@article{orgeron_orgeron_2012, title={Foreword}, volume={12}, number={2}, journal={Moving Image}, author={Orgeron, M. and Orgeron, D.}, year={2012}, pages={VII-} }
 @article{orgeron_2009, title={Conference report: Orphans take Manhattan: The 6th Biannual Orphan Film Symposium, March 26-29, 2008, New York City}, volume={48}, DOI={10.1353/cj.0.0086}, abstractNote={Conference Report: Orphans Take Manhattan:The 6th Biannual Orphan Film Symposium, March 26–29, 2008, New York City Devin Orgeron (bio) The Orphan Film Symposium biannually reminds attendees of the vast, unexplored range of moving images that transcend the commercial, aesthetic, or philosophical categories that have defined film studies for several decades. The meticulous Orphans Web site (http://www.nyu.edu/orphanfilm/) defines an "orphan film" as a motion picture abandoned by its owner or caretaker. More generally, the term refers to all manner of films outside of the commercial mainstream: public domain materials, home movies, outtakes, unreleased films, industrial and educational movies, independent documentaries, ethnographic films, newsreels, censored material, underground works, experimental pieces, silent-era productions, stock footage, found footage, medical films, kinescopes, small- and unusual-gauge films, amateur productions, surveillance footage, test reels, government films, advertisements, sponsored films, student works, and sundry other ephemeral pieces of celluloid (or paper or glass or tape or . . .). This list, which itself is only partial, begins to illustrate the immensity of this emerging and important subfield in moving image studies, and each Orphan Film Symposium has effectively served to expand the boundaries further still. In any given year, one might expect to hear a paper on a collection of home movies; view and participate in a discussion of recently unearthed Hollywood screen-tests; listen to experts describe the restoration of a particularly rich bit of newsreel footage, and then view that footage; puzzle over the rhetoric of mid-century classroom films; view a contemporary film made from damaged archival films; or discuss the means by which banned film and video materials might reach viewers via the Internet. Part academic conference, part professional trade meeting, part lesson in archiving and preservation, part festival, the event coalesces around a now-traditional and largely informal last-night finale screening where a friendly and amusing element of one-upmanship and surprise prevails. Veterans of the Orphan Film Symposium approached the 2008 meeting in New York City with mixed emotions. Since 1999, these gatherings have established [End Page 114] a reputation for being the conference where theorists, historians, artists, archivists, activists, preservationists, lab experts, projectionists, collectors, and enthusiasts can spend a long weekend together, from dawn 'til well after dusk, and come out smiling, edified, and energized by the experience. The University of South Carolina was the symposium's previous and original home, and some of us wondered, half-jokingly, if there was something about Columbia, South Carolina, that held this delicate blend of ingredients in suspension. Was it the ineffable magic of Southern hospitality? Were conference organizers slipping something into the traditional sweet tea that graced our tables at lunch? What, we asked, would Manhattan do to Orphans VI? South Carolina's curious charms and intimacy were missed this year, but the elements that make this symposium unique and vital to our field remained. One of these is a longstanding commitment to broadening the "film studies" conversation to include the litany of participants listed above. Since the symposium's inception, Dan Streible, chief organizer and spokesperson, has sought to assemble a staggeringly varied lineup of speakers, screenings, and discussions. Far from being a preservationist's soapbox, the symposium's intention from the start has been to provide a forum for the consideration of film from a number of perspectives within the film community at large, with an eye toward understanding and negotiating the quite real physical legacy cinemania leaves in its wake. Community is the operative word here, and few conferences strive for (much less achieve) anything even approaching the communal spirit of this biannual meeting. Since 1999 there have been no simultaneous panels, and participants spend most of their days and most of their meals (which come with the registration) together. This results in something like a festival atmosphere, minus the schmoozing and deal making, and the mood catches quickly. New York, it seems, is an ideal home for the meeting. The city's energy echoes the energy the symposium generates on its own. Hosted by New York University's Cinema Studies department and its Moving Image Archiving and Preservation program, the event took place at the Cantor Film Center and other buildings scattered around...}, number={2}, journal={Cinema Journal}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2009}, pages={114–118} }
 @inbook{orgeron_2008, title={Visual media and the tyranny of the real}, ISBN={0195175964}, booktitle={The Oxford handbook of film and media studies}, publisher={Oxford University Press}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2008}, pages={83–113} }
 @article{orgeron_orgeron_2007, title={Familial Pursuits, Editorial Acts: Documentaries after the Age of Home Video}, volume={60}, ISSN={1542-4251}, url={http://dx.doi.org/10.1353/vlt.2007.0023}, DOI={10.1353/vlt.2007.0023}, abstractNote={Familial Pursuits, Editorial Acts:Documentaries after the Age of Home Video Marsha Orgeron (bio) and Devin Orgeron (bio) I think it's going to be very interesting . . . to see what happens with this digital generation of parents who have recorded their kids' every footstep. . . . People can just go back to the data bank and see exactly how little Jimmy spooned his peas into his mouth at age four. There'll be a record of it. —Ross McElwee quoted in Lawrence F. Rhu, "Home Movies and Personal Documentaries" Since the 1990s a significant number of documentaries have been produced that rely heavily upon primary footage taken by the subject(s) of the documentaries over the course of their purportedly predocumentary lives. In films like Tarnation (Jonathan Caouette, 2003) the film's subject and director are the same. More often, as in Capturing the Friedmans (Andrew Jarecki, 2003) and Grizzly Man (Werner Herzog, 2005), the film's director employs footage that was taken by and of the documentary subject(s). In so doing, the documentary director assumes the role of editor and interpreter of a prerecorded, personal moving image archive that has already been edited, always conceptually and sometimes literally. This extensive use of home movies—home videos would be the more accurate term in most recent cases—signals a shift in recent documentary production, one that compels us to consider the implications of using home videos as narrational and illustrative tools, as conduits to history and memory.1 The representational and ethical ramifications of this recent spate of documentaries that rely on home video have yet to be assessed. What follows considers these issues by focusing on the current generation of obsessive self-documentarians and the 35mm, feature-length, theatrically released documentary films that have been made, at least partly, out of their autobiographical video records. A close but selective engagement with the aforementioned early-twenty-first-century films will aid in our understanding of this phenomenon of lives lived seemingly in preparation for documentary exploration. As McElwee seems to suggest in the epigraph above, the prevalence, ease, and affordability of home video equipment have made it possible for people to create an expansive library of moving image material with which to illustrate their lives. Personal memory is made tangible—it is, in essence, authorized—when a visual record appears to substantiate it. However, as we suggest, the availability of these video records also informs the shape and scope of the histories and memories these documentaries represent. In other words, home videographers have already made a preemptive directorial intervention by virtue of their representational decisions, inclusions as well as exclusions, and these decisions impact the nature of the documentaries that employ this footage. The home video camera's presence not only affects the moment of recording (perhaps especially so when the subjects document themselves) but also provides seemingly irreplaceable evidence of that moment. These moments are, of course, partly dictated by the videographer's intentions, which guide the expenditure and focus of the primary video footage. The documentary filmmaker working with extant biographical or autobiographical video material performs, then, a kind of secondary editorial role in which relevant video footage is assembled before the commercial cinematic product is even undertaken. McElwee's observations above also point, however obliquely, to a central concern arising in these films with regard to the state of the American family. Where he envisions a generation of parents with a "data bank" of video material documenting their children's lives, these recent films suggest a shift away from parents as the producers of photographic records to "children" as videographers who often take parents and parenthood as their subjects.2 Considered alongside each other, the [End Page 47] films investigated here present a provocatively destabilized image of the contemporary American family and its organizing structure: from the nuclear (Capturing the Friedmans), to the extended and re-created (Tarnation), to the "families we choose" or invent (Grizzly Man).3 This article, then, is also an attempt to confront a thematic convergence around the subject of family—both literal and constructed, traditional and alternative—in these at first seemingly disparate documentaries. The quest to understand or to achieve a sense...}, number={1}, journal={The Velvet Light Trap}, publisher={Project Muse}, author={Orgeron, Marsha. and Orgeron, Devin.}, year={2007}, pages={47–62} }
 @article{orgeron_2007, title={La camera-crayola: Authorship comes of age in the cinema of Wes Anderson}, volume={46}, ISSN={["0009-7101"]}, DOI={10.1353/cj.2007.0016}, abstractNote={Abstract: This essay analyzes the fictional authors who populate Wes Anderson's films and his use of DVD technology to promote his own highly self-aware authorial image. Anderson's authorial logic is organized around the concepts of youth and dependence, positioning itself against the still quite powerful myth of the independent and solitary genius.}, number={2}, journal={CINEMA JOURNAL}, author={Orgeron, Devin}, year={2007}, pages={40–65} }
 @inbook{orgeron_orgeron_2007, title={Megatronic memories: Errol Morris and the aesthetics of observation}, ISBN={1905674198}, booktitle={The image and the witness}, publisher={Wallflower Press}, author={Orgeron, D. A. and Orgeron, M.}, editor={F. Guerin and Hallas, R.Editors}, year={2007}, pages={238–252} }
 @book{orgeron_2007, title={Road Movies: From Muybridge and Melies to Lynch and Kiarostami}, DOI={10.1057/9780230610217}, abstractNote={Road Movies engages with two foundational twentieth century technologies: cinematic and automotive. It is a book about road movies, a genre burdened by its own seductiveness. It is also, however, a bo}, journal={ROAD MOVIES: FROM MUYBRIDGE AND MELIES TO LYNCH AND KIAROSTAMI}, author={Orgeron, D}, year={2007}, pages={1–239} }
 @inbook{orgeron_2007, title={Scatological film practice: Pulp Fiction and a cinema in movements}, volume={230}, ISBN={0091-3421}, booktitle={Contemporary literary criticism, vol. 230}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2007} }
 @article{orgeron_2006, title={Mobile home movies: travel and la politque des amateurs}, volume={6}, DOI={10.1353/mov.2007.0013}, abstractNote={Mobile Home Movies Travel and le Politique des Amateurs Devin Orgeron [End Page 74] Amateur Cinematography and Moment Collecting This article examines the post–World War II travel films of two American families. One family documented their travels (mostly in the United States) in the late 1940s and early 1950s, and the other family, the Weiss family, was especially mobile (and internationally so) in the early to mid-1960s as U.S. involvement in Vietnam was escalating.1 The films themselves are part of a larger collection acquired by the author at estate sales in and around Silver Spring, Maryland, and Washington, D.C., between 1997 and 2001. Several of those years were my "dissertating years." Haunting people's basements on the weekends, which started as a diversion, quickly became something more when at one of these sales I bought a dusty Kodak Brownie 500 projector and a big box of mysterious-looking fifty-foot Kodachrome films, most of which were labeled simply [End Page 75] with a year and a geographical referent.2 This particular sale was professionally run; some are run by surviving family members, and some are simply indoor yard sales. That the items themselves in this case were "professionally" priced at ten dollars—a surviving family member, in fact, "threw" the Weiss family film collection in with the projector, the item that justified the price tag—indicates the low esteem our culture has for what Patricia Zimmermann has called a "part of a suppressed and discarded film history."3 As a student of moving image history and technology, my attraction to this particular strain of popular culture made sense; this, at least, is the argument I like to use when I grow weary of defending or denying what is also quite clearly a form of voyeurism—a fascination with the ways objects, especially these objects, reverberate nostalgically. So, while I should perhaps repress my own voyeurism, my own fascination with a time that, in most cases, I never knew personally, or with people to whom I certainly had no personal connection, I want here to unmask my violation of these academic taboos in the hope of complicating them and, to some degree, unraveling how such desires not only form the organizational backbone of "the collecting impulse" but are also strategies implicit in the amateur cinematographer's task, which is, after all, to look longingly, to remember fondly. Writing of his own difficult-to-reconcile fervor for the written word, his own collections of books and of quotations, Walter Benjamin suggested that "to renew the old world—that is the collector's deepest desire when he is driven to acquire new things."4 Benjamin's words are magnificent, in part, for their own quotability—a state of affairs, I suspect, he would have found delightfully comical. Susan Sontag, buoyed by Benjamin's observations, draws the connection between the collector's and the photographer's twin enterprises. This connection inspires her to open her seminal 1977 book On Photography with the aphorismatic position that "the most grandiose result of the photographic enterprise is to give us the sense that we can hold the whole world in our heads—an anthology of images. To collect photographs is to collect the world."5 Sontag also closes her book, in homage to Benjamin, with her own collection of quotations on photography. Between these Benjaminian bookends, Sontag offers a critical statement upon which the present examination pivots. Continuing in the photographer-as-collector vein, she writes that, Like the collector, the photographer is animated by a passion that, even when it appears to be for the present, is linked to a sense of the past. But while traditional [End Page 76] arts of historical consciousness attempt to put the past in order, distinguishing the innovative from the retrograde, the central from the marginal, the relevant from the irrelevant or merely interesting, the photographer's approach—like that of the collector—is unsystematic, indeed, anti-systematic.6 Although Sontag...}, number={2}, journal={Moving Image : the Journal of the Association of Moving Image Archivists}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2006}, pages={74–100} }
 @article{orgeron_2004, title={Curating Kiarostami: review of Jonathan Rosenbaum and Mehrnaz Saeed-Vafa's Abbas Kiarostami}, volume={45}, number={1}, journal={Frameworks (Berkeley, CA)}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2004}, pages={132–134} }
 @inbook{orgeron_2003, title={Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!}, ISBN={0764157019}, booktitle={1001 movies you must see before you die}, publisher={London: Quintet}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2003}, pages={453} }
 @inbook{orgeron_2002, title={David Fincher}, ISBN={041518973X}, booktitle={Fifty contemporary filmmakers}, publisher={Routledge}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2002}, pages={154–161} }
 @article{orgeron_2002, title={Revising the postmodern American road movie: David Lynch's The 'Straight Story'}, volume={54}, number={4}, journal={Journal of Film and Video}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2002}, pages={31–46} }
 @article{orgeron_2002, title={The import/export business: the road to Abbas Kiarostami's Taste of Cherry}, journal={CineAction}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2002}, pages={46–51} }
 @article{orgeron_orgeron_2001, title={Eating their words: consuming class a la Keaton and Chaplin}, journal={College Literature}, author={Orgeron, D. A. and Orgeron, M.}, year={2001}, pages={84–104} }
 @article{orgeron_orgeron_2000, title={Interventions: an interview with Isaac Julien}, volume={9}, number={10}, journal={Coil}, author={Orgeron, D. A. and Orgeron, M.}, year={2000} }
 @article{orgeron_2000, title={Re-membering history in Isaac Julien's The 'Attendant'}, volume={53}, ISSN={["0015-1386"]}, DOI={10.1525/fq.2000.53.4.04a00040}, number={4}, journal={FILM QUARTERLY}, author={Orgeron, D}, year={2000}, pages={32–40} }
 @article{orgeron_2000, title={Scatological film practice: Pulp Fiction and a cinema in movements}, volume={19}, number={3}, journal={Post Script}, author={Orgeron, D. A.}, year={2000}, pages={29–41} }