exploded too quickly in the combustion of Season 4. Consequently, our intimate glimpse into the magnitude of a family portrait has become overshadowed by the demonstrative performance of ‘life’. As narrative timeframe jumps ahead, we are exposed to the show’s new lack of subtle creativity and loyalty to previous credential truths.

Focusing less on transgender issues, and more on the politics of family and friends, I can’t help but feel that the show has digressed from its previous explorative intentions. Perhaps, this decision was an attempt to progress Maura from being a trans representative, and instead focus more on her humanity, as a member of society. Yet, the show’s lack of regarding the LGBTQ community has done it a disservice. As it has raised awareness about the authenticity of Trans and other minorities, Transparent’s divergence from its usual discussions have left me feeling under satisfied: acknowledging my dependence on Maura to be a trans activist, a breakout character, as opposed to simply a character that lives within the narrow prisms and conventions, like everyone else. However, let me just tell you this Maura, watching you break down those prisms was much more fun, inspiring, and if you’re able to surpass them, I think you should.

Sadly, Transparent has succumbed to a familiar reality, lived by most fiction on screens, where genuine narratives are replaced with tropes. In a climate where shows are able to extend themselves for their audiences, usually reaching up to 4 – 8 seasons, too often we see the repercussions of mass-audience demand over creative pursuit. As audience ratings grow along with the shows noticeability, it’s hard to determine if the show’s progression into ‘convention’ is reactive to ‘responsibility’ or a short-fall in creativity. Whichever is the case, the silver lining is that Transparent has given future content precedence to be more challenging and a success. Proving through its commodification, ironically, that there’s a growing demand for inclusionary narratives in what was thought to be a previously niche market.

Word count: 801

Sources

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http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0813561/?ref_=nv_sr_1

http://awards.bafta.org/award/2017/television/international

https://www.emmys.com/awards/nominees-winners

http://www.goldenglobes.com/winners-nominees

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0248654/?ref_=nv_sr_1

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2312890/?ref_=nv_sr_1

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm6006903/?ref_=nv_sr_1

Netflix’s new original teen-drama, To The Bone, is another example of the commercial platform’s attempt to open up a large-scale dialogue focusing on teen angst and wellbeing. The feature film focuses on Ellen – a twenty something year old artist played by Lily Collins – as she questions her life choices and self-worth through the prism of her anorexia nervosa. Mental health as a ‘teen topic’ is not unusual or unprecedented. Youth audiences are regularly exposed to a reflection of their own image on screen, progressing from Jim Stark’s (James Dean) longing for patriarchal domesticity in Rebel Without A Cause (1955), to Effie Stonem’s (Kaya Scodelario) drug taking, ‘born backwards’ ways in Skins (2007). However, although all significant in their contribution to our current conversation, what differs from previous teen narratives today is the rawness and portrayal of mental health itself. Following on from previous rebellious images, usually provoked from the exterior, it is now becomingly increasingly internalized. Moving away from dilution of a ‘teen-gleam’ effect and into the realm of more realist media, surpassing tropes of reckless behavior and existentialism to create realistic narrative arcs, including the actual effects of disorders and illnesses. Consequent to the rise of the Internet and surge of ‘real narratives’ on our private screens, production companies have attempted to replicate what is being seen and experienced by young people themselves and people they know.

Giving catalyst to Netflix’s new mode of production that shows ‘real’ stories, more often than not, with very real consequences that follow. Thirteen Reason’s Why was Netflix’s first mass watched teen-drama. A 13-part series narrated by Hannah Baker’s pre-recorded tapes that followed the moral and emotional aftermath of her suicide. According to Fizziology’s report, the show led to 3.5 million social volume impressions in its first week of release, as audiences from teenagers to government officials published warnings regarding its triggering content and portrayal of mental health. This overwhelming reaction however, contrasts with the lack of response to To The Bones’, raising flags regarding the sincerity of mental illness both on and off our screens. Admittedly, Ellen’s story is less fierce in its portrayal than her predecessor Hannah, consequential no doubt to Netflix’s acknowledgement of responsibility when providing entertainment to an audience of 93.8 million. Yet with a subscriber base of so many and reaction from so little, To The Bone demonstrates how dialogue surrounding mental illness is not necessarily continuous, and is in danger of quickly becoming an out dated contribution to last month’s conversation.

Similar to Ellen’s troubles with food, binge watching Netflix has created an audience culture distracted by quantity over quality. Reflective of the spike in television over cinema in the last 5 years, what audiences once sought from the traditional narrative arcs in cinema has been substituted for 8 season shows on an automatic continuous play. This culture of binging has resulted in a dependence on a singular source provider, whether it be commercial companies like Stan or Netflix, or government initiatives such as iView or SBS on Demand. Issues surrounding the responsibility of cinema have become hazy, as providers now supply for mass audiences as opposed to niches; raising questions about the sincerity and complexity of mental health whilst appealing to a mass audience. Evident by the reaction of Hannah Baker’s story, the stigma of mental health is still as alive as Hannah seemed to be within her tapes. Providers are placed between a rock and a hard place, as they respond to audience desire for ‘real’ content while satisfying a mass audience, and being scrutinized when presenting it. This places us, the audience, in a position of acute hypocrisy as our desire for ‘real’ is now haunted by the controversy of Hannah Baker’s past.

Consequently, Netflix rigorously censored Ellen’s story, filtering her anorexia once again through that teen-gleam lens and inadvertently trivializing her story. As lead doctor, Keanu Reeves projects ideals of simplicity by instructing Ellen to simply tell the voice inside her head to ‘get lost’ in times of strife. The film exposes the dangers and restrictions of commercializing such an intimately complex issue that can have such profound effects on people’s lives. Both audiences and providers are despairing, as Netflix’s initial exploration has ironically enforced future regulation. Witnessing Hannah’s controversy and Ellen’s censoring, dealing with the problematic paradox of representing mental health in our society has led us to pretend to ‘fix’ issues by sugar-coating them away.

Word Count: 754

Sources

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http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2546012/?ref_=tt_cl_t1

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1837492/?ref_=nv_sr_1

http://www.refinery29.com/2017/04/149755/13-reasons-why-most-tweets-netflix-streaming

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000206/

MUSIC

• Diegetic or diegetic sound
• Diegetic sound means sound that is visible on screen. The importance and power of diegetic sound is that is illuminates to the audience the reality of the fictionalised world. Further, diegetic sound adds to the construction of the world as it exemplifies the characters mobility. Lets say you have a character who is walking down the street, the audio you choose for them to play via their iPhone communicates more about the character and less about the world. Thus, the reality of the situation becomes more believable, as the audience travels with the character through an ‘unconceivable’, premeditated world.
• Non-Diegetic sound refers to sound that within a film that the character cannot hear. A classic example of this is the James Bond soundtrack, which although is inherently ‘Bond’, actual James never hears. The significant of non-diegetic sound is that it guides the audience through the narrative, communicating with the audience how and what they should feel. Unlike diegetic sound, which invites an individual interpretation of that scene, non-diegetic sound illuminates to the audience the construction of the film. Therefore, raising an awareness of its ambition and ultimate message.

STRATEGIES USED TO DEPICT HIGH STAKES SITUATIONS in reference to 12 Years A Slave (2017)

• Building intensity from the framing of a shot
  – Contrasting close up shots to far away shots. This emphasises the idea of perspective, simultaneously merging all characters within the scene even though all characters come from different ideologies and backgrounds. 
• Shorter and more concise sentences between ‘cuts’
  – Sets pace in the cadence of the writing. Also, the cuts mimic attention span and character emotion. If you have a singular long shot it demonstrates awareness and concentration, usually specifically towards another character or tension moment. However, if you use an array of short shorts it communicates the passing of time and multiple happenings and perspectives.  
• Physical reactions from characters
  – One of the easiest ways to communicate the progression of a script. You hardly ever have a character, whether it be in literature or real life, moving through life completely untouched by other members of a society. 
• Use of symbols and motifs
  – Expands the world and its intention. Symbols and motifs also communicate to the audience subjects within a script that perhaps the author does not wish the character to be aware of yet. Symbolism is one of the most powerful tools in filmmaking, as it enables the audience to reference the character and their world. Therefore, affiliating their own world to the one that is being portrayed.

Today in class we all brought forward a small example of audio-visual story telling. The variety of content, and content matter that is, that was showcased was impressively diverse and fulfilling. To think that this many narratives can exist, all of which touch on different emotions and environments is one of the aspects of film i find most thrilling and amazing. Students’ content ranged from comedic and heart felt anime – In A Heartbeat (2017) – to Dario Argento’s 1977 horror film, Suspiria.

This exercise really showcased the communication of emotion, and the importance and impact of audience awareness and empathy. This was demonstrated in Steve McQueen’s 2013 drama 12 Years A Slave, where a prolonged, quietened scene emphasised the humanity (or lack therefore) of the situation presented. The scene was focused around the unfair punishment of an African American persons in the early to late 1960’s. McQueen purposefully paints an intimate picture through the painfully dulled, driven by heat, hazey American scene. Juxtaposing images of the ‘great American lifestyle’, eg. scenes of children running and laughing, veranda sitting and ice tea drinking, with the uncomfortable and suffocating imagery of a chocking man. This scene highlights importantly the humanity of character, along with the inhumanity of the situation. Contradicting, to directors such as Quentin Tarantino whom have previously used the atrocities of mankind to fuel the stakes of his own entertainment.

I

Picture This!’s amalgamation of reflective writing and story writing has exposed the similarities and dependence of each text types with one another. Although different in their applied method, both texts travel forwards toward an ending point and/or realisation. Thus, teaching me in this studio that my previous experience with screenwriting did not acknowledge the interconnectedness between fictional narratives and it my own writing’s cathartic realism. Consequently, placing an onus on reflective writing, such as this, as it helps facilitate my imaginary’s journey into the depths of story telling.

This inter-relativeness is not coincidental however, with equilibriums becoming a seemingly apparent theme in this course so far. As class unfolds at the hands of Stayci’s extra-fictional rubric, I’ve debated the role of screenplay as an ‘enabling document’ (Prince, 2010) and/or intrinsic to a ‘developmental process’. Deciphering through a new found array of terminologies such as Big Print, Master Scene Technique, Delineation, and Exposition the good and bad characteristics of writing. But more importantly, the impact these idiosyncrasies seem to have on each other once in the text type of a script.

‘It is worth noting that you will learn not only from the ‘in the head’ reflection but also from the process of representing the reflection itself’ (Moon, p187) symbolises these comparing connections. As Moon suspends internal and external whilst guiding the audience, whether this be just the writer themselves or not, to a place similar to McKee’s subversive ‘vivid action of now’. Further, as screen writing’s objective is to communicate the potential of a film, and films purpose being to ‘yield an emotional experience (Bordwell, p31 of Ingelstrom) a further paradoxical metaphor between sender and receiver appears. Only to be similarly played out once again between the fictional narrator and fictional narratee. Thus, contrary to McKee’s simplification of film momentary vividness, the construction of story telling itself exposes similarly to the travel of reflective writing. As  patterns and constructions of a reality are unbeknownst to the speaker until it is received.

This semester has been nothing but reflective. Reflecting on texts, then reflecting upon my reflection of those texts, then reflecting upon my reflection’s reflection of those texts, and so on. Continuously questioning, what is my opinion, why, and more importantly, how it matters? As I struggled for validation, I was provoked by one of the first questions posed in class, ‘what makes a critic, a critic?’. Aware that a level of education and insight is necessary, as most successful opinions surpass superficial, 2-dimensional understandings of the text, and instead use the subject as an instrument reflective of their environment. A good review delves deep into the psyche of not so much the creator but the substance itself, disrupting my previous understandings as credentials moved away from traditionalist thinking and towards the comprehension of culture itself.

One of the first reviews I completed was instigated by the anniversary of Ted Hughes passing, leading me to consider his criticism and contribution to the art world. Hughes became infamous due to his traditionalist opinion that debated the authenticity and contribution of modern art. Cementing his legitimacy as a critic through his understanding of art history, he cut through the frenzied nature of what constituted modern art and formulated its hysteria into a succinct comment on the 21^st century psyche. However, I couldn’t help but recognize that Hughes’ rebuttal of modern art’s transition was more reflective of his taste than the work. Although always warranted and exceptional, his traditional background encapsulated the prominent characteristics of criticism’s contradicting climate. Contemporary art’s shedding of the old worked as a catalyst for traditionalists such as Hughes, who delved into hysteria of judgment. He deplored new concepts as shallow, unreliable and not genuine, mostly because of their lack of historical validity. Thus inducing me to reflect upon my own tastes, as I previously had depended on traditionalism as a counterpoint for ‘better’.

Thus, I explored things I presumed I hated. Delving mostly into commercial TV, I watched The Kardashians, The Bachelorette, and anything else I previously would have deciphered as ‘trash’. Realizing quickly that most of these texts were feminine based, I attempted to reform my perception of commercial figures, hoping to find a hidden truth, possibly feminist and progressive in theory. Although not always entirely successful, the experience tested my pre-conceptions, making me question where I had obtained my opinions and why.

Around the time of mid semester, Alexandra Heller-Nicholas came to class and gave a talk about criticism itself as a form of privilege. Presumably, if one has time to critique another’s work, they usually have enough time to create their own. Exploring the nature of taste and how one obtains it, Alexandra illuminated some ideas already forming in my head regarding the construction of taste and it’s hierarchal nature. My study and passion for film has already exposed me to a certain type of judgment that deciphers ‘quality’ consequent to the visibility of a text. This visibility usually needs to be limited, as the hidden nature of a text and its trouble to be found, translates as a credential to the person who’s bothered to find it. Alexandra disputed this idea due to the privilege of privilege. Asking how one could expect a single mother with two jobs, to find enough time to research cinema and find Tommy Wiseau’s The Room, and then critique it? This confirmed my journey trying to determine the ethics behind criticism. With the role of the critic seeming to become more and more infiltrated with their responsibility and dedication to finding niche culture.

Thus, my interpretation of the role of the critic shifted. Initially, I skeptical of websites such as Rotten Tomatoes, with their investigation of texts as succinct as one line. My opinion of the role of the critic this semester has changed just as much as the critic themselves in the last five years. Realizing that, like the concept of art, criticism doesn’t have a singular viewer. Instead, it’s a source of information, of what you want it to be. Originally my understanding of the critic was that they held an onus of responsibility, a responsibility that was constructed and validated through education and understanding. Although this thought has not wavered significantly, my perception of an educational format has. Delving into critiques during class, we mostly agreed that a good review encompassed a passionate and original perspective about a text. However, these opinions were consequent to an education that enabled us to understand what we were reading, along with coming from a place of privilege enough to discuss their successes and shortcomings. Concluding in my perception that a critic is someone that provokes people like us (the class). Who attempts to disrupt the foundations we rely on and re-delegate our deciphering of credentials. Thereby creating their own credentials in an attempt to shape the world, like the artist before them, like no one else has seen it.

This week in classes we discussed curatorship, and applied our new found understanding of it both physically and literally. In Monday’s class we investigated the role of the curator and how not only what we see, but how it is positioned, can determine our interpretation of text(s). As media changes the world, so does our interpretation of what we think constitutes curatorship. Previous to Monday’s class, I thought of curating as demonstrations of art, something pieced together by an individual with high credentials and an understanding for space. However, on reflection, curatorship is all around us, and is present in an private instagram’s construction and commercial advertisements placement.

In Wednesday’s class, we discussed sentence structure. Determining the difference between a passive and active sentence, and the importance of their difference. In the same way art curatorship communicates to the audience meanings and messages, the way in which a sentence is constructed determines how it is communicated. Identifying fundamental factors such as object, verb, and subject, we gave examples of incorrectly structured sentences in efforts to reform them correctly. This identification has now become a paramount, as I realised whilst doing this task that my whole language structure, particularly in essays, is passive. Perhaps this is consequential to millennial cultures online forum, where informal language has been misinterpreted as personal as oppose to incorrect. Either way, I am glad that this problem has been noticed (a little late in the game!) and that I can now change it.